Been a while since I had a story to post, but here’s one I entered in a contest over the summer. Didn’t win, but that means I am at least free to share it. The Writers’ Playground competition follows a consistent format. Everyone who registers receives the guidelines on the same date and has 10 days to submit a 3100-word story.
Here are the guidelines I received on July 16th and had to submit before midnight EDT on the 26th. Results were announced in early October:
CHOOSE ONE OF THE CHARACTERS LISTED BELOW. This character does not have to be your protagonist, but they must play a significant role in your story.
Someone living sober after quitting the use of alcohol and/or drug
A lottery winner
A masseuse
The child of a celebrity (can be any age)
A serial killer
CHOOSE ONE OF THE SETTINGS LISTED BELOW. Can be set in any time-period, including the future, unless specified. Can deviate slightly from the selected prompt but the majority of the story must take place in one of these settings.
A first date
A cenote
Set in the 1980s (anywhere)
A country club/members’ club
An indoor shopping mall
THE ONE THING THAT MUST BE INCLUDED IN ALL STORIES IS:
A rusty bicycle (a rusty tricycle or unicycle would be fine as well)
Based on the feedback from the judges, I have tweaked the story. Took out some bits, added some character elements, and let myself go a few words over the 3100-word limit.
The Earl and the Lady
New Year’s Day 1980 was a milestone for Lina. Five years of being clean. Long, lonely winter nights were always the hardest, but summer nights with busy streets helped her feel stronger. Working as a barmaid had its challenges, but it meant she could look out for others like her and remind them someone still cared.
- - - - - - - -
Lina came up behind the two twenty-somethings wasting their summer afternoon leaning over the bar talking to the bartender. “You plan on ordering or you just here to have Jake set you up?”
One of them turned around and found himself staring into her ample bust. Her name tag had clearly seen a few shifts, and he had to look closely to read it.
“Name’s Lina, sugar. The beer list’s on the wall—unless you’re here for something else.”
He stammered and ordered a bottle of Canadian and pointed to his friend still talking quietly to the bartender. “He’ll have the same.”
“Listen sugar, Jake will set you up with whatever you need, but neither of you look like you’re hip to what he’s selling. Careful.”
The Beacon attracted pieces of most every subculture the city had to offer. Bikers, punks, cowboys, wanna-be cowboys, under-agers, and mods. Like the two at the bar who she knew would eventually be swallowed up by The Beacon. Jake tried to keep the melting pot of subcultures from melting down, strictly enforcing the sign behind the bar which read, ‘Please check your knives’. All the while a willing part of the tavern’s pull.
Freakin’ at The Beacon’ brought them in for cheap beer and late-night strippers. Heavy users came to score. Peakin’ at The Beacon they called it.
Then at 1:00 a.m. when the bar closed, those who still had money in their pockets spilled out into the 24-hour eatery next door, usually for a Beaconburger, and for some, the chance to chat up one of the strippers still hanging around.
As Lina put down the stubbies for the pair at the bar, someone put a quarter into the Rock-Ola and soon Another Brick in the Wall was shaking the round tables that were always sticky to the touch.
The cowboys playing pool in the corner shook their heads at the music and swore loudly. One of them waved for Lina.
“’Nother beer honey?”
“Sure, Linny, but I thought you should know - the Earl’s in the alley and not lookin’ good.”
‘The Earl’ was Earle Salsbury. A successful artist he claimed. Used to attend gallery openings with a blonde escort on his arm and a glass of champagne in his hand he said. The nickname Earl of Salsbury grew out of the stories he told about his high flying past, and from his usually clean plaid shirt, his jeans always mended, his boots polished, and his shaggy grey beard free of the detritus that came with his hardscrabble lifestyle. He was an anomaly on the street scene - especially on his good days. Today was not one of the Earl’s good days.
He was sitting against a garbage can in the alley, his shirt a mess from vomit, his beard even worse, his eyes open, but with little life behind them.
Lina bent down, “Oh Earle, honey, what have you done?”
He looked up at her.
“Lina…” His voice was slurred and weak.
“Wait here, Earle, I’ll be right back.” Lina knew he was in no shape to go anywhere but didn’t waste any time. She hurried behind the bar, grabbed a couple of wet cloths used for cleaning tables, took change from the leather server belt around her waist, shoved it into Jake’s hand and grabbed a beer and a bar sandwich.
“Cover for me, Jake. Earle’s in a bad way.”
Once back in the alley she knelt, cleaning Earle up as best she could, then sat on the pavement beside him. She lit each of them a cigarette, passed him the sandwich and the beer to help steady himself.
“What happened?”
“Lemon Gin.” He sucked back most of the beer and started on the sandwich.
“Not sure about anything after that.” He nodded across the alley.
“Earle! What the hell!”
His bicycle, an old, rusted Eaton’s Glider with a still sturdy frame, wide handlebars, a carrier on the back, and a big basket on the front holding his prized possessions, was bent and even more beaten up than usual. Earle and his bike were fixtures on the street.
“Dunno, Lina.” His voice sounded stronger. “Think someone tried to steal it, and I tried to hang on to it.”
“Earle, it looks a write-off. What are you going to do?”
“Gimme a garbage bag to put my stuff in and I’ll just leave the bike there. Not much else I can do.”
“I’ll go get you a bag. Then I need to get back to work, Earle. Come back tomorrow.”
She stuffed the rest of the cigarettes into his shirt pocket. “Let me know how you’re doing. Please.”
Lina pulled almost a full double shift that day and was glad to be out before the strippers hit the stage at nine o’clock. Too many unruly patrons to deal with after a long day and Earle weighing on her mind. She went out through the back and into the alley where she saw someone looking over the broken bike. Another one of her regulars.
“Leave it Myles. It’s Earle’s. I’m taking it with me.”
“What happened to it?”
“You never mind. Just leave it.”
She lived alone, within walking distance of the bar, but the bike wasn’t mobile, and she ended up carrying it more than wheeling it. She found space for it in her storage locker in the building’s basement and went upstairs to her little apartment, wondering what she was going to do with it.
Lina was a second-generation addict. Her parents had been alcoholics, and her father was long gone before she turned 18. Her late mother had tried to raise Lina by herself, but never really coped. Lina had stopped thinking of her story as unusual or even sad. It simply was, and that had helped her get on with life. For a while anyway, until her good looks and blonde hair had opened the door to glittering places full of new pleasures.
Now clean for five years and counting, she had walked away from that world and made a new life for herself. Simple. Efficient. Routines to help cope with the pressures that could push her back into using.
Easing back into the couch, she looked at one of the large photos on the wall, flashing back to when it was taken. She wore a long dress for a special occasion. Her blonde hair was styled in an unabashed imitation of Farrah Fawcett. Her eyes were sparkling amid all the attention. Tucked in one corner of the frame was an invitation to an art show opening. Not a New York or Toronto style gala, but it had been a big deal for a city on the Prairies. Back when she was pretty. Before the drugs.
For now, she needed sleep. It was late. She had to open the bar in the morning.
She rushed to get to the tavern early the next day, hoping Earle was back. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was in the alley. His shirt was clean and he’d found a way to press out the creases. The tears in his jeans from the day before were carefully mended. He was The Earl again.
“Morning, Lina. Thanks for straightening me out yesterday.”
She plunked herself down on the pavement and leaned against one of the garbage cans.
“No problem, Earle. How are you feeling today? Here. Just as you like it. Double cream, double sugar.” She handed him the coffee she had picked up from the donut shop.
“Not great. I miss my bike. Was there anything left in the basket? I couldn’t find all my stuff in the garbage bag.”
“There might have been. I’ll look. I took it back to my place. Try to fix it up for you.”
“Don’t bother Lina. It’s old and beat up.” There was a rare twinkle in his eyes. “Like its owner.”
“Earle, we’re both old and beat up, but we’re still sturdy. I’ll fix your bike and get you back on the road.”
She saw two people approaching from the other end of the alley.
“Myles and Molly are coming Earle. Myles was eyeing your bike yesterday, but I sent him packing. Ask him if he saw any of your stuff lying around. He’s a straight shooter and wouldn’t lie to you, and Molly wouldn’t let him get away with it. Maybe hang out with them today. I want to make sure you really are okay. Deal?”
“Deal, Lina. Thanks.”
Opening the tavern was always the same. The smell of stale smoke, stale beer and sweat not quite replaced by the antiseptic odor left behind by the night cleaning staff. Take the chairs off the tables. Make sure the cigarette machine is full. Put quarters into the pool tables and count the balls as they rolled out―just in case. Turn on the Rock-Ola. Monotonous, but the routine helped her manage her emotions if the old Lina challenged her.
Once Jake and the cooking staff came in and everything was ready, they unlocked the doors at 10:00 a.m. By early afternoon her arms were aching from carrying trays made heavy by the tavern’s most popular order: the cheapest pitcher of beer around at $3.00. The two twenty-somethings from the day before were hanging around again and were ready for their second pitcher when one of them went over to talk to Jake. Lina caught Jake’s attention and shook her head, mouthing the words, “No way.” She knew where the young men were headed and she wouldn’t always be there to stop Jake. As she put their pitcher down on the table, she leaned close to the one still sitting.
“Don’t do it kid. You’re cute and you’re young, and this place will suck you up and you’ll be old before you’ve even grown up.”
He turned red and looked down at the beer without saying a word.
She turned to deliver another couple of stubbies to the cowboys playing pool and saw Molly coming in.
“Molly? Where are Myles and Earle? I told Earle to stick with you today. He’s not himself yet.”
Molly was barely into her thirties but carried many more years around with her. She lived on the streets and had once turned tricks in the bar, but one too many rough encounters had convinced her to put an end to that.
“I think they’re off on a bender. I had to go squat in the bushes and when I came out, they were gone. Sorry Linny. I can’t tell either of them what to do.”
“Sure Molly. I know. Sit. I’ll get you a beer. On the house.”
For the rest of the shift Lina kept an eye out for her regulars who might know Earle or Myles, but no luck. She booked off early, and on the way up to her apartment stopped at the storage locker and rummaged through the big basket on the front of the old bike. Not much Earle would miss, apart from a carefully folded plaid flannel shirt. As she lifted it up, she saw a piece of paper peeking out. She recognized the paper right away. Earle was a good artist, and after local fame took him down, he still earned decent pocket money by sketching the strippers in the tavern and selling them to the punters or trading for beer. At least until the Liquor Control Board put a stop to it.
But why save a sketch? It had obviously been folded for a long time, so she opened it carefully.
“Earle...” She had quit crying decades ago, but her eyes welled up. The sketch was one of her. Not Lina the greying barmaid, but Lina the pretty blonde who got to attend gallery openings and fancy parties on Earl’s arm. The Lina who was not yet strung out.
Going out to look for Earle would be a waste of time, but she could have something waiting for him when he showed up. She looked over the bike. It needed a new front wheel for sure. This one was bent, probably from when someone had tried to steal it. A new chain wouldn’t hurt, either. The basket needed straightening. With the sketch still in her hands, she went upstairs to her apartment and dug out the big Eaton’s catalogue. She found parts for the bike and phoned the catalogue department and arranged to pick them up within a few days. Lina didn’t have much of a toolbox, but checking drawers here and there around the partment she found some wrenches, a pair of pliers, and a long-handled screwdriver. She went back down to the storage locker, straightened the basket and tried to fix a few of the dents in the rusted fender.
With the sketch on her bedside table, she lay in bed working out how she could find time during the day to pick up the parts to fix the bike.
There was no sign of Earle or Myles the next day. Or the day after. Lina hoped it meant that at least Earle had someone who might be able to look out for him. Days turned into weeks and there were sightings of Myles, but no sign of Earle.
Lina kept working on the bike. It was something to help occupy her mind, while she fretted about Earle. She replaced the wheel, put on a new chain and bought new tires. Cleaned it as best she could and polished the parts that weren’t rusted. He wouldn’t be riding it to any gallery openings, but he’d feel better having his stuff with him.
Winter was returning and as December rolled in Lina dreaded the loneliness of the city when the temperature dropped and the snow came. With still no sign of Earle she carefully pinned the sketch to the living room wall next to the framed picture of her. Reminders of the person she once was until cocaine, parties, and an unforgiving lifestyle caught up to her. And of the person she did not want to become again.
Life at The Beacon went on but like everything else, it was changing. Only one of the twenty-somethings came in. Looking ragged and cold, still wearing his light summer mod jacket and sneakers.
“Where’s your friend, sugar?”
The shine was gone from his eyes.
“Don’t know really. Packed it in and went back to university I suppose. Jake around?”
“He’s out back having a smoke. Cut through the kitchen and you’ll find him.”
She shook her head. The Beacon had eaten another one of its own.
Molly and Myles stopped in regularly. They still didn’t consider themselves a couple but took care of each other.
“Well?”
“No sign, sorry.”
The question had become a ritual between them.
The cowboys were still shooting pool and one day in mid-December one of them called Lina over.
“The Earl is out back, Lina.”
She stood on her tip toes, kissed the cowboy’s cheek, and ran through the kitchen and into the alley.
Earle was wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the ground, leaning against a garbage can.
“Earle! Where in Christ have you been? It’s been months. Talk to me honey.”
She sat down beside him, leaning against a garbage can, and lit cigarettes for them both to help ward off the cold.
“One bender after another Lina. Hanging around the homeless shelter. It’s the Lemon Gin again, Lina. Always the Lemon Gin.”
“Earle, I fixed your bike and found the sketch you were hanging onto. Why Earle? Why had you kept it all this time?”
“Kept anything worth keeping. The sketch was you. The Lina I didn’t want to drag down with me.”
“You never dragged me anywhere, Earle.”
“Did. Once.”
“We went together.”
“But my party never ended, Lina.” He looked up and closed his eyes. “You were the smart one.”
She touched his sleeve. “Your bike’s fixed. Come see it.”
“You keep it, Lina.”
“It’s your bike.”
“Not much use for roads anymore.”
“Stop it. You’re doing fine. We both are. Wait here. I’ll go get you something to eat.”
She went back inside, loaded up a plate from the kitchen and stepped back into the alley. She stood there with the plate of food cooling in her hands. Her lips moved to speak but all that came out was her breath swirling in the cold air. The blanket lay folded beside the garbage can. His cigarette was still burning in the snow.
She managed to finish her shift but stayed in the bar until closing time and joined the Beaconburger crowd, just to be around people. Anybody. Her spirit shaken as she worried about Earl.
She got back to her apartment around 3:00 a.m. and flopped onto the couch looking at the sketch beside the framed photograph. What the hell am I going to do with that old bike now?
In the days before Christmas, Lina’s routine started to slip. She left the chairs on the bar tables until Jake arrived and forgot to count the pool balls. She caught herself standing in the alley, staring at the place where Earle had left the blanket. By Christmas Day, the repaired bicycle was the one of the few things left unchanged.
On the morning of New Year’s Eve, Molly came in alone. Myles had left town, and she asked Lina to get her something strong.
“Earle was found behind the shelter this morning, Lina. He’s gone.”
Lina poured Molly the drink and told Jake she had something to do. She went home, brought the bicycle up from the basement and rode it through the cold to The Beacon. In the alley, she chained it to the steel rail beside the garbage cans.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
New Year’s Day 1981 should have marked six years clean for Lina.
Jake went to check on her when she didn’t show up for work and found her dead in her apartment. An empty bottle of Lemon Gin, a small plastic bag with a few pills left in it lay on the floor, and on the coffee table, a sketch of a blonde woman. After calling the police, he went back to work and saw Earle’s bike chained to a steel rail in the alley. Many New Year’s Days passed, and the old bike remained there, rusting away, but no one dared steal it. They remembered Earle and Lina. It didn’t take much imagination to see them leaning against the garbage cans, having a smoke.