The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written

by H. M. Mann

  Gloria sighed. Here’s where I tell him the truth, and after I do, I will never see him again. “Johnny, please don’t take this the wrong way.” Shoot. Now I’m guaranteed that he’ll take it the wrong way. “Okay, um … You know I really like seeing you here, don’t you? I mean, your visits are kind of like the best part of my shifts, you know?”

  Johnny’s eyes fell to the counter. She … likes … to see me?

  “And I hope that I’m your friend.”

  She wants to be my friend. “You are, um, Gloria.”

  “So as a friend, I have to tell you …”

  Johnny held his breath.

  “I have to tell you that this is the most ridiculous thing I have ever read in my entire life.” Gloria held her breath.

  Johnny felt light-headed, so he exhaled. “How?”

  Gloria exhaled. “How is it ridiculous?”

  “Yes.”

  “How isn’t it ridiculous?”

  Johnny held his breath again. It seemed safer than breathing normally somehow. His heart hurt, and his lungs burned. He exhaled.

  “I mean, well,” Gloria continued, “first of all, I don’t believe any of your characters inhabit this or any other planet in the known universe.”

  At least she’s not afraid to speak her mind, Johnny thought. I have to respect that.

  “Your characters, Johnny, they’re, well, completely one-dimensional and unlikable. They ticked me off. And you tell the reader everything. It’s as if you enjoy using a sledgehammer to bludgeon the reader with extraneous information.”

  She’s beginning to sound like an English teacher, Johnny thought. Who else would use the words “bludgeon” and “extraneous” in ordinary conversation?

  “You need to reveal a character gradually, Johnny, as if you’re starting a friendship between the reader and that character.”

  Maybe I ought to start reading all those how-to write books, Johnny thought. I mean, I can’t use them for tax deductions anymore. I just wish they had put more helpful information on the covers.

  “The plot, such as it is, is at best nonexistent.”

  I’m kind of wanting to disappear here myself, thank you, Johnny thought. I hear Fiji is nice this time of year. West Virginia is only an hour away …

  “And most women readers would find your views on women and relationships to be disturbing, sexist, misogynistic, and sociopathic.”

  Wow, what a vocabulary! My writing is all that? Johnny looked for a nice soft place to fall on his face, a safe place to crumple to his knees like the writer of the worst romance novel ever written.

  “Look, Johnny, I don’t mean to be harsh, but this is the twenty-first century. Women have changed. We’re not all love-starved bimbos looking for man candy.” Geez, Gloria thought, I’m beginning to sound like his novel! “The world has changed. I mean, why are all of your characters white?”

  “Thais is Brazilian.”

  “By way of Slovenia, I know,” Gloria said, “but she only has Brazilian heels and hands. She sounds white. Even her name isn’t Brazilian. Thais was mistress to Alexander the Great thousands of years ago.” Just don’t ask me how I remember that useless nugget of information. “And calling her Thais Knotts? Come on. Tie knots? That’s childish.”

  “I can, um, I can change that. It will only take a few clicks. All I have to do is hit the replace function, and then—”

  “Johnny, that’s not the point,” Gloria interrupted. “I didn’t like any of your characters at all. I wanted to like them, I really did, but it’s hard to like a character I can’t see.”

  Huh? “What do you mean?”

  Gloria sighed. “How tall is Cat? What’s Thais’s face look like? What is everyone wearing? What does the interior of Gunn’s house look like?”

  Johnny smiled at his shoes. “I haven’t worked their, um, bodily descriptions into the story yet. And besides, the cover artist will take care of most of that for me.”

  “No,” Gloria said. “You have to help me see those people using words. That’s your job. I also need to read what they say and think without fussing in my head.”

  “You … fussed in your head while you read this?”

  “Come on, Johnny, their conversations are unrealistic, silly, and childish. Grown folks don’t talk to each other this way. And the tangents you took me on! Slaughtering cows while they’re kissing?” She slipped around the counter and stood dangerously close to Johnny’s aura of bleach and pizza funk. “Please tell me that you don’t seriously mean to send this to a publisher as a serious piece of fiction.”

  Johnny let his eyes wander—shyly—up Gloria’s body. Whoa. She’s very nice looking on this side of the counter, too. Cute smile, interesting hands, sexy in a uniform—hey, she wears shoes like mine. Good old Timberlands. His eyes lingered at her hips. Beautiful shape with sculpted, um, cushioning. A few inches shorter than me, tiny little ears, no jewelry.

  Johnny became bold and spoke to the third button on her shirt. “I know it needs work. It has some redeeming features, doesn’t it?”

  Gloria pulled the manuscript across the counter. “Okay, what’s your title?”

  Stupid fool! Idiot! You’re a freaking amateur! You left the freaking title in your notes! What was it? Seedy Needy … Make up something! “Um, I’m planning to call it … A Thorn for Emily.”

  “Who’s Emily? There isn’t an Emily in this book.”

  “Not yet,” Johnny said to Gloria’s nametag. “After Thais, Gunn will hook up with—”

  “You’re kidding,” Gloria interrupted. “A man hooks up with three women in one romance novel?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “Isn’t a romance supposed to focus on the relationship between two people?” Gloria asked.

  Johnny’s eyes traveled to her right eyebrow, a cute little whitish scar hiding in her thick black eyebrow hairs. “So I’m experimenting a little. Maybe my novel will break new ground. Oh, and I won’t be using my own name.”

  “Oh?” I wouldn’t put my real name on this piece of crap either.

  “My non de plume will be Medusa Jones.”

  I want to laugh so badly! Medusa Jones? What the freak is he thinking? Gloria noticed Johnny’s eyes almost looking into her eyes. I don’t mind him staring at parts of me, but what’s so special about my forehead? Wait. Now he’s staring at my right eye. Whoo. “Johnny, you’ll break no ground with this novel. Medusa Jones? Don’t use that name, okay?”

  Johnny nodded. “It had a nice ring to it at the time.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t write this as a satire and all this time you’re just pulling my leg?”

  “I didn’t write it to be funny.” His eyes dropped safely to his shoes.

  Hey, bring your eyes back to me! “Well, it’s just naturally hilarious sometimes.”

  “You said it was ridiculous.”

  “It is.” She flipped a page. “Having them meet by a real car accident where he’s obviously at fault? She’d sue him before she’d have anything more to do with him.”

  Johnny looked from his shoes to Gloria’s shoes. She’s had those a long time. They look comfortable. They are solidly built, plain, and dependable. I knew she was a down-to-earth woman. “They could meet by accident, right?”

  “It’s a possibility, but not a probability,” Gloria said.

  “I, um, accidentally drove in here the first time we, um, met,” Johnny said.

  How do you accidentally drive into the parking lot of a Quick-E Mart? “You did?”

  “I swerved to miss hitting a dog and just rolled up to the pump. I happened to need gas, so I came in here … and met you.” He smiled at the memory and at the orange counter. “It was a Labrador retriever. No collar. I gave it the name Marty because he was quick. Get it? Quick-E Mart?” That was weak.

  So a dog started all this? Whatever this is. Crazy! “But then you have them get passionate and physical in the emergency room when she has second- and third-degree burns covering thirty-four percent of her body
.”

  Johnny looked at his own shoes, his waterproof Timberlands, casual yet functional and streaked with droplets of bleach. “They have those drape things in the ER, and he would be very gentle not to, um, squeeze her wounds too tightly.” He smiled. “I’d, um, I’d have to put her on top or to the side of him, of course.”

  Gloria bit her lip because that was precisely what she had been thinking, too. “And what’s up with the number thirty-four?”

  “It’s just a random number,” Johnny said softly.

  “It can’t be random if you use it all the time.”

  Johnny nodded. Because it’s really not that random, but I don’t want to talk about that right now.

  “And speaking of random,” Gloria continues, “you have them moving in together when they don’t know a thing about each other.”

  “It happens all the time,” Johnny said. “Witness the divorce rate in this country.”

  He got me there. “Well, I don’t expect it to happen in romance novels, okay? You have to build a relationship slowly over several months, even a couple years before they can shack up. You have to give them at least … two hundred pages before you can do that.” I like his size—not too tall, not too short. Strong shoulders. I’ve always loved dark brown eyes. My fingertips are sweaty? Geez. What am I, thirteen? “And how do you pronounce Gunn’s name?”

  “I’ll change it to Fred.”

  He’s still missing the point! “Johnny, do you think all women want to fall in love with a foreign man?”

  Johnny nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t.” Whoa. I’m just full of too much information tonight. “Okay, what about The Settlement? Where did The Settlement come from? How much is it worth?”

  “I have no idea,” Johnny said. Gloria wouldn’t fall in love with a foreign guy. Cool. Maybe I have a chance with her after all. I’m just a boring American guy. I know a few foreign words, though. I wonder if that will matter to—

  “And having them fuss over a dog?” His voice is soft. I like that. It has soft laughter in it. “I don’t much like small dogs either, but having two main characters arguing over something as trivial as a Pomeranian is ridiculous.”

  Trivial, huh? We’ll see about that. Johnny cleared his throat. “Toilet paper roll coming up or down?”

  “What?”

  “Toilet paper roll,” Johnny said. “Are the sheets coming from the bottom or over the top?”

  What’s this about? “From over the top, of course, but what does—”

  “I disagree,” Johnny interrupted.

  “What?”

  “Some people are too short or have arms that are too short to reach the top of the roll,” Johnny said. “If it comes off the bottom of the roll, they can reach it, kids especially.”

  Gloria blinked. “A child can reach the roll, Johnny.”

  “Even a child going through potty-training?”

  “Well, the child’s mother or father would be there with the child in the bathroom, but I don’t—”

  “And what about people who are afflicted with arthritis? Pulling down to tear off the toilet paper is easier on the joints than having to pull across. Gravity helps them make a clean, pain-free tear.”

  “But then the roll spills onto the floor!” Gloria yelled. “It’s a waste of toilet paper!”

  Johnny liked the fire in Gloria’s soft brown eyes, and it surprised him that he was looking directly at them for the first time without looking at one of her buttons, a thumb, or an elbow. “Are we having an argument, Gloria?”

  “One you’ll never win with me.”

  Johnny sighed and smiled. “And it’s over something … as trivial … as toilet paper.”

  He got me again, Gloria thought. Johnny’s IQ is rapidly rising into the two-digit range. “Okay, some trivial arguments are allowed, as long as they progress to something important.”

  “Like, um, serious physical contact?”

  He’s still getting me. And he said it just like you’d say hello to someone. “We’ll talk about serious physical contact in a minute.” Did I just say that?

  “I’m all ears.”

  Geez, I need to get a grip. Gloria shuffled through several pages with increasingly sweaty fingertips. “What about giving the reader the thoughts of a badly named child who won’t be born for thirty-four months?”

  She is definitely a thorough reader. I have chosen my first “editor” wisely. “I like to experiment.” And I am still looking at Gloria’s soft, brown face. Amazing. I should argue with her about toilet paper all the time. Even her face has a cute shape, kind of oval with full cheeks and smiling lips. Okay, her lips are not really smiling, they just seem naturally—

  “Johnny?”

  “Yes?”

  He is now openly groping my face with his eyes! Gloria thought. And I’m standing here liking it! “Okay, Gunn’s first so-called soul mate is dead and he’s hooking up with another bimbo the very next day after yet another accident he caused.”

  “Right. Lightning strikes twice.”

  “No it doesn’t.”

  “NASA proved it a few years ago,” Johnny said. “Lightning actually strikes two places on the ground thirty-four percent of the time.”

  There’s that number again. Creepy! “But hooking up so quickly is wrong.”

  Johnny sighed. “Yeah, but conquests make Gunn feel manly. I can’t have the reader think he’s anything less than a man. These conquests are good for … his self-esteem.” I’m babbling. “Yeah. Hooking up is good. Gunn likes to hook up a lot.” I’m still babbling.

  I need to turn down the heat in here. “You don’t have a problem with that?”

  “Hooking up making Gunn feel manly and good?” Johnny shrugged. “No.”

  “I mean …” What do I mean? “I mean he’s having … sex …” I just said the word! Sorry, Lord. Wow, I must be crazy. “He’s … with … another woman while his first so-called love is still warm in her grave.”

  “Right.”

  “But it’s wrong,” Gloria said.

  Johnny shrugged. “They don’t seem to mind.”

  Because they’re not real! Gloria thought.

  “And they do warm up in a circle before that,” Johnny added. “Yoga’s good for that, or so I hear. I’ve never, um, actually done yoga.”

  Gloria looked away from Johnny’s probing eyes. “Yeah, position number thirty-four. So you don’t study yoga in your spare time?”

  “I only look at the pictures.”

  Then Gloria laughed, in spite of her sweaty fingertips and rising embarrassment, and looked up into Johnny’s eyes. “But Johnny, really, a killer cop slash terrorist who hates Hummel figurines and sells her own sister to the circus?”

  Johnny leaned his back on the counter. “Like I said, it’s rough. I have some things to fix.”

  “Some?” Gloria picked up the entire manuscript. “I’m going to drop this on the counter. Any page that stays floating in the air doesn’t have to be changed.” She dropped the manuscript, and it fell to the counter with a thump.

  Johnny squinted. “Gravity sure works overtime in here, huh?”

  His sense of humor is amazing! Gloria reached out a hand and touched Johnny’s forearm. “I’m sorry I’ve been so harsh, but wouldn’t you rather hear an honest opinion from a friend before you start sending it out to publishers?” Who will destroy your writing career before it can even begin.

  Johnny looked at the interested hand that was obviously interested in his forearm. “I would.”

  Gloria’s hand drifted off his arm. “I don’t mind helping you, I mean, most nights it’s really slow around this time. I’ll have plenty of time to read anything you give me.”

  Anything? “I’d like that, but I don’t know if I can write anything seriously.” I could show her It’s a Wonderful Death. Nah. She’ll really think I’m a sociopath then. “I’ve tried, Gloria, but I can’t seem to stay focused.”

  “Johnny, you are a funny man.”

&nb
sp; I don’t know how to take that. Johnny could only blink.

  “Though your humor is severely over-the-top most of the time.”

  I don’t know how to take that either. Johnny continued to blink.

  “What I’m saying is that … maybe we can make that work for you.”

  Johnny smiled and gave his eyelids a rest. “I’m all ears. Oh, I’m all eyes, too.”

  Gloria shyly looked at her hands. There he goes again … “I think you should keep writing it, and make it as ridiculous as you can.”

  “In other words, you want me to write as I normally do.”

  “Right.”

  That was almost a compliment. I think. “You know, I feel like crumpling to the floor like what they should have done to the scripts for Gigli, Ishtar, and Mama Mia, but I won’t.”

  Gloria bit her lower lip. “You should write that one down.”

  “You agree?”

  Gloria nodded. “And if anyone asks you what you’re writing, you tell them it’s a satire, that you’re going strictly for laughs, that you’re making fun of the romance novel. There aren’t that many good comedies out there, and I know that if I re-read your manuscript as a comedy, I know I will laugh out loud often.”

  “I’d rather have you laughing than fussing in your head any day,” Johnny said.

  “So would I.”

  They stood in silence for several awkward moments. It was after 3 AM. Johnny was talking to a woman. They were both awake, and she wasn’t in one of his better dreams.

  Johnny didn’t want to leave.

  “Do you, um, have any ideas for this even more ridiculous novel?” Johnny asked.

  Gloria smiled. He wants to stay and talk! “I’ll get you a pen and some paper.”

  Johnny flipped over the first page of the manuscript. “I’ll just write these ideas on the back of this ridiculous piece of dung, okay?”

  I am not going to disagree. Gloria handed him a pen. “Ready?”

  Johnny nodded. “Ready to get ridiculous.”

  “Let’s see … I’d like even more tangents. They were a hoot.”

  Johnny wrote it down.