by Carl Hamlin
Hearing those words, Hannah new that she had made the right decision in meeting him for dinner. He had immediately revealed a caring and insightful quality. In just forty minutes of conversation Hannah was convinced that this man had a talent for grasping the nuances of life that passed unnoticed before the eyes of many.
They were enjoying an evening that was passing by all too quickly. They were midway through desert when Brandon finally asked her about her book.
“I must say Hannah, I read your book before I ever knew I would have the chance to actually meet you.”
Hannah’s eyes flickered wide open in surprise. “I guess that I always assumed that most who read it were female.”
Brandon laughed. “Actually, one of my female students suggested that I read it. She felt that it was unique enough that someone like me would find it interesting. So, I downloaded it to my portable reader, and she was right. I found your main character simply enchanting. Perhaps part of that was because I teach so many young women the age of her. But you made her an interesting character, with just the right mixture of seriousness to keep you reading, combined with a fun, sort of….sexy kind of… let’s say, flighty quality. She was a perfect foil to play against her eccentric mother and those sort of out – there sisters of hers.
Brandon continued. “Your talent for description is remarkable. I could just visualize the scenes in that house… this sort of serious young woman trying to find her way in life and work her way through college, all the while coping with the distractions and zany antics of these older witch wannabes having these free-lanced, goofy ceremonies up in the spare bedroom. It made you want to be there in the house watching it all take place, but at the same time you were relieved that you, as the reader, did not have to cope with it. It was very good, Hannah. Very, very good. It just cries out for a sequel. You’ve earned every bit of acclaim that’s come your way.”
Hannah felt herself blush. She had been interviewed by well-known talk show hosts, but hearing those words come from Brandon meant much more to her. She looked down. “Thank you Brandon. That means so much coming from you. I mean after all, you work with writers all the time.”
Hannah began to laugh. “Maybe I found it easy to get inside the head of a girl that age, simply because I’m really not that mature myself.”
Brandon shook his head. “I would hardly see that to be the case. You seem to have accomplished much.”
Hannah shrugged. “Oh I don’t know… sometimes I think I bring problems on the myself because I lack a certain amount of… well….”
“Discipline?” Upon hearing the word Hannah felt a chill throughout her entire body.
She began to feel herself trembling. All types of conflicting commands seem to be bombarding her sense of speech from varying parts of her mind. “Oh, let’s see… what do you mean by discipline?” She wondered if the unexpected high-pitched squeak when she said the word was that noticeable.
Brandon folded his hands and leaned toward her. “By discipline, I just meant that we all have varying capacities to be able to set a goal and work toward it, but it has to be balanced by enough moderation to keep our lives balanced and happy.” He took his glass and tasted a small sip of his scotch. “I didn’t mean discipline such as in… punishment.”
Hannah could not help but feel that she was visibly flushing. “Of course.”
Brandon laughed. “On the other hand, your character did set out to get a spanking. I guess you gave her a need to either be punished, or at least go through the motions of being punished. I couldn’t tell how much of it was her sense of needing to pay a penalty for some unknown offense, or just how much it was all just something that she craved as a sexual thing. I suppose all that is beheld in the mind of the reader. One could take that scene in more than one way. I think that was part of why that scene was so appealing. It was funny, but very… erotic, at the same time. ”
Hannah blurted out suddenly, “Oh, it was entirely sexual.” She then felt as if her face were on fire. She was afraid to talk, but feared that when she did she would begin to stammer. “Oh, I mean, sure, that was just a kind of… uhm… frivolous , funny little thing to throw in. I guess I thought some readers might get a little kick out of.” Her mind was reeling in embarrassment and regret for having included the scene, but contrasted with a surreal rush of titillation in the conversation she was having.
Brandon shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I seem to have embarrassed you by mentioning it.”
She picked up her glass to take a sip, trying to steady her nerves. “No, I don’t mean to be silly. I just get teased about that scene from time to time.”
Brandon nodded. “I guess it’s a curious thing. You never know who will read a passage like that and think it’s, well… hot and sexy. Then another person will read it and see it as a submission to violence on a personal level.”
Hannah felt as if she wanted to crawl under the table and hide. She was so rattled, she felt as if she was having difficulty breathing. “Well, I just thought it was… guess I thought it would be - oh, gosh - I don’t know what I’m saying. I think I’ll just shut up now.”
Brandon smiled and seemed to be entertained by her flustered state. “Don’t be overly self-conscious about this, Hannah, if one were to find such a thing a turn on, that’s all it would be. A turn on. For some, that’s just a corner of their life. Nothing more, nothing less. I guess that I had never really thought about it before I read that passage. But as I think more about it, your character wanting to be spanked. I guess it made her come across as more, I don’t know, cute… very sexy and romantic.” Brandon laughed as he began to take another sip of his drink. “Never thought of it before I read your book, but I guess there’s just something really hot about a woman being spanked if she enjoys it. Who knows? Perhaps someday I’ll spank a woman and find out what it’s like - for her and for me.”
Hannah could only imagine what shade of crimson her face had turned. “That’s… that’s very, uhm, open-minded of you. I mean, for those who may find such a thing - oh, never mind. You know what I mean.”
Brandon nodded. “Well, as I say, I’ve never done that, but I think it was a nice sensual scene. I think that it actually added significant charm to her character, like I said making her seem even more, well, the word cute keeps coming to mind. It enhanced the entire book for that matter.”
Hannah was sure her face was crimson. “Thanks. As an expert on writing, you seem to understand what I was doing.”
Brandon began to chuckle. “Ah, Hannah, I think I do indeed understand exactly what you were doing. Well, don’t worry. I won’t spank you unless you ask me to.”
Hannah nearly choked on her sip of iced tea hearing that comment. “That’s useful to know.” She looked down at the table, shaking her head as she once again felt a hot flush across her face. Both began to laugh, but she was unnerved when she thought that she saw Brandon wink at her. She reconsidered. He had winked, as sure as hell.
Hannah could hardly get her emotions under control as they spent another ten minutes chatting, each sensing that the other was not want the evening to come to a conclusion. Finally, as if through telepathy, both stood and continued talking without missing a beat, while Brandon placed cash on the table for the meal and a tip.
They put on their coats and reluctantly walked out the door. Brandon walked Hannah to the Cadillac, where they embraced spontaneously, complete with a long kiss.
Brandon whispered, “See you again?”
Hannah nodded and sighed. “You’d better.”
Brandon opened the door and reluctantly closed it for her. He stood in the parking lot and watched her drive away.
Back at the cottage, Hannah had tried to read after crawling into bed. Even though she was starting to read a book written by a friend she had met at a writer’s conference, she was too entranced by her evening. Most of all, she was totally enthralled at reliving the portion of the conversation where both she and Brandon had made the spanki
ng references. She was simply at her wits end. She did not know how to proceed from that point. She knew what she wanted to happen, and feared it at the same time. However, there was an element of the situation that made everything seem more imminent and urgent: after one date that was preceded by an impromptu meeting, she felt very comfortable with this man. Most of all, she liked him. She liked him very much.
Memories of their conversation made her tremble from both anticipation and fear. She felt that during their conversation she was picking up some signals. Rather, one Brandon Tangier had picked up on the signals she was sending, ones that she seemed unable to keep herself from transmitting. She scolded herself that she may as well have come out and said it: By the way Professor Tangier, it’s my personal goal in life to have a man like you tan my hide.
She did not sleep well that night. When she rose in the morning she did not even bother to get dressed. It was going to be a difficult day for her to work around the distraction she was still feeling from the previous evening’s conversation with Brandon.
She got up and turned on her new television for the first time to catch the morning news, then prepared a bowl of oatmeal and curled up on the sofa to watch one of the morning programs that had hosted her during her promotion tour. She leaned against the end arm while she ate her oatmeal, pulling a blanket off the back and spreading it over her to keep her warm after setting the furnace a little higher.
The conversation with Brandon had her helplessly flummoxed. Furthermore, she knew that she had to look forward to another rendezvous with this great guy, and she sensed that it would it take place before much more time had passed.
Distracted, anxious, and eager as she may have been, a portion of her mind was still functioning with a semblance of normalcy. Ideas for her next book were still being generated, so as soon as her breakfast was finished, she turned off the television and sat in front of her computer, still clad in her short nightgown.
Ideas for revision flowed, and notes for bits of dialogue seemed to come out of nowhere. She joked to herself that perhaps being in what seem to now be a constant state of arousal was good for her imagination and story development.
She could not recall a day in which she had formulated so much of a story line. She had turned on the radio but was paying no attention to it at all. For lunch and dinner, she ate frozen meals she had bought the market. In fact, both meals were eaten in front of the computer screen. At the pace at which she was working, she believed that she would be beginning actual manuscript material within two weeks.
It was the most productive writing day she could recall in two years. She worked well into the evening, sipping coffee along the way. At bedtime, she realized that she had forgotten to take any of her Xanax that day, but felt just fine skipping it. She recalled her doctor telling her that she would likely know on her own when it was time to give it up. She decided she would always keep it nearby, just in case, and as she crawled under the bed covers and began to nod off, she finally felt that she had turned a much-desired corner.
Rising very well rested the next morning, Hannah showered, ate a quick breakfast, and took up where she had left off the previous evening. She was seeing the characters in her sequel come to life. The young heroine and her boyfriend had become a much more serious couple, and the “coven” members were engaging in antics sufficient to embarrass and annoy, even amuse, anyone nearby.
Hannah had just finished another ham and Swiss sandwich in front of the computer monitor when her phone chimed. She looked at the screen, and when she recognized the number as Brandon’s, she felt a pleasant sensation of fluttering in her chest and stomach.
“Hi, Brandon.”
“How’s my favorite writer?”
“I thought maybe someone like F. Scott Fitzgerald would be your favorite writer.”
“F. Scott Fitzgerald never was shaped like you.”
“Oh, ho. I’m flattered.”
“I meant that. Hey, I know that it’s a bad habit of mine to issue invitations on the spur of the moment, but a meeting got canceled for this afternoon, and if you would be free for that campus tour? Well, you can just look outside to see it’s a beautiful sunny day again.”
“Jeans okay?”
“Fine. Meet me at my office at 2:00?”
“See you then.”
Hannah took a deep breath and felt a physical sense of warmth throughout her body. She sat down to resume her work, but accepted in advance that the next hour would not be her most productive.
All that she could get done was to review the work she had done that morning on the outline. All the while, she kept glancing at her watch. She could not recall a recent time when the hands on her watch sensing the move so slowly.
When it was time for her to leave she stepped outside to check the temperature. It was unusually warm for that part of March, so she went back inside and grabbed a light jacket. She locked the front door, hopped into the Cadillac and headed for the campus.
As she pulled into the visitor’s parking space in the lot closest to Brandon’s office, she could not believe how anxious she felt to see him again. Upon entering the office building, she found Brandon speaking to the receptionist. She did not think that it was her imagination, when she detected a sly smile as the receptionist’s eyes darted back and forth between her and Brandon.
She was surprised when Brandon walked up and put his arm around her and commented that he was happy to be in the presence of two of his favorite ladies. The receptionist looked up at Hannah and smiled with a conspiratorial grin. “We all tell him that he needs to get out more and have some fun. He works too hard, and he’s too tied to his desk. Maybe you can pry him loose, Hannah.”
Hannah glanced up to see that Brandon was actually blushing. She gave his arm an exaggerated squeeze and smiled back at the receptionist. “I’m working on it.”
Brandon shook his head and began to lead Hannah to the door. “I don’t think I will want to leave you two ladies alone.”
He opened the door and they begin to exit, then he turned to the receptionist and waved. She nearly sang the words, “Bye-bye Brandon.”
Hannah and Brandon headed down the sidewalk toward the center of the campus. Hannah laughed and nodded her head back toward the building they had just left. “So she started working here the year my mother was a freshman. She seems to be quite a character.”
Brandon laughed. “She runs the department. She’s just kind enough to let me have a desk.”
They approached another ivy-covered brick building. Brandon began explaining what activities went on in it, but as the two continued walking they found themselves talking less and less of the campus, and more of how each had come to their current lots in life.
Hannah talked of her high school years, and how she thought that becoming a teacher was just a natural progression for her. She had known since junior high that she enjoyed writing, and knew even then that it would always be a part of her life. However, even while an adolescent she had read many cautionary statements regarding the prospects of supporting oneself, let alone a family, on the income from writing.
For a few years, she had toiled at the craft on evenings and weekends and during the summer breaks. When she received rejection letters, she took them as confirmation that writing was not meant to be her mainstay in life. After the re-examination of her life that resulted from the ending of her second relationship, she was struck by the thought that perhaps she was condemning herself to a self-fulfilling prophecy by denying herself an actual opportunity to succeed.
One day after the school year ended, Hannah sat down with her bank records and did some math. She knew that she was capable of living modestly. She was already living in an apartment that cost less than those inhabited by the other single teachers she worked with. She knew that she could scale back even more. She finally reached her decision: she did not want to arrive at the latter stages of her life with a secure pension, but a hollow feeling of regret in not truly pursuing her dream.
She resigned as a teacher, and then set about finding a studio apartment over a small grocery store a few blocks closer to downtown Indianapolis. The neighborhood was much less desirable, but the rent would be less than half of what she had been paying. She was also able to secure a job opening up the store in the morning and working the first three hours, a schedule that the owner had found to be undesirable to the less motivated. Across the street was a diner, and she was able to pick up a couple of hours each day waiting tables during the lunchtime rush. To top off her plan, she agreed to substitute teach at her former school, but for no more than two days per week.
It was not long before Hannah realized a sharp drop in income, but also a dramatic increase in writing time when she was freed of all the grading, progress records and attendance charts that used to devour her off – hours. In spite of the scaled-back income, Hannah was able to enroll in the online courses have brought her into contact with the university and, consequently, Brandon.
The combination of more time and the knowledge from the courses had helped her to polish her writing and had made all the difference. After seeing her first self- published books flounder from a lack of attention, she knew that her newest work contained a certain spark. Her agent saw that same spark the week the manuscript arrived on her desk.
Hannah had left the overhead apartment behind, moving into a complex in a more fashionable part of Indianapolis. That was where she was living when she began her tour, where she had left her meager belongings behind when she forfeited her deposit for breaking the contract early and moving to the cottage on the Wabash.
In telling her story, Hannah found that there was no logical alternative but to address again the mental and physical exhaustion that had hospitalized her. However, once again, Brandon simply listened as she spoke of how she had decided that her fans would simply have to accept her in a more reclusive mode. She emphasized that she just wanted to be a writer, and again referred to her father’s admonition to pursue what she wanted.