Danny Boy
Below is the first chapter of my novel, Danny Boy. I would appreciate any comments you might want to make.
DANNY BOY
By Bob Liter
CHAPTER ONE
Dan heard the noise again. Someone had opened a door and closed it quietly. He gently removed Allie’s arm from across his chest. She sighed and turned away. He eased out of bed and crept to the morning light filtering through the flimsy curtains of the second-floor window.
He edged the curtain aside. The house’s shadow embraced the sloping front lawn and flower beds. Not a cloud in the sky beyond. Soon the sun would climb from behind the house and create another steaming July day.
Two men stood beside a van parked near the garage, their shadows extending down the drive. Any escape is his car was blocked. Somehow, even in Duncan, a tiny spot near the center of the Illinois map, they had found him. Allie touched his shoulder. He jumped and pushed her away from the window.
She slid her arms under his, placed her hands on his chest and pressed warm, bare breasts into his back.
"Sorry I woke you," Dan said. "They’re here. There’ll be more, no doubt. Here comes another van."
Allie kissed his shoulder and shuddered. "Mother’s up. We better get dressed and down stairs before they start pounding on the door."
She stayed close as he turned in her arms, leaned his torso into hers, and pushed a lock of brown-sugar hair from her forehead.
She said, "Danny Boy, we can’t do this now?"
"I know. Don’t call me Danny Boy."
In the kitchen Elizabeth Ainsworth glared at her daughter.
"Those people out there," she said. "It’s your fault. Get those horrid creatures out of my yard. They’ll be in the house next."
She leaned forward in her wheelchair and patted her hair.
"You must have been up awhile," Allie said. "Where’s your house coat and curlers? You hoping to get your picture taken?"
Mrs. Ainsworth opened her mouth. Pounding on the front door silenced her.
"Stay here," Dan said. "I’ll talk to them."
He crossed the living room and opened the door. Reporters, photographers and cameramen confronted him. Vans and cars lined the driveway. Others were parked on the street. They had dragged lawn chairs and equipment across the yard up to the house. Others sat on portable seats spiked into the lush grass. They were in various stages of summer undress. It was Duncan’s first media blitz.
A tall, lean-faced man with fierce eyes said, "Mister Jones, we want to interview you and the woman."
"I’ll be out there after I’ve had my breakfast. Now excuse me."
He slammed the door.
Allie looked out the front window and ducked as a woman with a camcorder on her shoulder approached.
"They look like vultures fighting over a corpse in a television documentary," Allie said. "The whole thing is repugnant."
"I suppose that’s your word for today," Dan said.
"Yes, it is. Repugnant, that which excites distaste or aversion."
"How did you find time to look that up?"
"I looked it up last night. I look up my word for the next day every night."
Dan stood behind her. He wondered if she memorized the word and its meaning while they made love. Did it matter now? How had they found him? He imagined the media, in the early morning hours, streaming south from Chicago and north from Springfield on Interstate 55. They would have turned west on the county road and crossed old Route 66.
"The police might run them off the property, but it won’t do any good until we let them get their pictures," he said.
Mrs. Ainsworth wheeled her chair to face him and said, "The police?" What police? Chief Buford, his two-man staff? Maybe Eleanor, the dispatcher?"
He knelt in front of her wheelchair. "They’ll keep coming back, sneaking around. The best way is to let them take their pictures, refuse to answer their questions and hope they’ll go away."
"Don’t tell us what to do, Danny Boy. This is your fault, too. As soon as those, those persons leave I want you to leave."
Allie stood beside the window and said, "There’s trucks, reporters and cameramen from all the Chicago stations. And a Chicago Tribune van. Even a van from the Springfield paper where I worked. God, what will they think of me now?"
Mrs. Ainsworth wheeled closer to the front window and stared out. A camera flash smacked into her eyes. She backed away and said, "If it will get them to leave us alone, do it."
"Allie, you’ll have to come out, too, when I signal," Dan said.
He stood near the kitchen door a few seconds, threw back his shoulders and stepped out into the backyard. Sunlight blinded him for an instant. A flock of squawking reporters caught up with him half way to the garage. He plowed on. Shouts ripped the air.
"Who took the nude photos? Does this have anything to do with the Chicago scandal?"
He retrieved a step ladder from the garage, pushed it against the pressing reporters, placed it on the driveway and climbed up two steps. Bodies and photographic equipment bumped against the ladder, threatening to knock it over. He gripped the top and held up his other hand.
"Where’s the woman? Do the nude photos of you and this Ainsworth woman have anything to do with the scandal in Chicago?"
Questions were repeated, and new ones were shouted. He kept his hand raised and his mouth shut. Shouts gradually turned to murmurs.
"As most of you probably know, I’ve been through this before. I will not be intimidated. We are not going to answer questions. None. Zero. You have half an hour to shoot your pictures. Back up enough so that Allison Ainsworth can come out and then take your pictures. Remember, no questions or we go back in the house and call the police."
Reporters and cameramen grudgingly backed off an inch at a time. Allie came out the back door at Dan’s beckoning and hurried to the ladder. She climbed up one step and clung to Dan. He placed a hand on her shoulder and noted she had combed her unruly hair. Her face was tense, flushed. Her eyes glowed with fear and fascination as she scanned the faces in front of them. Flash bulb and camcorder lights bounced from them like blows. The crowd inched forward as those in back pushed.
Dan shouted, "Those of you in front will have to move out so the others can get their shots."
He squeezed Allie’s hand and whispered, "It’ll soon be over. Look beyond them at the sky, think about what a nice day it is. It’s easier not to answer if you don’t look at ‘em."
Later he held up his arm and pointed to his wristwatch.
"Time’s up," he shouted. "Now get off the property. You’ve already torn up the yard and the flower beds. Five minutes and I call police."
Dan tried not to hear, but different voices penetrated. One, a woman’s, shouted shrilly as the crowd grudgingly receded toward the street.
"Who took the photos? Did they pay you for posing nude? Mister Jones, Mister Jones! Why did you leave Chicago and come to this little town? To escape that scandal?"
"This berg is his home town," a male voice shouted.
In the house, once the crowd had vacated the yard and was gathered on the street among the vehicles, Dan called police.
"There’s a mob blocking traffic on Wentworth Avenue," Dan told the dispatcher, Mrs. Buford, the police chief’s wife.
"Where?"
"Wentworth is a block long. Where do you think?"
"In front of the Ainsworth house, right? I’ll send Elmer."
Dan replaced the phone in its kitchen-wall cradle and sagged into a chair. He wiped sweat from his brow and sipped cold coffee.
"She’s sending Elmer Davis out. Won’t he be important for a few days, telling the whole town how he handled the media crowd at the Ainsworth house."
Through the kitchen window the blue sky remained serene. He and Allie had put Duncan on the map temporarily. In a few days the furor over the story and published photos of him and Allie nude, swimming and loving on the beach, would be replaced by whatever was new. But not in Duncan. In Duncan it would live on as another chapter in the story of Danny Boy Jones’ humiliation.
The entire novel is available at: http//renebooks.com
DANNY BOY
By Bob Liter
CHAPTER ONE
Dan heard the noise again. Someone had opened a door and closed it quietly. He gently removed Allie’s arm from across his chest. She sighed and turned away. He eased out of bed and crept to the morning light filtering through the flimsy curtains of the second-floor window.
He edged the curtain aside. The house’s shadow embraced the sloping front lawn and flower beds. Not a cloud in the sky beyond. Soon the sun would climb from behind the house and create another steaming July day.
Two men stood beside a van parked near the garage, their shadows extending down the drive. Any escape is his car was blocked. Somehow, even in Duncan, a tiny spot near the center of the Illinois map, they had found him. Allie touched his shoulder. He jumped and pushed her away from the window.
She slid her arms under his, placed her hands on his chest and pressed warm, bare breasts into his back.
"Sorry I woke you," Dan said. "They’re here. There’ll be more, no doubt. Here comes another van."
Allie kissed his shoulder and shuddered. "Mother’s up. We better get dressed and down stairs before they start pounding on the door."
She stayed close as he turned in her arms, leaned his torso into hers, and pushed a lock of brown-sugar hair from her forehead.
She said, "Danny Boy, we can’t do this now?"
"I know. Don’t call me Danny Boy."
In the kitchen Elizabeth Ainsworth glared at her daughter.
"Those people out there," she said. "It’s your fault. Get those horrid creatures out of my yard. They’ll be in the house next."
She leaned forward in her wheelchair and patted her hair.
"You must have been up awhile," Allie said. "Where’s your house coat and curlers? You hoping to get your picture taken?"
Mrs. Ainsworth opened her mouth. Pounding on the front door silenced her.
"Stay here," Dan said. "I’ll talk to them."
He crossed the living room and opened the door. Reporters, photographers and cameramen confronted him. Vans and cars lined the driveway. Others were parked on the street. They had dragged lawn chairs and equipment across the yard up to the house. Others sat on portable seats spiked into the lush grass. They were in various stages of summer undress. It was Duncan’s first media blitz.
A tall, lean-faced man with fierce eyes said, "Mister Jones, we want to interview you and the woman."
"I’ll be out there after I’ve had my breakfast. Now excuse me."
He slammed the door.
Allie looked out the front window and ducked as a woman with a camcorder on her shoulder approached.
"They look like vultures fighting over a corpse in a television documentary," Allie said. "The whole thing is repugnant."
"I suppose that’s your word for today," Dan said.
"Yes, it is. Repugnant, that which excites distaste or aversion."
"How did you find time to look that up?"
"I looked it up last night. I look up my word for the next day every night."
Dan stood behind her. He wondered if she memorized the word and its meaning while they made love. Did it matter now? How had they found him? He imagined the media, in the early morning hours, streaming south from Chicago and north from Springfield on Interstate 55. They would have turned west on the county road and crossed old Route 66.
"The police might run them off the property, but it won’t do any good until we let them get their pictures," he said.
Mrs. Ainsworth wheeled her chair to face him and said, "The police?" What police? Chief Buford, his two-man staff? Maybe Eleanor, the dispatcher?"
He knelt in front of her wheelchair. "They’ll keep coming back, sneaking around. The best way is to let them take their pictures, refuse to answer their questions and hope they’ll go away."
"Don’t tell us what to do, Danny Boy. This is your fault, too. As soon as those, those persons leave I want you to leave."
Allie stood beside the window and said, "There’s trucks, reporters and cameramen from all the Chicago stations. And a Chicago Tribune van. Even a van from the Springfield paper where I worked. God, what will they think of me now?"
Mrs. Ainsworth wheeled closer to the front window and stared out. A camera flash smacked into her eyes. She backed away and said, "If it will get them to leave us alone, do it."
"Allie, you’ll have to come out, too, when I signal," Dan said.
He stood near the kitchen door a few seconds, threw back his shoulders and stepped out into the backyard. Sunlight blinded him for an instant. A flock of squawking reporters caught up with him half way to the garage. He plowed on. Shouts ripped the air.
"Who took the nude photos? Does this have anything to do with the Chicago scandal?"
He retrieved a step ladder from the garage, pushed it against the pressing reporters, placed it on the driveway and climbed up two steps. Bodies and photographic equipment bumped against the ladder, threatening to knock it over. He gripped the top and held up his other hand.
"Where’s the woman? Do the nude photos of you and this Ainsworth woman have anything to do with the scandal in Chicago?"
Questions were repeated, and new ones were shouted. He kept his hand raised and his mouth shut. Shouts gradually turned to murmurs.
"As most of you probably know, I’ve been through this before. I will not be intimidated. We are not going to answer questions. None. Zero. You have half an hour to shoot your pictures. Back up enough so that Allison Ainsworth can come out and then take your pictures. Remember, no questions or we go back in the house and call the police."
Reporters and cameramen grudgingly backed off an inch at a time. Allie came out the back door at Dan’s beckoning and hurried to the ladder. She climbed up one step and clung to Dan. He placed a hand on her shoulder and noted she had combed her unruly hair. Her face was tense, flushed. Her eyes glowed with fear and fascination as she scanned the faces in front of them. Flash bulb and camcorder lights bounced from them like blows. The crowd inched forward as those in back pushed.
Dan shouted, "Those of you in front will have to move out so the others can get their shots."
He squeezed Allie’s hand and whispered, "It’ll soon be over. Look beyond them at the sky, think about what a nice day it is. It’s easier not to answer if you don’t look at ‘em."
Later he held up his arm and pointed to his wristwatch.
"Time’s up," he shouted. "Now get off the property. You’ve already torn up the yard and the flower beds. Five minutes and I call police."
Dan tried not to hear, but different voices penetrated. One, a woman’s, shouted shrilly as the crowd grudgingly receded toward the street.
"Who took the photos? Did they pay you for posing nude? Mister Jones, Mister Jones! Why did you leave Chicago and come to this little town? To escape that scandal?"
"This berg is his home town," a male voice shouted.
In the house, once the crowd had vacated the yard and was gathered on the street among the vehicles, Dan called police.
"There’s a mob blocking traffic on Wentworth Avenue," Dan told the dispatcher, Mrs. Buford, the police chief’s wife.
"Where?"
"Wentworth is a block long. Where do you think?"
"In front of the Ainsworth house, right? I’ll send Elmer."
Dan replaced the phone in its kitchen-wall cradle and sagged into a chair. He wiped sweat from his brow and sipped cold coffee.
"She’s sending Elmer Davis out. Won’t he be important for a few days, telling the whole town how he handled the media crowd at the Ainsworth house."
Through the kitchen window the blue sky remained serene. He and Allie had put Duncan on the map temporarily. In a few days the furor over the story and published photos of him and Allie nude, swimming and loving on the beach, would be replaced by whatever was new. But not in Duncan. In Duncan it would live on as another chapter in the story of Danny Boy Jones’ humiliation.
The entire novel is available at: http//renebooks.com
posted by Bob Liter at 7:19 AM
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