Right & Wrong with a Chance of Gray

By Gregory C. Phillips

Short stories by various authors about what's right and what's wrong and, sometimes, what's in between.

A young man gets an invitation to dinner with God and the Devil.
An old man struggles to write his life's work masterpiece.
A diverse group is challenged to work together to find freedom, but self-interest gets in the way.
A young Irish girl's love of dance is restored by her father
Arrogant colleagues mistreat an old man, only to suffer an irony of justice
Three aristocratic brothers flaunt their wealth and find life less then forgiving
A man is put on trial, and the ultimate casualty is the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue M Publishing
• Release date: Apr 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370193523

Book preview

Right & Wrong

with a Chance of Gray

Short Stories

Compiled by

Gregory C Phillips

Blue M Publishing, LLC - Chicago

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-publication data

Names: Winston, PK | Williams, Noland | Phillips, Gregory | McGuire, CC

Title: Right & Wrong with a Chance of Gray

Description: First edition | Blue M Publishing [ePub], Chicago, IL [2017] |Anthology of short stories from various authors | Summary: Various. | Audience Note: Recommended for readers fifteen and older | Language Note: Infrequent offensive language.

Identifiers: Subjects: LCSH: gf2014026218 Anthology Allegorical| BISAC: FIC003000 Anthology (various authors) | GSAFD: 00000cz a2200037n 45 0 155 Short Stories

Classification: LCC PS370-380 | DDC 813/--dc23

Various Authors.

Right & Wrong - with a Chance of Gray

Contents: List of Short Stories

ISBN 978-1-370193-52-3(ePub)

Copyright © 2017 by Blue M Publishing

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction or storage in a retrieval system intended for dissemination in whole or in part in any form, including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or scanning without the expressed, written permission of the publisher or author.

www.blueMpublishing.com

Book Cover Design by Allendorf - Vignere

Published by Blue M Publishing, LLC, Hammond, IN

Blue M Publishing

6205 Indianapolis Blvd

Suite 100

Hammond, IN 46320

Book Summary

This is an anthology of short stories from various writers who pen for Blue M Publishing. The stories are varied, and each comes with a special message. Some of the intent bestowed is overt; others are less so.

Dinner with God & Dinner with the Devil

by P K Winston

Gateway

by Noland Williams

The Reading

by Noland Williams

The Writers - & The Matryoshka Dolls

by P K Winston

The Old Bum

by Gregory C Phillips

Worth More than a Shilling

by C C McGuire

Truth on Trial

by Gregory C Phillips

Blue M hopes that you enjoy these stories as much as we did working with the authors to prepare them for you.

*****

Table of Contents

Book Summary

Dinner with God

Dinner with the Devil

Gateway

Part I

Part II

Part III

The Reading

Part I

Part II

Part III

The Writers -- & The Matryoshka Dolls

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

The Old Bum

Worth More than a Shilling

Truth on Trial

The Authors

Blue M Publishing

Dinner with God

at Stan's Silver Diner

by P K Winston

The invitation came in the mail, addressed to me, but it wasn't with fanfare or procession. Enclosed in a plain, white envelope with no return address, was a card that simply read:

Dear Paul,

I've been intending to invite you to have dinner with me for several years now, but time has just gotten away from me. I would very much like to dine with you if you are available. If so, there is no need to RSVP -- just meet me at Stan's Silver Diner at the corner of Three Kings and Zion Streets at nine o'clock this Sunday night.

Most lovingly,

God

Of course, I was surprised and skeptical, but who wouldn't be; I had never heard of anyone getting such an invitation. So, I prepared myself for the worst. I contacted the local police and advised them I had been solicited by someone I didn't know, to meet them at a restaurant I'd never been to and at an hour that made me uncomfortable. However, they only laughed at my concern, saying something to the effect that I was mad or possibly that I should check into the nearest sanitarium.

Undeterred, I told my best friend, Mary, and asked her what she thought. She too was skeptical, but said that it might be fun. I asked if she would come with me to the restaurant and just sit at another table, watching to make sure no one stabbed me while we ate. She laughed, but readily agreed.

***

Mary and I arrived at Stan's Silver Diner a few minutes early. I didn't want to be late, but more importantly, I wanted time to case the place for exits and other means of escape in case the person I was meeting was truly dangerous.

Once inside the diner, she and I looked around to see if we spotted any old man with long, white robes and a long, gray beard. Not surprisingly, there didn't seem to be anyone matching that description. However, the place was very busy with the waitresses hurrying back and forth from the kitchen to service their tables, taking orders and delivering platters and drinks -- all to satisfy their motley group of customers.

I'll just take a table over here, I said to Mary. Why don't you wait over there, across from the kitchen and be my lookout. If someone creepy sits down at my table or I motion to you that I'm in trouble, then you need to call 911 right away and get the police in here.

Mary gave me a half-baked salute and left to find a table across the restaurant with a clear view of where I was sitting.

The diner was plain and simple - unlike anyplace I would imagine God wanting to eat. The tables had plastic, red-and-white checkered tablecloths and dinnerware that looked like it had been used repeatedly since the sixteenth century. At one end of the table was a cheap, metal box with white napkins stuffed tightly inside, yellow and red dispensers for mustard and ketchup, and the indestructible salt and pepper shakers that could be dropped from a sixty-floor building and still not shatter.

I took my seat and pulled the plastic, rectangular menu from the paperclip-like stand to see what was being served. I half-expected to find only two items listed -- white bread and red, house wine. However, it was a full menu with standard fare like fried chicken, meatloaf, and Caesar salads -- all of which had probably been on the list since Moses received the Ten Commandments.

As for other entrees, there were ones I fully expected, like Angel hair pasta, lamb chops, hot-cross buns, and Stan's famous Almighty Chocolate Mousse Cake. What I didn't see, of course, were deviled eggs or devil's food cake.

But just as I had figured out that my best choice was something healthy, like the Caesar salad with ranch dressing on the side, I felt someone come up behind me. Turning around, I saw a young, black man with a short-cropped black beard.

Are you expecting someone? he asked, gesturing toward the empty seat across from me.

Uh, I ... I wasn't sure what to say. I couldn't say, 'Yes, I'm expecting God to come by and join me for a cheeseburger and fries' or 'Yes, I'm expecting our Almighty Lord and King to sit next to me and tell me about the wonders of the earth.' Neither sounded very convincing. So, instead, I said, Uh, no, I guess not. No one in particular.

Do you mind if I join you? he asked. There doesn't seem to be another table available in here tonight.

No, by all means, I answered, motioning for him to sit across from me.

The young man slid across the slick, red-plastic seats and immediately reached to pull two white, paper napkins from the dispenser. He wiped off the table area in front of him and then folded them neatly before placing them to the side. He seemed well mannered and cordial enough, I thought.

I glanced quickly across the restaurant at Mary who raised her eyebrows at me and shrugged, picking up her water glass as if wondering why I had looked at her.

Are you from around here? asked the young man.

Uh, yeah. I live in the area, I said, watching the man intently.

He picked up the same menu as I had retrieved moments earlier and looked it over. What's good? he asked.

I really don't know, I admitted. I haven't eaten here before.

Neither have I, said the man, still contemplating the list. But that cheeseburger does look pretty good.

The waitress came over to the table and looked at me. She was middle-aged, with auburn hair touching her shoulders, except for one strand that hung down in front, covering her left eye. Although it annoyed me, it didn't seem to bother her, for she made no motion to flip it aside.

What are ya havin'? she asked, chewing her gum. She was most likely a veteran of the restaurant - someone who had worked there for years and seen pretty much everything and everyone.

We'll have two cheeseburgers, I guess, I said, looking over at my new acquaintance.

Anything to drink?

I looked at the young man, and he shook his head. Water is good with me, he said.

Just the waters, then, but you can bring me a slice of lemon in mine, I answered her before she hurried away to deliver the small order sheet to the cook in the back kitchen.

What's your name? I asked the young man, folding my hands on the table.

I'm Jamal, he said, extending his hand. And you?

I'm Paul, I answered, taking his palm and shaking it.

Good name, he said. I've got a cousin named Paul.

It was my turn to shake my head. But I'm sorry, I answered, I don't know anyone named Jamal.

The man smiled, his white teeth gleaming. You do now, he replied.

So, Paul, are you just out tonight on your own? Do you have a wife and kids or what?

I ... again, I wasn't sure how to answer, ... I just saw the sign and came in. I don't live far from here, but I've never been in here before. I felt bad about lying, but thought better about spinning a more elaborate story. So, what brings you in here tonight? I asked.

The young man smiled again. There was a way about him that attracted me to his manners and means. He was earnest and approachable. I am supposed to meet someone here, he said.

Oh, I answered, somewhat surprised. They haven't arrived yet, I guess.

Oh, yes, they're here, he said.

I looked at him puzzled. Where? I answered, looking around as if I would be able to tell who it was.

Right in front of me, he said, still smiling.

Me?

Yes, you, said Jamal.

I think you're mistaken, I said. I'm actually supposed to meet someone too, but I don't believe it's you.

Why do you believe that? he asked.

Because ... well ... I began, trying to explain myself.

What is the name of the person you are supposed to meet? he asked, looking at me with his intense brown eyes.

I can't tell you that, I answered.

You can't or won't?

I ... you wouldn't believe me if I told you, I said.

Try me, he retorted.

I laughed. This is a trick, right? Am I on camera here or something? I glanced around the restaurant expecting the camera crews to come out with the bright lights and sono-booms. We're being filmed for a comedy show, right?

No, I don't think so, said Jamal.

When no one came out from behind a curtain or the back room, I felt uneasy and looked intently at my dinner companion. There was a moment of awkward pause while I sized him up.

You can't be who I was supposed to meet tonight, I said.

Why not? he asked.

Frustrated with the back and forth, I finally blurted out in a soft, muffled voice, Because you're not God.

The man sat back in his chair as if dumbfounded by what I had said. He laughed and put his hand over his mouth. Are you serious? he asked. You think you're supposed to meet God here tonight? Really?

I felt completely stupid, wanting to hide beneath the table or run out the front door and never be seen or heard from again.

I'm sorry, I said, beginning to stand up. That sounded really stupid. Of course, I'm not waiting for God. I don't know why I said that. I guess it's because I didn't go to church this morning and I feel really guilty about it. That's it, I just feel really guilty about not going to church.

There, I had finally made a statement that made some sense. Anybody in their right mind would understand that, and would settle into thinking that I was normal after all -- that I didn't need to be carted off by men in white suits to a place where the loonies would live in harmony the rest of their lives.

The young man laughed. Oh, all right. I understand you now. No worries, he said, taking another sip of water. Well, I'm not sure I can help you with missing church this morning, but I myself am fairly religious too. I like to think that I stick close to the straight and narrow, if you know what I mean.

What religion are you? I asked.

The man sighed. Well, based on my background and where I come from, I'm a bit of this and that. It's really hard to tell.

Are you Muslim? I asked pointedly.

Yes.

I see, I said, wondering whether I should signal Mary to watch my table closely for any signs of strife or panic.

But I could also say I've got Jewish, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist and other bloodlines in me too. I'm of many different families - a mixed ancestry, I suppose.

So, what do you think about what's happening in the world today? The terrorism, the religious fanaticism? It seems so out of control, doesn't it? I asked.

He nodded. I agree with you. I think any time someone kills someone else, for any reason, it's a bad thing. A lot of times people say it's in the name of this or that religion - but it's not the kernel of what most religions are about. Sure, the Old Testament is full of God smiting this group or that group because they were nonbelievers, and the Quran is full of directives to kill anyone who doesn't believe, but this isn't what religion is about -- at least not as far as I'm concerned.

I agree, I said. I think some of these groups are twisting their religions into something they're not - or at least shouldn't be. Sure history is replete with examples of where religion was bastardized to fit the purpose of the party inflicting their power over someone else. But that seems wrong. If you go back to the basic Ten Commandments you can see that it's wrong.

True, but not all religions recognize those commandments, said Jamal.

But isn't there a basic level of human dignity that requires that we treat each other well -- with respect and courtesy?

That has rarely been the case throughout human history, said Jamal. The history books are filled with stories about ruthless dictators killing innocent people, murdering thousands for their own pleasure or power, massacring entire societies in the name of their god or cause. Millions have died over the millennia for the benefit of a few.

I sat back in my chair, quite impressed with this young man's command of history and understanding. I ... I don't know what to say, I said.

How do you mean? he asked.

Well, you know so much about things. Where did you go to college? I asked.

Jamal smiled. St. Johns, he answered, although I've studied at several other universities as well. I was in the seminary for a while.

In the seminary? No wonder you understand so much. Why did you drop out?

Circumstances, he said. My life is complicated.

Tell me about it, I asked.

Jamal grinned. I'd rather hear about you. What's your story? he asked.

I composed my thoughts and talked to him about what was going on in my life. It wasn't complicated - not like it seemed to be with him. I was young, unmarried, working on my career, not attending church as I should -- just trying to find my way.

But you have many friends, I imagine, he said.

Yes, I have quite a few friends. In fact, there is one here with me tonight, I said without thinking.

Is she over there? Jamal asked, moving his eyes, but nothing else.

I saw where he was looking and answered, Yes. She's over there.

She's very pretty. Why isn't she sitting with you? he asked.

I wasn't sure about the person I thought might be sitting with me tonight. But as it turned out, I was wrong. I didn't need her after all.

The young man smiled. I'm not sure I am supposed to understand that, but I take you at your word, Paul. So, what about your family? Are your parents well?

Why yes, thank you. My father is in his fifties - he's still working. He's worked hard all his life and probably won't stop until the end. My mother is a pediatrician and loves what she does. I can't see her stopping any time soon either.

A pediatrician? said Jamal. I like kids. I always have. They just have an innocence to them that is so special, don't you think?

Yeah, that's true. Sometimes they can be pests, but all in all, they're fun to be around.

Do you plan on having a family? he asked.

I chuckled. I haven't thought that far down the road, yet. I'm still working on finding the right woman, first.

Jamal looked across the restaurant where Mary was sitting. Your friend seems very nice to me. She came all the way here for you, to support you and be with you. That says a lot.

It occurred to me that he was right. I had known Mary for so long and we had been friends for so long, that I hadn't really thought about her like that before. This time I glanced over to her. She wasn't paying any attention to us; rather, she was absorbed in her i-Phone, smiling now and again when something caught her fancy. There was a special quality about her that I had always known. Perhaps that's why we had remained friends for so long.

You're right, I answered Jamal. She is quite special.

Jamal looked at his watch. It's getting late, he said.

I too looked at mine; the time had flown by. It was already nine o'clock and I had an important meeting to go to first thing in the morning. I suppose I should go too, I said.

The bill came, and I reached for it. I'll pick this up, I said, smiling at Jamal.

You don't have to, he answered, reaching for his wallet.

No, I insist, I answered.

Paying the bill, I took the napkin off my lap and placed it on the table.

Well, I best be going, Jamal said, getting up and extending his arm.

I shook his hand, saying It was a pleasure meeting you. Here's my card. Perhaps you can contact me, and we can have dinner together again sometime.

That would be grand, said Jamal. Thank you for dinner. You are very gracious and good-hearted. Good night and God bless.

I watched as he left the diner, going out through the twin, glass doors and disappearing around the corner.

Then, I reflected on the things he had said. And what was with that God bless business? I thought. Perhaps he had just said that because I had made the quip about meeting God there. I had to laugh.

***

I walked to the front door of the restaurant, and noticed that Mary was still there waiting for me. She rose from her table, having spent most of her time on her I-Phone going through messages or perhaps watching a movie. When she caught up with me outside, she said, I wondered when you were going to leave. What was that all about? Are you all right?

I looked at her perplexed. What do you mean? I exclaimed.

I mean, are you all right? she asked again.

Of course, I'm all right. I've never felt better, I said with a smile on my face.

But ... she stuttered.

But what?

What were you doing all night?

I was talking with Jamal. What do you think I was doing? I said, as if I had just been on a first date with someone I'd met on an online dating service.

You were talking, but, well ... I don't quite understand, she said.

I was talking with Jamal. He sat right across from me. We had a very fascinating conversation about a whole host of things. He is very concerned about what's going on in the world, just like I am, you see. He's very well educated. A smart guy.

We need to get you to the hospital, said Mary, putting the back of her hand against my forehead.

I shrugged her off. I'm fine, I answered. I've been telling you I'm fine all night. Why don't you believe me?

Because there was no one at the table with you. You were alone, she told me.

I stared at her in disbelief. No, there was someone there. Jamal was there, I said, shaking my head.

Being the religious person she was, Mary answered me, Perhaps He was there with you, but there was no physical form sitting across from you all night.

I don't believe you, I answered her.

I can show you, she said.

Mary reached for her phone and replayed part of the evening she had recorded. Indeed, there I was sitting at my table - alone. My lips were moving, and I was animated as if I were speaking to someone, but there was no one there. I hadn't noticed, but the people seated around me were staring at me. It was indeed odd, watching it from the lens of her phone.

But Jamal was there, Mary. He was.

Mary smiled, her face glowing. I know, she said. I don't know about Jamal, but I know He was there. I felt Him, as if He had been there all night too.*****

Dinner with the Devil

at Le Poison de Mar

by P K Winston

It had been several months since my encounter with Jamal at Stan's Silver Diner. That experience shook me and made me wonder about life and the world in which I lived.

My friend Mary had interpreted that night very differently than had I, believing that I had met no one for dinner, but that I had truly been touched by the hand of God that night. She was devoutly religious, and I believed her judgment was being clouded by her own internal beliefs. Yet, after my dinner with Jamal, I did see her in a different light, and we began seeing each other more frequently and more seriously.

But it was late one afternoon when I received another envelope. This one was fancy, embossed with gold print on thick cardstock. On the front was my name written in calligraphy of the highest caliber and inside was another card which read:

Dear Paul,

You are cordially invited to join me and my associates at Le Poisson de Mar for dinner and cocktails. We wish to become better acquainted with you and your work. We will assume you will attend, so there is no need to RSVP. Dinner will be served at eight o'clock this Friday evening.

We look forward to seeing you.

Regards,

The Devil

I laughed when I received this missive. The Devil Really? How gullible does someone think I am, anyway? I thought. Having been through the same routine with God only to be stood up by Him, I was less than excited about the possibility of going to dinner with the Devil. I mean, seriously, who would want to go to dinner with a guy like that?

So, I threw the invitation in my drawer and forgot about it.

However, it was precisely at three in the morning, Saturday morning, that I received a text on my phone.

Paul, really disappointed you didn't come to dinner with me. I'm sure you were just inadvertently detained. I trust that won't happen again. We will try once more this coming Friday - same time and place. The Devil.

I think I rolled over and looked at my phone at that hour, but I can't be sure. The only thing I recall was seeing the message when I awoke in the morning. Startled at first, I again thought it was some prank and deleted the text.

I told Mary about it casually, and she asked whether I was planning to go this time. When I told her No she questioned whether that was wise.

I mean, what if it really is the Devil? she asked me, putting her hand on mine. I could tell she was really concerned, which was nice but I felt unnecessary.

It's not, I said. It's just a joke. Just like the God dinner was a joke.

Was it? she asked, her demeanor changing. I don't think so.

I know, I answered. You think that young, black man I described to you was God. How in the hell could that have been God?

Watch your language, she replied, believing that using God and Hell in the same sentence suddenly made it doubly bad.

Okay, I said. I just don't think it could have been God.

Why is that? Are you so sure that God is some old white guy with a long beard and robes?

Well, yeah, I answered. He's got to be old. He's been around a long, long time. So, I figure He's got to have a long beard and the whole elderly bit going on. Makes sense to me.

Why couldn't God be a woman? she asked.

A woman? Are you serious? Have you read Genesis lately? If I recall, it says something about God creating Adam first in His likeness, right? If that's the case, then God is definitely a man. Anyway, Eve was made later. A woman-god wouldn't have made her second, after a man; He would have made her first - don't you think?

Mary rolled her eyes. She knew better than to argue with me. She said it wasn't because I was always right, as I told her, but that she couldn't argue with idiocy.

Well, I'm still not going to the dinner with the Devil, I said.

What if I go with you and sit at the table this time, she said. I'll even hold your hand if you need that. She smiled at me, tauntingly.

I don't need you to hold my hand, I said out of a machoism that had gotten me into trouble before. I can do it on my own.

Then you'll go?

Yeah, I'll go, I said. And you can come too, but you will sit across the room like you did when I met that young man at Stan's.

Okay, then. I'll meet you at the fancy restaurant at eight o'clock, just like we did for God. Is that a deal? she asked.

I reached to shake her hand, but instead, she kissed me on the cheek.

I guess that's a deal, I answered.

***

Just as I hadn't dressed up to meet with God, so too I didn't wear my Sunday best to meet with the Devil. I didn't think he would appreciate that gesture anyway. So, when I arrived, I found the parking lot packed with expensive cars awaiting the valet outside. Rather than wait, I parked my own five-year-old sedan myself, but could only find slots far out that weren't already reserved for the valet crowd. It didn't bother me too much, as I figured I could use the walk anyway.

Once at the door of the restaurant, the maître d' looked at me with a suspicious eye. May I help you? he asked with an air of superiority.

He was dressed like a penguin, with the classic black tux, silk lapels, and black bow tie. His hair was heavily jelled, and his eyebrows tweezed to the point of two fine-stroked arches.

I am meeting someone, I answered, looking around for a man dressed in a red cape, wearing horns, and wagging his long, forked tail in the space just below his seat.

What is the name of your party, monsieur? he asked, keeping his finger on the restaurant's reservation list.

I fumbled for words just as I had at Stan's Diner, kicking myself for not having thought about it before going inside. Quickly, I tried to think of something to say.

The reservation is listed under Smith, I said, weakly. It was a pathetic answer, and I realized immediately that it was about the most stupid thing I could have said.

Smith? asked the maître d', unconvinced. Do you have a first name?

I thought for an instant of going for John or Bill, but then thought better of it.

A first name, sir? he asked again.

Ah, you must be Paul, said a woman's voice, coming up from behind the tuxedoed impediment. It's good that you were finally able to make it. Please come this way and join us.

Without thinking twice, I quickly followed the woman who had summoned me away from my discomfort. However, little did I realize that things would only get more uncomfortable as the night wore on.

Certainly, I thought, the Devil was not a woman, was he?

But as I walked behind her, I instantly felt the attraction to her sensuous form. Her black dress clung tightly to her hourglass figure, showing every voluptuous curve and bend. Her straight black and lustrous hair, fell to her waist, covering many of the sequins that glistened from light coming from the overhead chandeliers above. The dress itself hung like a silken drapery, falling effortlessly to the floor, and she wore black velvet gloves that rose elegantly to her elbows.

As in a trance, I followed her, watching every step she took as if I'd been drugged by the intoxicating air through which she walked. Finally, we reached a darkened door which, at first, I thought was the entrance to the wine cellar. However, after she pushed it open, I saw that it led to a backroom.

It was a small room and held only one booth with black, draperies hung from either side. They were trimmed in gold and had the same colored tassels lining the edge as trim. Sitting in the booth, was an older gentleman, with gray hair, dark eyes, and a perfectly-manicured beard. He wore a dark suit with narrow lapels, a heavily starched white shirt, a plain red, silk tie, and cuff links that, from a distance, I couldn't discern. His face was long, and his chin rather pointed. With thick eyebrows and deep-set eyes, there was a sinister feeling about him, which made me laugh inside.

Sure, I thought, perhaps I should look around for his pitchfork too?

Harnessed by one of his outstretched arms was another woman sitting beside him. When the woman who led me to the table took her seat on the other side of the man, I instantly saw that they were identical twins. Beautiful and exotic, the two women were young, but not childish. I figured they were probably in their late twenties or early thirties, and the man most likely in his early-to-mid sixties.

Glad you could come, said the man with a smile and a welcoming gesture. Please, please join us.

With apprehension, I pulled up a chair.

***

May I get you a cocktail? asked the elder man.

Yes, that would be great, I answered. I'll have a draft beer.

Very good, said the man, calling the waiter over to the table.

Oddly, the first thing I scrutinized were the man's cuff links, I tried to make-out their nature and style. They were made of silver, and I was surprised to see that they were actually small, six-sided, die with gold dots on them. Had they been red die with white dots, they could easily have been thrown at any craps table at one of the large casinos nearby.

These are my beautiful, fallen angels who have joined me here tonight to talk with you, said the older man, pulling the women closer to him and kissing each on the lips. Azazel and Grigora accompany me to dinners like this.

Dinners like this? I asked.

Yes, we often invite people to dine with us, said the man.

I see, I answered, as my drink was delivered to me. And you're not drinking anything? I asked, noticing that none of my companions had glasses.

They smiled. "Not tonight. Another time,