Deep State of Mind: Tonight at Eleven

By R D Power

Elizabeth was having a bad life. Convinced she was homely and useless, she’d resigned herself to a forlorn life . . . until a wonderful man came along who saw her beauty inside an out. At first, she had no idea what Michael saw in her, but, as their relationship matured, she learned to see herself through his eyes, then her native talent came to the fore, and she worked hard to achieve success beyond her wildest dreams as a television news reporter.
But the price of her incredible success was steep. She’d had to jettison the values and qualities he’d valued most in her. Will the ultimate cost be the loss of the man she loves?
Serene, humorous, tense, and gripping by turns, Deep State of Mind chronicles their unfolding relationship while society unravels around them and the news media keeps the people in the dark.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R D Power
• Release date: Mar 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370083800

R D Power

ROBERT POWER was born in Canada, but raised and educated in the United States. He stayed in university so long, Berkeley eventually gave him a PhD to get rid of him. Working as a consultant from home, he drove his wife crazy until he took up writing fiction in his too-ample spare time. Neither he nor his wife know what they were thinking when they decided to have four children, but they’re happy they do--most days. They live in southern Ontario.

Book preview

Deep State of Mind

Tonight at Eleven

By R.D. Power

Also by R.D. Power

2020

Fate's Chances

Fed Up

For Power or Love

For Power or Love 2

Forbidden

Second Chances

Self-Sabotage

Taylor Made Owens

Thank Sophia for Sam

Copyright © 2018 by R.D. Power

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Written 2017-18

First published in electronic format in 2018

First published in soft cover format in 2018

ISBN: 978-1370083800 (ebook)

ISBN: 978-1986073912 (print)

Edited by Nikki Rae

Cover designed by Vivid Covers

Formatted by Polgarus Studio

The author is not a representative of nor endorsed by any of the trademarks used or discussed in this book, which is a work of fiction and not meant to imply or represent reality.

A power has risen up in the government greater than the people themselves, consisting of many, and various, and powerful interests, combined into one mass, and held together by the cohesive power of the vast surplus in the banks.

John C. Calhoun, 7th Vice President of the USA, 1836

There is no such thing, at this date of the world's history, in America, as an independent press. . . The business of the journalists is to destroy the truth, to lie outright, to pervert, to vilify, to fawn at the feet of mammon, and to sell his country and his race for his daily bread. You know it and I know it, and what folly is this toasting an independent press? . . . Our talents, our possibilities and our lives are all the property of other men. We are intellectual prostitutes.

John Swinton, ~ 1880

The real menace of our Republic is the invisible government, which like a giant octopus sprawls its slimy legs over our cities, states and nation … The little coterie of powerful international bankers virtually run the United States government for their own selfish purposes. They practically control both parties … [and] control the majority of the newspapers and magazines in this country. They use the columns of these papers to club into submission or drive out of office public officials who refuse to do the bidding of the powerful corrupt cliques which compose the invisible government.

John F. Hylan, Mayor of New York City from 1918-1925

Any dictator would admire the uniformity and obedience of the U.S. media.

Noam Chomsky, 1985

Dedicated to:

William Binney, Thomas Drake, Daniel Ellsberg, Kevin Shipp,

Julian Assange, Tom Fitton, and James O’Keefe

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

Hamilton, Ontario, September 2008

Michael hadn’t noticed her before. Every Tuesday afternoon he went to the movies because it was half price, and the crowd was sparse. She worked at the cinema, selling tickets or in the concession stand. He’d seen her every week, but he hadn’t noticed her till now.

At first glance, she wasn’t much to look at, which is probably why it’d taken him so long to notice her. She wore was what he figured were the most unsightly glasses ever crafted. Thick, black frames enclosed two narrow rectangles of glass that turned a young woman into a spinster. What evil spell possessed her to buy those things? he wondered. One might think it would be impossible to divert attention from those glasses, but her teeth were equal to the challenge. The front ones jutted out so much that Michael imagined male beavers writing sonnets to her. She did her best to cover them with her top lip but didn’t have enough lip to manage the task. With that overbite, she could always get a job chewing down trees, he’d mused when he first saw her. A few ugly pimples on her chin fit right in. These facial features he’d taken in in that first glance, and he’d never bothered to linger longer.

This day, however, she had liberated her eyes for a moment to clean her glasses. He happened to be lined up for popcorn at the time and zeroed in on the most fabulous eyes he’d ever beheld. Large ovals of deep blue-green elicited an involuntary gawp and gasp from the young man. He averted his eyes and glanced around to see if anyone had heard the gasp. If they had, no one let on.

He returned his attention to the lady, to admire her eyes once again and to explore the rest of her face. But for an overly salient mouth courtesy of her front teeth, she had a perfect profile, and, from the front, symmetrical features, high cheeks, Greek nose, and plump, pink lips. Her dark brown hair was long and lustrous, but marred with a seemingly random braid here and there and uneven bangs that fell to her eyebrows.

She slipped her spectacles back on. Shaking his head, he thought, Hiding those eyes is a crime against nature! As he reached the front of the line, Michael decided to ask the lady out. Surely this girl doesn’t have a boyfriend, he thought. At first glance she’s downright ugly. He smiled at her, but she bashfully lowered her eyes. He elected to wait till he was leaving the theatre.

Near the end of the tedious movie, Michael ambled out to buy a chocolate bar he didn’t want. He approached the concession without attracting the attention of the three women working that afternoon. They were conversing about going to a local pub after work. The bleached blonde said to the brunette with lovely eyes, Come on. Maybe some guy will be so drunk he’ll even settle for you for the night.

No man will ever be that desperate, said the frizzy redhead.

Just smile at the boys and you’ll have your pick, returned the blonde.

The two laughed while the brunette smiled uncomfortably. Her front teeth jutted out over her bottom lip for a moment before she moved her hand to cover her mouth. She was obviously embarrassed about them.

They’ll be fighting each other for you, said the redhead.

The brunette noticed Michael listening and flushed in embarrassment. She said, What can I get you?

Michael replied, Can I have a Coffee Crisp and . . . your name?

My name?

Yes.

What for?

I’m taking a census. She frowned, so he made himself clear. I want to ask you out.

Her co-workers laughed, and the brunette glowered at him while replying, That’s not funny.

Wasn’t meant to be funny. Please tell me your name.

Uh, Elizabeth.

Do you go by that or Liz or Eliza or Beth or Lizzie or . . . Bucky?

Her co-workers hooted. Elizabeth blushed once more and turned around.

Michael had said it with a warm smile so she wouldn’t take it seriously, but she clearly had. Now kicking himself for his gaffe, he said, I was only joking. I didn’t mean to upset you.

Please go away, said Elizabeth.

Come over here so we can talk, okay? Please?

Pointing to the exit, she yelled, Leave now or I’ll call my boss over here to get you kicked out.

Michael exited, but decided to wait for her outside, if only to apologize again.

#

Elizabeth left the theatre and zipped up her jacket. There was a chill in the air; autumn was around the corner . . . or was it that cold guy? She halted upon seeing the jerk who’d embarrassed her sitting on the steps in front of the cinema. He saw her and stood, and she said, I’m not interested in talking to you.

I gather I didn’t make a wildly positive first impression? said the jerk.

You made the worst possible first impression. Go away.

You may find this hard to believe after my boneheaded little joke, but I didn’t intend to insult or embarrass you.

You’re right; I don’t believe you, she said as she started toward home.

He followed, saying, It’s the way my mind works. Things pop into my head that I think are funny.

And you spew them out before thinking what pain they might cause?

Sometimes. You should hear the things I filter out. She shook her head and quickened her stride. Keeping up, he said, What is it with you, anyway? Why is it so hard to believe I want to ask you out? She kept walking, so he pressed, Why?

Leave me alone.

Tell me why and I will.

She stopped abruptly, turned, and shouted, Because no one has ever asked me out! You’re just taunting me; that’s all guys ever do. Now keep your promise and leave me alone.

I will but I want to say one more thing. When I was standing in line, I looked around for pretty women as I always do, and I saw no one.

Okay—

Let me finish. It’s true; I did gloss over you and your co-workers.

Even Tara, the blonde? she asked as she resumed walking.

Strolling beside her, he said, Looks like a slut to me.

That’s what I think, but guys ask her out all the time.

Because they think she’ll be an easy score.

I guess.

Anyway. You took off your glasses and held them up to the light, and when you did that I said to myself, Wow! What gorgeous eyes!

Stop teasing me! she said as she hastened her step.

Your eyes are the color of the ocean on a sunny day; maybe a little greener.

So, the color of a polluted ocean?

No . . . I . . .

He was at a loss for words and seemed to be getting a little flustered, but now she was starting to enjoy the conversation. She waited for him to resume.

Listen; your eyes are beautiful, okay? They’re a spectacular . . . what the hell is that color that’s . . . like, blue-green?

Teal?

Yeah, but a little bluer. They’re a fabulous tealy-blue color, with a black circle around the whole iris. They form perfect ovals, they’re big and bright, they’re topped with long lashes and nicely shaped eyebrows, and you have the exact number of eyes I prefer, too. She grinned, showing her teeth, but she immediately covered her mouth.

She gave him a timorous and doubtful, Thank you.

He continued, You also have a great profile, and, um, your hair smells like . . . popcorn. So, have I sufficiently buttered you up to get the answer I want to the following question: Can I have dinner with you sometime?

No, she replied. Laughing at his disappointed face, she added, No, You haven’t sufficiently buttered me up.

Oh. Well—

I’m just kidding. What’s your name?

Mike Morrison. And you are?

Elizabeth Clarke. I go by Liz.

Nice to meet you. They shook hands. Now, will you please have dinner with me?

I’m not off till Monday.

Monday it is.

She gave him her number and said, If you call, I’ll tell you where I live.

I’ll call.

When Elizabeth got home the first thing she did was look into the bathroom mirror. She did have attractive eyes; she’d never noticed. Maybe I’m not completely ugly. Then she smiled . . .

Her front teeth were the bane of her existence. They jutted out at such an oblique angle, she’d developed the habit of keeping her mouth shut at all times. Her parents had no money to get her braces—or anything else. Her mother, with whom she lived, was constantly strung out on booze or weed and couldn’t hold down a steady job. Her father, whom she visited once a month, had injured his back five or six years ago and had gone on Workers’ Compensation. Though his back was fine now, as he freely admitted, he was too lazy to go back to work as a construction laborer.

In the shower, she went over and over her interaction with Michael. He was cute! Why would he want anything to do with me? The only way she could account for it was he was setting her up for a practical joke, probably at the behest of those bitches at the theater. They were always teasing her about her looks, and she was defenseless. She was far too sweet to ever get mean with anyone, and anyway she agreed with them. She’d long since convinced herself she was repulsive and would never have a man.

If he calls, I’ll tell him I’m onto him, and I won’t let him make a fool out of me!

Early the next morning while preparing breakfast for her hung-over mother, Elizabeth looked at the ringing phone and thought she would shut Michael right down if it was him. After her hello, Michael said, You like Italian food?

Yes, but—

Good. I set a reservation at Baci Ristorante for six o’clock Monday. I looked up the best restaurants in Hamilton on the web, and it was on the list.

I don’t think—

I’ll pick you up at a quarter to. Where do you live?

Becky and Tara got you to play a practical joke on me, didn’t they?

Who? You mean the two at the cinema?

Don’t play dumb.

Listen, you seem to be a nice person, but you obviously have self-esteem issues that cloud your judgment. I just want to have dinner with you, but it’s your decision. I won’t beg, and I have only so much patience for accusations of ill intent.

Uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I love Italian food.

She told him her address.

Who was that? asked her mother after she hung up.

I have a date for Monday evening, she said as if it happened all the time.

Well, it’s about time, said her mother. What’s the matter with him?

#

The following Monday evening, Michael picked up Elizabeth in front of her apartment building and headed to the restaurant. He thought, Did you steal your clothes off the bag lady who sleeps in the alley behind the Salvation Army? To him, she looked the picture of poverty in her light brown dipped hem dress, grey knee socks, and black cropped moto jacket. Her outfit did, however, give hints of a delectable figure.

You look nice, he said.

Thank you.

The two strolled into the restaurant and were seated. The waitress gave them menus and asked what they wanted to drink. Both chose water.

Oh, shit, said Michael.

What?

Dammit, he saw me. It’s someone I know; that guy who just came out of the washroom. He’s a veritable Einstein. He has a doctorate in mathematics from Waterloo, and he started a software company that serves Fortune 500 firms. He looks like a computer nerd, but he’s anything but. Elizabeth peeped at the tall, skinny, bespectacled Asian man, who wore a black t-shirt and red shorts. He’s filthy rich and only a year older than I am. I kind of like him because he’s funny, but he won’t or can’t control what he says. I don’t know if he’s this rich eccentric who gets a kick out of shocking people or if he’s borderline psychotic. Anything that pops into his mind, he blurts out.

I just met someone like that.

He chuckled and said, He’s much worse than I am. Mark—that’s his name—isn’t equipped with a filter. If he wasn’t funny, he’d probably get in fights every day. Someone married him, no doubt because he’s rich, but I heard the marriage is rocky. No wonder. Shit, here he comes. He might say something mean to you, but try not to get too upset.

You mean about my looks? said Elizabeth.

Mark said, Hey, Mike.

Mark. How’s life treating you?

The same way I treat a toilet—when I have the runs. He grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table, set it between Elizabeth and Michael, and sat. You don’t look pleased. Is something bothering you?

There is now. What evil creature gave you the gift of speech, anyway?

Mark chortled and said, I admire you. You say what you think, and you’re not quite as moronic as everyone else.

I admire you, too. You must have a hundred compelling reasons to hurl yourself off the roof, but every day you manage to invent a far-fetched reason to go on living.

Ha! But now that you mention it, I have one more reason as of today. Anne kicked me out.

Sorry to hear that, said Michael.

Yeah, well, every Anne Cunningham I've ever met is a complete bitch. Since when can’t a man come out of his bedroom with a naked woman without his wife getting suspicious? He glanced at Elizabeth for the first time, frowned, turned back to Michael, and resumed, "But who could blame me if I did fool around? Anne’s sexual peak is below sea level. You should’ve heard us yelling at each other. She said I was lousy in bed, and I told her she’d be popular with the necrophiliac crowd. Then she screamed, ‘I fake my orgasms!’ and I hollered, ‘I couldn’t tell; your snoring never changed.’ Then she might’ve mentioned she wanted me dead, I might’ve said better than being with her, and she booted me out—of the massive house I paid for. Who’s this?"

Liz Clarke, said Michael.

I like her contours, but her face could use some work. Addressing Elizabeth, he continued, If I were Arab, I’d trade you for a camel.

Miffed, Michael, said, "Decide now, asspipe: You walk out of here holding your head high or I’ll walk out of here holding your head high."

Mark sniggered and said, I guess you like her. Good for you. I’m sure she has a great personality. Guess I better get going. We should get together sometime.

Let’s see. Today’s the sixteenth. Why don’t we make it when pigs fly?

Come on. I’m newly single.

Piss off or I’ll see to it your relatives are fighting over your estate tomorrow.

Who you putting on the jet? asked Mark as he stood.

You.

I’m putting Bush and Cheney on. Give me a call when you come to your senses, said Mark as he ambled toward the exit.

I promise you’ll hear from me by the second . . . he called after Mark as he sauntered out the door, coming of Jesus, he finished.

Elizabeth snickered and said, What did he mean by putting someone on a jet?

First time we met we started talking about the jet that had crashed that day, killing everyone on board. He said it was too bad this guy he knew wasn’t on that jet, then asked me who I wished was on it. I said the entire NDP caucus, and he got such a kick out of it he asks me the same question every time we meet. Michael sipped some water. I’m sorry about what that bugger said to you.

Not your fault. It’s nothing new anyway. I get rude comments or grimaces pretty much daily. Even my parents think I’m ugly.

Did they tell you that?

While examining the menu, she said, They say stuff like I can’t expect any kind of Prince Charming with my looks.

Nobody ever accused me of being charming—or a prince. I’m the first to admit I’m not quite perfect.

The waitress returned, and they ordered their meals.

While waiting for their food, they continued getting to know each other. Michael said, What’s with your parents? Most seem oblivious to how ugly their children are, but yours are oblivious to how pretty you are.

"Come on, Mike. When you say something like that I go back to thinking this is all some sort of practical joke. Why did you ask me out?"

You’re the one who thinks she’s ugly.

"Everyone thinks I’m ugly."

If I did I wouldn’t be here.

He suggested a few small changes that would work wonders, including a prescription for acne and a pair of glasses to highlight her eyes.

She said, And my teeth? They’re too expensive to ever deal with.

Your parents couldn’t afford braces, I presume.

Mom has . . . um, trouble holding down a job. She gets by only because I pay her six hundred a month for room and board.

Really?

Yes. I can’t save anything for braces or anything else.

Your dad?

My parents divorced a few years ago. He lives in Brantford, and I go see him about once a month, mainly to clean his place and cook a few meals. He’s on disability, even though he’s physically fine. He has no money for me. I usually buy the food for the meals I make him.

So, you’ve taken responsibility for your irresponsible parents?

Yes. I’m their meal ticket. Eyes watering, she added, They’re my adoptive parents. My real mother gave me up at birth; teenage pregnancy, they said. I asked about her but she’d stipulated she never be contacted.

I’m sorry.

Looking at him in embarrassment, she said, "No, I’m sorry. I’m getting too personal with someone I don’t really know. I sound pathetic."

"I asked the questions. Telling the truth, especially when the truth is uncomfortable, is not pathetic. I like that you’re candid." He also liked her voice and the way she spoke; she seemed intelligent. That was critical, for if she was dull this would be their only date.

The waitress brought bread, and both dug in. Do you need your glasses to eat? She shook her head and removed them. He smiled his thanks.

They continued their conversation. He told her he had a degree in aerospace science and engineering. She told him she’d stopped after high school because she couldn’t afford college.

The waitress delivered their meals: Penne Alfredo for her and Parmigiana Di Pollo for him.

Elizabeth said, Where do you work?

I work with my father in a garage on the small acreage we rent.

You still live with your parents?

Uh huh. Man of your dreams, eh?

Your job?

My spending money comes from fixing motors and engines.

Like car engines? said Elizabeth.

Mostly, but also everything from blenders to lawn mowers to boat motors. Most of my free time is spent working with my father trying to build a new kind of engine. Dad’s a physicist at McMaster, and he’s conceived a high-tech engine. My job is to engineer it.

That’s fascinating, Mike, she said with a warm smile, which she covered. She seemed impressed.

What about you? I assume working the snack bar at the theater isn’t your dream job.

Not quite.

What is your dream job?

"Well, I always wanted to be a mother, I mean a great mom; the opposite of my mother . . . my mothers."

Great. And when your kids go to school? Any career of interest?

Don’t laugh. He nodded. I know it’s only a pipedream now because of the way I look, but when I was younger I thought, maybe, I could be a TV reporter. Stupid, eh?

Why should your looks stop you?

If you’ve noticed, not many of the reporters on TV are ugly.

Yes, I’ve noticed, but you’re not ugly. She smirked. I know you find this hard to believe, but I like you, and I know you find this impossible to believe, but I think you’re cute.

He wasn’t being completely honest. Even with her mouth closed, her two front teeth distorted the lines of the lower portion of her face. They pushed out her top lip to such an extent that her closed mouth looked to be permanently overstuffed with food. The only way she could hide them completely was to extend both lips so far as to give a simian impression to the casual observer. In short, they really did disfigure her face, but he dared not let on he thought so, lest he aggravate an already-serious self-image problem. If she could only get them fixed I think she’d be beautiful.

He added with a smile, True, you could use a mallet to knock your teeth back where they belong, but I could get lost in your eyes for an eternity. She dipped her head demurely, eyes cast down, then, after a moment, she lifted her eyes to his. That’s the single most adorable sight I’ve ever seen. For the second time in their nascent relationship he gasped at her in awe.

#

As he dropped her off that evening, he kissed her and said, I had a great time.

Me, too.

Say you’ll see me again.

She nodded.

They set a date for the next Monday, and he left.

Elizabeth stood inside the front door and struggled against getting too excited. He seemed to be everything she’d ever dreamed of; he was too good to be true. If she let herself get carried away with him, his inevitable rejection would destroy her. She was at once delighted and terrified.

She placed the fingers of her right hand to her lips and smiled with the thought of his kiss. Her first! Embarrassing that it took till age twenty, but wonderful!

They kept in touch via phone and email during the succeeding days. She found herself thinking about him almost every waking minute, which she’d scold herself about. Don’t get carried away with him, Liz. He’s bound to let you down. Then, as soon as he called and they began conversing about . . . whatever, a wave of bliss inundated her. He