Developed

By Peter Viteritti

Chris and Sophie were soul mates the moment they met, a palpable attraction between them. However, on a day where a massive thunderstorm moves through Worcester, MA, side streets resembling Venetian canals, cars splashing through puddles like skidoos, Sophie vanishes in broad daylight outside the storefront window of a one-hour photo store. Or does she? Even though Chris has been suffering through an early midlife crisis for seven long months, without a job or purpose, he now finds himself living inside this oddly familiar world as though Sophie never existed at all.
Through a long and exhausting conversation with an old, witty photo shop clerk, Chris learns that his only way to get Sophie back is to change the scenes inside three random photographs, a mission that will not only get more complicated with the people he is destined to meet, but expose the sores inside of him that brought on his midlife crisis.
DEVELOPED! is a soul searching adventure that travels through some of the most mystical yet beautiful places on the planet. Its interwoven with twists and turns, leaving you guessing until the very end if Chris indeed fulfills his mission and ultimately gets Sophie back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462017652

Peter Viteritti

About Peter Viteritti: DEVELOPED! is Peter’s first attempt at writing a novel. He is a fulltime writer who lives in Salem, MA, although spends most of his summers hiking in the Alps and exploring through old Europe. He’s married to Vicki Caira and loves his rescue, Lilly, an albino Australian Shepard. Already building on the success of DEVELOPED!, Peter is hard at work on his second book titled, THE ELEVETH MISSION, a true story about a WWII bomber boy who narrowly escapes a crash landing in enemy territory, but becomes a prisoner of war until ultimately rescued by General Patton himself. THE ELEVETH MISSION will be released world wide in the spring of 2012. To learn more visit www.Petersbooks.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was only a month until my wedding and I was miserable again. Of course it had nothing to do with my fiancée, Sophie, I loved her dearly. It wasn’t the traffic jam at the intersection of Salisbury and Main Street, the heavy rain pouring down, or the steamy July temperatures in central Massachusetts. I had post-travel depression. Back to doing laundry, chores, paying bills, and eating bland leftovers. Although for me, my post-travel depression went a little deeper. It was more like a continuation of pre-travel depression. I had just come back from Europe and besides helping to finalize our wedding plans, I was searching for something to move my life forward. A job. A career. A direction in life.

As I folded my arms and slouched into the passenger seat of Sophie’s FJ while we waited for the light to turn green, I imagined a support group in the local elementary school gymnasium for people with post-travel depression. Hi everybody, my name is Suzie—Hi Suzie—I recently got back from Hawaii and now I realize that I hate living here, I hate the dirty streets, the triple-decker apartment houses, the Big Y across the street.

Yes, it was great to be getting married, no longer drifting through life as a single thirty-something, yes it was great to be marrying such a caring and beautiful woman, but I had nothing to feel good about personally. Normally when people get married they have stable careers, they have a plan, they are smack dab in the middle of the best years of their lives. Although, for us, we fought a never ending battle to stay out of the red. Congrats Chris and Sophie, what now, a family, a house? No, ah . . . we’re gonna’ pocket the cash, pay bills and take care of Shadow and Kitty in our one-bedroom apartment. Sophie and I didn’t have any plans for kids, houses, or even retirement. I knew our bleak financial situation bothered her, but it weighted heavier on me. I felt responsible for our situation, and now guilty for draining our last bit of savings to go ‘find myself’ while hiking through the Italian Alps, walking through the Grand Hallway in the Louvre, and even camping on Great Blasket Island with the sea swallows.

Most of my friends thought I was out of my mind taking such a trip two months before my very own wedding; however, it was actually Sophie’s idea. She told me to get out of the house and go hiking somewhere. She knew I struggled hearing my ‘inner voice.’ She knew I needed to be productive, stop watching TV, reading the classifieds, sending out resumes that seemed to get sent out to sea instead of reaching hiring managers.

Can you believe it, Chris, it’s almost here. Sophie said enthusiastically as we inched forward towards the intersection, or more importantly, the entrance into the White City Shopping Plaza, where my European photos were being developed, I’m going this week to get my dress fitted!

That’s great, Sophie. I forced a smile while a crack of thunder boomed directly above us, lightning flashed so intensely I thought the steel ‘White City’ sign was about to conduct electricity.

Are you okay? She asked curiously while increasing the speed on the windshield wipers. I knew immediately she sensed my sour mood. Nothing got by Sophie, she was as sharp as a tack.

I’m just really tired from the flight last night.

I wasn’t tired—I was still coasting along on ‘travel adrenaline.’ Instead, I dreaded the last minute wedding planning, the centerpieces, the favors, the custom-fitted tux, and maybe even the wedding itself. I loved Sophie, but the thought of seeing all my friends and extended family in one month’s time without any job or direction seemed so humiliating. So, Chris, what are you doing with yourself these days? Oh, me? I’ve mastered Checkers on my IPhone, and invented a baseball game with a tube of Christmas wrapping paper. I hit fourteen homers with Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer just last week!

I was never like this before that dreadful day in the dead of winter when I heard the words fired’ and you are" blended together like rotten eggs and moldy cheese. I was confident and hopeful. I worked hard, and hardly yawned. I was goal oriented and driven to succeed. I dreamt of opening my own photography gallery someday. I dreamt of buying a house with Sophie and maybe even starting a family. Although, now, I didn’t even have a plan for myself, nothing at all, not even a blueprint, not even notes scribbled on junk mail or the envelope for the electric bill. Nothing to tell people that I was working towards, a degree, a promotion, a skill or trade, a bank robbing scheme. I applied for jobs like playing ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey’.

I’d coached collegiate volleyball for fourteen years and suffered through season after season of bratty kids, nosey parents, and nail-biting losses. I was let go around the middle of January of this year—seven months to the day—an event that now lives in personal infamy. I had never been fired; never one to take too many personal days, be disruptive in the office, or cut corners even. I worked my tail off. Although, the players had signed a petition to get me fired, said I ran the same boring drills in practice every day and that I was too hard on them. Hearing this in my Athletic Director’s office, it felt like I was sideswiped by a wrecking ball. My boss even had the nerve to say, look at yourself, Chris. You’re 38, what are you going to do with your life? Never coach again, that I knew. I stormed out of the office pissed off; a bitterness that would linger inside of me like a retched smell in an old sneaker.

I noticed Sophie eyeballing Starbucks, like a magnet sizing up a steel pole. Hey, Chris, can we get some coffee before we pick up the pictures from your trip at the photo shop?

I glanced down at the pick-up slip. 11 am. It was 10:45. I couldn’t help wondering if that shot of the Eiffel Tower I took at night developed perfectly or would it come out over-exposed like three years ago. Yeah, why not… we still have a little time before they’re ready. I folded the rectangular slip into a perfect square and squeezed the crease flat.

It’s okay, go, go. Sophie spoke through the windshield, while motioning two cars to pull in front of her.

You know… I go away for four weeks and nothing has changed, you’re still drinking Starbucks and still politely waving-on impatient drivers to cut in front of you. I said lightheartedly.

She smiled then waved at me jokingly. I was glad things weren’t awkward between us. Four weeks was a long time to be away from one another.

You wanna’ chocolate banana smoothie or a decaf coffee? Sophie said.

Just a decaf. I noticed customers running for cover at every angle, side streets looking more like Venetian canals.

After the light turned green, Sophie drove her heavy-duty Toyota FJ into the Starbucks parking lot, rumbling over potholes, splashing through large puddles like a skidoo. Most would expect to see a grizzly mountain man walk out from the interior of her rugged SUV, not a tall and dainty brunette—with razor sharp Italian features—wearing Gucci stilettos and a nicely shaped black pencil skirt. When I’d learned that Sophie drove such a rugged truck, I thought we’d be teaming up to hike in the White Mountains, go four-wheeling near the power lines, stow our mountain bikes in the back and hit the foothills. However, besides the truck being a façade, it was literally her office. She was a traveling saleswoman for a skincare company. Instead of mountain biking gear or fishing poles, her FJ lugged Summer Shine Body Lotion, Alpha Grapefruit Cleansing Lotion, Acne Facial Cleanser.

After Sophie rifled into a parking spot, I unbuckled my seatbelt and sprung for the door handle. She noticed this and did the same. We splashed through the parking lot playfully taunting each other—you won’t beat me! You’re too slow!—while racing for the door. Sophie reached the canvas awning first, and then we both doubled over in a fit of laughter just as a few businessmen slid out.

You’ll never beat me. Sophie giggled while catching her breath.

I let you win. I didn’t. She had long legs, could run like the wind.

When we both stood up, the jokes were over. She gave me such a loving embrace—the warmth of her cheek pressed firmly against mine. Even though I was cast under the ‘unemployment spell’ and suffering through some type of early-midlife crisis, it felt wonderful having her in my arms again.

You do know that if you leave me again for four weeks, I will kill you. She smirked at me. People reading the paper or sipping coffee looked up. Sophie had a way of sounding louder than anyone else; maybe it had something to do with her thick Boston accent that always drew a curious onlooker or two.

I know, I know. I looked deep into her eyes while rubbing her arms, Never again. I smiled at her, But you did say I could go to Europe. I said suggestively.

Yeah, you’re right… She nudged me playfully, I told you to go, but not for four weeks! Even though we were playing around, I could still hear the seriousness in her voice.

Starbucks was packed. A line serpentined towards the door.

As I weaved through patrons towards the restroom, I heard Sophie over my shoulder, Hey, Chris, want one of those banana nut cakes?

Na… Still full from breakfast. I waved her off, Just a decaf. I would never let her splurge for my sake – not even a piece of pastry – no matter how sincere she was.

When I reappeared from the restroom, I noticed Sophie near the middle of the line. She seemed deep in thought deciding between a dolce latte or a regular coffee sprinkled with cinnamon. Since this was a ‘crucial Sophie moment,’ I spied an empty table and then strolled over to claim it. After peeling off my Gortex rain jacket, I noticed a folded newspaper on the seat adjacent to me. I opened it and flipped to the classifieds as though it was second nature, muscle memory. I didn’t even have to look at the pages, the sections. By the time the cappuccino machine finished frothing milk, I could have been calling about a dog groomer position.

When I heard Sophie’s voice, I folded the newspaper and glanced towards her. Customers two or three deep from her in line were smiling and talking towards her. I wasn’t surprised. People gravitated towards her; she was the quintessential people person. Never afraid to add her two cents about anything, but more so in a fun or lighthearted way. I loved this about her. She was probably telling everybody how her fiancé had no idea what a ‘venti’ was or a ‘grande’ or a ‘Chai Chreme Frappucinno.’

I shook my head and sighed, feeling most guilty that I’d taken our relationship for granted at times. It was easy, sometimes too easy. We never played any ‘hard to get’ games. There never was a ‘courtship period’, or jealous ex boyfriends or girlfriends to deal with, nothing, just us. We were like instant boyfriend-girlfriend the day we’d met two years ago, in 2007, in a park near the Charles River. I had been running along the river and nearly tripped over her miniature Pomeranian, Shadow. I knew she liked me the moment we’d set eyes on one another. She smiled when she looked at me, twirled the hair around her ears, tilted her head when she spoke to me. I asked her to marry me after fourteen months of dating; she said yes, then she broke out into a fit of tears, not believing that someone wanted to marry her.

As Sophie sat down next to me, I slid the newspaper on the empty seat across from us, So, what were you telling all of your new friends in line? I playfully sneered at her. Sophie hovered over her coffee and cupped her hands around it like she was protecting a pot of gold.

My soon-to-be new name. She sat back and crossed her legs. She dressed in the same jeans and flats when we had decided to date exclusively. Trendy ripped jeans with random holes exposing her milky white skin; she had high arching feet that looked sexy in anything from strappy heals to flip flops. She leaned forward but still spoke as if all those drinking coffee or lounging within a two table radius could hear, Sophie Sophia. My name in one month from now is going to be Sophie Sophia. She snorted while trying to keep from laughing. She loved to tease me. If it wasn’t my name, then it was my ‘pork chop’ stocky build. "Sophie Sophia, your car is ready, Sophie Sophia, table for four." She pointed a finger into the air as though she was implying, that’s me.

As she sipped her coffee, I locked my hands behind my head and felt the urge to lean back on the chair. I could vaguely see the photo shop in the strip mall across the street. It looked dark inside, darker than the clothing store and the sub shop bordering on opposite sides. I figured it was probably just my eyes or the glare or the storm. As long as my photos from Europe developed perfectly, I could care less if a light bulb had been out or the store temporarily lost electricity due to the storm.

Her voice switched gears, like she was speaking on the phone with one of her skincare clients, You know, Christopher, about your job situation and all. When she used my full name, it was serious. I swallowed then interrupted her.

Sophie, I’m not gonna’ sit around anymore, I squeezed her hand slightly, felt the classifieds leering up at me from under the table, I will go door to door until someone hires me, I don’t care if I have to bag groceries. I’m sick of being bored all the time. Boredom was everywhere I would turn, behind the frig, in the cereal aisle at the supermarket and clumped up in Kitty’s litter box.

She waved her hand at me, Don’t worry about that… Why don’t you start your own business? I believe in you. Your mom believes in you. If you just invest half of the energy your pour into your photography… She motioned towards the photo slip on the table,  . . . and hiking, you would be a millionaire. I knew exactly what she hinted at, but didn’t bring it up; we’d been teeter-tottering with this idea for months now. Should we do it? Open a business? Back and forth, back and forth, until we found a way to talk ourselves out of it. Too risky, not near enough money for start up costs, the recession. You’re passionate, a real go-getter as well. I’ve seen you as a coach. Those girls have no idea how lucky they were to have you.

I sat back, stuffed the photo slip into my front pocket, and watched rainwater cascade from the green awning above the door. I just don’t know. Nothing feels right. I said sourly.

What do you mean? She leaned forward and spoke softly but firmly. This time nobody could hear her but me. What about the wedding? You still want to get married, right? I had a funny feeling she sensed my dismal mood in the truck and probably pegged me for ‘cold feet Chris.’

Sophie, of course I want to get married. I knew I didn’t sound convincing. Her face was frozen with concern. I pictured the reception line at the wedding, all my friends from high school and college, talking about their retirement plans, their kids and their corporate jobs. I just wanted something, anything to happen before this wedding to make me feel better. Even a stupid interview. Yes, it’s true, Aunt Sally, I’m opening a photography gallery on Newbury Street in Boston . . . Wow, Chris, where did you get the money for that? Oh, it was easy, I planted a money tree that blooms twenty’s and fifty’s . . . you wouldn’t believe it Aunt Sally, the darn tree bloomed like a Dogwood in springtime.

Chris, be honest with me, please. We are talking about spending the rest of our lives together. A major commitment here.

Sophie, I’ve always been honest with you… I love you more than anything in the world.

Do you really want this all to happen? She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, and it felt like she looked through me and on into the deepest corners of my soul. "Do you want us to happen? Everybody knows how you broke up with Priya days before you were supposed to propose to her. Thanks to my younger sister, Andrea, who couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. I knew once Sophie had found out about Priya, she would never fully trust me until I said Yes" on the altar or slid the white-gold wedding band over her ring finger.

Long before I had met Sophie, long before I did the whole internet dating thing, there was Priya Bonapardi, the English Asian-Indian transplant here on a working visa. We first became friends, meeting at the local dive bar in downtown Worcester, called Vincent’s, then after a month or two of meeting up for drinks, we started dating. She was exotic, sexy, and fun, and her British accent turned heads wherever we went. She was most responsible for teaching me about cologne, sushi, what women really want on Christmas, and of course English chocolate. She also opened my eyes about Europe. Oi, wanka, yu gotta’ forgit ’bout those American mountains and bugger on to the Alps, man.

I don’t know what came over me with Priya—why I waited to the last minute to call things off. The day before I was ‘supposed’ to propose to her, I freaked out, I panicked. I had this dream of her in a white dress and at that moment I realized that I didn’t love her; I was settling because all of my friends were getting married. I paid three-thousand dollars for an engagement ring and pawned it for one. After the break up, I disappeared for a while, stayed at my favorite mountain hut in the White Mountains of New Hampshire for six days until I could come out of hiding and face the heat from the family. Everybody loved Priya.

Sophie, like I’ve told you a million times, this is different. I was young and immature… I didn’t feel the same way for her that I feel for you now.

Immature? You were 27!

Sophie, I’m gonna’ make this work. I said nervously, while my left foot tapped a mile a minute.

But, Chris, it’s not a job; it’s a marriage. She sat back and sighed. Look, I know you are struggling with being unemployed, but is that really it, or is it something else because you seemed pretty down last night when I picked you up at the airport. It seemed like you could have simply stayed out there and not come home.

I folded my arms and glanced away, wondering how she could assume that. Was I really being that cold to her? Or different? I was happy to see her at the airport, and I was happy to be spending the day with her today. I just hated the fact that boredom was looming in my near future, and imaginary ‘house arrest’ would be back in full force as well; I never left the house or the neighborhood until ‘working’ people came home and ran errands.

I leaned over the table to face her, I just don’t know what to do with myself. Honestly, Sophie… I sighed and shook my head slowly, I feel like a sack of shit. I grabbed her hand gently and looked directly into her eyes. But I do know that I love you very much.

She sat back. Her worried expression eased. Maybe you just need a sign that’s all. Maybe if you listen to your heart, something will come to you, and then you will know what to do.

I folded my arms again, Ah, come on, Sophie, you know what I think about signs. ONE WAY, NO PARKING, 22 MILES TO BOSTON, PRIVATE PROPERTY—GET OFF!

She exhaled and then sipped her coffee. I knew how draining this was on her—me not having a job, her having to work overtime to pick up the slack. I swirled my decaf and gazed into the tiny whirlpool as though it went on for miles. I hadn’t seen Sophie in weeks, the last thing I wanted was a stressful conversation about jobs, careers, and weddings. We’d planned a fun day together gallivanting around the outlets, a day of laughing, holding hands, and surprise kisses. A simple, carefree day.

Well, sometimes you gotta’ just take a chance. Even though I knew she wasn’t pressuring me, just offering advice, I still didn’t respond. I wished I could have grabbed the classifieds, called the first posting, secured a job, purchased khaki pants and a nice tie and been done with it. Get everybody off my back, even Jim at the gas station on Route nine who was always trying to sucker me into this pyramid marketing scam, a damn protein drink sold in a wine bottle.

"A chance, a risk… I just need a purpose, a stupid purpose in life again." I said desperately.

Sophie tilted her head and led my eyes up to hers, "I love you,