Deep, Dark Water: Five Unsettling,
Occasionally Humorous Tales

By Ned Gardner

HANGOVER-All hard-working Charley Stutsman had to do was bid his clients nighty-night and return to his hotel. Then, first thing, get the contract signed, closing the biggest deal in company history. Charley's only problem is getting past the seductive cocktail lounge where he's tempted to stop for "just one more". Every salesman's worst nightmare!

THE DAY FARLEY KISSED NATALIE WOOD-TV game show winner Will Mozart's financially stuck making a Hollywood "epic" only to learn the film's director-Will's brother Farley-is also mired up to his jodhpurs with some serious bad guys! These thugs want their money and, as Will learns the hard way, they couldn't care less where it comes from!

PENALTY STROKE-Things go haywire when what begins as friendly needling between two members of a golfing foursome suddenly turns ugly. Forget all that "gentlemen's game" nonsense, this quite possibly could be the quintessential golf round from hell!

THAT THING ABOUT HARRY-Poor Harry Cork. Nearly bald and overweight, he just lost a big promotion because his bosses don't think he's very presentable. Now he learns his precious niece has disappeared! What else could possibly go wrong, Harry wonders, but he sure doesn't have to wonder very long!

INSTANT REPLAY-Suppose you could turn back the clock for five seconds by pulling a string on a silly little doll. And you can do this over and over-no one ever sees you doing it-and you can quickly change things for five seconds after you've pulled the little string!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 23, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595910762

Ned Gardner

About the author… Ned Gardner has been writing persuasive, entertaining ideas for over forty years. Following a writing stint at Swift-Chaplin’s Hollywood studios, he began an eighteen-year career at J. Walter Thompson, one of the world’s largest and most prestigious advertising agencies, where he serviced key clients with his exceptional marketing and writing skills all over the country and the world. In 1990, Ned began writing fiction. In addition to FIRESTORM!, he has completed three other novels employing the narrative technique of historical fiction: KODAK MOMENT – a not entirely fictionalized tale finally resolving who really shot JFK and why, ONE-EYED PAPERBOY – an outrageous, humorous romp from Florida to the Big Island of Hawaii intertwining an infamous war criminal’s daughter, her lovely, precocious niece, and the stupidest, most pathetic kidnapping in history, and DEADLY ORCHID – a chilling story of a beautiful but toxic psychopath who will stop at nothing to get what she wants and she wants plenty! Ned has also completed a collection of five quick-paced, mostly unsettling short stories under the title, DEEP, DARK WATER. All these works are available through fine bookstores everywhere. Ned lives in North Palm Beach, Florida.

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Deep, Dark Water

Five Unsettling, Occasionally Humorous Tales

Copyright © 2007 by Ned Gardner

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any

means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written

permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in

critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

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Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses

or links contained in this book may have changed

since publication and may no longer be valid.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-0-595-46784-6 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-595-91076-2 (ebk)

The cover title is an homage to the memory of Natalie Wood and

her family. I’m now convinced she was a far better actress than most

of us thought as her long career began cresting in the sixties. Rent

Splendor in the Grass, Sharusk, and enjoy one of her better

performances as you think back to our slightly uptight, ambivalent

days at good ol’ Norwalk High.

And yes, I really did lay a big, sloppy smooch on the beautiful movie

star in a puffy, oh-so-tony Hollywood restaurant late one afternoon

in 1961. It was truly a splendiferous, Kodak moment (hey, nice title)

… At least for me!

Contents

Acknowledgements

HANGOVER

THE DAY FARLEY KISSED

NATALIE WOOD

~ Part One ~

~ Part Two ~

PENALTY STROKE

THAT THING ABOUT HARRY

INSTANT REPLAY

About the Author

To my brother Chuck. My Theo and head cheerleader.

Always supportive, always there for me no matter what.

Acknowledgements

Several of these stories were originally written years ago, before I started tackling novels. And although all of these tales have been extensively reworked, the list of folks who helped me with the editing, weeping, rethinking, and often totally restructuring—especially HANGOVER and PENALTY STROKE—would be cumbersome, probably incomplete, and very likely as dull and even longer than this stupid sentence. You already know who you are and besides, who cares who you are other than you or me?

But seriously folks, I’d be egregiously remiss if I didn’t once again spotlight my friend and editor, Lou—my main man so to speak (she’s actually a lovely, extraordinarily talented writer). Never too busy or too tired to mull over and rip to shreds every single word I’ve ever written.

So I hope you enjoy these five little bedtime stories but in case you don’t, blame Lou, not me; it’s really her fault! Me? I just hang around the kitchen hoping they feed me and Lou doesn’t tear up my next stuff too badly.

HANGOVER

Wednesday 4:47 a.m.

Poink … Poink … Poink …

Somehow the brain heard it. Somehow his clogged cerebellum, drowning in a pool of sloppy, soupy alcohol, bounced the annoying, repetitious noise off his cranium lid and fed it to the mid-brain where it gradually heard and tried to identify the irritating sound, finally telling him what had been annoying it for hours in the first place.

Poink . Poink . Poink .

There it was again! Water drops! Definitely water drops dripping from somewhere … obviously someplace close by. The bathroom? The kitchen? Somewhere very, very close …

Charley Stutsman’s head moved only fractionally against the large, partially soaked pillow. His left eyelid fluttered briefly as his exhausted, inebriated mind struggled to yank him back to consciousness. The sweet-sour smell of his pillow created by sweat mixed with sleep and drool was laced with a more pleasant aroma now. A faint smell of gardenias, he thought … No, not gardenias … jasmine, he decided. It was jasmine, he was sure. It was the pleasant smell of a warm, soft woman mixed with the sweet scent of jasmine. Some sort of perfume the woman had been wearing …

Yeah . he vaguely started to remember. He had complimented her on her perfume at some point in the evening wherever they were, and she had told him it had a woman’s name. Thalia. Diana. Daphne … Dawn, some pretty name like that. Yeah, he was pretty sure now it was the girl he was talking to in the bar last night—she was the one wearing it. Hot. Good-looking. A real head-turner. What the hell was her name? Christ, how was he suppose to remember her perfume if he couldn’t remember her name?

She was wearing an attractive, red velvet ribbon around her neck. Something historically interesting about that red ribbon and the American or the French Revolution … some ancient stuff like that. He couldn’t quite recall, his discombobulated brain continuing to jounce and smack off fragments of memory like one of those bumper cars in an amusement park. But he remembered it (and her) as being kind of interesting, that much was pretty clear .

How did I get home? he suddenly wondered. Where the hell is Karen? he started to sweat again, thinking about his wife and how she never smelled like jasmine though now he might get her some. Tell her some obnoxious saleslady at Macy’s sprayed the back of his hand on one of his recent trips down to Florida and he liked it . He’d definitely look for it at Macy’s next chance he got. Would help, some, of course, if he could just remember the name.

Poink … Poink … Poink …

It can’t be coming from the kitchen, he decided dimly. That’s downstairs, too far away. Must be coming from the bathroom. But the bathroom’s on the left .on the other side of the bed. Next to Karen’s side, he thought as he gently reached over and touched the empty space next to him. Although she obviously wasn’t there, the space was still warm and, perfume aside, it sure as hell didn’t smell anything like Karen! It smelled, in fact, like someone much, much different …

Both eyes snapped open!

Where am I? I’m definitely not home! I’M DEFINITLYNOT IN MY HOUSE!

Panicked and popping up on his elbows, he suddenly felt daggers of pain shooting through the center of his head. Where in God’s name am I? his mind raced. Then, momentarily relieved, it all started to come back; he began to remember .

A hotel room! I’m in a hotel room in Florida! I’m in a hotel room in Tallahassee, and I’m on the verge of nailing the deal of a lifetime! You’re the man, Charley, my lad, you’re an absolute killer machine!

More ambiguous recollections coming fast now … The big sale! The big sale, yesterday! I finally closed the damn sale! Closed the goddamn deal after all these weeks and months! We’re signing the papers this morning! HOLY SHIT!—fresh jolt of panic! WHAT THE CHRIST TIME IS IT?

The ridiculously small clock radio on a table next to his king-sized bed silently read 4:47 a.m.

Thank God, Charley whispered, sitting all the way up and rubbing his scratchy face. You got all the time in the world, babe. We’re not meeting until ten. Here at the suite. They said they’ll be here at ten so that’s no problem. Just need more sleep. A lot more sleep. Take some Excedrin first. Got to go to the bathroom . Turn off the goddamn dripping water. Got to go to the can, then the little kitchen and grab a Coke or some orange juice or something icy cold to gulp down. Hey, Charley, my boy, you’re in good shape, pal, you’ll be just fine. Just got to get to the bathroom, get something to drink then grab a few more winks.

Enough streetlight was coming through the half-open bedroom drapes in the living room to allow Charley to maneuver around a large lounge chair in the bedroom as he stumbled his way toward the bathroom and the sound of dripping water. Tentatively pawing the inside of the bathroom wall until he felt the switch, he turned it on, sending a blazing shock of fluorescent white light into his face.

Ahhh Christ! he cried, snapping off the switch, the unexpected brightness transiently blinding him.

Better prepared now and bracing himself, he switched the bathroom light back on. Looking around through squinting eyes, he quickly located the source of the dripping water, which continued to poink annoyingly from behind the translucent, gray sliding glass door of the shower stall. Apparently he (she? He and she?) decided to cool off or something during the night’s activities and hadn’t completely turned one of the faucets off. Not really too surprising, Charley allowed, given he couldn’t exactly recall anyone hopping into the stall in the first place—much less anything else that may have occurred during what must have been a very long and interesting evening. Gee, I must have had a great time he thought wryly as he blew his nose into a large piece of blue-colored toilet paper. Too bad I couldn’t be there!

Taking another second to focus, he fumbled through his black leather shaving kit until he found the little square tin of Excedrin. Fingers shaking badly, he pressed the two top corners over and over but the lid wouldn’t click open. Finally—desperate and angry now—he thumb-pressed one corner hard with both hands until the lid suddenly snapped open with a loud pop!, spraying the precious little white tablets into the wide sink and all over the bathroom floor.

Son-of-a-bitch-crap-shit! he yelled as he pinched up three tablets out of the sink with quivering fingers and stuffed them awkwardly into his mouth, swallowing them dry (one pill partially stuck in his throat).

Coughing and splashing cold water on his face, Charley stared into the large, three-sided bathroom mirror above the marble sink and was jarred by the grungy face that stared back. Pink-eyed and blinking rapidly, he could see his flesh was taut and the color of soot, and there was a faint smudge of lipstick on the right side of his throat. Still having difficulty focusing, Charley leaned in with a groan to get a closer look.

Well you really did a number, Charley, my boy, he mumbled as he examined the deep gray circles underneath his eyes. Man, did you ever . Deciding any further self-analysis was decidedly both unproductive and depressing, he switched off the light and, still a little drunk, gingerly weaved his way back toward the kitchen, his thirst raging. Sleep! That’s all he needed! Lots and lots of sleep! Let the booze dry itself up as it had a thousand times before.

But now he couldn’t sleep. The much-needed trip to the bathroom and nonstop guzzling of something cold had completely woken him up! Compounding his wide-eyed frustration, he also realized he had forgotten to turn the dripping shower faucet off, which continued to poink and sound like a bunch of noisy, small bombs falling with the precision of a metronome. And unless he made another bumpy return trip to the bathroom he could look forward to hearing the irritating drips smacking the hard shower stall floor for what little still remained of the long, fuzzy night!

Great . wonderful, he said as he buried his head under the pillow and enjoyed the smell of jasmine again. In less than five hours I’ve got to be shit-showered-shaved and sharp as a tack to greet these guys. Coffee! I’ve got to order coffee and rolls! Maybe get some booze (it was never too early for these guys). Tidy up the suite some. Make a good impression for Faron. It’s really important I make a solid impression in front of Faron’s people. Need to reaffirm Faron’s judgment to recommend me—Atlantic Dome—for the contract. Goddamn, he groaned, I feel awful.

An old Joe E. Lewis gag kept skipping through his throbbing head. You gotta feel sorry for people who don’t drink because when they get up in the morning—that’s the best they’re going to feel all day! True, how true, he thought. Jesus, just what the hell did I do to myself last night? Thinking it might help lull him back to sleep, he pressed hard to remember everything … forced himself to try to piece ol’ Humpty Dumpty back together again …

Charles Scott Stutsman. A forty-two-year-old, somewhat-aging sales consultant for the Atlantic Dome & Signal Corporation—the largest auto-after market company based in Detroit specializing in the manufacturing and selling of flashing light systems for police and ambulance vehicles. Married to the lovely (and patiently understanding) Karen . one beautiful, normal-so-far teenage daughter, Tara . pretty; nice house with the obligatory white picket fence almost paid for in the Detroit burbs. Charley and family personified the American Dream. Sort of…

What started out to be a good year was now about to be a great year for Charley Scott Stutsman—far and away the best in the six years he had been with the company! Years of schmoozing the right contacts was finally about to pay monster dividends, culminating in yesterday’s decision by the State of Florida to award Atlantic Dome their state police vehicle contract for the first time—the biggest deal Charley and Atlantic had ever closed! Not that he hadn’t worked his bony ass off to get it, God knows. And then some.

For the past sixteen months, Charley had been commuting practically every week between Detroit and Tallahassee. Through political contacts in Detroit, he had been introduced to Faron Handley, who was a powerful and very influential mover and shaker in Florida’s lieutenant governor’s office. Although the governor theoretically approved all state-awarded contracts, it was primarily Faron who dished out the lucrative bids for statewide commerce and emergency vehicles, including equipment for the entire fleet of 2,200 Florida state police cars.

Faron Handley liked Charley, and Charley took loving care of Faron Handley. Expensive dinners . Caribbean get-a-way weekends . not-so-little gifts for Faron’s wife Cindy and their two kids. When it came to taking care of big guy Faron Handley, Charley went the whole nine yards as his Atlantic boss was fond of saying, whatever-the-hell that meant. I mean, why nine yards?

Charley often wondered. Why not ten? A hundred? Go the whole nine yards where? Why not go a hundred yards and go all the whole way?

Faron and Charley’s relationship blossomed for another reason, and the truth was, it was probably the main reason. They both loved to drink. A hunk. Usually during the day and into the night, and usually all the time!

Absolute vodka martinis were the mutual weapon of choice during (and often before) lunch. Teeny-weenie-double-martinis Faron called them. Straight up … ice cold „a hair-thin twist of lemon for color and respectability . "Absolute heaven, Faron delighted telling the pun to bartenders after taking the first sip with a little shiver and shake of the head. Whoops, better call my sweet mommy or the National Guard! he would add, always saying the same thing. I think I just found God!"

Handley was a buffalo of a man, maybe 310 pounds stuffed into a refrigerator shaped frame slightly over six-foot-four. He had a high-pitched, girlish giggle that belied his monster girth, and he wore a silly little Hitler mustache and had pudgy, beautifully manicured fingers that reminded Charley (privately, of course) of a red-haired version of the brilliant old comedian Oliver Hardy without the derby. Gregarious, outgoing, roly-poly Faron Handley was everybody’s chum. He could laugh and story you to death if you just asked him. But he was also shrewd as a ferret and would cut your balls off for most any reason if he felt slighted or ignored, and everyone in the state capital knew this. In the clannish, inbred men’s club of Tallahassee politics, few ever crossed ol’ affable Faron Handley. And those occasional, overly-ambitious eager beavers stupid enough to try usually wound up unsuccessfully running for dog catcher in Florida towns like Two Egg or Sopchoppy for the next several years and usually forever.

When Faron and Charley got together—which was every time Charley came to Tallahassee—it was practically preordained they would drink the night away. Let’s get together for drinks and dinner really meant, "Let’s have some drinks—and maybe dinner!" That’s the way Faron liked it so, of course, that’s the way it was.

Faron liked to boast he was a professional drinker—a guy who could slug it down all night long with no visible or invisible effects the next day. This was bullshit and Charley suspected Faron knew it was bullshit, but as long as Faron liked him—as long as Faron continued to mentor Charley in his quest for one of Florida’s more competitive and lucrative auto after-market state contracts—Faron could believe any damn thing he wanted! The idea, obviously, was to keep Faron thinking happy thoughts about Charley. Besides, truth be told, Charley liked to drink as much as good ol’ Faron so . where’s the problem? Unfortunately for Charley, lots of places.

For starters, Faron was Charley’s biggest, most important client and everybody knows Business Rule Number One is: When drinking together, you don’t get more whacked than your client! Charley, naturally, knew this; he just had a little difficulty doing it.

Charley’s strategy always started out the same way . Let Faron do most of the talking (the easiest part)—heartily laugh at Faron’s fabled red-neck humor (some of it was pretty funny), and—no matter what—stay at least one drink behind the big guy. The big problem was the last one. Too often Faron’s valuable insight and sage coaching was lost on Charley as the evening’s drinking marathon stretched (sunk) into the wee hours of the morning.

Charley would need an abacus to add up the number of mornings he woke up after a night on the town with Faron—blurry-eyed and fuzz-brained in some Tallahassee hotel room—with clumped, balled-up cocktail napkins cryptically scrawled with obscure little messages that made no sense to him in the harsh reality of morning.

Call Pete when he gets back. Who the hell is Pete? Kiss Stratton’s ass—take him to dinner—he doesn’t like me. Why not? Don’t mention Biloxi deal to Sarah. What Biloxi deal? Worse—which Sarah? (There were three Sarahs in the lieutenant governor’s office.)

But somehow Charley managed to reconstruct Faron’s pearls of wisdom most of the time, usually by tactfully backtracking with him the next day over more drinks at lunch. In most cases he followed through on Faron’s prudent instructions and whispered suggestions, and bit-by-bit, week-by-week and drink-by-drink, Faron eventually guided Charley to the Promised Land! Finally—yesterday—the deal was made, sealed and almost delivered. For Charley Scott Stutsman, it was the undisputed deal of a lifetime. It was, for Charley and his family, the LOTTERY, and, sugar pie, he wasn’t about to screw it up! Not this time!

They had met at three o’clock Tuesday afternoon in the lieutenant governor’s elegantly appointed conference room where Faron, Florida State Police Chief Willard Stratton, and three high-ranking state officials verbally awarded Charley the two-year contract worth over $4.2 million to Charley and Atlantic Dome. Big smiles and handshakes all around . a done deal well done, so let’s all head for the bar and celebrate!

As of the first of the year, every Florida state police car and emergency vehicle would be sporting Atlantic’s sophisticated new Christmas Tree flashing and signal system over their heads. Not only was Charley’s pay-out huge—over $237,000 in commissions over the next twenty-four months—the deal would comfortably establish Charley as Atlantic’s top sales guy, assuring him continued and unchallenged job security for years to come if he kept his nose clean.

As Charley figured it, he should be able to milk this deal for the next four or five years, maybe longer. He had every reason to expect contract renewal at the end of the first two-year period if all went well and Faron continued to mentor him like a son, and the new state relationship would also provide the inside track for Atlantic to bid on police and emergency vehicle business at the local level—potentially representing thousands of dollars more in commissioned sales to Charley and probably millions more to Atlantic!

It was common knowledge that once a supplier earned friends of the state status with Tallahassee, all sorts of windows of opportunity could open. And once a state supplier marriage was consummated and off and running, it was pretty tough to mess it up unless you didn’t take good care of business in the meantime. Taking good care of business in Charley’s case, of course, meant taking good care of Faron Handley. No small feat for Charley, not made any easier by the gnawing but so far rejected suspicion he was fast becoming (had already become?) a one hundred-percent certified alcoholic much like good ol’ Faron. Understandably it was top of mind with his concerned wife Karen who correctly viewed Charley’s accelerated drinking both on and off the road as a worrisome, self-destructive recipe for portending disaster! She was aware of the strain he was under lately, of course, and tried to be gently understanding, sympathetic and patient. But the constant drinking lately! Even when he was home, even when he was alone downstairs in his office in their cozy basement supposedly working with his rock music blaring . sometimes into the wee hours and often with all the lights off .It wasn’t good, and she seriously wondered if it was time for her husband to seek some help.

In the spirit of commemorating the verbal contract agreement, Charley invited Faron and State Police Chief Stratton and their wives to join him for dinner at Sasha’s, one of the state capitol’s finer—and very importantly, most expensive—restaurants. Charley promised himself to be on his best behavior, especially since the actual contract signing was scheduled to take place in Charley’s hotel suite at ten sharp the next morning.

Faron and Charley, no surprise, had to have two teeny-weenies at the small restaurant bar as they waited for Chief Stratton and their elegantly-dressed wives to join them. Fortunately for Charley and Faron, once their little group had assembled, they immediately adjourned to their reserved table where Charley switched to the more temperate scotch (Dewars on the rocks, just a splash). This was Charley’s good boy drink, and as long as he resisted jumping to the more devastating doubles, Charley could usually maintain a steady, mellow-but-controllable scotch buzz without becoming noticeably tanked. Usually.

The evening progressed well, highlighted by several heartfelt toasts to the newly formed union between Atlantic Dome and the State of Florida.

Partnership founded on trust and long-term relationship were two of the more endearing phrases Charley enjoyed hearing repeatedly as he and the merry group frequently raised their glasses in various toasts as they worked their way through dinner prefaced with two chilled bottles of Mumm’s Cordon Rouge (the Brut) and three bottles of an excellent Australian Chardonnay.

Midway through dinner Charley excused himself to call his wife in Detroit, eager to give her the great news! She was thrilled, of course, and inwardly greatly relieved that everything was going so well. Aside from the increased drinking, Karen had also been worried for some time about, maybe, other reasons behind her husband’s almost weekly trips out of town and what, if anything, Charley was doing in Tallahassee besides taking care of good ol’ Faron.

The boozing was one thing. Okay, she could try to reconcile that problem to a certain degree, at least for the time being. But what else was going on that increasingly necessitated her husband to extend so many originally planned two-day trips at the last minute to three, often four-day trips? Although she never mentioned it, at least to him, Karen silently wondered if maybe Charley was messing around with other women or worse, one other woman! At least this might help explain all the last-minute trip revisions, and all the coolness and frequent dark moods when he was home. And it might also help explain the endless drinking, God forbid .

Once the deal was secured, Karen prayed, maybe Charley would stay closer to home now . closer to where she could maintain a more watchful eye. Maybe things would get better between them. It can’t get much worse, she tearfully confided to her mother over the phone during this current Florida trip. Or could it?

God, Charley, honey, I’m so proud of you! she told him excitedly over the phone. You’ve worked so hard for this … putting up with Faron’s all-night bigmouth antics and drinking and everything! Babe, you don’t know the half of it, Charley smiled to himself.

Just be careful tonight, honey. Uh-oh, here it comes, folks … "You know, honey, don’t drink too much at dinner … with the police commissioner and those other important people there. We’ll celebrate bigtime when you get back, okay, baby? Just the two of us . you know . like we used to . remember? I’ll buy a little something I just know you’ll like, honey …" she teased. Good Christ, is the Iron Maiden actually hinting sex for a change? How fucking novel!

You’re so close, Charley! Just go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep. Get all your papers signed in the morning and come right home as soon as you can, okay? I love you, you know, and we’re all so proud of you and miss you so much, honey …

"Me too. Listen, I’ll be fine, Kare, don’t worry about it. Faron’s with his wife for a shocking change so it shouldn’t be a long night for once. I’ve got a two-thirty plane tomorrow afternoon so I’ll call you when I get in, okay? Maybe we can have a nice celebratory dinner somewhere, you pick the place. LaForte, maybe, your favorite place, we can afford it now, babe! We can afford a whole shitload of stinkin’ LaFortes now, babe, every night of the week!"

"Just come home as soon as you can, Charley, that’s all, and we’ll decide from there, okay? I’m just so darn proud of you, baby, we all are. You’ve worked so