Susie

By Steven B. Orkin

Ken Chastain appears to live two lives. One life involves his wife, Terry, and daughter Kayla. The other involves the enchanting Susie, the perfect girl. What is Susie's secret and how does it pertain to Ken's mysterious double-life? Which life is real? What IS real?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Orkin
• Release date: Nov 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223408703

Steven B. Orkin

There's always an inclination to write author bios in the third person, but I've decided to resist this impulse! I'm a passionate advocate of the written word, both in terms of my own writing and empowering others to express themselves through writing. My biggest accolade to date as a writer is being a winner of Stephen King's 'On Writing' contest, from his wonderful memoir / writing guide of the same name. There were over a thousand entrants to this contest and only four winners. More recently, I have been flexing my editing skills as Co-Editor of 'Giant Beast Cinema' (23) and its predecessor, 'Giant Bug Cinema' (22), both published by BearManor Media. I am also the author of the novella, 'Susie', available on Amazon. Selections of my work have been presented at the Boulton Center for the Performing Arts, Bay Shore, NY, and at the ICON Science Fiction & Fantasy Convention. In addition to writing, my other interests include reading, music, current events, landscape photography, empowerment, and exploring the Human Condition. I'm a near-lifelong resident of Long Island.

Book preview

Susie

The clock reads 4:00 AM. My daughter mumbles in her sleep through the electronic monitor. I smile at the simple wonder of her. My wife sleeps beside me, peaceful, even serene, moving against me, warm skin on mine. Even the cat curled on her hip dreams, though she too stirs, somehow troubled by the intangible disturbance of my awakening.

I stare at the ceiling and think about my life. Where it is. Where it’s been. What’s to become of it. But not in any concrete way; more a... sifting, a general assessment of information, like a jeweler sorting precious stones before evaluating each in detail: Ruby. Amethyst. Zirconium. Opal. Diamond. Onyx. Glass. Sapphire. It means nothing. It will produce no concrete revelation. It is merely the philosophical wheel-spinning of an insomniacal mind.

Another wheel turns as I consider whether to try going back to sleep or if I’ll just end up tossing and turning for two hours before my day officially begins. I get up, use the bathroom, get a glass of water from the kitchen, gaze out the window at the day-to-be. Still dark. Too soon to make a call on the weather. I touch the glass; cold, but everything’s cold at 4:15 in the morning. It’s the nature of the beast. Ray Bradbury once wrote that 3 AM is when the soul is out, that it’s the closest you’ll ever be to death save dying. I’m here to tell you, 4 AM isn’t any better. There is a stillness, a silence, an isolation, that is at once desolate and comforting.

Carefully, I open the front door. Terry’s a light sleeper; if I’m not careful, she’ll be up, asking me why I’m sneaking out of the house at four in the morning. Not from distrust, but concern. I know she’d mean well, but I’m not in the mood to talk about my feelings. All I want is a little solitude, some communion with the night’s dark hour.

I step out in nothing but boxers and a tee. No one cares what you wear at 4 AM. Besides, with the porch light out, I could sit here wearing nothing and pass the casual scrutiny of the few cars on the nearby main road. I shiver as I settle on the damp boards of the steps. I won’t be able to stay out here long. I stare up at the stars, diamonds in blue-black velvet, and wonder if some other insomniac is sitting on a distant world doing the same thing.

My mind turns like an old dryer, tumbling my thoughts in endless circles. A shadow shuffles toward me across the concrete walkway leading to the driveway. A raccoon. Upon seeing me, it halts, cocking its head in an all-too-human "What are you doing here?" expression. Miffed at having its solitude disturbed, it turns and lumbers back the way it came. I didn’t even know we had raccoons around here.

After a while, my mind starts to settle down enough that I feel I might be able to sleep. I go back inside and return to bed, hands clasped behind my head, staring at the ceiling. To sleep or not to sleep? That is the question.

~~~

I have no idea where I met Susie. I can’t even imagine calling anyone Susie, except maybe as a pet name; something intimate, just between us. I wouldn’t introduce her that way This is my girlfriend, Susie. I’d say, This is Susan. Or Suzanne. Maybe even Sue. It’s a fascinating name; each derivation puts across a different feel. Susan has a simple elegance, sophistication, femininity. It’s classy. Suzanne is exciting, creative, sexy. Sue is down-to-earth, approachable, sensible. Susie is playful, impish, sweet.

All I know is that her face lights up when I use the latter, so ‘Susie’ it is.

I think I’ve