Walk of Shame

by Gregory, O. L.

  Stephan stepped up to the plate. "May I?" he asked and gestured to the couch.

  "Absolutely."

  Oh my God, his eyes are so intense. Maybe it was just the yummy smell of his cologne clogging my brain. But the mix of the two had me about ready to forget the rest of the room and start sighing.

  "I read 'writer and novelist' in your bio," he said with a smile. "What genre?"

  I almost giggled. The man made me feel like I was in middle school again, all hormones and no sense. I ended up smiling, and after a long pause spent trying to get my head on straight, I answered, "Contemporary fiction."

  "That could be almost anything."

  It took me another second, but I found finally found my tongue. "I like to write whatever plot comes to me. So I jump around subgenres. The books I have traditionally published are all mysteries, that's what my current contract is for, as well. Other novels I write, that don't fit into that mold, I have published independently."

  His gaze turned shrewder. "You don't like to be boxed into a corner, do you?"

  I flushed a little. "No, I don't. I can't even be boxed into a home or apartment. I don't control my imagination. When a story hits me and won't let go, it becomes this two or three week marathon of outlining and getting the plot points down on paper so that I can clear my head and think of something else. Sometimes, the plot morphs into a mystery and I can then write up the draft, make revisions, and send it in. Otherwise, I can't let a perfectly good outline sit there and do nothing. Eventually I go ahead and write the story. And once it's done, I have to do something with it, so I self-publish it."

  "I like that. You don't fall into the trap of working at someone else's mercy."

  "Well, no. I guess I don't. I mean, I have to fulfill my contract... But I already had outlines of two other mysteries done before I accepted, so I knew I had time to conjure more ideas, if the mystery well dried up for me."

  "I like your style."

  "I've been lucky. So, what is it that you do?"

  "It's going to sound boring."

  "You travel the country as part of your job. It can't be that boring."

  "I'm a photographer for a curriculum company."

  "Curriculum as in text books?"

  "Yes. I take the pictures and write up captions, or take video clips and record voiced captions."

  "For what subjects?"

  He shrugged. "It depends on the projects they have going on. History, geography, science, they send me a list of locations or topics and I go and get the pictures and footage. The company is in the process of coming up with in-depth, computer-based courses. So they're looking for more and more video clips."

  "What have you been working on lately?"

  "They sent me a text book and a box of materials. They want me complete some science experiments while filming them. But I've also been trying to film some national parks stuff for a little pet project I've been working on."

  "Is it just for high school-level?"

  "No, I've worked on stuff from elementary school on up through doctorate level courses. Many times I'm working on a project for high school or college and they pull a picture from here or there to put in the elementary-level texts that just touch upon the in-depth stuff I'm working on."

  "That sounds like a job that you can't get bored with."

  "It is that. I like that one project is different from the next. One month I'm filming on a wildlife preserve, waiting for a buffalo stampede, and the next I'm filming people in period costume, recreating revolutionary war life at Valley Forge. Next, I'm at the Smithsonian Zoo, filming and taking pictures of an artist drawing the animals for an Art course. And then I'm in the Rockies, working on two projects. One was to film mountain goats jumping from ledge to ledge, and the second to take pictures of a list of mountain formations."

  "I love that. It sounds like you don't much like to be boxed in, either, unless the box keeps changing."

  He laughed. "I could have done without the beekeeper assignment. And I about messed my pants on the stampeding buffalo assignment. But it's an interesting job."

  I smiled back at him. It was definitely not something I would have pegged him as having.

  "Troy's tapping his watch at me," Stephan said.

  "Ignore him. Can I have my pink flower back?"

  His intense eyes took on a sparkle. "No."

  I laughed. "Okay, your choice. You can go, then. Troy's waiting."

  His eyes shifted to the flowers on the table and back to me. "Were you going to give me a better color?"

  I shrugged. "Which color would you like?"

  "Do the colors mean anything?"

  "To me they do."

  "You didn't give everyone flowers."

  "Not everyone has made a remarkable impression on me yet."

  "And you were going to take my pink one away."

  "Because my opinion had changed, so I was going to give you a different color. But that's okay, go ahead and keep the pink one."

  He smiled. "I'm a little nervous about the flowers now."

  I chuckled at him.

  Troy cleared his throat.

  Stephan sighed and excused himself.

  T. J. was up next, and then Darren found his nerve to come forward. They were both perfectly good men. I just wasn't sure either one struck a chord with me.

  I smiled as the dude with the hot, buttery voice came up the stairs. The hip-waders were still cracking me up. He gestured at the couch, "Would you mind?"

  I gestured right back, "By all means."

  He had a gift bag with him that he tucked away at the end of the couch before he sat down. "Do you think the outfit is funny, or is it me in general?"

  I laughed. "The outfit is throwing me for a loop. I'm wondering if it has more to do with your job than the subculture?"

  He put his head down and smiled. "I could tell you what I do, but I can almost guarantee you won't like it."

  "Well now I have to know."

  "I study ecology."

  "That doesn't sound so bad."

  "I'm a swamp specialist."

  I wrinkled my nose and shifted my eyes away.

  "I told you, you wouldn't like it," he said with a smile.

  No kidding. I was tempted to swap his red carnation for a pink one.

  "Are you limited to just the south in your travels, then?"

  "No, though swamps do tend to be in the eastern half of the country. They follow the Gulf, and the southern half of the east coast. There are more in the north, towards the Canadian border. Most of the top half of Maine is swamp. And then follow the Mississippi up through the country and the mouths of the rivers feeding into it, and you'll find a good amount of swampland."

  "That's not as bad as I thought. I didn't realize the US was so soggy."

  He grinned. "That's because we've either filled it in to settle there, or your attention is pulled towards some sort of civilization so strongly that you don't notice what lies beyond it, to see where the marsh begins."

  I smiled. "I saw examples of that down in Charleston, South Carolina."

  He nodded. "The coastline down there keeps changing because they keep filling in swamp to build more city. And that's why the city is so short. The soft land underneath can't handle buildings past a certain height."

  "Okay. So your job isn't as bad as it could be."

  "Still not your thing?"

  "Well, no. But my job is sitting behind a computer all day, I'm sure that wouldn't be your thing."

  "No." He chuckled. "I have to spend far too much time behind one for business as it is."

  "Okay, so we agree that we'll never be jealous over one another's career and go from there."

  "Deal."

  Trying to steer the conversation back into friendlier waters, I asked, "What's in the bag?"

  His smile turned genuine now. "My sister sent you a gift."

  "Your sister?"

  "Yeah. She thought I should give you something from the swamp to show you it isn't
all muck and alligators."

  "Sounds like a plan. But it's from her and not you?"

  He handed me the bag. "She makes them and sells them in a gift store for the tourists. She gave me this one to pass along to you. I can't say it's from me if I didn't pay her for it."

  I opened the bag and inside was a wooden box with a flower preserved in a dome of clear resin on the top. "The flower is from the swamp?"

  "The wood too. It's a swamp rose-mallow. They bloom in large groups, they're very pretty."

  "Well thank your sister for me. It's beautiful, and actually does sway my opinion on the swamp a little." And she probably just saved your flower from being swapped. Well, that and your voice/accent combo.

  "It's beautiful country if you give it a chance. It could truly inspire a book or two."

  "Well maybe you'll have to show me sometime."

  "I'd love to do that."

  "Will you wear the hip waders for me again?" I asked with a sly smile.

  He grinned. "I'll even bring a pair for you."

  I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. "I'll be squealing like a girl the whole time."

  "But you'll wade in with me?"

  "As long as you promise to protect me from the creatures in the murky water, I will trust you enough to follow you in. But the minute I feel anything slithering around or bumping against me, all bets are off."

  Hey, if I wasn't willing to experience a different way of life, I really had no business being here. Plus, if I did start to panic in the water, all he'd have to do is lean down and start softly talking in my ear. I bet my sensory overload would calm right on down.

  Jared excused himself, and Mack took his turn. Nothing wrong with him, nothing particularly remarkable about him, either.

  Last up was the army uniform-wearing hottie.

  "Last, but not least?" I asked.

  He gestured at the seat and I nodded.

  "It seemed to work for me the last time."

  "It worked so well we skipped the names and went straight to the flirtations."

  "I figured there was no point, if you weren't going to remember it anyway. I aimed for leaving an impression instead."

  Obviously, the men had been given fair warning that I stank with remembering names. I chuckled at the fact that he still hadn't given me his name. Though it didn't matter at this point, not when he was wearing a nametag that said his name was Mike. "You said you've been out of the army for about a year and a half, what are you doing now?"

  "Sitting here with a beautiful woman."

  I smiled. "You do like to lay it on a little thick, don't you?"

  He gave me a sheepish grin. "I'm trying to come up with something you'll remember me for, once I take the uniform off."

  Images flashed through my head. "Just walk around in camo pants and your dog tags and I won't forget a thing."

  He let out a bark of laughter that drew a couple looks from the other guys. "You dish it right back out, don't you?"

  "I like to hold my own. But, seriously, what do you do now?"

  "I'm a construction engineer, bridges, tunnels, road layouts, lookout points, that sort of thing."

  My eyebrows rose. "You've got some skills. Are you employed by a company, or-"

  "The National Park System."

  My eyebrows shot up in surprised pleasure. "Ah, lookout points, that makes sense. And so you go wherever they need you?"

  "Right. The jobs tend to last awhile, but then I'm off to somewhere new."

  "And do you do new construction, or repair work?"

  "Whatever they need at the time."

  "How close do you keep your rig to all the loud and noisy construction work?"

  He laughed. "It all depends on the particular park and where the job is in it. The hours can get long, but there's always something to do in the off hours."

  I was liking the sound of the man's job. I knew from experience that amenities could get a little sparse in some of the parks, but they were slowly coming around more and more. And, more importantly to my work, cell phone signals were becoming more the norm in the camping areas.

  "Um... I feel like I should tell you about something now, and get it out of the way," he told me. "So you're not shocked later on."

  I looked at him and caught a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. I chewed on the inside of my bottom lip, wondering what the hell kind of bomb he was about to drop. But then my eyes landed back on his chest and I felt like I knew where he was headed. "You got some big nasty scars while earning your purple heart?"

  He looked away and back before he lifted his left pant leg a few inches and revealed a prosthetic leg.

  I refused to bat an eyelash. Instead, I pursed my lips in contemplation for a moment. "Above or below the knee?"

  "Below."

  I nodded as though I was rolling something around in my head. "Well that's good."

  He just stared at me. "The knee would be a deal breaker?"

  "No. It's just good that you have the knee, is all. It might come in handy."

  He was lost. "How would my knee come in handy for you?"

  "Well, if you're still around at the end of all this, it's nice to know that you can have the leg off and still have leverage when you're up on all fours." And then I gave him devious little smile.

  He went from shock to barking laughter.

  I don't think he was expecting me to go there. I just smiled at the guys who'd started staring. "Do you have other attachments for it?" I asked when he'd calmed down.

  "I do. I have one for running, and one for climbing."

  "Running and climbing? You don't let anything keep you down, do you?"

  "Nope. Why should I let one bad day dictate the rest of my life?"

  "You shouldn't." Military men, they take a licking and just keep on ticking. And you couldn't ask a man for much more than that.

  "It doesn't bother you?"

  I looked him straight in the eye. "I can accept your artificial leg, if you can accept that I have five inches of artificial height."

  He narrowed his eyes, and I thought he was going to tell me I was cracking rude and inappropriate jokes.

  "Do you have different heights for different activities?" he asked with a serious expression.

  I almost cracked a smile. "Of course I do."

  He winked. "Then we should get along just fine."

  I like the job, I like the attitude...

  "I should get going so we can move this show along."

  I smiled and nodded, and he stood to rejoin the others.

  Mike descended the stairs and Troy ascended them one last time.

  "Emmaline," he faced the group of men and held his elbow out for me. "If you're ready, you can come with me and we'll proceed to the next portion of our evening."

  I straightened and stood.

  Troy tried to muffle a chuckle and not break his formal expression. But that backfired and he snorted. Shaking his head, he gave up the pretense. "Put your shoes back on."

  The whole room lost it.

  He was still shaking his head like he was about to explain something simple to a small child. "You can't be a pretty princess without your five-inch hooker shoes."

  The guys laughed harder.

  I flushed three shades of red and shook my head with a smile.

  "That's how princesses trip on their pretty gowns and fall and break their pretty faces," Troy continued.

  "Have we considered," I asked, "letting the princess wear an already mastered three-inch heel and adding a two-inch tiara, to create the same illusion?"

  Troy shook his head. "See? Now you're just giving wardrobe ideas. They're already wondering what to do when they stand you next to that mountain of a man wearing the kilt over there. Now you'll be wearing the five-inch heels and a two-inch tiara, if you keep him around."

  I looked over at Liam and he winked at me.

  I took Troy's elbow, used him to balance as I slid the first foot into a shoe, and then stepped up to my new height
to slide the other shoe on.

  "My God, you grew!" he exclaimed to keep his small audience entertained. "It's like magic!" He shook his head at the feat. He got his reaction of chuckles and then paused, switched to his more formal face, and looked back to me. "If you're ready, Emmaline. We'll proceed to the next portion of the evening."

  I caught that he was repeating himself so the film editors could cut out my shoe commentary and the transition between settings would be seamless. I nodded to him. "I'm ready, Troy."

  He led me down the stairs and off through a doorway in the back of the room. "We'll give them a few moments to get the men arranged. Let's step over here and do a short interview." He led me to a small room that was already set up with a couple cameramen in the right side corners of the room to catch angles, toward the opposite diagonal corners, of both Troy and I when we sat down in facing chairs.

  A makeup artist followed us inside to do some touchups. It had been a long night already and I was surprised all the layers of my makeup weren't melting right off my face by now.

  "So," Troy asked, once we were situated. "Who's made an impression on you so far?"

  "A lot of them have. I'm finding that I'm picking certain things from certain ones that I like best. I keep thinking 'I like this one's voice, this one's style, this one's cologne, this one's job, and this one's attitude about life'. Now if I could just conglomerate all those different attributes into one man, we could call it a day right here and now."

  "What were you thinking when you hit the third limo and the men started coming out in those outfits?"

  "I loved it. The third and fourth limos both impressed me, if for no other reason than they put extra thought into how to help me understand where they were coming from in life."

  "If someone asked you to dress for your culture, what would you wear?"

  I laughed. "Honestly, I'd be wearing a t-shirt and jeans. You know, I was having a very interesting conversation with..." and I drew a blank.

  Troy gave a discreet head-nod towards the wall behind the cameramen.

  I looked up and there were pictures on the wall of each man wearing tonight's outfit and his name on a card in the corner of each picture. I smiled. "With Ardent. I call myself a European mutt, with eight different nationalities. I don't have a specific culture that I grew up in, other than being an American. And living the life that I do, I can put on an evening dress and say that's just how we do it here, but I come from the jeans and t-shirt wearing part of the nation. Maybe that's why being grounded in a culture is appealing to me, it's something I've never really had."