Karma Train

My father, bless his soul, finally convinced me to go to a therapist. His diagnosis -- trust issues. He encouraged me to get out into the public more and try to have a semblance of a life. That was a waste of an hour. I never made another appointment.

So I'm sitting in my place watching baseball and just thinking -- this time replaying over the conversation with Anya that occurred after Traci's funeral six months earlier. She said that I wrote small stories for a small newspaper ... and she was right. I had taken the job because it was the only newspaper opening near Traci's job, and since she made more money than me, I sacrificed my plans of someday moving to a larger paper until Traci decided we should move, then I would look again. But now I wasn't tied to the community; in fact, I probably didn't ever have to work another day in my life. I was free to come and go as I pleased, and write whatever the hell I wanted, and didn't care if anyone ever read it. The next day, I went in and gave my boss, Ernie, my two weeks notice.

Sitting in my apartment that night, I looked at my "library," so to speak. It was a collection of about 30 books, 28 of them non-fiction. One of the two fictions was "Moby Dick" by Herman Melville. That got me thinking, which some say is dangerous for me. One of my academic strengths in school, according to all the crazy tests you take, was abstract thinking. Before the days of hyperlinks on the Internet, I used to do that all the time in my mind. Take a thought, mull it over, twist it around slightly, and go in yet another direction. It worked for me, but it didn't make it easy for my friends to follow my thinking when we would get into deep discussions about things. And they learned never to ask "what if" when I was around.

Ten minutes later, it occurred to me that Traci was always going to be my white whale ... and I had to hunt her. But I would do it with the written word.

And that's how it started. I sat down at the computer and composed my first fiction story since eighth grade. The Derek Biggs character was killed off, and the Traci character got severely punished by life. It took me two full days to write it, edit it, and polish it, but for the first time in half a year I felt energized. I still couldn't punish Traci in real life, but I could in my head in this story.

I went on to write 17 more short stories over the next two months, changing things up but keeping a couple of constants: the Derek character always was killed off, and the Traci character always got her comeuppance. Damn, that felt good when I would complete one, set it aside, and then read the finished product.

And then I happened back to Moby Dick. It was an actual book, with a cover and bound pages.

"I can do that," I thought to myself.

Yes, I could ... and I did. Six months later I had my first novel, a historical romance, of all things. Of course, the Derek character got killed off, quite viciously I might add, and the Traci character was again humbled. I thought it was pretty good, and apparently a publisher did, too. The deal I got wasn't so great, but at least I didn't have to pay to have it self-published.

I'm not sure how things got done, but somebody else besides me liked the book, and the publishing company actually did two more runs. The company wanted a second book, and doubled the money, so, what the hell, I did another. This one was a murder mystery, and yep, the Derek character was the victim, and the Traci character got caught and jailed. Again, I was feeling much better with life after completing the book, and the strong sales didn't hurt my feelings either. In my mind, it was like a lot of people were agreeing with my feelings about Traci and Derek.

I had a second publishing company come after me after the success of the second book, and they offered me a three-book deal at again double the money. Considering I was already a rich man, although nobody knew it, I didn't need the money, so I gave the first company the right of first refusal to match the deal. They quickly agreed, so I stayed with them and gave them three more books over the next 18 months. Each book used the same basic story line, although I did change the scenarios, and in the third one I even tried some humor. All three were hits, but most importantly to me, I kept feeling better about myself with each book finished. I knew I was never going to be able to get any of my questions about what she did and why she did it answered, so this was as close to any satisfaction I was going to get. Like the old song says, "love the one you're with."

I signed another three-book deal with my publisher, again with my price doubling, and this time they had some bigger news. Seems that one of the movie studios was looking to make at least two of the books into feature films, for some incredibly nice pocket change. They even wanted my help with a screenplay. What the hell, sure, I said.

While I had never been a big fan of Oprah Winfrey, her endorsement of a book usually sent the author into the stratosphere of success, and when she chose my sixth book for one of her books of the month, I got to experience that first-hand. It was amazing, and not only was I now a successful author, but I was now being recognized in public. Obviously there was a downside to that, but I guess that's sort of the price of success. In general, most people are very polite and nice, but every now and then you get a jerk who wants to prove that he or she is not impressed by you. That's OK, because I'm not impressed with me either, but I don't need to take shit from anybody else. I can do rude as well as anybody.

So I was sitting in my favorite bar -- the same one I was in when the state trooper told me Traci was dead -- just enjoying a Friday evening with my good buddy Jack Daniels. Now worth north of $10 million, I still enjoyed the simpler things in life: a good drink, working out, riding my road bike, fucking a good-looking woman every now and then. I still lived in the same crappy apartment, and really hadn't been searching for lasting female companionship. I think a few of the regulars at the bar knew about my writing success, but for the most part everyone there pretty much left me alone -- you know, some playful shit-slinging every now and then, but nobody really said anything about reading my stuff. Of course, I was pretty sure that about half of them couldn't read, so that took them off my potential fan club list.

Noel, my favorite bartender, knew about my success, and we would occasionally talk about it or something I was working on, but he was a good dude and apparently kept his mouth shut about me. Of course, the fact that I tipped him $20 every time I was in the place probably contributed something to that.

I was watching the television screen closest to me, listening to the background music, and in general not paying attention to life when two women were suddenly alongside me at the bar. They were both attractive, I guessed in their mid-30s like I was, and were dressed in jeans and regular tops. They weren't trying to impress anybody, obviously, but there was something about the one farthest from me that seemed familiar. I knew why as soon as she started talking to me.

"You don't remember me, do you, Mr. Tillerson?" she asked as her friend leaned back on her stool so we had a clear line of sight of each other.

Truthfully, I didn't at first, then it clicked. I was looking at Ellie Biggs, Derek Biggs' widow. I had only met her the one time, at the settlement signing when the trucking company paid us for killing our cheating spouses, and at that time I confirmed for her that yes, her shithead husband was cheating on her with my wife.

"I most certainly do remember you, Mrs. Biggs. It took me a minute, however. How have you been? You certainly look great, if you don't mind me saying so."

Ellie blushed and looked at her friend. Then she looked me straight in the eyes.

"I am much better than the last time you saw me, and honestly, I have you to thank for that -- at least from an emotional standpoint. You see, Derek's death left me about $2 million richer, but I was a total mess when he was killed. And then on top of that I found out he was cheating on me. I was both sad and angry ... particularly angry that I would never get to tell that cheating prick what I thought about him.

"Then one day Rachel here brought me your first book. She had seen your name on the cover and remembered it from my account of our meeting. At first I started skimming it, realizing you were writing about our worthless spouses ... and you just kept drawing me in. When Derek's character was killed off, I can't describe the feeling of relief I had. Then when Traci got hers, I felt vindicated, for lack of a better word. That was the best I had felt since that horrible day. Since then, I've read every single book you've written. This may sound stupid, but they make me feel better about myself. And I usually giggle like a schoolgirl when Derek and Traci get theirs."

"That's kind of how I feel when I finish writing one," I related. "I'm glad I could help you as well. Considering how well they've sold, I'm guessing there must be a lot of people who can relate to what we've been through.

"I honestly never considered writing for a career. Hell, I hadn't written fiction since eighth grade. And maybe since I really didn't have to write, since I had my settlement money and a lot of insurance money, maybe that helped things flow out of me. I guess I'll do it as long as it feels good."

The three of us shifted over to a table, and I bought a couple of snack trays to munch on. We talked until midnight, when the ladies said they needed to get going. I told them I honestly couldn't remember having a nicer night in quite some time, and asked if we could do it again in the future.

"How about next Friday night, but we start off with a real dinner first ... on me?" I asked. They both accepted.

I met them at my favorite Italian restaurant the next Friday night, and we again had a good time. Both women were pretty, Ellie had long blonde hair and blue eyes and a curvaceous figure, while Rachel had long black hair and was built more like a volleyball player with long, toned legs, a solid butt and maybe B-sized boobs. Ellie had on a lower cut blouse that nicely showed off her C-cup boobs, while Rachel had on a short, clingy skirt that nice showed off her best assets. Truthfully, I felt slightly awkward having the two best-looking women sitting at my table. Oh shit, what a lie ... I absolutely loved having the two best-looking women in the restaurant sitting at my table.

We enjoyed an excellent meal and good conversation as I got to know the pair, but as the restaurant had a filled waiting room, I didn't want to keep anyone waiting, so I suggested we leave the table and get an after-dinner drink at a club about 10 minutes away. Rachel begged off at that point, and I agreed to drive Ellie home after the drink.

The bar at Stella's was only half-filled, so it was easy for Ellie and I to converse. The first thing I asked her was if she or Rachel was the winner: did the winner get me, or did the loser?

Apparently she didn't give me enough credit for knowing how the female mind worked, because she blushed a deep red.

"I-I was the winner, I hope," she stammered quietly.

"Actually, I think I'm the winner, but I was the winner when you both sat down with me. I think every single guy in the restaurant wanted to beat the crap out of me for hogging the prettiest two women," I said.

Ellie blushed deeply again.

"Can I tell you something, and you promise you won't get mad at me?" she looked at me seriously as she scrunched up her nose.

I nodded cautiously, not sure where this was going.

"I absolutely hated your guts when I left the lawyer's office after we signed the settlement papers. I knew that you had nothing to do with Derek cheating on me with Traci, but in my mind the fact that you knew and I didn't put you one-up on me, and I didn't take it very well with everything else going down. I kind of felt like you were holding out on me as well."

"I got that vibe ... and I totally understood it. Besides, the two of us getting together after our cheating spouses get killed ... oh come on ... that's ridiculous. That kind of stuff only happens on the Hallmark channel. So I let you walk away without even saying good bye."

"So a year later Rachel hands me this book," Ellie went on, "and it's obvious you were pouring your heart out in the pages, and it was obvious that it was about the affair between our spouses. And it was like someone opened the curtains and let the sunlight in when they got theirs. You completely got it. I had been seeing a shrink for almost a year, and he noticed the change in my attitude right away. So I gave him the book to read, and at my next session he said, and I quote here, 'pardon my French, but this guy's a fucking genius.'"

"Well, if I'm some kind of a 'fucking genius,' then why am I living in a hole in the wall with more than $10 million in the bank?"

Ellie looked stunned.

"I knew you had your settlement money and the big insurance policy, but I didn't realize you were doing that well for yourself. Why are you living like that?"

"Because when you are by yourself and afraid to trust anyone, money doesn't mean a whole lot," I answered. "Basically, I'm a simple man with no big vices. I don't have to work -- if you want to call my writing work. I don't have anybody to share my life -- and my money -- with."

Saying it out loud for the first time, I realized just how pathetic I was. I was basically living my life in a fantasy book world where I made Traci and Derek pay for their cheating ways every six months or so. Yes, it was fun, but in reality I wasn't really living, I was merely existing.

I don't know how long I sat at the table staring at nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing, until suddenly I felt electricity coming from my lips. Rather the electricity was coming from Ellie's lips, which were plastered up against mine, with her tongue soon finding its way into my mouth. I returned her kiss like a man in a desert finding a sip of water. We stayed joined at the lips for probably 30 seconds, and when she pulled away she told me I needed to pay the tab and take her back to my apartment.

I did so like a man awakening from a dream.

In the four-plus years since Traci died, I have fucked several women, but I hadn't made love to a woman since my wife died. I knew from talking with Ellie that she'd had a few men since Derek, but not a lot either, so I took it real slow and gentle. The kisses were deep and meaningful. We ran our hands over each other's bodies slowly, truly feeling with our fingertips. I mean, Stevie Wonder would have been proud of us. Then when it came time for the main act, I ran my very hard cock up and down her wet slit to make sure I was completely lubricated as I slid in. We then made love almost in slow motion. I was feeling every inch of her pussy walls with my cock, especially when she squeezed her PC muscles. It was almost like an out of body experience for me, until she finally tensed up and then let her passion loose in a massive orgasm that took me over the edge with her.

I lost all sense of time and space for a second there, and when I regained my senses I was gently laying on top of Ellie, mostly supporting myself with my arms, which were beginning to quiver from the strain, I rolled us gently to our sides so we were facing each other as she slowly opened her eyes while still gasping for breath.

"Wow," she mouthed at me with no sound coming forth.

We lay looking at each other silently, playing a little kissy-face like teenagers. Finally she spoke.

"I completely understand what you have told me, and all I can say to you is if you let me in and trust me, I will prove worthy of your trust every day for the rest of our lives."

"If that's a proposal, I accept."

No, we didn't get married after one great night in the sack, but that night was the beginning of the rest of our lives together. We tied the knot about a year later, once we were both sure we had put our personal issues behind us. We moved into a big new house we had built in the country, which featured five bedrooms -- one for us and one each for the four children we planned to have. We built a guest suite as well, so we could have frequent visitors.

And I learned how to write about other things in addition to the Traci and Derek revenge stories. Once I started dating Ellie, we both found I didn't need to continue to punish the pair in words, but since it sold well and was still fun to do, I still wrote one or two a year, much to the delight of my publisher's accountants. The Karma Train had been good to me, so I was glad to add a few passengers along for the ride.