Interpol Romance-Entry for 2008 Short Story Challenge

Interpol Romance

A pediatric dentist obsessed with visiting the Interpol’s website finally begins living her life when she finds herself listed among the most wanted.

Interpol Romance

She couldn’t remember how her obsession started. She had heard about the website on a television program once and had searched her name innocently enough. Of course, she was not among the wanted. She then looked for others and found the picture of a woman who looked like the kind of mother who made a mean turkey at Thanksgiving and could be counted as one of the best hostesses for any occasion not as a criminal listed among the most searched in the Interpol website.

She would get back from a day at work and find herself searching the internet for deals on a pair of suede boots she had seen at Macy’s or the puffy jacket she liked on one of her patient’s mothers. And, if it was a lonely night, she would find herself on the Interpol website once again, looking for herself (why?) and gazing at the picture Janet Hubbard, the chocolate chip baking mom. She was wanted for Parental Abduction.

Nothing ever changed in her life, until that day. It began like all others. She had little Bruno in the morning who was a breeze to treat. He had been lucky to be born with “good teeth” and even though she knew he was not always very thorough with his toothbrush and certainly was not using floss (yes, a lot to ask of a seven year old) he had not had even a small glimmer of a cavity. Bruno also seemed to enjoy sitting in her chair and letting her soothe him with her soft intonation. Her last patient, however, had taken away all her serenity—Julia. She was a sweet enough twelve-year-old, but her previous dentist had used fear tactics to get her to cooperate and now poor Julia had an aversion to the seat that was not to be tamed. Even trying to approach her mouth would make Julia’s stiffen her whole body and clench her jaw. Simply peaking inside took five times what it should. Thankfully, she had no cavities. Still, Dr. Smiles (the name she used to market herself in her cards and on the banner in front of her office), or simply Wilma, was exhausted as she buckled up in her car and started the familiar drive home. On other days, questions such as, “Are you married to Fred?” “Is your last name Flintstone” produced a chuckle. Today, they bothered her and even though she chuckled, she was faking it.

She got home and defrosted a portion of lentil soup from last Sundays’ big cook off. She was a lady of rituals and one of those rituals included cooking 10 portions of the same freezable soup. Last weekend she had made a batch of lentil and one of minestrone. She did not feel like watching television. Instead, she got out her laptop and went to the familiar website that now became her friend. Would they finally stop listing this poor innocent looking woman? It was possible, since she had not been on the site for a couple of weeks. She found Janet Hubbard smiling at her probably thinking of the PTA meeting she had to cater and the hockey uniform that needed bleaching. What would she do if her picture, a single pediatric dentist, showed up next to Janet’s?

She searched for her name, and the strangest thing happened, this time the computer seemed to be loading up something. And there, as if her thoughts had made it happen, her face was looking back at her. The picture was one she remembered using on a dating website two years back. She rubbed her eyes; she got closer to the computer screen. She looked at the name under the picture, “Dr. Wilma Noonan”. Underneath that, it just said, “Wanted”. What crime had she committed? Could there be a similar looking lady with her name? She had not committed a major crime, other than lying to Hugo that he would not need more fillings, for now, when she had seen two cavities and a possible root canal. She, Dr. Smiles, was not Interpol material. If they had found her terrible match.com picture, where they looking at her right now? Was her apartment bugged? She had to leave her apartment immediately and be with people. They would not pounce on her if she was in a crowded place.

She rarely visited the local pub but that was as far as she felt she could venture. She sat at the bar and ordered a Pinot Grigio. She took one sip and started looking around. If they found her picture, they would know where she lived. If she was wanted, they could find her. She had decided she was not going to put up a fight, but she had to somehow investigate what she was wanted for. If she knew this, she could find a way to defend herself, at least.

She was deep in thought, drinking her Pinot just a tad too quickly, when a tall handsome man, the kind that never sat next to her, sat down. He smiled, “Good evening” and ordered a Pinot Grigio.

“That is what I am drinking,” she said, smiling into her now empty glass.

“What a coincidence”, the man said, and smiled. Now, there is no faster way into a dentist’s heart than a perfect well spaced, white, tartar free smile.

“You have good teeth,” she said, before she knew what was coming out of her mouth.

“Good taste and a keen sense for details. That is very good in my line of work.”

“Well, I’m a dentist, so a good smile is in my line of work,” Wilma said, not knowing why she was being so bold. It had been a very long time since she had gone on a date. In fact, her last date she met on match.com and it had not been pretty. He had been obsessed with drinking whole milk throughout the date and insisted on attempting to kiss her when they had not even been talking for ten minutes. “So,” she just didn’t want to lose this opportunity. Knowing that she might be imprisoned had made her ignore all her mother’s advice about being a lady, “what do you do that requires details?”

“Well, I’m a detective of sorts.” He said, looking down at his glass and taking a gulp.

“Now that sounds interesting,” Wilma said, crossing her leg and feeling relieved that she was wearing a skirt. Her legs, she felt, were among her best feature.

“Not as interesting as teeth. I’ve been meaning to get a new dentist. Maybe I will come see you,” he said, taking another gulp of his wine, as if it was a cheap beer, Wilma thought, and not a good Pinot.

“Well, there I can’t help you. You don’t fit my patient parameters. I see only kids.”

In the next hour Wilma found out that his name was Peter Parker, which sounded vaguely familiar to her and she wondered if there was a kid in her high school with that name, that he loved kids, loved them, he repeated, and that he also loved being a detective. “You would be surprised what you find out about people, when you dig a little,” he said, looking at her intently.

Wilma was becoming bolder, either it was the Interpol thing or the Pinots she was downing, but she thought he, Peter Parker, was the right man to help her find out why she was being investigated. After her fifth glass, she felt like she knew Peter so well. She knew the name of his first dog, Benji, the name of his favorite Nanny, “Mary”, the name of his best friend, “Clark Kent”. She knew he liked to take photographs as a hobby, and as part of his job. She KNEW him. And this knowledge, plus the Pinots told her that it would be perfectly alright to ask him to come with her to her small apartment so she could show him the website that had not left her mind. Peter agreed, “If I can be of help.”

She stumbled to open the door, as she had seen so many other heroines in movies do. She offered him more wine, though all she had were wine coolers. He declined the offer, “I’ve probably had enough.”

Wilma went over to her laptop and opened it. She had not closed the browser, and it was the first thing you saw when it came out of sleep. “Look,” she said.

Peter asked several times, if it truly was her. She said that it was but she could not, for the life of her, understand why it was her. Well, have you any connection to the Interpol or the website, he asked. None, none she repeated several times, until, unexpectedly she began to sob. Peter’s shoulder seemed so strong and so soothing. She was wiping her runny nose on his suit, but she just could not stop. All the lonely nights, her sadness for Janet, and her uncertain future as a fugitive came pouring out of her like Niagara Falls. Peter did not know what to do with his arms but he finally settled in holding her close and this calmed Wilma.

Peter lead her to the couch, and the two sat in silence. She noticed Peter staring at her pictures. Mostly, they showed her mom and dad, her sisters and her childhood dog, Tin Tin. “Who is Janet? Is that your sister?” Wilma must have mentioned her name as she was sobbing. “No, I don’t know who she is exactly. She is wanted, like me, but her picture just does not look like a criminal. Her picture is the one that I visit most often, wanting to know why someone who looks like a baker of cookies and a maker of pies would be on a wanted list. It is how I got started with my interest in the Interpol. Curiosity, really.”

She told Peter about feeling alone, about coming home to an empty apartment, about wanting to be a mother, about a love she left behind for fear of interrupting her career, about times she stayed home when she could have gone on a trip to Egypt, or River Rafting in Colorado. No, she had always chosen to stay home, to floss every night, to go to bed at a decent hour. But, now, here it was: her very own adventure.

“Well, then I will help you find out why you are on that list. First, we will have to go to a very special library. You will have to dress up as an agent, to get in. I have a friend of a friend who can get us in, but you will need a suit, to look the part.” Wilma had, in the back of her closet, a gray pant suit which Peter deemed perfect. He waited in the living room while she changed. “I’ve called my friend. She will allow us access, just this one night, to the library. So, let’s go.” They decided to take public transportation, so as not to be too noticeable. They pretended not to know each other. As she looked slyly over at Peter, she could feel that her heart was falling in love. Finally, she was being rescued by a knight in shining armor.

The library was an unremarkable building. Once inside, Peter flashed a badge and vouched for her. He was so calm, as if he visited this building every day. She kept her cool looking ahead but not meeting the guard’s eyes either.

In a room with a few books that could hardly be called a library, they found a big computer with a huge 24 inch screen. “This is why we came here. We will look you up and find out why you might be wanted.” A few taps on the keyboard, a password (did he work here?), and Peter had a whole page on information about her: Never been married, Pediatric Dentist, two Sisters, parents still alive, grew up in Michigan, college in Chicago, working in Boston, has had in the last year, an inordinate number of visits to the Interpol website.

“There you have it, you are an Interpol junkie, are you SURE there is no reason for this other than curiosity?” Peter said, looking at her straight into her pupils.

“NO. None. Promise.”

Relieved, he swept her in his arms and kissed her like Wilma had only seen women being kissed in Romantic Comedies. And, somewhere mid-kiss, she gave in and started being the heroine of her own story and stopped being a projection of one in her mind. They made love in that strange little room with a passion that Wilma had not yet felt. When they left the building, a couple of hours later, they decided to part ways but to meet again for a Pinot the next night.

Wilma breezed through her patients the next day. Before going to the pub she dared to wear a red halter dress to meet Peter, but, after two Pinots she understood that he was not coming. She nodded when a handsome man sat next to her, offering to pay for her Pinot, and ordering a scotch on the rocks for himself. She accepted the drink, feeling hopeful when he too flashed a perfect tartar free smile. She had checked the website one last time before leaving the house, and she was no longer wanted, but she had never felt more desirable.

Little Earthquakes

Poncho felt a tremor the other night, that no one else seems to have felt (as of yet), but that is not what this post is about. Little Earthquakes is the latest Jennifer Weiner novel I read and I am definitely recommending it. As I mentioned in a previous post, I have read several of Weiner's books and have enjoyed them. I was lured to this one because it told the story of three women adapting to motherhood (and, as you know, this topic is pretty fitting for me right now). The book is touching, funny and sometimes sad. I did glean a pointer here and there and was pleased to see that all of them breastfed their babies (you see, it can be done!).

Jennifer Weiner has a blog and a my space account . I'm tempted to get myspace just to be in her list of people.

Meanwhile, I'm in the land of "What if?" and "What now?" as I reorganize the plot structure of my novel. There are some things I will have to change, like the beginning, and the ending needs work too. But, I'm pleased to report some parts make me laugh (I hope they make others laugh too...).

I never knew how important "What if?" is to a writer. You can go with the first idea, or you can stretch your mind, your brain, your imagination and say, well, What if this happens instead... It's a fun exercise and I'm hoping it will spice up the book. Of course, I'm not talking about body snatcher type things or plot twists like she had an evil twin who was interfering in her life. Those are best left to the soap operas and bad B movies. These "What if's" have to be believable and consistent with the characters. Therein lies the challenge!

Is Angela making a come back?

So, a few posts ago I was ready to wave goodbye to Angela as she left Project Runway, collecting her scissors and measuring tape from the work room. And yet, in the past two challenges not only has she been on the winning team (as head designer), but she has also gotten lots of kudos for her black updated Audrey Hepburn dress that Heidi said she wanted "in all the colors". And, Poncho and I both had to admit, the dress was very pretty. However, we were pleased that Michael won with his hot pants.

Sadly though, if he doesn't shape up, it looks like Barbie Designer (whose name I can't remember, and the Bravo website is not loading up at the moment...but this is what Poncho and I call him anyway) will be Auf'd next. Maybe degisning for dolls is hindering his vision.

I'm off Angela's case for now, and would like to see wrap-around tatoo guy go. He is just rude and thinks he is better than the rest---UGH.

We shall see if I get my wish next week!

Estrellas de la Linea

Last night was the premiere of the documentary "Estrellas de la Linea" (At this website you can see two video clips). We were invited because Poncho's friend, Andres, had collaborated on the film. The place was completely crowded, and we ended up with seats all the way to the front and to the right. We soon forgot where we were seated and were pulled in by the stories of these women.

These estrellas are all prostitutes in one of Guatemala City's worst neighborhoods. They make about $2 per client. They live in what is a small room, many times with an abusive partner, and with their kids for whom they sacrifice everything. One of the most moving scenes is of a boy hugging his cat and telling the camera that he knows what his mother does and that kids at school pick on him for it, but that the teacher gets those kids in trouble, "For a month", he says.

These women decide to do something to raise awarness about their lives and their plights. They form a soccer team and enroll at one of Guatemala's poshest venues--Futeca, a weekend sports center. After their first game against a team of high school girls, their parents, up in arms, harass the administration with phone calls and threats and the Estrellas are banned from playing there again. And so begins their story. They then play against a group of policewomen, who say they also feel marginalized. From here, a local travel website decides to sponsor the team and take them on a tour of rural Guatemala and have them play against other prostitutes and club dancers along the way.

What is most moving about this film is each individual woman's story. How they became prostitutes and how they view themselves for doing this kind of job. Some feel proud that they do not depend on anyone. Others feel repentful because they see it as a sin. All of them do it to survive.

At the end of the film, all of the estrellas walked to the front of the theater and received a standing ovation. Seeing them made me cry. I cried for their lives and for their struggles, but mostly because surrounded by so much pain and ugliness, these women still had spirit and a love of life. If you have the chance, go out and see this documentary. You too will be moved.

She is safe for one more week...

Somehow Angela squeaked by again! If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you are just not "hip and happening", but since I'm not about exclusion I will fill you in. (Also, you can read my previous post, that should help you figure out who Angela is). I am talking about Project Runway, of course.

Their challenge was to design for fashion's hottest accessory of the moment... dogs! They each picked a dog and created an outfit and story for the owner of that dog. They also had to create an outfit for the dog to match (which for reasons of pedantry, Keith refused to do, which almost got him kicked off).

The winner, and Poncho and I both agreed she deserved it, was Uli. Her dress was very wearable and sexy. Of the rest, there wasn't any disasters--except maybe Vincent, who again insisted that his models wore hats, including the dog who was not pleased. Also worth mentioning is Laura, the supposed mother of 5 kids (is this for real... I wonder. If it is, who is with the kids now?), made something that looked like what she has made for the last two challenges. Can she be innovative?

The bottom two were Angela and Katherine. Angela had created an awful skimpy and, as per the judges, skanky outfit that she said belonged to an art teacher who worked with six year olds--completely inappropriate. And Katherine's dress, though sweet, was too simple. Still, they somehow thought that it was better to be skanky and creative than sweet and boring.

Angela, it will be your turn soon (and from Nina's comments, I think she agrees). Your style is just, well, not stylish.

The saddest departure

So, this past Wednesday, on Project Runway we saw I think the saddest departure to date. (For a funny recap of the whole episode, in case you missed it go to Lipstick Mystic) The challenge was to make an evening gown for Miss U.S.A. Malan attempted to make something that ended up looking too puffy and heavy and was Auf'd. I know some people saw Malan as the potential villain, but I would vote for Jeffrey. He is always negative about everyone else's work and seems to think very highly of himself.

That same episode Malan had related a story about showing his mother his design sketches at the age of thirteen. His mother's reaction was to tell him to throw out the sketches and to tell her son to never do that again. He felt that his participation in Project Runway would prove to her that he did have what it takes to be a designer. Then, he was asked to leave and the first thing he said was, "I am so ashamed." Later, he confessed that he had not had many friends in his life and that he liked feeling part of something. The whole thing just broke your heart.

Bye Malan, and do not give up your dream to work in fashion. All the best to you!

Meanwhile, I thought Angela should be Auf'd because she did nothing but complain and was a negative presence in her group. I am sure that Vincent is not easy to work with but still you have to make the best of every situation. Her critiques did not help make a better dress. She is not long for the show, I suspect. I mean, when she went to pitch her design to Miss U.S.A. she didnt' have any sketches and suggested gloves!!!

I DID IT!!!

I'm done! I have finished, concluded, completed, accomplished, fulfilled, effectuated, wrapped up my novel.

Well, not really, not yet. There is still a lot of re-writting, re-thinking, re-composing, re-tooling, re-vamping and all the other re's you can think of. But, I can now say proudly and triumphantly that I have written a complete first draft of my young adult novel.

It feels amazing.

Next step, print the 159 pages of written text and start reading what I wrote when I began this project (which was all the way back in October of last year), while repeating to myself the mantra: "It is only a first draft, It is only a first draft." I plan to appease my inner critic this way...trust me, she is no one you would like to contend with. I hope she finds it in her heart to go easy on me. It is, after all, my first attempt at writing a novel.

How fiting that today's word of the day is raconteur--a relater, a storyteller. I guess I am now oficially a raconteur.