7 Word Story

I had a little spare time last night and put on the finishing touches over lunch... Here's what I came up with. I decided to take a few words from the three lists of words instead of using one persons complete list. It's a warm story that will warm the cockles of your heart just in time for Turkey Day!

Parking lot, golden retriever, intern, coffee, lunch, book, weather.

James lay there, his body motionless, his mind racing a thousand miles per hour. His stomach began churning, his pulse quickened, his eyes began darting around the room. He felt sick to his stomach. He needed to calm down, He began counting backwards from 50. Slowly taking breathes of air in through his nose, and slowly letting the air escape between his parted lips. But it wasn’t working. Was it a rush of adrenaline from the sex? Was it guilt? Was it something he ate?

Breathing slowly only made it worse. He could barely swallow. His heart pounded inside his chest. Echoing like a basketball on a wooden gym floor. Beads of sweat, formed on his forehead and upper lip. He was cold, no he was hot, no he was both. Then came the pain. It felt as if someone had hit him in the chest with a rake. A dull thud, followed by sharp, shooting pain. Pain that started at the breastbone before surging down his left arm. The pain getting more intense with each beat of his failing heart.

James had just cheated on his wife. Ever since he interviewed Haley, he had envisioned her naked. Sure she was a young impressionable INTERN, but she was a young woman trying to get her foot in the door. James was what stood between her being an unemployed college student with a useless degree and her being an intern for one of the largest advertising firms in San Francisco. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t be paid a salary. The $100 a week stipend was more than generous considering the real world experience she would gain working for Kellerman Advertising.

James had seen his associates diddle their interns before. That’s aweful he thought, disgusting. He never thought he would sink to their level. I’m better than that he always said to himself. When he saw Haley, he knew she was trouble. His weakness had always been redheads. Ginger from Gilligans Island, Dana Scully from the X files, Angie Evertheart on the cover of Cosmopolitan. Paired with a set of beautiful green eyes, Haley Bohan was the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. He sat there interviewing her. Asking her about her schooling, what she had hoped to gain by interning at Kellerman’s. She answered him, repeating the lines she had practiced in the mirror in the days before her interview. But he didn’t hear a word. He was fixated on the way her pink, wet lips formed the words used to answer his pointless questions.

James tried his hardest to sit up from his reclined position, but he couldn’t move. His fingers reached out for the nightstand, desperately searching for his cell phone. He knew he needed to dial 911. He awkwardly swung his arm in the direction of his Motorolla V60. His large right hand landed heavily on the mahogany night stand, sending loose change and his car keys flying before coming to rest on the small flip phone. Hands shaking, he steadied just enough to dial the 9 with his now crooked, right index finger. Wrapping his trembling left thumb around the side of the phone to finish 1-1. He could barely feel the phone in his hands. His gazed fixed on the send key. Contorting his fingers, he managed to hit the little green key in the corner of the phone, completing the call.

“911 what’s your emergency?” he heard through the earpiece.

“I- I-I’m having a heart attack” James answered. Using every bit of strength to secure the tiny cell phone up against his ear. He knew 911 was his only hope. Haley had left the room to go downstairs to get them LUNCH. If he waited for her to return, it would surely be too late.

“OK sir, I need you to focus. Can you tell me your address?” asked the eerily calm 911 dispatcher.

“I’m at the Fillsmore Hotel, room 3…” he struggled to recall the room number. When you travel as much as James, room numbers all start to blend together. Was it 314? 318? You just remember that your room is third door down from the ice machine. Or your room is 67 paces from the elevator. Then James envisioned the girl at the front desk writing the numbers 3-1-5 down on the little paper sleeve that encased his electronic room key. “room 315” he stammered.

“Ok sir we’re going to get paramedics there right away. Stay on the line with me!” ordered the dispatcher.

“James wanted to say thank you, but mouthing words became increasingly difficult. He looked up the stucco ceiling above the bed. Counting the bumps and ridges to help pass the time. His breathing becoming increasingly labored. The dispatcher continued to speak to James over the phone, but James could no longer hear her. Suddenly the ceiling was gone, replaced by a frantic display of images. The first image was James stepping out of his silver Mercedes in the PARKING LOT of the Fillsmore hotel. The next image was James sitting at the breakfast table, dressed in a shirt and tie, sipping a cup of COFFEE. James wife sitting across the table from him reading a BOOK. The images began to flash faster, reminding James of what he did before coming to room 315 in the Fillsmore hotel to sleep with his 21 year old intern. Images of his wife on their wedding day, his smiling daughter, his GOLDEN RETRIEVER named Sully. The images taking James further and further back into his life. Graduation day, little league, his first day of school. All passing before him in a flash. The flashing images were temporarily interrupted by sirens wailing in the distance. It was at that moment when James knew his rescuers would get there just a little too late.

James thought of his wife. She would learn that her husband had died that day. She would stand mouth agape, trying to understand how the man whom she had breakfast with a few hours earlier could be dead. Faced with the realization that her husband would no longer walk through the front door of their home after a long day at the office. But that wouldn’t be the worst news she would receive that day. She would learn that paramedics found her husband dead at the Fillsmore hotel. Her husbands snowball of lies growing bigger, racing downhill faster and faster. When all was said and done, she would know all the details. How police found women’s undergarments on the floor of the posh hotel room. How a used condom was found floating in the blue water of his hotel room toilet. She would have a million questions, but James Richard West would not be there to answer her questions. She would be left forever wondering about how many other affairs had gone on behind her back. Always wondering if a late night meeting or a last minute business trip was a cover-up for her husband’s infidelity. Was his flight really delayed due to inclement weather? Or was he staying behind to bed a woman he had met the night before at the hotel bar?
As James took his final breath he knew his reputation as forever ruined. His wife would rightfully hate him, his business associates would view him as a hypocrite, his daughter would grow up to hate him. If only he could explain, if only he could have five more minutes. If only he hadn’t checked into room 3-1-5 of the Fillmore hotel.