Tag: short-story

A Day in the Life of a Secret Agent

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Photo: SC Martinez

Published in Otherwise Engaged Literature & Arts Journal, Volume 16, Winter 2025

One morning, Carl received another in a long series of coded messages from the Dutch billionaire embedded in the text of the New York Times. He hinted that he would make sure that Carl’s upcoming job interview with a law firm would be a disaster. Carl had already been anxious about the meeting to be conducted on Zoom. In addition to his fear that his mental condition would be a deal breaker again, he was worried whether his good suit still fit since he’d put on a few pounds recently. 

He tried to self-calm himself by resting his head against the pillows on the twin bed in his boyhood bedroom in Queens, decorated with fish wallpaper. He’d been happily living with his parents since he was fired from his last law job fifteen years ago. Carl detected the aroma of bacon, which signaled his mom was making breakfast. There was enough time to phone his friend, Hank, and share his concern over the billionaire’s persistent meddling in his affairs. Carl picked up his cell phone and clicked on Hank’s name. 

Every day, Carl phoned Hank because he needed to hear his voice – a voice that always answered. Hank lived with his wife in Brooklyn. In truth, any voice on the phone line would have sufficed to help keep Carl tethered to the real world. Many people had filled the crucial role Hank now occupied during his life. The others lasted a week or two, maybe a month. Hank had been faithful. Without Hank, Carl feared he would disappear altogether. 

But that morning, Hank didn’t answer even though Carl let the phone ring until voicemail picked up. Carl knew he couldn’t leave a message because Hank never bothered to set it up, even though it was easy enough to do. Carl traced his index finger around and around the edge of his cellphone case while watching his bedside clock count the minutes until he could again call Hank. He was probably in the shower. 

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Hank and Mary Lynn: A Love Story in Postcards

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Photo: SC Martinez

Published in Exposition Review July 2025 – 2nd Place Winner – Flash 405, April 2025: “Quitting”

1
Dear Mary Lynn,
Saw this still shot from “Grease” and thought of you. Could be us at eighteen, right? I still have that leather jacket you loved to borrow. Breaks my heart. My mouth watered for a Hot Fudge Sundae seeing you at the Dairy Queen every day. I moped for weeks after my parents sent me to college back east. What kind of life would we have had if I stayed? I’ll be in town for our 25th reunion. Want to hook up behind the gym for old-times’ sake?
Love, Hank

2
Hi Hank,
You Hank Miller with the oily jelly roll or Hank Jenson with the bad acne in Henderson’s English class? I try to see the sunny side of life and I never look back. I sprinted out of graduation like my shoes were on fire. I buckled down, like Mama always said, eyes on the prize. Got my associate’s in one year and married Henry when he finished med school. I own three Dairy Queens now.
ML

3
Dear Mary Lynn,
I’m really happy for you. Have kids? We just had one before Donna left me for her boss. Finally, my boy has a steady job at the power plant in Corpus. Luckily, they sealed his juvie record. He sees me every Christmas. A good boy—loves his dad. You changed much? My hair is mostly sprayed on, and my chest moved south. Gravity’s a killer. I’d love to see you if you can make it.
Hopefully, Hank

4
Hi,
I’ll be there. Keep your eyes peeled for a blond driving a red Camaro, V8. All those losers will shrink like salted slugs when I walk in. Henry’s touring colleges with our oldest. Perfect SATs, class president, top-ranked in squash, and plays oboe with the regional orchestra. Harvard’s interested. How will I know you? Wear a red carnation maybe?
ML

5
Hi Mary Lynn,
I flew in, rented a Crown Victoria, and drove to the hall. Saw you walk in, looking like a million bucks. I couldn’t get out of the car, so I went to DQ. I’ve been such a fool. My Hot Fudge Sundae dripped all over my hired tux and I had to pay extra to get it cleaned. I should’ve stayed with you or come back after I graduated. Quitting you was the stupidest thing I ever did, and I’ve done plenty. I need a do-over.
Hank

DUMBO, Easter Sunday – 1982

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Photo: SC Martinez

Published in The Hooghly Review, April 20, 2025 (Easter Sunday)

Nominated for a 2026 Pushcart Prize.

Celeste’s family was due to arrive at our loft in Brooklyn for Easter dinner. I triple-checked to make sure everything was tidy—not easy with all the art supplies and equipment we had. Celeste monitored the progress of the scalloped potatoes and the ham in the oven. A homemade apple pie was on the counter. This was their first visit, and we were making an effort.

“Ben, we should go outside to wait for them now.” Celeste grabbed her keys. 

“Good thinking.” 

No one in our building had a doorbell. Visitors would shout from the street to the people with lofts in the front, but our place was in the back. Explaining to her family about calling us from the phone booth on the corner was more complicated than waiting for them on the loading dock in front of the building. Sundays were quiet in our neighborhood with all the factories closed. Hoping we weren’t setting ourselves up for a disaster, we waited holding hands until we spotted her parents’ silver-blue Impala slowly turning onto our street. 

“Hello and welcome.” Celeste waved like a kid. “We’re so glad you’re finally here.”

I directed Celeste’s father to a safe parking spot near the building. Her parents, Joe and Bernice, with Celeste’s younger siblings, Tina and Carl, emerged from the car, scanning our street as if they’d arrived in an alternate universe.

“Quite a neighborhood.” Joe double-checked his car door locks.

Tina handed a plant to Celeste. “We brought you an Easter lily.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Celeste, hidden by the leaves. “Thanks for coming.” 

Bernice frowned at the dirty façade. “What kind of building is this, Ben?”

“It used to be the Brillo Soap Pad building. Now it’s artists’ lofts.” 

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