The Stuff that Dreams are made of

[Steven Hunley]

The Stuff that Dreams are made of
By
Steven Hunley


She was his obsession. He was trying to pass the morning without thinking about her, or what she had texted, or the sound of her voice on the phone. He was actually doing pretty well, and was proud of himself for coming up with what he thought was a solution for the problem. The problem being his obsession with her. Instead of thinking of her, he’d put his head in a book.
He was lying on the bed his head propped by a pillow, the light from window diffused by the June gloom. It was perfect reading light. The book suited him because it had nothing at all that could possibly remind him of her. It was Ashenden, or the British agent, by Somerset Maugham. Possibly the first book on espionage ever written, it was exiting, well written, and had done the trick. He hadn’t thought about her in minutes.
“This is so good, so thrilling. I love Maugham.”
That’s what he said to himself. But no matter a man’s plans, fate will sometimes have its way. Opening chapter four, entitled “The Hairless Mexican” he started to read.
“Damn,” he thought, “Maugham is so good with his titles. I wish my titles were this good!”
The chapter started with them eating macaroni in Lyons.
“Do you like macaroni?” said R.
There was Maugham, starting a chapter in a most engaging manner.
“He always starts his chapters in such an engaging manner!” he mused, “and signifying the name of his spy master contact by using just one letter! The man was a genius! He was setting a precedence here that carried through all the way to James Bond! My word, what will he do next?”
Unfortunately for Steven, the thing Maugham did next would undo him completely, that is to say, would cause all his noble schemes to fall into a waste-basket like so much rubbish.
On page forty-nine he read that R and Ashenden are eating macaroni and drinking.
“Have another glass of brandy?’ said R.
“No thank you,” answered Ashenden, who was of an abstemious turn.”
R pours him another glass anyway, and Ashenden remonstrates him, not for him pouring the unrequested drink, but on the way he holds the bottle.
“In my youth I was always taught that you should take a woman by the waist and a bottle by the neck,” he murmured.

That was it! That was the turning point. Steve put down the book, actually he didn’t put it down at all, he threw it willy-nilly (good Maugham term there, willy-nilly) on the bed and ran to the closet.

Finding the sewing cabinet, he opened the top, and retrieved the tape measure. He fought to untangle it from so much useless bits of thread. Now he was starting to sweat. Something about the girl made him sweat. He got on his knees and formed a circle with it on the rug.

He looked at the number with care and concern. He put the end to the number twenty-three and one half inches. It made a circle that was, like the Maltese Falcon, “The stuff that dreams are made of.” He measured how with ease, his hands could fit around it.

It was, in fact, the size of her waist.

He gave up, walked to the computer with extreme deliberation, and texted her at once. A man as smart as Steve always knows when to give up.

[Hawkman]

Hi Steven

Couple of points here. The opening sentence is a little rough. "She obsessed him..." could be read either as she was obsessed with him or he was obsessed with her. Why not, "She was his obsession." cut the "and he knew it." Start the next sentence, "He was trying to pass the morning..."

"He was on the bed, laying back, his head propped by a pillow." would be better (and more grammatical) as, "He was lying on the bed, head supported by a pillow, while the light from the..."

Maughm was not the first to write a book about espionage. E Phillips Oppenheim was writing espionagey tales before the first world war, and "The riddle of the Sands" was a spy story of sorts, also pre WW1. To say that the tales of Ashenden inspired Flemming with the JB stories is fair enough though.

"He fought to untangle it was caught in so much thread." needs a bit of a tidyup.

It made a circle that was, just like the Maltese Falcon, “The stuff that dreams are made of.” lose the just.

Apart from these minor points it's a good little tale with some nice humour and I enjoyed reading it.

Best, H

[kittypaws]

Steven,

I enjoyed reading it and it made me smile. It also made me wonder what the character is afraid of; why is he fighting his feelings? I reckon that is another tale.

kittypaws

[Mumbles]

Man, I really liked this. I've read a couple of your other posts and I enjoy the very contemporary way you write. Certainly, there's room for drafting and some of it could do with fine tuning, but I like how I can see the inspiration of your stuff. I'm a massive fan of modern literature, none of this outdated Dickens-ish, 'The man adjective verb'ed the adjective, adjective noun', crap. It's clear you've experienced something during your day that has caused you to write this. Great last line, too.

[Steven Hunley]

My thoughts on your response are these: Anyone that lives on the Gold Coast's opinion is probably pure and valuable. (like gold) Sounds funny, but it's true. And the truth that you've perceived is that yes,I did experience something that caused me to write this, it was a woman, who's completely invaded my thoughts as certainly as the D-day invasion of Normandy, and that like that invasion, I suddenly feel liberated. And you have figured it out! You have my thanks and my compliments!

[breathtest]

I'm always looking out for your next short story. They're real funny and easy to read in just a few minutes. As Mumbles pointed out, the way you write is a lot better to read than that Dickensish adjective filled stuff. Economy is the way forward. And this piece is no different, great stuff. I love protagonists who speak to themselves, it's always potentially comic, and i caught myself chuckling at one or two of the lines here.
Thanks for posting.

[Captain Pike]

And writing is also good distraction. You know that W. Somerset Maughm was himself, actually a secret agent? What's more, he was a full-fledged medical doctor! Can you imagine, having both those professions mastered, "under the belt", and then, denying it all... to be a writer?! (Yup)
AND THEN BEING SUCCESSFUL AT THAT! What a bastard that Maughm!

[Steven Hunley]

The story seems to be that Churchill talked to him in WW1 and convinced him to be an agent, since he traveled a lot in and out of Switzerland , a hotbed it seems, of foreign intrigue. After he wrote the book, it was supposed to be required reading for the British Secret Service for a while. That may be just a story, but what a story!! An innocuous writer a secret agent? Hey, wait a minute, you and I are both innocuous writers, right? Where's OUR Aston Martins? where's OUR women? And where did I leave my gun? It was right there beneath my pillow before I slept with....OH! AH HA! So that's what's become of it! Captain, isn't that the same way you lost your gun? I believe it was!
OMG! That woman was working for the Russians!

[Captain Pike]

Actually, I would hide my guns between the mattress and box spring -- back then, my sleeping partner and I would often need all the pillows, from time to time.
I did actually interview with the CIA when I was a senior in college. Back then, a budding mathematician/computer scientist would be highly sought after, recruited even, by various companies and agencies. I liked the guy right off, we got along, the recruiting secret agent guy and I. He says, "I have here, an imposing packet of forms...", sliding the inch thick stack of white paper toward me on the table. I've always loved that line. I was actually intrigued by the idea of starting at the CIA as a computer geek. I imagined they would soon recognize my "other" skills, and promote the vigorously, internally.
The first several pages of the application served to give them an accurate picture of an applicant's possible illicit drug use. I read on, being assured, "... wouldn't necessarily preclude an applicant for employment...", this was after all, during a period in my life in which I ardently tested the boundaries of my confinement {social, legal, psychedelic,... etc. }. I remember reading:

For each drug used please list:
drug used, time of use, date of use, persons used with

I had neither the information nor inclination to complete the application. I continued on my previous path, but sometimes with new things and new people, I reflected on what an accurate application to the CIA might then look like. time of use? Sometimes we make choices, never fathoming their actual depth.

And then there was that time, when I had a brief but very intimate affair with the daughter of a very high profile political figure. It was in the early 80s and this man had had a threat against his life. As a result of this, there were two attempting-to-be-nonchalant, secret agent dudes posted outside of her dorm room. I lived in the other wing, one floor down. The novelty of the spooks outside her door had, more or less quieted to a dull roar at this point in the semester. It was when we had a dorm wide, fall down, spit up, multi-kegger, at which this romance began.
She was pretty easy on the eyes -- a tad heavy through the hips, but at that age, downright voluptuous. She had actual red hair, not the canned red you see these days, but something a little more than auburn. Anyway, we were dancing and laughing, I happened to have a hip flask of cheap bourbon. You know those curved glass bottles they used to make? Somehow, we got into a shot-doing contest. You know, "Oh yeah?", "YEAH, oh yeah?!", kind of thing..." I'll drink you, and your roommate under the table...", she boasted. It was a wild boast to be sure -- one of those kind of things where nobody can win -- or maybe everybody wins.
There was mutual attraction right off, the liquor only removed the time element. A little while later, I was carrying her, over-the-threshold-style, up the stairs, down the hall, TO MY ROOM. All the while, the two guys in black suits with the curly little wires at their ear, were trailing along behind us, nonchalantly.
Between bouts of throwing up and crashing out, I'm reassuring the agents that everything's okay, she's alive, just a little sick, no need to worry. They were gravely concerned, but instructed not to meddle in her personal life. It was a great way to meet a girl: she never really knew what I might have had on her. We had some fun in my room and hers, with the Secret Service, "not listening", just outside the door.
Scampering escape attempts in her car to various establishments in the community -- we would sneak out the back of a restaurant we had been tailed to, only to tiptoe to the gin mill next door -- LOL, what a hoot! We were awful. Often, watching movies these days that depict the various agencies as virtual enemies of the people, I know it's not really true. The experiences I have had, all speak to an undeniable respect the agents have had for the various "detail", they have been stuck with.
Maybe it's not too late -- who would suspect a guy in a wheelchair of being loaded down with spy cams? Maybe this whole rant right now is just cover -- how can one ever know for sure?

[Steven Hunley]

My God man what have you done? You've told me , what I believe is called, A STORY! And you made a valid point about the agents, that they aren't always as portrayed as in the media. It has sex, and drugs, (the alchohol) and you just have to add some rock and roll. Literary it, literary it to death, then post it up! It has so much potential. A few juicy quotes, and BOOM, it's a winner! Do this thing my Captain, do it!

[tametheshrew]

hi steve

great story
i loved it
i am writing a story called Elisha's cafe
it is about two very different types of women and the people they meet in the cafe
i am starting it soon
sue:)

[Jerrybaldy]

Hello Steve
that was a very enjoyable read.
I dont like to analyse writing styles or techniques as I don't wish to discover that I have a type of either or to think as to whether I am writing in a particular style or if it is the correct one. I say this to explain that I am not aware of the style you wrote this in, but it made for very smooth reading. It flowed and I arrived at the end without skipping or hurrying you along. I loved the repitition of the narrators words, by the character. What's more I loved the end when a quote in his book, threw him right back into his obsession.
To summarise, It was a great read, with a great ending.
' That was a great read, with a great ending' , thought Jerry. :)
cheers
JB

[Steven Hunley]

Tametheshrew-
a piece written about two very different women written by a woman would probably be a treat, since as you well know, much of literature is dominated by men and male editors. Looking forward to it so very much, Sue.

As for style, when I read Hemmingway I write like Hemmingway (but not so good) After F. Scott, I find myself writing like him too (but not so well) So with writing, what's good about it, it's so pragmatic in that any style works, as long as it's readable! Just write it like you'd tell it, and as long as it's readable, then that's your style I guess. Thank you Jerry too!