writing doodle - character development - Zero/Gabe - word count 1398

It has been a long time since I've interviewed a character.  When I have/do, things tend to flow better ... they also tend to take over aspects of my life.

A man who once looked like Mr. Clean, but leaves clutter behind him like Pig Pen from the Peanuts cartoons used to leave a trail of dust.  A man who doesn't want to make commitments and has been married three times, but has never been the one to end a marriage.  A man who shuns the idea of organized holidays, yet remembers obscure anniversaries.


I answered the summons sent to me a mere half hour ago, one hour after last call, to meet Gabe at a pub in Tempe. The Rula Bula. Despite the lateness of the hour, Gabe had a copy of the bar's key and was entrusted not to allow any college coeds into the place while it was closed.  The owner figured I wouldn't create too much trouble.  Besides, I knew how to work a broom, in more ways than one, and could handle Gabe if he got out of line.


Fine.  I'd meet the man, but I wasn't going to go to any lengths to fix myself up for this meeting.  Plus this late at night, no one on the street was going to say much about my pre-bed-head, my lack of makeup, and the clown slippers I donwhen I have to don something on my feet but don't want anything too formal.

I already knew he'd have on jeans that were tight in all the right places, a t-shirt, most likely blue, and sneakers.  The most consistent thing in his wardrobe is a  thick silver chain that nestles just inside his shirt collar.  The piece is like a talisman to him.  The only time he doesn't have it on is when he has to surrender it to airport security or for some funky medical test.  

Chairs were on top of all the tables and the place smelled of mop water, bleach, and the lingering pine scent of a disinfectant.  Even though Gabe knows the mophead got changed daily and the water was changed sometimes more than once during the final mopping of the night, he has to breathe through his mouth for the first fifteen minutes after any room has been cleaned.  He acted worse than most five year olds when they were at an unfriendly dentist office.  



There have long been rumors floating around him for years about illness due to overly hygenic conditions. As long as there was some clutter, a small spill somewhere, or even just a stack of junk mail on top of a table, he was fine.  When any room looked like it was ready for military inspection,  he went into an emotional tailspin.  

I spilled my purse, a planned spill.  All my purse contained was my license, a single credit card, thirty bucks, several coins, and two lipsticks.  I left the coins on the floor and heaved my purse to the counter.  With a little luck, this was enough clutter to keep him comfortable.

Because he didn't want to have to clean the taps before we left for the night, we were limited to bottled or canned beverages.  He chose Guinness, I chose a bottle of diet tonic water.  

"Thanks for coming down on such short notice," he said.  He raised his bottle in a half-hearted effort to look festive and pleased to finally meet with me.

I raised my bottle and clinked it against his.  "Not at all.  You ready to spill your guts?"

"Twenty questions, Alf.  Twenty questions."

Perfect. I like to have several basic questions and then subparts to each question.  Think one category question and then multiple parts beneath it until everything has been divulged.  Again based on the rumors I've heard about Gabie-boy, I knew I was going to be stuck with twenty total questions.  Because I already asked if he was ready to talk, if I asked for any additional confirmation, I knew he would count that as a strike against me.

I took off my glasses, made an act of cleaning the lenses, put them back on all while trying to figure out the best questions to ask.  I hadn't written out any questions.  I thought I could open a topic and then fill things out.  Prepared much, Alf?  Didn't think so.

I didn't think I'd have a lot of luck finding out:
why his marriages had all dissolved
how long his work out regimine is and how many times per week
his favorite childhood cartoon on Saturday mornings
why he grew his hair out and shaved it all off every Easter Sunday
whether or not he had a Prince Albert
his first car
why he would volunteer to take a long road trip with his grandfather
and why travel was such a big feature on his bucket list

No. I removed a small notepad from my back pocket and plucked a ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket, clicked it three times for luck, and took a deep breath.  I returned my glasses to their designated location, the top of my head, so I don't leave them anywhere, and took another deep breath.

It was time to go with the standards.  The best standards, at least according to the Actor's Studio.  The questions by Bernard Pivot.

"I'm going to go easy on you tonight," I said.  "These are the Inside the Actor's Studio questions."  I took a swig from my tonic water.  "Nod when you are ready to begin."  See? I can side step questions.

Here is a summary of the questions and the answers:

1. What is your favorite word?

Addubiation (noun) - a suggestion of doubt

I raised an eyebrow.

"Do you doubt me?" He grinned and winked at me.  

Smart ass.

2.  What is your least favorite word?

Pejorist (noun) - one who thinks the world is getting worse

"What? I don't like negative Nancys," he said.

3.  What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?

"The smell of rain on the ground after a long dry spell. It smells like renewal and a fresh start.  I think we all need a fresh start."

He took a long draw on his beer.  I found myself mesmerized watching his Adam's apple move as he swallowed.  

4.  What turns you off?

"A sink full of dirty dishes." He smiled and said, "My work study job in college was in the cafeteria doing dishes.  It;s why I like paper plates." He shrugged.  "It's cheaper than looking for new plates every week at garage sales or eating out all of the time."

5.  What is  your favorite curse word?


"I don't think this is the proper arena to disclose that, but you'll know sooner than later." He had been tipping his chair back for the past fifteen minutes.  I wasn't surprised when he fell backwards.  I was surprised what he said.  So was he.

"See?" he said.  "It'll get you an R rating or worse and I still want you to like me.  Can we go to the hospital later so I can have my shoulder put back in?"

"Sure.  We can go now if you want," I said.  Almost slipped up and asked an extra question, but I held back.

6.  What sound or noise do you love?

A zipper being lowered.

7.  What sound or noise do you hate?

Anyone in pain (human or animal).

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Professional air guitar player.  I'm great at those rockstar video games, but have never developed either the knack or the callouses to play a real instrument.

I raised an eyebrow and tapped the pad of paper in front of me.  "A serious answer, if you please."

He grinned.  "Didn't think it would work, but it was worth a shot.  Funeral director.  I think someone should put some fun into funeral.  Plus, my granny taught me how to make killer funeral chicken, no pun intended, so no one would leave the event hungry."

9.  What profession would you not like to do?

Lexicographer.  I tend to intermingle words, phrases, and metaphors.  I'd flat suck at it.

10.  If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

Welcome to the party.  Want a brewski?

~~