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[Diabolical_Jazz]

I wrote this one for a short story contest a couple years back. As I recall, the contest happened right around Valentine's day, and it was on a forum, and I was getting a little tired of how bitter everyone was about being foreveralone internet peoples. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to preserve the formatting and stuff. Sorry.
Without further ado:

When Guy’s phone rang, Louie Armstrong graveled about the beauty of life. Guy shared Satchmoe’s baritone enthusiasm. He wasn’t a wealthy man, but he held a steady job and never struggled for money. He wasn’t a handsome man, but he had bright eyes and curly brown hair and he knew how to work them. He wasn’t a lady’s man, but he had been in a happy relationship for a little over a month.
His girlfriend’s name was Lillith. He called her Lily. He opened doors for her, he bought her flowers, he always made sure she got off before he did. She was an awkward kind of beautiful. Her neck was a little long, and her nose was a little small, but she had bright eyes and round hips and she knew how to work them.
Guy hadn’t been in a lot of relationships. Almost none that involved sex. Lily’s past was a little more checkered, but it didn’t bother Guy. He loved her and she loved him, and they told each other constantly.
It was a week into February; the sunlight crept into Guy’s room. Guy’s face remained tucked under his blankets until the dawning sun made it too warm. He unconsciously pushed the blanket off, and the sunlight slapped him awake.
Guy rubbed his eyes, doing a mental check to see if he was going to be late for anything. He had the day off work, so he let himself lounge in bed a while longer. He rolled over to his laptop, which shared his bed whenever Lily was at her own apartment, and checked his email, his face book, his twitter. Nothing important has ever been said on these things, so naturally nothing important was said on them this morning.
After a time, Guy oozed out of bed and over to the coffee machine. He brewed it black-as-coal and took it with a few drops of half-and-half, a few grains of sugar, and a bowl of cereal. He thought of Lily on at least three occasions during breakfast.
Guy didn’t wear a watch, so he checked his phone. Noon had come and gone. Rising and stretching, he left his phone on the table and sauntered to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
Guy’s mouth was full of froth and toothbrush when Louie Armstrong informed him that the world was wonderful and he had a phone call. Guy rinsed his mouth with cold water and picked up his phone. The screen showed a picture of Lily with her name underneath, along with a less-than-sign and the number three.
They shared a half-hour chat, after which Guy slumped into a chair with his arms splayed over the sides helplessly. He sat as thus for fifteen minutes. For another ten minutes he stared at his phone. Guy didn’t have anything by the Cure or Joy Division, so he changed his ringtone to “Stormy Blues” by Billie Holiday. He then spent a few hours moping without turning the lights on, and when the sun finally buggered off, he put on a coat and hat and walked out the door.
It was uncharacteristically warm for February, and the roads were full of brown slush. Guy trudged down the sidewalk with his fists in his pockets and the brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes. A short walk took him from his apartment to downtown. Guy thought about going to his usual bar, but he didn’t want to encounter anyone familiar, so he kept walking until he found a place that he’d never seen before. It was a hole-in-the wall bar, or a hole-in-the-alleyway, rather; with a short set of stairs descending into the alley’s pitted bricks to a plain metal door. The sign above the door read, “Mood Indigo” in dim, half burnt-out neon.
Guy opened the door tentatively, and was rewarded with a melancholy chord from a baby grand piano. He entered with quiet reverence as drops of music fell out of the air. The beautiful ache of the piano strings resonated into silence and its hammers came to rest. Mood Indigo was empty except for a bartender and a pianist.
The bartender was a man of middling age and weight. He had leathery olive skin and long dark hair tied back in a braid. He wore unassuming earth-toned clothing, dark stubble, large anachronistic sunglasses, and a deep, subtle smile.
The pianist was scrawny and pale. His face was immaculately clean, and he wore a neatly pressed, three-piece black tuxedo with a red tie. His hair was black and messy, falling across his forehead in stringy strands.
The bartender smiled a little wider as he noticed Guy come in. He motioned him over to the bar. The pianist gave Guy a sideways glance and took a sip from a highball glass, holding a half-cigarette between his middle- and fore-fingers with the same hand.
Guy sat down at a bar stool.
“What’re you drinking?” The bartender’s voice was low and smooth.
Guy scanned the bottles behind the bar, unsure of what he wanted.
“We’ve got a real nice Riesling; make it myself.”
The pianist scoffed loudly, “Don’t give the boy that water, Charlie. Kid clearly needs to drown something.”
The bartender kept smiling.
“I’ll have a scotch, straight, I guess.” Guy leaned on the bar.
“See that?” the pianist gloated with his cigarette hanging from his mouth, “That’s the official drink of miserable cusses, that is.” He raised his own glass indicatively and smirked.
The bartender selected a bottle of scotch and a glass, poured it up, and slid it to Guy. “Don’t mind Ol’ Luke. What’syer name, son?”
“Guy.”
“Pleased to meetcha. Nice trilby.” the bartender leaned on the counter and pointed at Guy’s hat.
Guy smiled weakly and nodded. He took a long hard drink from his glass. It was smooth and warm, and the flavors of it changed as the liquid moved to the back of his tongue. Luke stretched his fingers and leaned over the keys, and a slow, syncopated melody trickled out of the piano.
“S’right, though,” Charlie nodded in the pianist’s direction, looking somber, “a man don’t drink like that lest he’s pretty down.”
“I…” Guy didn’t make a habit of telling his business to strangers. He hesitated, but the music or the booze was making him feel relaxed. “My girlfriend left me.”
Charlie nodded knowingly. “What’s her name?”
“Lillith. Lily.” Guy took another long drink.
“Shit time for it.” Luke chimed in without looking up from the piano. “Just before hallmark day and shit.”
Guy stared down at his glass for a moment and then polished it off in one long go. Charlie had already poured him another, and slid it across the counter to him.
“I really loved her…” Guy’s thought trailed off.
“That’s changed already, has it?” Charlie interjected, looking at Guy over the top of his shades. His eyes were benevolent and brown.
“Kinda stupid question is that?” Luke ashed his cigarette during a break in the melody, still playing with his left hand, and scowling at the bartender. “’course it has. Look what she did to the boy!”
Guy didn’t answer.
Luke resumed the melody. “Broads. They get away with this shit all the time. Fuck ‘em, I say.”
Guy took his hat off and set it on the counter, then leaned his face on his hand.
“Bet he had big plans for Saint Valentine’s too.” the pianist smirked and seamlessly transitioned into “My Funny Valentine” for a few bars.
Guy frowned at his scotch. “I was gonna cook dinner for her. And I bought her flowers. I already paid for them.”
“What kind?” Charlie asked, smiling gently.
Guy set his forehead down on the edge of the bar and muttered, “White lilies.”
Luke laughed mirthlessly and rolled his eyes. Charlie smirked.
“I suppose I’d better cancel those.”
“What for?”
Guy lifted his head from the bar in order to display a puzzled look.
“You’re down, ‘cause you lost something good,” the bartender explained, “Just because it’s gone now, s’at mean it wasn’t good?”
“But…” Guy fumbled, “She told me she doesn’t love me anymore. Why should I give her anything?”
“Love’s funny-”
“Not terribly.” Luke interrupted.
“people like to try to give it and take it,” Charlie pressed on, “but it ain’t like that. It’s something you have. Ya dig? You ain’t diminished from havin’ it, just from losin’ it.”
The song slowed and ended on an unresolved chord.
Guy put his hat back on and took another sip of his drink.
“I think I’m done. What do I owe ya?”
“Drinks’re on the house,” Charlie wore a silly grin, “Advice is ten bucks.”
Guy cracked a smile and slid the bartender a twenty. He put a five in the tip jar for the pianist, and walked out of Mood Indigo and back into the sticky snow.
Luke savored the last pull off his cigarette and let the smoke roll out of his mouth. “Why is it you like everyone so damn much, Charlie?”
Charlie shrugged. “I like you too ya know.”
“Well I think you’re a prick.” Luke stabbed his cigarette butt into the ash tray.
Charlie smiled, “Mind playin’ some Louie Armstrong?”

[Dasherman]

I liked it Especially the conversations!
I still feel like you're writing is a bit, no offense intended, plain. I'm not sure on what's missing, but I feel like it's a bit too straightforward or something.

[Diabolical_Jazz]

No offense taken! Constructive criticism is always welcome. ^__^

I am slightly surprised, though. No one has ever brought that one up with me before. 0__0
Can you elaborate at all?

[Dasherman]

I think it's because you only write what happens, there's little detail. Maybe more funny details or background information?
Thing is that I'm not sure what it is, tbh, it's just what I feel reading your writing (only this story though, haven't read other stories).

[Affray]

I like it, very involved dialogue.

I don't agree that it is plain at all.
Not everything needs to be gripping fast paced.

The conversation fit the mood of the character, the dialogue was clever and amusing, and there is atmosphere, you just have to work for it.

[Diabolical_Jazz]

I think it's because you only write what happens, there's little detail. Maybe more funny details or background information?
Thing is that I'm not sure what it is, tbh, it's just what I feel reading your writing (only this story though, haven't read other stories).

Alright, well thank you for the input. It is always appreciated. Seriously.
I may or may not change anything about my writing style, but it helps me figure out how my work is perceived from an outside perspective, which is a surprisingly difficult thing to determine, as a writer. Or at least as me, maybe other writers are better at it.

I like it, very involved dialogue.

I don't agree that it is plain at all.
Not everything needs to be gripping fast paced.

The conversation fit the mood of the character, the dialogue was clever and amusing, and there is atmosphere, you just have to work for it.

Thank you as well. ^__^

[Dasherman]

Don't get me wrong though, I really enjoyed reading it
Especially after reading some of the horrible prose floating around on the interwebz...

[Calvary]

I liked it, the dialogue is quite realistic, especially with the subtle use of elision to manipulate dialect.

One thing I would suggest - and this is just personal opinion so take from it what you will - is to be careful of hyperbole when talking about trivial things, when he pours the coffee and it's 'black as coal' for instance. I've always been of the opinion that things like that are better explained without that sort of dramatic over-reaction, or at least, unless it's something like Dorian Gray. That being said...as I'm typing this I'm starting to think it works in that instance.

As you were. xD

[Diabolical_Jazz]

I was mostly just trying to establish the whole piece as being slightly film-noir flavored.
It's been a while, but I think that was my intention in using that sort of description.

[Diabolical_Jazz]

Don't get me wrong though, I really enjoyed reading it
Especially after reading some of the horrible prose floating around on the interwebz...

Hah, thanks. ^__^

[No-Danico]

I was mostly just trying to establish the whole piece as being slightly film-noir flavored.
It's been a while, but I think that was my intention in using that sort of description.

This is exactly what I was going to say! It’s a pulp-noir style, just s few steps away from Spenser or something. And over-the-top metaphors fit in better than a racist statement and a Chinaman. It’s how noir detectives talk. It’s how they describe dames and the thugs they fight. I loved it, very cool. His dark mood is established through description alone, just as it should be.

The only thing I’d suggest is capitalization. Sometimes you end with a period and don’t capitalize the next word. It’s closely written like a dialog tag, so I’m not sure if you’re doing it on purpose or just missed it. If it’s the latter, ignore what I’m saying. I’ve been proofreading and editing for the last two months so I can’t let things slip.

Also, you use his name too much. In a paragraph, don’t use a proper name more than once, unless you talk about a lot of people in quick succession. Your readers are smart enough to keep up with who’s who. Throw in some pronouns or descriptive nickname to shake up the monotony. This is especially true if you’re doing noir style, it can be downright fun and help set the mood. Call Guy a love-sick smuck. Call Lily his love at first and then a harpy or shrew after she dumps him, it’d villainise her a little. Unless he’s still madly in love with her, then you should make the nicknames ever more boisterous.

[Diabolical_Jazz]

As a rule, my grammatical mistakes are erroneous rather than deliberate. =P I am the sort of author who really needs an editor.
And thank you for the additional analysis. Honestly that bit about use of pronouns is something I struggle with a little bit. It can be hard to make sure things are clear.