“Cold Hearts” 1: The First Draft

In an attempt to give something back here after last week’s wallow, I finally finished a five six-part rewrite series I drafted awhile ago. The idea was to put up a first draft, analyze it, do a first rewrite, hand it over to beta readers (even though usually I’d do five or six more drafts before I showed it to anybody) and get their feedback, analyze the scene again, and do a third rewrite. That would give me, in theory, a starting place for the novella although I can’t do a final rewrite on a first scene until I’ve done the final rewrite on the last scene. It seemed like a good idea. Then life sideswiped me again and I put it to one side. And now I’m back.

The big thing to remember about first drafts is that of course they’re terrible. They’re supposed to be terrible. It’s like bringing home a stack of lumber, putting it in the garage, and saying, “That is one really terrible table.” It’s the raw material of your scene, nowhere near the finished product. So this first draft is very bad, but I don’t care, I got something on the page, and if I can do that, Katie bar the door, I can fix that scene. It’ll take me twenty rewrites, but I’ll get it. The hard part is getting anything on the page to start with.

So a little background: A long time ago, I wrote a novella called “Hot Toy.” There was a supporting character in there I loved, the heroine’s sister. She was cranky, she was self-pitying (she had reason), she loved her little boy, she was coping the best she could, she was tearing the arms off gingerbread men and dipping them in gin. Her name was Courtney, which I’d forgotten, and I’d thought off and on about writing her story, but setting it two years later when her Crazy Time was over, when she’d pulled herself together and was going after a new life. But there’s no market for novellas and I didn’t have a story and my life pretty much came unglued and no voices, so I let it go.

Then awhile ago, Courtney showed up. I wouldn’t say the voices came back, but there were whispers. So I wrote this first draft:

“COLD HEARTS” Scene One, First Draft

Courtney Maxwell had just finished belting out “Wedding Bell Blues” with Henry the security guard–putting some real effort into “C’mon and marry me, Bill”– when the cute guy knocked on the door to the shop.

Henry looked over the semi-precious counter with his hand on his gun and then relaxed when the guy smiled and waved through the safety glass window in the upper part of the massive door, broad-faced and curly haired, the boy-next-door made flesh.

“Not bad looking, honey,” Henry said to her. “Redhead like you. I could use some redheaded grandkids.”

“You’re not my father,” Courtney said and put the last of the case diamonds in the safe under the counter, shaking her head at the guy in the universal “We’re closed, go away” sign.

“You’d still bring ‘em over for cookies and milk. Junie’d really like that. She loves it when Leroy comes over, but she really likes babies.”

“Junie’d really like your ass home on time tonight,” Courtney said as the guy knocked again.

“Persistent,” Henry said. “Good smile. You been alone too long. Go for it.”

“No. More. Men. Ever.” Courtney slammed the door to the safe and spun the lock. Then she walked to the door and opened it just enough to show a friendly but unyielding smile. “I’m sorry,” she said to Cute Guy. “We’re closed for the evening. We’ll open again tomorrow at ten.”

“It’s an emergency,” he said, his easy smile undercutting his words. “I’m getting engaged in fifteen minutes, and I’ve lost the ring.”

His brown eyes were warm and full of humor and he had a good strong jaw, and Courtney thought, Go away, I want to go home to my kid and some gin.

“Let him in,” Henry said.

“He’s engaged,” Courtney called back.

“Kick his ass out,” Henry said, and the cute guy pulled a gun on her.

“Really sorry about this,” he said, and pushed the door open, making her stumble back.

“What the hell?” Henry said, and the guy swung the gun to Henry.

“No!” Courtney lunged between them, spreading her arms out. “No, you will not shoot Henry, he’s a grandfather! And I’m a single mother!”

The not-nearly-as-cute-as-before guy looked at her in disbelief. “Do I look like I’m interested in the demographics here?”

“Don’t shoot Henry,” Courtney snapped. “I mean it.”

The guy sighed and shoved the door closed with his back. “Henry, put your gun on the floor and kick it to me, and I won’t shoot you.”

“Hell, no,” Henry said, calm as ever.

“Henry, give him the damn gun,” Courtney said. “I am not explaining your bullet-ridden body to Junie.”

“It’s my gun,” Henry said.

“Henry, kick that gun over to this asshole or I will come back there and do it for you.”

Henry hesitated, and the guy said, “Henry kick it over here or I’ll shoot the single mother.”

Henry put the gun on the floor and kicked across, and the jackass picked it up and put it in his jacket.

“You’re going to hell,” Courtney told the jackass.

“No doubt about it.” The guy reached in his jacket and pulled out white cable ties. “Now tie Henry’s hands behind his back so he doesn’t change his mind.”

“Henry’s got arthritis,” Courtney said, putting as much outrage as possible in her voice.

“I do not,” Henry said, disgusted.

“Not helping,” Courtney said and took the ties, glaring at the jackass before she went behind the counter with Henry. “Do you have a plan?” she whispered to Henry as she tied his hands.

“Back door,” Henry whispered back. “I’ll distract him, you run for it.”

“He’ll want the vault.” Courtney gave a final tug, keeping her fingers inside the cables so they stayed loose. “I’ll take him back, you run for the cops. No arguments.” She looked across the shop and called to the jackass. “Now what?”

He waved the gun toward the back of the shop. “Now we go to the vault.”

“Of course,” Courtney said, and then somebody knocked on the door.

“We gotta get a ‘Closed’ sign,” Henry said.

“You expecting somebody?” the jackass said.

“Yes,” Courtney said. “That’s my fiancé. I’d leave if I were you. He knows krav maga.”

“Get rid of him,” the jackass said, “or he’ll know bullet wounds.”

“Right,” Courtney said and went to the door.

She could see through the window that this one was tall, and he was wearing a suit so he wasn’t a cop, which would have been helpful, but she couldn’t see his face because he was wearing a fedora that cast a shadow. She turned the lock and opened the door just enough to smile at him. “Bill! Honey! Something’s come up and I have to work late! I’ll see you at home later!” Be smart, know something’s wrong, call the cops.

“Not a problem.” The guy pushed the door open and slid his arm around her waist, moving her back with his body as he came in. “I’ll wait with you.” He closed the door behind him, and then he looked past her to the jackass, his arm tightening around her as she tried to move away. “Something wrong?”

Across the room, the jackass pointed his gun at Henry’s head. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, patience palpable in his voice. “This is a robbery. Take off your hat, Bill.”

Courtney tried to move away again, and Bill shifted so that she was closer to the door, his arm still tight around her. Then he took off his hat, and Courtney blinked up at him. Thick dark hair, clear blue eyes, cheekbones that could cut diamonds—

“Good-looking grandchildren,” Henry said.

“You’re kidding,” Courtney said to Henry around Bill’s back. “Now?”

“Don’t be a hero, Bill,” the jackass said to the new guy. “Or I shoot the single mother.”

“No heroes here.” Bill tossed his hat onto the nearest counter, not relaxing his grip on her. “So what do we all have to do to get out alive?”

“You’re coming back here with Henry,” the jackass said. “I have many cable ties.”

“No,” Courtney said, and gripped Bill’s lapel. “Please don’t leave me, Bill.”

The jackass cocked his head at her. “Really. Bill walks in and you become a clinger?”

No, Bill walks in, and I don’t trust either one of you, and Henry needs a clear path to the back door.

“I’ve always been a clinger,” Courtney said, clutching Bill’s lapel harder. “Just ask Bill.”

“It’s true,” Bill said, and Courtney leaned in to him just a little.

He was probably another jackass, but he had a nice hard chest and he wasn’t pointing a gun at her, plus she could use him as a shield, so he was ahead on points.

“This was supposed to be a simple job,” the jackass said, but he sounded philosophical about it. “Take off your jacket, Bill.”

Bill let go of her and took off his jacket. No concealed weapons.

Damn it, Courtney thought. There had been a tiny little hope that he was law enforcement, but really, what were the chances?

“And now we open the vault,” the jackass said, and waved his gun toward the back.

“You can do it, honey,” Bill said and pushed her gently toward the back, and she thought, They’re working together.

Well, fine. He still made a dandy human shield.

“If you say so,” she said, and gripped his shirt, keeping him between her and the gun. Goddamn men, taking what they wanted and then leaving her to pick up the pieces.

The jackass moved toward them and Henry took a step toward the back door.

Careful, Henry, Courtney thought and walked toward the curtains at the back, dragging Bill along with her by his shirt. “I don’t even know why you’re robbing us,” she said to the jackass. “There are a lot bigger jewelry stores. We’re just a little hole in the wall. We can’t even afford a sign.”

“Really?” the jackass said. “What a shame. Might as well look as long as I’m here. Right, Bill?”

“I would,” Bill said, putting his arm around her again, and Courtney thought, I knew it, they’re working together.

She reached the curtains to the vault room and pulled them aside, motioning the jackass to go through first. He gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look, and behind him Henry disappeared into the storeroom on his way to the back door, so she went inside, Bill’s arm still around her, followed by the jackass.

The vault door was closed but not locked. Courtney bit her lip and said, “Oh, no, it’s locked.”

“And you don’t have the combination,” the jackass said. “What a surprise.”

“Only the manager can open it. And he won’t be back until tomorrow morning at ten.” She widened her eyes at the jackass. “Please don’t shoot us.”

The jackass sighed. “You have no idea how tempting that is, but no. The vault is not locked. Open it.”

So the jackass had inside information.

Damn it. “Fine,” Courtney said, letting go of Bill. She bent down and flipped the latch on the vault. It wasn’t that she cared about the damn diamonds, it was that he just thought he could come in there a big ass gun and hurt people she cared about and she’d just do what he wanted—

“Open it,” the jackass said, his voice sharp, and Courtney said, “Fine.”

She straightened, pulled the door open, lunged inside, and slammed the vault door shut, narrowly missing Bill, who had slipped inside behind her.

The thud from the door closing echoed in the silence, followed by half a dozen clicks as the lock engaged.

Bill smiled at her, his blue eyes beaming honesty and trustworthiness. “That was unexpected.”

“You’re a thief,” Courtney said, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

It was going to be a long night.