All the Jack and Diane stories, in one place

Jack and Diane have grown to six dates/stories so far. Here they are, with their original posting dates on my blog.

Jack and Diane #1. Original post date 11/30/21.

Death By Millstone

Bob Gillen

Jack Marin and Diane Somers sat in rickety aluminum beach chairs a few feet back from the water’s edge at Point Dume. Southern California at its finest. A sky that defined the word blue. An ocean that shimmered in the breeze like the sequins on a go-go dancer’s dress. 

Jack wore a pale yellow baseball cap, faded jeans and a black sweatshirt. She was in gray leggings and an oversize white Oxford shirt. Both were barefoot.

Jack reached down for his Starbucks blond Americano, the cup wedged in the sand. Diane sipped a bottled water. 

Seagulls squawked overhead. Jack breathed in the salt air. “This is nice.”

Diane smiled. “Blue skies and fresh air. The start of what could be a nice relationship.”

Jack choked, swallowed his coffee hard.

Diane put her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Shit. I always put my foot in my mouth. Let me re-phrase that. This is the start of a nice morning together.”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Better.”

“I had coffee once with a guy I met on a different dating app,” Diane said. “Not the one where you and I met. It was a decent conversation. We talked about our kids. About what airlines we used the most. About our surgeries. After twenty minutes he suddenly stood up, said, ’Thanks, but this isn’t going to work,’ and he walked out.”


“Yeah.” She pointed her water bottle toward Jack. “I think when he realized I never had a hysterectomy, and he never had a vasectomy, he got scared and took off.”

Jack laughed. 

Diane reached over and touched his arm. “Relax. Let’s just enjoy the beach together. No expectations.”

“That works for me.”

She sipped her water. “What kind of books do you like to read?” she asked.

“Mostly mystery and thriller. Some general fiction. You?”

“Contemporary fiction. Some biographies. A few romance novels thrown in, but I need to be in the mood.”

“What mood is that?” Jack stretched his legs out in the sand.

“Well…when I’m in an optimistic frame of mind. Then happily ever after makes sense. Most days, though, I’m not terribly hopeful.”

“Been burned?”

Diane blinked, reached down for a small picnic sack. “How about a snack?”

She pulled out a few containers with fruit slices, cheese bites, pretzels.

“Hey, thanks. I’ll try a pretzel.”

She grabbed two apple slices.

Jack said, “Last night I got fifty pages into a new thriller novel – an author I never read before. And I tossed it.”


“No. Same old shit. A serial killer. A guy, of course, a long distance trucker, targets women at truck stops.”


“And I am sick of crime stories where a guy targets vulnerable women and children as victims. The concept is so played out.”

 Diane nodded slightly. “Yeah, I get that.”

The ocean breeze picked up. Jack reversed his cap to keep it from blowing off. Diane’s shirt fluttered in the breeze.

“Okay, enough on books. What about travel? Do you travel much?”

Diane brightened. “Whenever I can. I love to fly. Last month I went to Cabo again. My fourth time. My first time alone.”

“Never been there.”

“But you’ve been to Mexico, right? Other beaches?”

Jack shook his head. “I went to Tijuana once…for about an hour.”

Diane smiled. “Don’t tell me…a quick lay.”

Jack felt his face redden. “No. Just to say I had been there.”

“I embarrassed you.”

“No…yeah, a bit, I guess.” He grinned.

“Why bother? I mean, why go only to say you were there?”

Jack grabbed a handful of pretzels.

“You say you like to fly. Well, I don’t. But I will drive anywhere. Hitting Mexico was part of a cross-country road trip I did with a couple of buddies, years back. Many years back.”

“That sounds like a cool adventure. Was one of the buddies named Charley?”

Jack looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, I get it. Steinbeck.”

She smiled.

“It was a long time ago. We were native New Yorkers. Nick, Gene, me. The road trip was one last guy thing before we all got settled in our careers and our lives.”

Diane stood up. “Leave the chairs and snacks here. Let’s walk. Tell me your road trip story.”

Jack stood, wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. “This comes with me.”

The two walked east along the beach, the surf slapping gently on the sand to their right, the breeze playing on their faces.

Jack sipped his coffee. “I haven’t thought about this in a long time.”

“A good memory, though?”

“Mostly. We left from New York, drove west on I-80, hit Reno, down through Tahoe to San Francisco. Then down the California coast to San Diego…man, was Tahoe beautiful!”

“And Tijuana,” Diane quipped.

Jack nodded. “Return trip past the Grand Canyon, then I-70 through the midwest to home.”

Jack chuckled. “You’re not from the mid-west, are you?”

“Born and bred right here.”

“Okay, good. On the drive home we stopped at an upscale restaurant in Kansas City for dinner. Looking for a good mid-west steak. I told the waitress, in my lousy French accent, we wanted a bottle of red wine, Saint-Émilion. She stared at me, said they didn’t stock that. Then her eyes widened. ‘Oh, you mean,’ and she said in her best flat mid-western accent, ‘St. A-million.’”

“New York snobs,” Diane said.

“You got it.”

“It sounds like a trip you’d never forget.”

“Yeah, well…”

The shadow of a lone seagull crossed the sand in front of Jack as it passed in front of the sun. 


Jack kicked at the damp sand. “The trip was fine. It’s only after…”

“Do you not want to talk about it?”

“It’s okay.”

He sipped the last of his Americano as they walked.

“The other guys made their lives in New York. My wife and I moved out here. We lost touch. They’re both dead now. Nick a heart attack maybe fifteen years ago, I heard. The other guy, Gene…also a heart attack…shortly after he was arrested.”

“Arrested?” Diane stopped walking. Looked at Jack.

“Yeah. He was a predator. A child abuser.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah, shit is right. I only found out about him recently. When there was so much press about the abusers in the Catholic church, in the Scouts, other organizations. I was reading an article and saw his name.”

Diane turned to stare out at the ocean. “Was he…?”

“Was he an abuser when we took the road trip?”


“I think so. I’ll never know, of course, but the paper said his crimes went way back. He often took the kids – his victims – camping.”

Diane gripped her water bottle hard.

“We did the trip in Gene’s car, an enormous Chevy Impala. And we carried camping gear. We camped maybe half the nights on the trip.”

Jack shuddered. “Fuck, I never thought of this before. We could have been sleeping in the same tent he used with the kids.” He stopped, sat down in the sand. Stared out at the ocean.

Diane sat next to him.

Jack took the lid off his empty coffee cup, scooped sand into the cup, dumped it out. He did this for a while, scooping, dumping, scooping. 

Diane sat in silence.

“Jesus,” Jack said. “He should burn in hell for what he did to those children.” He crushed the cup in his hand, jammed the lid into the cup.

Diane whispered, “Speaking of Jesus, maybe all the guy can hope for now is forgiveness.”

Jack turned to Diane, shook his head violently. “No! I’m not much of a religious guy any more, but I do remember Jesus saying, if you hurt the children, you should have a millstone tied around your neck and be thrown in the sea.”

Diane nodded. “Yeah, he did say that. He also talked about loving everyone…”

“No. There’s no wiggle room there. You hurt kids, you die.”

“Do you think he was a tortured soul?”

“Seriously?” Jack pulled his ankles up to sit cross-legged. “A tortured soul? What about the tortured souls he left in his wake?”

They fell into a long silence. Both stared out at the ocean. They watched sandpipers run back and forth at the water’s edge, dodging each wave. Wave after wave hit the shore, disappeared in the sand, made way for the next one. 

Finally, “How did I not see it?”

Diane said nothing.

Jack ran sand through his fingers. 

“Was I blind? I mean, we knew each other. We were already in the jobs that marked our careers. Nick was studying for the bar in New York. Gene got his degree and was teaching elementary school in an underserved neighborhood in Brooklyn. I was engaged, planned to get married six months later. Shit, I was so naive.”

“What if you knew? What would you have done?”

“I would have turned him in.”

“He was your friend.”

“A buddy, yeah, but not a real friend. No friend does things like that.”

Jack brushed sand off the leg of his pants. “You know what’s ironic? Nick was a lawyer. I heard he worked for a firm that specialized in getting justice for abused children.”

“He represented the victims,” Diane said.

Jack nodded. “I wonder if that’s what got him. What caused his heart attack. Knowing what he knew.”

Diane drew up her knees, wrapped her arms around her legs.

Jack dug his heels into the warm sand. “Nick tolerated no bullshit. I’m guessing he would have thought, like me, predators should all burn in hell. These bastards preyed on vulnerable children. Stole their youth, ruined their lives for all their remaining years. And Nick would have known that these were not crimes of passion.”

Jack began tearing pieces off the crushed cup in his hand. “The bastards planned everything. Selected victims. Worked them and their families. Calculated all the abuse. Premeditated. Over and over.”

Diane said, “Like I said earlier, so many times there’s no happily ever after.”

Jack picked up the pieces of his mangled coffee cup. “Let’s head back.”

They stood. Diane said, “Shit, I can sure clear a room on a first date, huh?”

Jack shrugged. “The last few years, it has always bugged me that I did that road trip with a guy who turned out to be a predator. How could I have done that?”

As they walked back to their beach chairs, Jack said, “Before the road trip I had bought a whole box of cigars. Garcia y Vega Bravuras. We smoked them at every campsite after supper. One night we were smoking at our campfire. Gene walked off to take our trash to a dumpster. On the way back, he stopped at the neighboring campsite to chat with a family that had two boys. Nick had to yell over to him to come back and leave them alone.”

“You think Nick knew?”

“Nick was smart. Street smart… If he did suspect something, he never let on.”

“And here you are, so many years later, walking a beach, trying to make sense of it.”

“Yeah. No offense, but with a woman I just met an hour ago.” He turned to Diane. “You’re a good listener.”

She smiled, nodded.

They reached their chairs. Jack tossed his crushed and torn cup down in the sand. 

Gulls screeched high overhead. Diane caught Jack’s eyes. “I could listen more if you wish.”

“Let’s sit and enjoy the ocean for a while,” he said. “Maybe happy can be one moment without worrying about ever after.”


Jack and Diane #2. Original post date 12/9/21.

The Second Date

Bob Gillen

Jack Marin stepped into the hair salon. A young man greeted him from the reception counter.

“Who are you here to see?”

Jack glanced around, taking in the slick ambience of the salon. “I’m meeting a client of Krystal. Her name is—“

The receptionist grabbed a microphone. “Krystal, someone to see you.” He turned away to take a phone call.

Jack stood a moment till he realized he had been dismissed. He sat in a beige faux leather chair. In a room directly ahead of him a stylist dressed in black was blow-drying a client’s hair. The two chatted freely as she worked.

“You must be Jack. I’m Krystal.” 

A woman in a black apron waved him over. “We’re back here.”

Jack followed her around a corner to find Diane Somers sitting in a salon chair, draped in a black apron. Diane pulled an arm out from under the apron, waved, smiled at Jack in the mirror without turning.


“Sit here.” Krystal pointed to the empty chair in the next station. 

“Jack, this is Krystal,” Diane said. “My stylist and friend for more than ten years.”

“Welcome, Jack.” Krystal picked up scissors and a comb.

Jack nodded. Talking to Diane and Krystal in the mirror made Jack uncomfortable. 

“Thanks for meeting me here,” Diane said. “I’ve been running late all morning.”

Jack nodded to the mirror.

“So,” Krystal said, “I hear you guys just met last week.”

“We did,” Jack said. “At the beach.”

“Good beach weather,” Krystal said. “Almost too warm for this time of year.”

“Thanks to our fucked up climate,” Jack said.

“Tell me about it,” Krystal said. “My kids are so into climate change projects at school.”

“Krystal’s kids are adorable,” Diane said. 


“Do you have kids, Jack?” Krystal asked.

“Two. Both back east, one in New York, the other Rhode Island.”

“Get to see them often?”

“Not enough. Damn pandemic. I haven’t seen them in almost two years.”

“I didn’t know you had kids,” Diane said.

Jack smiled. “Our first meetup kinda went down the toilet, huh?”

“No, no. I’m glad you had a chance to talk.”

“What about you, Diane. Kids?”

“One. A daughter here in LA. She’s an event planner, works mostly with a private high school.”

“Cool. She’s close.”

Diane shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since my husband died three years ago.”

Krystal had been listening intently. She returned to cutting and shaping Diane’s hair. She tipped Diane’s head forward to get at the back of her neck.

“My wife has been gone two years next month,” Jack said.

“You’ve both been through a lot, huh?” Krystal said.

“I still miss her like crazy,” Jack said. “The only comfort I have is knowing she’s in a better place.”

Krystal smiled. “She’s at peace.”

Jack laughed. “Funny. I believe in an afterlife. I know our spirits live on somehow. But I’m in no rush to get there myself.”

“It’s not your time yet,” Krystal said.

“It’s not that. I’m a doer,” Jack said. “I have trouble being idle. When I think of being in heaven, or in some spirit world, I shudder. It must be so boring. Sitting around feeling joyful. The joyful part is okay. It’s the sitting around. For eternity. Forever, with nothing to do.”

Diane peered at Jack in the mirror. “I think it would be wonderful.”

“Not so much for me.”

Krystal set her scissors on the counter. “Let me tell you a story.”

Jack turned to face Krystal, trying to keep one eye on Diane in the mirror.

“I went to a medium last year. We talked about this.”

Jack squinted at the thought of a medium.

“I felt something like you do, Jack. She told me the spirits aren’t just sitting around.”


“She said they keep growing and learning.”

Jack leaned closer.

“The medium believes we go through a transition when we first die. We have to learn how to be in the new spirit world. In heaven. It takes some adjusting.”

“Do they join up with all the people who have died ahead of them?” Jack asked.

“Oh sure. They interact, learning from one another. Experiencing how they all were good, how they made mistakes, what they learned from that.”

“That’s fascinating,” Jack said. “So my wife is still growing…”

“Oh yeah. The medium even believes we all come back to live multiple lives. But we don’t remember our previous lives. Each one is fresh. We keep growing. Keep trying to get it better.”

Jack stared at his own reflection in the mirror. He murmured, “We keep growing.”

Diane looked at Jack, then caught Krystal’s eye in the mirror. Krystal winked.

“Jack, that means something to you.” Diane smiled.

Jack shrugged. “I think so. I need to think about this.” He turned to Krystal. “Your medium says we never stop growing, right?”

Krystal nodded.

“That’s cool. It makes sense. Why has no one ever said this before?”

Diane opened her mouth to speak. Jack cut her off. “This is why I gave up on religion.”

The conversation died for a few moments while Krystal blew-dried Diane’s hair. Jack stared at the mirror.

A half hour later Jack and Diane sat over hot drinks in a nearby coffee shop. 

“Krystal is amazing,” Jack said. “You’re lucky to have her as a friend.”

“She has helped me almost more than my therapist. Since my husband died.”

“I can’t stop thinking about what she said…about her medium. That’s life-changing. I mean, I never thought of the next life as a time of growing. Really cool.”

Diane sipped her coffee. “Were you and your wife close?”

“Oh yeah,” Jack said. “My best friend.”

“My husband and I were the same,” Diane said. 

Jack nodded. 

“Have you talked to a counselor since your wife died?” Diane asked.

“You mean, a therapist? Nah. No need. I’m dealing okay.”

Diane stared at her cup. “Are you?”


She looked at Jack. “I said, are you? Are you dealing okay?”

“Yeah. It gets better as I move along.”

She looked into his eyes.

“Does it?”

“What is this, a therapy session?” He leaned back in his chair.

“No, but I wonder if that’s what you need.”

“You hardly know me. This is only our second date. What are you talking about?”

“You told me I was a good listener.”


“Do you even listen at all?”

Jack ran his hands through his hair.

Diane pointed to his gesture. “You just watched me get my hair done. You have not said anything about how it looks.”

“It looks good.”

“Thanks. Too late.”

Jack shook his head in confusion.

“The day at the beach you gushed on about yourself. I listened. You never noticed that I dodged talking about what bothers me.”

Jack shook his head again.

“And just now you were up to your eyeballs talking to Krystal about your wife. You never asked me if I wanted to talk about my daughter. About our estrangement.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“That’s my point.” Diane shook her head. “When we were just leaving the salon, Krystal whispered to me, “That man would melt the polish off your toenails.”

Jack squinted.

“She thought you were hot. Me, I feel like this will be too hard to make it work.”

Diane stood. “Thanks, Jack.”

Diane picked up her coffee cup and headed for the door.

Jack stared after her.


Jack and Diane #3. Original post date 1/26/22.

A Third Date

Bob Gillen

Jack Marin backed his white Ford F-150 effortlessly into the parking spot half a block from Stearns Wharf in Santa Barbara.

“We’re here,” he whispered to Diane Somers sleeping in the passenger seat. Diane opened her eyes. She took in Jack’s face, turned to see the beach across from the sidewalk.

“That was fast,” she croaked. “Oh, I was really out, huh?”

“Since we got on the 101.”

“Wow. Hardly sleeping for two nights makes a girl sleepy.”

“Take your time waking up,” Jack said. He pressed the slider to open Diane’s window. The cool ocean breeze drifted in.

“Oh that smells good.”

“Never disappoints.”

Diane straightened up, pulled down the visor mirror. “I need a bit of makeup.”

“If you say so. Looks good from where I sit.”

She freshened her lipstick, ran hands through her hair.

“How’d you score a spot so close to the wharf?”

“I lived in New York City for five years. Finding a parking spot is a learned skill.”

“I didn’t know you lived there.”

“Long time ago, after graduation. Before I came back out to LA.”

Jack closed the window. “Let’s head out on the wharf.”

The two walked along the wharf as cars passed back and forth next to them.

“I have to say, Jack, I really hesitated when you called and asked me to come here.”

“Yeah, I really messed up our last date… I’m a shitty listener.”

“More than that.”


“I was flattered you called. But after our second date didn’t go well, I did not want to be miles from home, depending on you to drive me back if it went south again.”

Jack stopped, stepped aside to the railing. “I know I really messed up both dates, but I wanted to see you again so badly. I thought some ocean air and a good dinner would help.”

Diane smiled. “I missed you too. I am still concerned that this won’t work out, but I’m game to try again.”

The passing cars caused the wooden beams of the wharf to clatter as they drove over them. Jack smiled. “Have I told you I’ve done and said some incredibly stupid things in my lifetime. Almost always around a girl.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Jack pointed to the passing cars. “All the clattering of the wharf reminds me…when I was in the eighth grade, I had a girlfriend.”

“Wow, this is ancient history.”

 “Cute.” Jack smiled. “Her name was Patti. One chilly spring day we rode our bikes to the park at the end of our town. A wooden car bridge crossed a large creek near the park. Patti and I, and another couple we were tight with, we climbed up under the bridge, right under where the cars drove across. We heard all of that clattering of the wooden beams. Anyway, we were kissing. It was a nice moment. Secluded under there. The other couple kept on kissing. I kissed Patti for a bit, then said, “Okay, I’m done. We can go now.”

“You didn’t?”

Jack extended his palms in surrender. “I was an idiot. Alone with my girlfriend. And I cut it short. So stupid!”

“Yeah, Jack. That was stupid.”

Seagulls screeched alongside the wharf. Jack shrugged. “Let’s get some ice cream.”

They walked to the end of the wharf. Jack got a vanilla cone, Diane Rocky Road in a cup.

“My friends tease me. Call me plain vanilla. I love the flavor, and I hate bits of stuff in my ice cream.”

Diane waved her index finger. “I won’t offer you a taste of mine.”

They found an empty bench facing out at the harbor. 

“Do you feel rested after sleeping in the car?”

“I do. Thanks. I hope it wasn’t rude of me, but I was so tired.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“I think aliens have invaded my cat’s brain. He now paces around the house all night.”

“That’s weird.”

“I adopted him two years ago. Hoping for company around the house. They told me his name was Pepper. After a week I started calling him Zero. Still do.”

“Odd name.”

“He sleeps all day. Wakes up to eat and pee. Does not meow or purr. Will not snuggle or let me pet him. So I call him Zero…as in, I give zero fucks about this cat.”

Jack almost dropped his cone. “That’s harsh.”

“After the last two nights, I mean it even more. He’s insane.”

“So, not only is he not good company, he now keeps you awake at night.”

Diane nodded, finished her Rocky Road. She stood to find a trash can. “Let’s walk a bit. I need to stretch my legs.”

They walked back along the wharf to the street, turned towards the harbor where hundreds of boats were docked. Both enjoyed the sea air. Neither felt the need to talk. 

When they reached the end of the sidewalk, Diane said, “I’m hungry. Got any ideas for restaurants?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. There’s a great Italian place up State Street. We can walk there, or get the truck and drive up.”

“I don’t mind walking.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

They walked back along the beach, headed up State Street. The street was still closed to auto traffic, since the beginning of the COVID lockdowns. Bicycles whizzed past, tourists and residents wandered the street. Jack moved to hold Diane’s hand, but a surge of tourists forced them to walk single file. When they reached the restaurant. Jack and Diane got seated in a quiet outdoor section.

“So, I promised myself I would not dominate the conversation. Tell me something about your last job, Diane. The one you retired from.”

The server brought a plate with a baguette and olive oil with pepper. Diane wolfed down a piece. 

“God, I was hungry.”

Jack placed his napkin on his lap. “This is nice. I can’t remember when I last ate someplace that had cloth napkins.”

Diane laughed. “I hear you.”

“So, tell me about your job…”

Diane said, “I had no plans to retire then, but I couldn’t take the company anymore.”

“They forced you out?”

“In a way. I was in tech sales support, covering retail clients on the west coast. We had some management changes, they reorganized the company structure. Some bright light decided that all sales and sales support people should be based out of Indianapolis. They wanted all of us to relocate.”

“Relocate from LA to Indianapolis?”


The server stepped up. “Any questions about our menu?”

“I think we’re ready to order. Diane?”

“I’ll have the salmon piccata.”

“Excellent choice. And you, sir?”

“Chicken parmesan.”

The server took their menus and walked away.

“I see why your friends tease you.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked.

“Chicken parm. Doesn’t get any more vanilla than that.”

Jack raised his palms in protest. “I go for what I like.”

Diane smiled. “Whatever.”

“So, back to you. Relo to Indianapolis.”

“Most of our customers were based in the east. The company figured they might as well put all of us nearer to them.”

“With more travel for you, for the west coast.”

“Yeah, plus summer humidity, winter snow and ice, and further away from my daughter.”

“Last time you mentioned you and she were estranged.”

“A topic for another time,” she said.

“Okay. Do you have grandkids?”

“None yet.”

“Yeah, me too…okay, so you quit and took early retirement.”

“Not exactly. I stalled. Finally, they offered me a severance package, and I jumped at it.”

Jack dipped a piece of bread into the olive oil and pepper. “Do you miss the work?”

“I miss the travel. Discovering new cities. Every trip staying in a good hotel. Great restaurants. Spa at night. Most of it on the company dime…and I miss fixing issues for my customers. The best feeling…”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Diane laughed. “One of the best fixes…I would show up at a retail location. Their point of sale equipment was acting erratically. I’d spot right away that they had tied the electrical cables alongside the data cables. Electrical interfered with the data transmission. I would fuss over it for a while, simply separate the cables, and voila, problem fixed. The customers loved me.”

“And here you are, cruising, no worries.”

“Eating a lovely Italian dinner with a man I hardly know yet. Who knew?”

After dinner and coffee, Jack and Diane walked back down State Street to Jack’s truck. 

“Would you be interested in adopting a cat?” Diane asked.

“No way. Animals are okay, but I am not a pet person.”

“I may have to give him up. I can’t live like this. I need my sleep.”

Jack nodded.

“And please, Jack. No suggestions about me spending a night at your place.”

“It never entered my mind.”

Diane turned to him. “Am I not attractive enough?”

Jack laughed. “Between a rock and a hard place… yes, you are attractive. And yes, I am a slow mover. Very slow.”

“Sounds fair,” Diane said. “Just kidding you. I will give up Zero, and then we can take it as it comes.”


Jack reached over, took Diane’s hand, and kissed it gently. She blinked, smiled.

Jack drove his truck onto the 101 South. He turned on one of his playlists. Art Tatum on the Pablo Group Masterpieces albums. He chose the session with Ben Webster on sax. “Chill. If you need to, take another nap. I’m cool with that.”

“I had coffee, but I may just do that. Walking and ocean air did me in.”

‘Call you when we get to your place.”

Jack smiled, steered south. Said to himself, Look at me, spending a day with Diane and not fucking it up. Go, me.


Jack and Diane #4. Original post date 2/14/22.

A New Morning

Bob Gillen

Diane Somers woke at 7:30 without an alarm. She stretched, slid out from under her covers. The east-facing window filled the room with light. 

Diane smiled. I slept through the night, she told herself. First time in a month. She stepped into her fuzzy slippers, pulled on a well-worn blue chennille robe, and padded to the kitchen. In under ten minutes she had her French-press coffee in hand. She settled in her chair and gazed out at the trees moving in the brisk Santa Ana winds. 

She sighed as she sipped her coffee. 

Sleep was good. After a month of near-sleepless nights she had finally surrendered and returned her cat Zero to the rescue shelter. As a retiree, she had the option of afternoon naps. But nothing replaced a good night’s sleep. Zero had been with her for close to two years. In that time the cat had never once purred or meowed. Never snuggled with Diane in her chair or in bed. The cat did nothing but eat, pee and sleep. Hence the cat’s name. Diane gave zero fucks about him.

But Zero had taken to roaming the house every night for the last month. Running from room to room. Hissing. Knocking books off tables. The last straw, two nights ago he swept her favorite mug off the kitchen table and shattered it. 

The guy at the shelter had accepted Zero back. “Didn’t work for you, huh?” he asked.

“Not your normal cuddly cat.”

The clerk had nodded. “Thanks for trying. Not always a match.”

“Thanks for understanding,” Diane had called out as she left.

She sipped her coffee. A couple of dry leaves scratched across the concrete patio in the wind. For some weird reason, the moving leaves reminded her of the black and white movie with Peter Lorre, where a severed hand crawled around the house causing mayhem and murder. That’s what Zero had been, a hand detached from anything that would give it life, creeping about in the darkness. Diane shuddered. He’s gone now.

After a second cup of coffee, she continued to stare out the window at the wind-blown trees. All the movement was outside. Inside, only stillness. Diane felt alone, empty. Her mind drifted back over the three years since her second husband had died. She lost him quite suddenly of a massive heart attack. And she had lost her only daughter in a maelstrom of anger and bitterness. Margaret had not spoken to Diane since Mark’s death. Diane had still to reason why, exactly. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by sirens from the nearby fire station, as a crew went out on call. Her neighbor’s German shepherd howled. Howled mightily. It always brought a smile to her face. The dog was normally rather stoic, but the sirens gave him voice every time.

The feeling of emptiness fell over her again. She was utterly alone in the house once again. No husband, no connection to her daughter, no cat. Only her.

She returned to the kitchen for more coffee. Zero’s food and water dishes were still on the floor under the counter. She picked them up and tossed them in the trash. That was the last trace of him. Gone.

Diane settled in the chair with a third cup of coffee. She opened her iPad to read emails. On top was the monthly newsletter from one of her favorite mystery authors. As she read the newsletter, she teared up. The author talked about losing her spouse in the previous year. She spoke of herself recovering from a mild bout of Omicron, spoke of the almost two years of pandemic lockdown and restrictions. The author described her current life as a scaled-back life. A scaled-back life, yet nurtured by gratitude and appreciation for what she does have.

Diane thought, that’s it exactly. That’s my life. Scaled back. Not the same. Maybe never to be the same again. But clearly scaled back. Full of limitations and restrictions. Filled with absence and emptiness. Tears flowed.

Her phone chirped. She glanced at the screen. Jack. The guy she met on an online dating app for the over-fifty crowd. She let the call go to voicemail. Later, dude. I need some me time right now.

She wiped away her tears, smiled, recalling the day she and Jack had spent in Santa Barbara a few days ago. Appreciation. Gratitude.

Outside a single dry leaf continued to scratch across the patio in the wind. Diane got up, opened the slider, and stepped on the leaf. Crushed it to small pieces. She closed the slider, settled back in her chair.

She reached for the phone. Took a deep breath, hit Jack’s number. 


Jack and Diane #5. Original post date 3/22/22.

The Goat Movie

Bob Gillen

Tears ran down Diane Somers’s face as she sipped the last of her breakfast coffee. A single photo lay unframed on the kitchen table. A picture of her late husband, Frank, a huge grin spread across his face, poised to blow out birthday candles. Their daughter Margaret sat at his side. A memorable occasion, only six weeks before Frank’s deadly heart attack. 

Diane pushed the photo aside. Three years gone. Frank…and Margaret. Frank dead, Margaret estranged from her mother. 

Her phone chirped. A text from Jack Marin. Want to see a movie tonight?

Diane hesitated, then replied, What’s playing?

A text came back. A star-studded feature: Billy Idol, Billie Eilish, Billie Holiday, Billy Elliot and Billy Porter starring in the barnyard classic ‘What’s Got Your Goat’? 

Diane stared at the phone. What the hell? She dialed Jack, rather than deal with typing on the phone.

“Hi,” Jack said. “The goat movie sound interesting?”

“I don’t get it.”

“Goats? Billy goats?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Okay. Sorry, you caught me at a bad time.”

“Should I call later?”

“No, no. It’s fine. Did you stay up all night thinking of that?”

“Nope. I have a notebook filled with these. Been writing them for years. Did you ever watch the old Tonight Show with Johnny Carson?”

“Some. He was not a favorite of mine.”

“Yeah…well I always loved his character Art Fern. Remember? Art Fern and the Tea Time Movie?”


“Girl, your education has sadly been lacking.”

“A matter of opinion…boy.”

Jack snorted. “Okay, I’ll drop it for now…but you may hear more where that came from.”

“Save it, Jack.”

“Listen, if you’re not up to a movie, we could spend a few hours at the zoo. I have a friend who works there. I can get free tickets.”

“Probably not…not today, Jack.” Diane reached for a paper napkin as tears began to flow again.

Jack pushed on. “Yeah, okay. My friend’s a vet. Does a lot of work with the LA Zoo.”

A pause while Diane hesitated to react. 

“He treats mostly the elephants. They seem prone to some kind of skin condition.”

“Jack, don’t.”

“Honest. His business card reads, Pachydermatologist.”

Diane moaned. “I see what you did there…and it hurt.”

“Hey, you throw enough on the wall, some of it will stick.”

Diane took a deep breath, dabbed at stray tears. “Was there a real reason you texted?”

“Actually…yeah. Thinking of you and reaching out.”

“Thanks, Jack. That’s nice.”

“How about dinner tonight? I’d offer to cook for you, but I know you’re skittish about moving too fast.”

“Dinner would be great. How about something light? Maybe a sandwich and salad somewhere.”

“Done. Can I pick you up…or would you rather meet there?”

“Let’s meet there. Wherever ‘there’ is.”

“How about that bistro place at the promenade? They make a good sandwich. Lots of outdoor seating too.”

“See you there at six.”

Diane put her phone down. Her gaze returned to Frank’s photo. You’ve been gone for three years now…please help me understand why Margaret refuses to talk to me. She won’t take any calls from me. It’s killing me, Frank. She’s all I have left.

She reached for a Post-It pad from the counter, pulled off a tab and stuck it over Margaret’s face on the photo. This comes off when you call me.


Jack and Diane #6. Original post date 9/27/22

Mi Volvo Es Muy Mal

Bob Gillen

Jack Marin parked his Ford F-150 at the curb in front of Diane Somer’s house. The double garage door was open. Her Prius sedan sat in one bay. As Jack walked up, he realized the second car was an old dark blue Volvo, its hood open.

“Hello?” he called.

Diane’s head appeared from under the hood.

“Hi. Right on time.”

Jack nodded. “A very old Volvo.”

“A 142-S. Frank kept it for all these years.”

On the wall facing the Volvo was a faded wooden sign. Mi Volvo es muy mal.

Jack pointed to the sign. 

“Frank got it from an abandoned garage somewhere up north, years back,” Diane said. “The old girl is fading, though. I only use it three times a year.”

“Why three?”

“Visits to the cemetery. His birthday, my birthday…and today, Margaret’s birthday.”

Diane ran a pair of battery cables from the Volvo to her Toyota.

“Can I help?” Jack asked.

“I got this.” She started the Toyota, hopped out and got in the Volvo. In a minute or so the Volvo kicked over. It coughed and sputtered, then smoothed out. She disconnected the cables and turned off her Toyota.

Ten minutes later Diane was driving them to the cemetery in the Volvo. She pulled up under a large tree. Opening the trunk, she took out two faded aluminum beach chairs and placed them at Frank’s grave. Then she set out a small cooler.

“Have a seat,” she said. “There’s water and soda in the cooler, and a few snacks.”

“I’ll wait,” Jack said. He sat.

“I usually stay for an hour or two,” Diane said. “If you get restless, feel free to walk around. And there’s a restroom in the office near the front gate.”

“Good to know.”

“Jack, I appreciate your being here with me.”


“I sometimes sit in silence. Once in a while I will talk quietly to Frank. Today I’ll introduce you.”

Jack shifted in his chair.

Diane sat upright. She closed her eyes, arms resting in her lap. Jack leaned back, tried to relax. His own wife had been gone for two years now, but he had never once visited her cemetery. 

Diane whispered. “Frank, I drove over in the Volvo today. She’s still running.” She gestured to Jack. “I brought a friend with me today. His name is Jack. You’d like him. We met on a fifty-plus dating app a couple of months ago. Not really dating. More like hanging out together. Developing a friendship.”

Diane drifted back to silence.

Jack looked around the cemetery. Many of the graves had flowers or flags. Several other visitors stood around graves, or sat in the grass. He got up quietly and walked to the road. He walked the perimeter of the cemetery. Near the top was a section for cremated remains, graced by a small fountain. He circled and walked down near the office building.

A white BMW SUV sat in the office parking lot. Jack walked past without a glance. As he went by, a woman’s voice called out. “Sir?”

Jack turned. A woman slipped out of the BMW. “May I ask you a question?”

Jack pointed to himself. “Me?”

The woman nodded. “I’ve been sitting here for a while. Are you with that woman up the road, the one with the old Volvo?”

Jack hesitated.

“Her name is Diane?”

Jack took a step back. Held his palms out. “I don’t know you.”

“No, you don’t. But I was watching you sitting with her.” The woman pointed up the road. “That’s my mother.”


A hawk screed in the distance. Jack looked up. A half dozen crows were chasing the hawk away from a stand of trees at the edge of the cemetery. The hawk flew calmly away while the crows squawked after it.

He turned his attention back to the woman.

“You must be Margaret.”

The woman leaned back against her car. “I’m guessing my mother told you about me.”

Jack shook his head. “I only know she’s troubled the two of you are not communicating.”

“Today is my birthday.”

“That’s why she’s here.”

Silence hung between them for a few moments.

“She didn’t tell me how sick my dad was…till he was gone.”

Jack nodded.

Margaret took a step toward Jack. “What has she told you about me?”

Jack held his palms up. “Please…don’t put me in the middle. I like your mother. I don’t want to be carrying a secret around. Reach out to her, but don’t pull me in. It’s none of my business.”

A tear slid down Margaret’s cheek. She looked out at Diane up in front of her dad’s grave. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Jack turned to walk away. Margaret slipped back into her car, fired up the engine, and drove off.

Damn! Don’t do this to me. 

Jack walked back up to the grave site. Sat down again without a word.

Diane looked up at Jack. “You were talking to Margaret.”


“Yeah. You saw her?”

“I know her car. I spotted it as soon as we got here.”

“This is awkward.”

“What did she say?”

Jack shook his head. “I told her I didn’t want to get in the middle of this.”

Diane stood. “We should get back.” She folded her chair and packed up the cooler.

Jack remained seated. “I don’t belong in the middle of this.”

“Jack, we’ve been seeing each other for several months now. Like it or not, you are in the middle of it. My estrangement from Margaret is part of my life. Jump in the pool, or walk away.”


She stood over him. “Your ouch is nothing compared to my pain. You can help me with this, or I will go back to dealing with it alone. Your choice.”

Jack stood, folded his chair, put it in the Volvo.

They drove back to the house in silence. 

Diane nudged the Volvo back into the garage. “Want to come in for coffee?”

Jack shrugged. “This is getting complicated.”

“You’re in or you’re out…in, I hope.”

Jack smiled. “Got any cookies to go with the coffee?”


Jack and Diane #7. Original post date 3/26/24

Rare and Aggressive

Bob Gillen

Jack Marin pulled his Ford F-150 into Diane Somers’s driveway, behind her Toyota Prius. He turned off the engine, sat in silence. How do I talk about this?

The clock on his dash read 6:30 p.m. An hour since he got his diagnosis. Since he lost something. Something as yet undefined.

Diane came to the door, her face grim. She stood, waiting, giving him space.

Jack slid out of his truck, walked toward her.

“It’s bad?” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah. Bad.”

“Come in.” She held the door for him.

Jack walked to her kitchen table, sat in his usual place, back to the living room. Diane came up next to him, stood there, her arm gently around his shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

“Do you have coffee?”

Diane poured a cup from the French press. “Just made some.”

He sipped the coffee. “Better than the ‘Bucks, any day,” he said.

Diane sat opposite him.

“I had to wait for a bit. The patient ahead of me was late. Then his assistant ushered me to the doctor’s office. I was never there before. Usually an exam room. I knew…”

She reached across the table and touched his hand.

“He said the biopsy revealed carcinoma on my prostate. The spot he was concerned about after the MRI. He said it’s a rare and aggressive carcinoma.”

Jack sipped his coffee.

“Shit,” Diane said. “What now?”

Jack shrugged. “He wants to remove the whole prostate as soon as possible.”

“Will that get the carcinoma?”

“If I’m lucky.”

Diane frowned.

“If it doesn’t spread…”

“So…we hope for the best.”

“I guess.”

“Any after effects?”

“I’ll be incontinent…at least six to twelve months, maybe longer. I have to wear a paper diaper.”


“And I will have ED.”

Diane’s eyes widened. “Really?”


Jack raised his coffee mug to his lips. 

Diane said, “I ordered pizza. Should be here soon. Are you hungry?”

Jack shook his head. “Don’t think so. Maybe.”

He shrugged. “I knew right away it was bad.”

“We’ll get through it,” she said.

“Your boyfriend, the one with big boy pants and a non-working dick.”

“My boyfriend…stop there. The rest is not important.”

Jack looked up from his coffee mug. “I won’t have much to offer.”

“You’ll be here. That’s what counts.”

The doorbell rang. “Pizza’s here.” She got up to answer the bell.

“Will you feel bad if I eat?” she asked. “I skipped lunch today.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Diane pulled a slice out of the box and grabbed a napkin.

“I feel so bitter,” Jack said.

Diane peered at him over her slice.

“Bitter. My first reaction. Not fear or even anger. Bitter.”

Jack grabbed a napkin and a slice. “Maybe I am hungry.”

“Why bitter?”

“Did I ever tell you this? I pray every night for health. Years ago I listened to the audio tapes of a couple of Pema Chödrön books. You know her? The Buddhist nun?”

“I’ve heard of her. Don’t know her work.”

“She teaches you how to pray, in an expanding kind of way. Pray for yourself first. Then open your prayer to those close to you. If you are comfortable, move your prayer out further to those you may not know. And if you are able to, if you feel the generosity, even pray for your enemies, for those who do you and the world harm.”

Diane nodded.

“It helped me when I lost my wife…Anyway, especially the last few months I have prayed for health. For freedom from illness and malignancy. I have prayed to the spirits of love, to the healing power of the universe. I believe in that. And here I am…a rare and aggressive carcinoma. Not just a malignant cell. Rare.”

Jack set his slice down on the napkin. He lowered his head in his hands. Shook his head. “I’m not ready. I have too much to do yet. It’s not my time.”

Diane said, “Okay then, it’s not your time. Believe that. Hold on to that thought as you go forward.”

Jack looked up, nodded. “Can I stay here tonight? Nothing intimate. Just be with you. I need you.”

Diane’s eyes filled with tears. She got up and came to Jack’s side. “Stay here, of course.”

In the morning Jack woke to the smell of coffee. He rolled out of bed right away, got dressed, headed for the kitchen.

“Good morning.” A cheery greeting from Diane.


Jack hugged Diane. Hard. Close. “Thank you.”

Diane smiled. “We got this. Don’t know how yet, but we got this.”

Jack sat and sipped his coffee. “Any leftover pizza?”

“In the fridge,” she said.

He got up, put two slices on a paper plate in the microwave.

“I don’t know yet when surgery will be. The doc said within six weeks.”

“Okay.” Diane stirred oatmeal on a small pot, added raisins.

“How long have we known each other?” he asked. “Three months or so?”

“Three months, two weeks, four days.”


The microwave beeped.

“And we have both been playing this very cautiously. Friendship, with a touch of affection. An occasional PDA.”

Diane nodded. “It’s what we both needed to do.”

“Right. So…six weeks or so and I will never be able to be intimate with you…no matter how slow we want to go.”


“I don’t know if I want to be intimate now…before the surgery.”

Diane poured the hot oatmeal into a bowl. “We don’t need to decide that today.”

“No. I mean, if we were intimate now, it would be wonderful, but then we would never be able to do that again.”

“What exactly are we talking about here? You will not be able to have an erection? No orgasm?”

“I think so. The doc was not too specific.”

“But my parts would still work.”

He smiled. “A one way street.”

“One orgasm, two intimate partners.”

Jack waved his hand. “Enough on this. How about we hit the beach later today?”

“I could do that, if you go home to shower and change first. You may be sick, but you’re not throwing in the towel.”

He smiled. “Any more pizza in the fridge?”

Later, on the beach at Point Dume, they walked back and forth along the water’s edge. 

“I like you, Jack Marin.”

“Back atcha, Diane Somers.”

She reached out to hold his hand. “I feel like I might be moving towards loving you. Not sure yet.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

They stood still and listened to the surf crash on the sand.


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