When Harry Met
Charlie
by Donna Costa
Genre: MM Romantic Comedy
Harry is a number-cruncher. Charlie is a people-person. One
is bubbly and optimistic, the other serious and pessimistic. With an endless
stream of verbal sparring and heated debates filling the car on their road trip
from Vancouver to Toronto, they arrive at the conclusion they are complete
opposites and go their separate ways.
When they meet years later – older, wiser, and love-worn –
will their sparring become a prelude to romance? An exciting turn on? Will they
be there for each other when it’s needed most?
Boys’ Love + Nora Ephron Fan Fiction = When Harry Met
Charlie
“Fun, funny and wonderfully delightful! Reminds you of
experiencing your first crush – I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough!” –
Leeanne Whitehouse, Pure Country Morning Host
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Chapter
1
It’s 1977. Harry Burns
has just graduated from law school on the West Coast and is standing at the
window of his third-story dorm watching for the arrival of his ride to Toronto.
He crosses his arms and drums his fingers impatiently.
Behind him, Harry’s friend and dorm mate Rufus is
vigorously kissing his girlfriend, Sally. They’re sighing and murmuring to each
other. Oh, I’m going to miss you so much.
I love you. Will we ever see each other again? Kiss me again. Harry rolls
his eyes.
Out the window, Harry spots a VW Beetle pulling up to
the curb across the campus green. Rays from the rising sun glint off the car
roof. He pushes his glasses up his nose and shouts, “Ride’s here, Rufus.”
Harry slings his backpack over one shoulder and wedges
a heavy box of textbooks under his arm, then grabs his suitcase with his other
hand. Why couldn’t someone invent luggage
with wheels? Struggling to carry all his gear, Harry loses patience with
the couple’s sloppy sweet-nothings and shoves Rufus’ arm none too gently,
dislodging him from the embrace. “C’mon. Let’s go!”
“Bye, sweet-ums!” Rufus gives Sally one last smooch.
“I’ll call as soon as I get there.” He stares longingly into her eyes and blows
her a kiss, then snatches up his duffel and follows Harry down the stairs.
Harry stops as they reach the VW, taking in the
vomit-green color, which reminds him of the nauseating flight he took from
Toronto when he moved west to start university. He’s in no hurry to repeat that
experience. A two-day nonstop road trip is the lesser of two evils.
He eyes the car’s thick rust and immediately wonders
if the car will make it all the way across the country. With two unknowns—the
driver he’s never met and the state of the car—his anxiety increases. Why
hadn’t he been more prepared, done more research? Am I going to regret this?
A young man gets out of the VW, and Rufus, the common
denominator, makes the introductions.
“Charlie, this is Harry, my roommate here in Vancouver
and my pal growing up in small-town Ontario. Harry, meet Charlie, my friend
from karaoke. That’s where Charlie told me he was headed to Toronto, like you,
and why I suggested you ride together.”
I
don’t know what I was expecting, but it isn’t this. Shouldn’t
a future flight attendant be clean-cut and well groomed? Instead, Charlie
has the appearance of a furry teddy bear. Even his forearms, visible below the
short sleeves of his Oscar Wilde T-shirt, are bushy. His faded bellbottoms are
a little too tight. Is that the start of
a pot belly? Don’t flight attendants have weight restrictions? He extends
his hand to Charlie for a handshake.
As Charlie settles behind the wheel of the Beetle,
Harry places his suitcase and textbooks on the back floor behind the passenger
seat. A Coleman thermos and small picnic cooler already take up the floor space
on the driver’s side. Harry folds his long frame onto the rear seat beside
Charlie’s nineteen-inch Electrohome TV, complete with rabbit ears. The only
place for his feet is atop the box of his books. He squeezes his knees together
and holds his backpack on his lap. It’s
only a short drive to the airport. I
can manage.
Rufus jumps into the front passenger seat. The bud
vase on the dash holding a single daisy catches his attention, and he flashes a
peace sign at Charlie. “Cool!”
“I knew you’d like it,” Charlie says, beaming a
hundred-watt smile. He grabs an imaginary microphone. “Good morning, ladies,
ahem, gentlemen. Welcome aboard Flight 2B with service from Vancouver to
Toronto, with a short layover at the airport. We expect to be on the road for
approximately forty-eight hours. Please fasten your seatbelts and stow your
baggage. Please note there are two exits.” Charlie points at the car doors,
then adds, “Thank you for choosing Charlie’s VW Air.”
Harry rolls his eyes and wonders if he’ll have to put
up with aviation demonstrations every time Charlie takes the wheel.
Maybe
flying would have been a better option?
Too late now.
Donna Costa draws on her love of romance, both novels and
movies, plus her years in the aviation industry for When Harry Met Charlie. She
writes in a variety of genres including YA, memoir, romance, and historical
fiction. She lives in London, Ontario.
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My Writing Practise Preferences
The
stereotype exists of a writer toiling away after midnight, fueled by cigarettes
and coffee (or whiskey.) A moody, quiet, introverted, and tortured soul. Do any
of these stereotypes apply to me?
First of
all, I’m a morning person. I’m up at sunrise and start my day with exercise. A
walk around the neighbourhood or on the nearest hiking trail. If the weather
doesn’t cooperate, I do some rebounding or tai chi. An hour later, I sit down
at the computer to begin my writing day.
Coffee and
cigarettes? Nope, gave those up in my early 20s. My beverage of choice these
days is dandelion tea, followed by water, water, and more water. Filtered water
with electrolytes, sparkling water, hot water with lemon and ginger. Did I
mention I’m into holistic health?
As for the
typical personality characteristics, I am quiet and introverted, less so now in
my third act than as a child. The book by Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking helped
me accept introversion as my secret power and accept my way of doing things. I
do mingle with people, but I recognize the signs when I need to disengage from
the crowd to power up. (Introverts re-energize up by being alone, the opposite
of extroverts.)
As an
introvert, my preference is for quiet. When I write, there is no music playing.
The house is silent. Sometimes I hear my husband playing the acoustic guitar in
the background. That’s okay, provided it’s far enough away to just be
background noise, like the dog barking across the street or kids playing next
door. If hubby happens to turn on the television in the daytime, I will
protest…loudly! Fortunately that rarely happens. (He knows better.)
How do I
handle stress or figure out a plot? I seek out more quiet! Usually a walk in
the woods will detangle my thoughts and the next pages to be written. Because I
work at home—not the modern stereotype of laptop-writing in a café—short breaks
to grab some lunch, check the mail, or start supper are also good for mental
untangling.
My routine
is to finish all computer work no later than 7 p.m., otherwise the blue light
from the screen messes with my internal clock and I don’t sleep well. Honestly,
by that time, I’m mentally done, and need to chill out by reading or watching
TV. (TV does not seem to interfere with my sleep.)
So I am
not a stereotypical writer—neither the old stereotype nor the modern one—but
then the new breed of author is one who defines and embraces her own style.
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