These six short stories will take you on a twist-filled journey through the horror and tragedy of human vulnerability.
Ain’t Nobody Smokes a Marlboro in Boston – Alex is back home after concluding his studies in Boston, but he resents his Midwestern roots. Can a construction worker help Alex mend his relationship with his father before it becomes irreconcilable?
The Shadow Ambler – On a rainy night, Jacob and Eric decide to rent a movie. Little do they know they’re about to come face-to-face with a frightening small-town legend.
Last Match – When Danny has a chance to beat his bedridden grandfather at checkers for the first time ever, he realizes it may be a victory he never forgets, no matter how much he wishes he could.
Anniversary – Alberto seeks some quiet time in the dark depths of a Madrid park after breaking up with his girlfriend. Instead, he finds an attractive older woman celebrating a peculiar sort of anniversary.
Arantxa’s Song – Arantxa is a high-ranking business executive who has learned to hold back her emotions. But when she needs to release her tension, the only man around is her English teacher.
The Botanist – On one of those ceaseless Madrid nights, a group of friends tries out an aphrodisiac with unexpected results.
If you’re a fan of suspenseful, character-driven short stories full of unexpected twists, you’ll thoroughly enjoy this debut short story collection from Jason Paul Barker.
Pick up Guilt Trips and discover Jason Paul Barker’s unique brand of storytelling today!
What readers are saying:
“This collection of short stories gives a raw, first hand account of real life experiences. Part adventure, part emotion, these stories provide both while being fun to read. I promise this book isn’t a waste of time. It reads fast and the stories will stick with you in the back of your mind long after you put them down.”
– Mark A. Nickerson
“Fascinating adventures in every short story, which always ends with a twist. Its a very easy read (the first story may have too much of a mid west accent for non Americans) and highly recommended.”
– Kirtesh Lad
“A look into several minds, an unexpected twist, and storytelling that keeps you guessing. A book not to be missed.”
– Bethany Miller
“Whether in the US Midwest or the capital of Spain, Barker’s characters are sensitive and revealing studies of emotional vulnerability, powerlessness and pathos, also present in his fine debut novel, Beneath Madrid.”
– Tony Snape
Excerpt from the lead story, Ain’t Nobody Smokes a Marlboro in Boston:
It’s time to brush up on your Midwestern slang and read a sample from Guilt Trips‘ first story:
I take it ya liked the movie idea I sent ya. I had a feelin’ ‘bout this one. I’m glad somebody has some sense in these parts. I was beginnin’ to wonder. Don’t take no offense to that.
Ya just wanted to talk it over a bit? That’s all right. I think it’s one of the better ideas I’ve ever had.
Yeah, I s’pose my proposal is written in proper English. Ya wouldn’t have read it if it weren’t.
Hell yes, I’ve done this type of stuff before. I read and write just like you guys here in the city.
Then why ain’t I livin’ here? Let’s just say there’s some other stuff ‘bout this place that I don’t really take kindly to.
Yeah, I did say it’d be better if I told ya the story in person.
Ya want me to tell it to ya all right now? I’d be happy to do that for ya. But just one thing ‘fore I start:
If my buddies knew I did this type of thing, they’d cut me out of their “beer-swap,” so I gotta make sure there ain’t never gonna be mention of my name in this here movie yer makin’. Just remember what I said on my note that I gave ya: this is for them more than it is for me. I don’t want credit fer this if it flies. I just wanna know people see it and understand a little more about them…I guess I can say “us.”
What’s the “beer-swap?” Well, it’s kinda like what the folks do over in Europe when one guy’ll pay fer a meal fer everybody in their little group, then next time the next guy’ll pay, and so on. They mostly do that with their good friends -take turns, y’know- ‘cause ya can’t be payin’ fer a fella who don’t plan on puttin’ in his fair share on down the road. Well, it’s the same deal with my buddies and their Budweiser. Ain’t nobody gettin’ no free beer outta them unless they get some free beer outta you later on. Ya get yourself in a beer-swap when they’re damn well good and ready to put ya there. Hell, I went to card games, went fishin’, went huntin’, and all those things with them guys fer a good six months ‘fore they let me have any more than one beer outta their case. And when they finally let me have my share, they expected me to buy the very next time out.
And that’s sayin’ a lot when you’re in, ‘cause around those parts a guy can’t put a whole lotta trust in another guy. Some men come and go; work two days and disappear for two years, some to Tennessee and some to God knows where else. Hell, even Red disappears for a couple of weeks every now and again, but there ain’t never no doubt he’ll be back. The trick is separatin’ the ones who’ll be around fer good and the ones whose hearts ain’t in it fer our way of life. Anyway, yer somethin’ around there if ya got yourself in a beer-swap. Yer name ain’t never gonna die in the bars; kinda like becomin’ a legend…in a different way I s’pose. And since I’m in a swap, I gotta be more careful than a fly on the old lady’s casserole or else I’m shit outta luck, ‘cause don’t get me wrong, I do like my beer, and I like what comes with it even more. And this artsy shit ain’t nothin’ but fer queers and faggots to them guys. Don’t take no offense to that comment, ‘cause that ain’t quite how I think about it.
Yeah, you’re right. It does say I went to college fer a couple of years; that ain’t no misprint. Ya look a little surprised.
You’re damn right I wrote it.
Listen, I’m capable of speaking the way you do, but if my true speech bothers you, I think you’re focusing on something that’s a bit irrelevant. I’m comfortable speaking the way I do around those guys, not the way I am right now. I never was comfortable in college; I always slipped back to my roots. So if you’ll allow me to speak the way I was taught…?
Thanks.
So ya want me to start the story? All right, we’ll do. Mind if I smoke? Gotta have my Marlboros.
It was just this past May and I was workin’ up on the second floor of this house our crew was buildin’. I was wantin’ to have somebody lift me up some long two-by-fours, so I looked to see if anybody was on the ground. The skinny, young-lookin’ boy I’d seen earlier that mornin’ was kinda circlin’ around the lumber piles draggin’ a trash barrel along in the dirt. Like I said, I’d seen him earlier in the mornin’; he’d rode in with Red in his big Chevy and he’d unloaded a couple of toolboxes outta the back of the truck that weren’t used that day and never said a word, just kicked some dirt around with his tennis shoes. I hadn’t seen him since then until I needed more lumber, so I started to call him from the second floor, but hell, I didn’t even know his name. So I sucked at my cigarette one last time and flicked it down to the ground, then I stuck my pinkies in my mouth and whistled at him. I had to get his attention over the sound of the machine saws.
He just stared at me, and I shouted that I needed about twenty, sixteen-foot two-by-fours. He nodded and sat his trash barrel down on a little mound, so as soon as he walked away it fell over and spilled all the wood scraps he’d been pickin’ up. Then he walked straight over to the twelve-footers and grabbed four of ‘em, while I was screamin’ at him the whole time that those weren’t the sixteen-footers. I guess the saws were too loud. By the time he heard me, he was halfway back to the house.
“Those ain’t the sixteen-footers,” I shouted at him again, “Looks like those might be,” I pointed to the bottom of a lumber pile.
He dropped the twelve-footers at his feet. One of ‘em must’ve hit him a good one on the toes ‘cause he jerked his right foot away and hopped on his left. Then he limped over to the pile, makin’ sure to kick up some dust.
“Are those the ones you want?” he yelled back to me, but I could still just barely hear him with Harol’ sawin’ and Big Bill hammerin’ and yackin’ his big mouth. He was pointin’, though, so I could tell what he meant.
“Looks like it; why don’t you measure ‘em and see…” But I could see he wasn’t even wearin’ a tool belt, so I tossed him my tape measure. He hadn’t played any kind of ball game in awhile, ‘cause he just stood there and watched it fly over his head.
“Goddamnit!” I yelled, “That ain’t no ten-cent tape measure!”
He stumbled backwards and picked it up, lookin’ like a twelve year old handlin’ a pair of women’s underwear. It took him three tries to keep one end of the tape hooked on the lumber while goin’ to the other end to measure. Those were the right ones, so he worked at sliding the other lumber off the top, jumpin’ back like a scared deer every time he pulled some boards off the pile. I could see it would be awhile, so I decided to smoke me another cigarette.
“Hey, Marv, where are them two-bys?” Red mumbled at me from his perch on a ladder on the other side of the floor. He had a Marlboro between his lips, but what I couldn’t hear just right I could make out by the expression on his face. Ya have to use your eyes more than yer ears when Red’s talkin’.
Red’s the foreman. I’ve never had so much respect for a boss in twenty-five years of workin’. Red wasn’t just in it for the money; that’s what everybody liked about him.
“Is Alex getting’ it for ya?” He stretched his neck and wrinkled his brows in the direction of the skinny guy with his hat on backwards, who was getting’ his fingers pinched by every piece of lumber he put his hands on.
That was how I first met Alex, Red’s only son. I’d never seen him before that day, but I’d heard plenty. He’d been goin’ to school out east somewhere. I don’t think Red even remembered the name of the place half the time, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t talk about Alex every other beer.
“Marv, I don’t think Alex loves me too much,” he’d said to me one Friday evenin’ at the Brown Trout Tavern. That’d been back when Red was still allowed inside that place.
The joint was full of people. Most of ‘em hadn’t reached their limit yet. And a local basketball game was on the tube. Red was talkin’ ‘bout love, which isn’t somethin’ I can say I know too much about.
I put my mug down on the bar and got myself one last look at the woman with the jean skirt and uncrossed legs over at a table facing me. I took a puff on my cigarette and looked at Red outta the corner of my eye. I didn’t want Red to think I was too interested. The poor guy’s eyes were filled with tears, and he was lookin’ down at his glass and holdin’ on to it tight. I was the only one in the bar who could see his face.
I didn’t say anything to him. That’s just part of the code: let the drunk guys get it off their chests.
“He ain’t comin’ back to Indiana when he’s done with his schoolin’. He’s already told that to the ole’ lady. He’s getting’ a job with some magazine over there in Boston. I don’t know no more about it. Hell, I don’t even know what to ask him about when I’m on the phone. I don’t know nothin’ about none of that stuff. He just asks me about work when he’s on the phone with me. I tell him how it is and he don’t ask no more questions. He doesn’t give a shit about me ‘cause I don’t read any damn books. He prob’ly hopes one of them professors is his real dad. But he’d do just fine here with me.”
Red took one last swig of his beer and zinged the mug through the TV on the wall. The four guys at the other end of the bar started bitchin’ about the game they’d be missin’ and gettin’ up outta their seats ‘til I waved ‘em off with my cigarette. Then, Jag, the owner of the place, who used to work for Red, came runnin’ over from his card game, but I waved him off with my cigarette too. He obliged by drawin’ a half-circle in the air with his own cigarette, which was also a Marlboro. I grabbed Red off the seat and headed toward the door. Jag nodded and went back to his card game, tellin’ everybody to sit the hell down and shut the fuck up. That was Red’s second strike at the Brown Trout.
“Me and him was supposed to be bad asses ‘round here,” Red said to me as we were goin’ to my car. “I haven’t heard that since Alex was a little guy, though.”
“He’ll be back,” I said. “He ain’t gone yet. I’d say ya got yourself at least one more chance at it. I’ve done been through that with my kid, so I know all about it.”
I’d been right when I told Red that Alex’d be back. Somethin’ had happened with that job in Boston, and he’d come home. I’ve never told Red the whole story ‘bout my own kid, though.
What happened with my kid? I fucked up. Last I heard he was getting’ jerked around by some company in Chicago and he was wonderin’ what he’d done wrong. The ex told me ‘bout that. Ain’t nothin’ I could do about it. Don’t get me wrong, I wish I could help him out right this minute, but I shoulda done that when I had the chance…when he was still a boy.
So Alex worked a few days without sayin’ so much as a word, ‘cept maybe some mumbles here and there. He’d grab tools and lumber for us and laugh a little at some of Big Bill’s or Harol’s jokes, but other than that, he’d kinda keep to himself, eatin’ his lunch inside Red’s truck, all by himself. But there was one Wednesday when it started rainin’ right around lunch hour, and Red was out tendin’ to some business, so we all had to grub in the back of Mo’s van, includin’ Alex.
Get your free copy of Guilt Trips and keep reading!