| 1. George A Law of Attraction Short Story By Deborah Ailman George lived alone in the two bedroom apartment that he used to share with his wife. Ginny died ten years ago but the place looked liked she never left. Her clothes were still in the closet and her nylons still hung from the shower rod. George carefully moved them each time so they wouldn’t get wet, then draped them back over the rod. When he ate he put out two plates as if Ginny would be dining with him. He talked to her empty chair each night as he ate his TV dinner. Her nightgown was draped across the pillow on her side of the bed and George often put a single red rose on top. “For you my darling,” he would say as if she could hear him, “your favorite; a red rose.” George’s family tried endlessly to get him to give up the apartment, to move, anywhere, whether to a new place or assisted living or even with one of them. His wife had been dead ten years and the place was a living shrine to her. His niece almost passed out the last time she visited and saw the pantyhose still hanging in the shower. “We’ve got to do something about Uncle George,” she said. In fact, that became the mantra of the family. Something had to be done about George. And his health was not good. He had two heart attacks and his right leg was bad from shrapnel he got in the war. And walking up two flights of stairs wasn’t helping him either. The four story pre-war building wasn’t required to have an elevator by law.  And how could sleep with the roar of the #7 Flushing line train barreling down the El at all hours of the night? And the muggings? At 75 George was a prime target. His doctor’s office was in midtown Manhattan and he had to take 2 trains to get there. No, something had to be done about George. The family came on Sunday to take George for a ride to the country. The huge SUV was packed with his nieces and nephews. George looked forward to seeing his family although he didn’t like the way they talked about Ginny. Like she was dead or something. Couldn’t they understand that, at least to him, Ginny was very much alive? They
drove through the countryside and George was glad to feel the cool
breeze on his face as the SUV moved slowly down the dirt road. There
were fences on each side behind them a few horses stood by watching the
car make its way past. Up ahead loomed a huge white colonial; the dirt
road giving way to a sweeping circular drive. George thought to himself
that he had never seen a more beautiful house. The SUV pulled up under
the canopy and the family got out. “C’mon Uncle George,” they yelled
back at him. “Please Uncle George,” his niece said, “at least look around. There’s no harm in that. We’re already here and it’s such a beautiful place.” “That it is,” George replied, remembering the view outside his apartment window of the elevated #7 train and all the noise it made. So George made his way around the place accompanied by one of its employees and his gaggle of relatives. He
found out the place wasn’t a “nursing home” but an “assisted living”
facility and if he chose to, he could live in the independent section,
where he would have his own apartment and could cook for himself. He
could come and go as he pleased. But at least he wouldn’t be alone with
all those stairs to climb. And his family thought that just maybe those
memories of Ginny would start to fade. George laughed and moved on. He came out to the veranda and marveled at the sweeping views of the pastures that seemed to go on forever. This place sure was beautiful… “This was a working farm once,” a voice said. It came from behind him. He turned around to see who the voice belonged to. Anna Morgan was 72, but she could pass for ten years younger. Her silver hair showcased her lively bright blue eyes. George noticed she had a smile that could light up a room. “I’m, I’m George,” he stammered. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a flustered schoolboy. “Anna,” she held her hand out, “pleased to meet you.” Anna then went on to tell George that she was a widow with no family around that she could visit. She was alone and saw an ad in the Sunday paper for the place. “I drove out that afternoon and by week’s end I moved in. I’ve never been happier. I’ve got my own place but I know I’m right near people who care about me. Anna had a heart attack as well and although she had recovered she still had some medical issues and liked to be near people to watch out for her. ”Thinking about moving here?” George told her yes, he was thinking about it but he wasn’t sure. The memories of Ginny came flooding back. Could he really leave the place he had shared with her all those years?
The next few days were tough for George. More than the elevated train kept him up now. He
got up and walked to the window and watched the train whiz by. He
turned to the bed and said “Ginny I love you. I’ll always love you. But I
think it’s time now, my dear. I think it’s time for me to move on.” Anna and George sat on the veranda watching the horses. Today some people were riding them and the two were getting great pleasure watching the riders jump the obstacles that were part of the course. George remembered that Ginny used to ride. How she loved to jump the highest fences she could find; how easy she made it all look. One of the riders rode close to the veranda. The woman looked like Ginny when she was young- the spitting image of her! She smiled brightly at Anna and George. “You make a lovely couple,” she said and just as quickly rode off. George glanced upwards at the bright blue sky. “Thank you Ginny,” he silently mouthed as he took Anna’s hand. |
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2. Candace Comes Full Circle A Law of Attraction Short Story By Deborah Ailman Candace didn’t have a happy childhood. She didn’t grow up in a big house with a big yard on a tree lined street with lots of brothers and sisters. Candace grew up an only child in a cramped New York City apartment with few friends, an overbearing father and a timid mother. Actually Candace never even WAS a child. She wasn’t allowed to go out and play much. Her parents were afraid she’d get hurt (or abducted) on the busy city streets, and her time was strictly monitored. Decisions were being made for her every minute of every day, and most of them she hated.
Tap Dancing? What was THAT about? Candace wasn’t interested in dance. She wanted to play stickball with some of the kids from P.S. 5. In fact, four year old Candace was looking forward to going to P.S. 5 next year- that was something to look forward to. Maybe she could even play stickball in the school yard! But that dream came crashing down. “Catholic School,” her father said. “You’ll get a much better education.” But Candace didn’t want an “education” she wanted to play in the street like the other kids. Candace struggled through dance school. She hated it. And all those recitals with those silly costumes and those stupid tap shoes. And the kindergarten teacher even gave her homework! The kids from P.S. 5 didn’t have homework in kindergarten. But they were a fading memory now. The homework and the dancing lessons didn’t leave her with much time to play…. Kindergarten became first grade which quickly faded into second. Candace got good news at the end of the second grade. “You can quit dance school if you want to,” her father said. Candace nodded her head happily, but her joy was short lived. Her father signed her up for piano lessons! Candace’s aunt lived in the apartment next door and she took piano lessons as a child. In fact, she had a big old upright piano in her living room. That was where Candace would be practicing.. every day no matter what. She could hear the yells of the kids in the street downstairs as she practiced. Occasionally she would look out the window and wave at them and wish she were down there instead of being held hostage at the old piano. She begged her mother to quit, but all Diane would say was “Your father said you have to do it.” Just like she had to get all A’s in school. Anything less than that was unacceptable. At least to her father. He was a man whose only interaction with his daughter was to correct her and keep her on the “straight and narrow.” Candace could never sit with him and tell him about any of the kids at school or how she felt about anything at all. Her father was arrogant and unapproachable, and Candace feared him more than she did getting hit by a school bus. Her mother never stuck up for her and pretty much went along with whatever her father said. Piano lessons and Catholic Grammar School pretty much led the way for the all girl Catholic high school her father picked out for her. Some of her other friends were going to another school but her father said no. The school was housed in an old mansion on Park Avenue. It had fireplaces and chandeliers in the classrooms, and big marble spiral staircases linked the floors. Most of the girls came from wealthy families. It was not unusual to see chauffeured driven limousines lined up at the front entrance at the end of the day to take the girls home. Candace took the subway. She watched everyday as the girls sat around animatedly describing their weekends at the “cape” or flashing the new Rolex watches their parents bought for them. Candace glanced down at the Timex that adorned her wrist. She didn’t belong in the world of these other girls. Her thoughts flashed back to the kids at P.S. 5 playing stickball in the street. That’s where she felt she belonged. When Candace turned sixteen her father had another surprise for her. “Time to get an after school job,” he said, his face devoid of emotion. “A job, are you kidding? What would the girls at school say about this? How embarrassing! She wanted to die. She looked up at her mother who shyly smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “No help there” she thought to herself. After school sometimes the girls would go around the corner to the little coffee shop for a soda and sometimes (but not often) they’d invite Candace. As she shuffled down the hall in a rush to get to her new job as a supermarket cashier she heard Carla say “Hey, Candace... want to come with us to get a soda?” Carla was the prettiest and certainly one of the richest girls in school. To get an invitation to go anywhere with her was considered an honor. To turn it down was, well, friendship “suicide.” And to say you had to turn it down because you had to go to work was even worse. “What did you say, you have to go to work?” And she laughed hysterically. And so did the rest of the girls who took their cues from Carla. Candace rushed down the hall dropping her books all over the place as tears welled up in her eyes. Carla and the others just stood there laughing. Candace still kept her grades up although she worked long hours at the grocery store. She pretty much was “out of the loop” when it came to after school activities and the weekend trips Carla and her friends took to the “cape.” She watched in awe as Carla’s father presented her with a brand new Mercedes for her seventeenth birthday. He parked it in front of the school for all the girls to see. It was silver and had a big red bow on it. Candace tried to rush by but Carla cornered her. “What do you think of my birthday present?” she said. “Wasn’t your birthday last week? What did you get?” Candace showed her the little silver locket her mother gave her. “Where did your mom get that- Woolworth’s?” was Carla’s reaction. That last year of school was a nightmare for Candace. She went home crying almost every day. Carla and the others made fun of her every chance they got. Candace thought that some of the other girls might have been nice but Carla’s influence was so strong that they did anything she wanted- and what she wanted most of all was to torture Candace. Graduation couldn’t come fast enough. Candace finally got to choose where she wanted to go to college and she decided on New York University since she didn’t have a car and could still keep her part time job at the store. She remembered graduation day. It was just another day to cry as Carla asked her “Are you going to work full time now at the grocery store? Is that your career path?” She wasn’t sure where Carla was going but she didn’t want to ask. Probably Harvard or Yale and not because her grades were all that good but because her father would “buy” her way in. Years passed. Maybe twenty or more. The older we get the faster they seem to go by. Carla was married now to some rich guy that her father fixed her up with. She just never seemed to do well at school and she was so spoiled that her parents thought this would be the ideal thing for her. But Carla covered up the horror that had become her life. Each day about seven in the evening she would glance nervously at the clock. It was almost time for HIM to come home. The monster she married. He was very careful to hit her where the marks wouldn’t show. Almost seven now, and Carla was shaking. He was drunk, but drunker than usual. He had probably spent the afternoon with his mistress, a twenty five year old blonde he installed in one of the condos he owned. He opened the door and it flew open. “You cow!” he screamed at Carla, “what have you been doing all day besides spending all my money?” Carla ran but he grabbed her. And this time he wasn’t careful where he left a mark. His fist made contact with her face over and over again. She ran as fast as she could. Out the door and into the elevator. Like a sprinter she raced past the doorman, blood dripping wildly from her broken nose. A cab, she had to find a cab. Blindly, she raised her arm and screamed at the top of her lungs “Taxi!” A big checkered job stopped and Carla bolted in “New York Hospital and hurry!” she pleaded. Carla lay on the gurney, the overhead lights flashing a weird pattern as she was wheeled into the emergency room. A nurse tried to calm her down but Carla was at her breaking point. A million questions flashed through her mind. “Why hadn’t she worked harder in college?” She could have had a career and gone off on her own. Instead she had fifteen years of hell with that bum. Sure, everybody thought she was so lucky to live in that penthouse and jet to Europe every six months for a shopping spree. But she was just trying to get away from him- and from the bruises that decorated her body from his nightly tirades. She was tired, so tired of it all. She heard the nurse say something about the doctor being in soon, so she sat resigned on the icy metal table. Carla looked at the doctor as she entered the room. Through her slitted eyes she could see she was a strikingly beautiful woman, and she even noticed the new Chanel suit she wore under her spotless lab coat. Weren’t they about the same age? “Wow,” she thought. “This woman is a doctor. What an accomplishment. Bet she didn’t have to put up with a no good bum who beat her every night.” Then her eyes welled up with tears. She reached out and grabbed the doctor’s arm. “Candace, help me,” she said in a tired small voice. Candace bundled the woman in her arms. “It’s alright, you’re safe now, Carla.” Carla looked up and through the tears and silently mouthed “thank you.” |
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| 3. You Get What You Give A True Law of Attraction Short Story By Deborah Ailman Many of you know that, yes, I’m a tanning bed fanatic. And for several years I had a nice, clean, and friendly place to go to tan. I looked forward to seeing Patti, the owner of the tanning salon. She always had a smile on her face no matter what. The salon was always neat and clean, well lit and cool, sometimes a little cold. I asked Patti why she always kept the place a little cooler.
“Well, it’s hot outside (and yes, this is Florida and it IS hot-most of the time) and the tanning beds generate a lot of heat. I want people to be comfortable when they come in. It’s just like on a cool morning I’ll run the beds a little while so when the first people come in they won’t have to lie down on an ice cold bed. I just want to make people happy.” And Patti did. She also bred English Bulldogs and had pictures of them all over the salon. People loved to see the pictures. The place was always busy; many people bought membership packages and encouraged their friends to do the same. Patti always had a gift for those people (and a smile). One day Patti’s mother became ill and she decided it was time to sell the salon to take care of her mother full-time. Andrea, her assistant manager was sad to see her go but she told Patti that she’d work very closely with the new owner to “Show her the ropes.” A few weeks later the new owner arrived. Andrea noticed right off that the woman never smiled; she barely said anything to the customers. She told Andrea not to run the beds in the morning so they wouldn’t be icy cold for the first people to use them. She told Andrea to leave the air off no matter how hot the place got. She told Andrea to leave the lights off in the daytime to save money. Andrea was also no longer allowed to give “thank you gifts” to longtime clients or people who referred others to the salon. And she told Andrea that even she had to pay for tanning. And so, the “vibe” of the place was changing. Customers told Andrea that they used to look forward to coming in but now when they opened the door they noticed the “energy “ of the place was different. It used to be warm and inviting; now it just seemed “off” And, the most horrible thing of all was that the new owner didn’t want Andrea to bring her autistic son to work.  Michael is the handsomest boy you ever did see. He has white blond hair and the brightest blue eyes. Andrea would pick him up from his special school and then bring him to work where he worked as an unofficial “greeter” that is when he wasn’t busy coloring and drawing at his little desk next to the big counter. Everybody loved Michael; even the body building guys who tanned before their competitions always stopped to see what he was doing. But the new owner didn’t want that “weird kid” in her salon. “You never know what he might do.” Andrea needed her job, so her best friend took care of Mike while she worked. Little by little people stopped coming in. As their memberships expired Andrea noticed she couldn’t convince them to renew. The body building guys were gone, too. Then one day the new owner fired Andrea. “I can run this place alone,” she said. About two weeks later, the “for sale” sign went up. The salon had closed. Andrea was upset. The salon (at least the way it used to be) was perfect for her. She could have Michael with her while she worked. Her best friend was great to watch him, but Andrea couldn’t afford to pay her and she felt bad. Then one day Andrea and Mike were at the mall on the food court. They were eating hot dogs and how Mike loved them! Andrea heard a woman at the next table talking. She was saying that she just bought a tanning salon not far from Andrea’s house. The woman was telling her friend that she didn’t know the first thing about running it. Andrea jumped up and shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Andrea, and this is my son, Michael.” By the end of the day Andrea had a new job. The lady told Andrea that they would build the place together. Andrea taught her how to run and clean the beds; to heat them in the morning so the people wouldn’t be cold; to keep the place cold in the afternoon so it wouldn’t get too hot. And the people came. And they brought more people with them. And then came the hair and nail salon. And then, the little playroom where people could bring their kids to play with Michael. Today, that little place is one of the largest and most successful places in town. When you walk in you’re always greeted with a smile and a thank you. And you can check out Michael’s artwork. They have it posted on the walls.
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| 4. S I G N S A Law of Attraction Short Story By Deborah Ailman  Pam sat at her desk staring at the book in front of her. It might as well have been written in Chinese. She glanced nervously around the room watching her classmates raise their hands in answer to the teacher’s questions. How can I raise my hand when I don’t even understand the material? she thought. At the end of class she morosely rose and gathered her books. Saying nothing to the others, she left the building and slid behind the wheel of her car. As she drove home, she thought about her life. This nurse’s assistant class was her chance to show everyone that she could do it. People always told her how compassionate and kind she was. “This would be perfect for you, Pam. Remember when you helped take care of Aunt Sheila when she was sick? You really stepped up and made her feel better. This class has your name written all over it.” Pam always struggled in school. She and her sister were
polar opposites. Misty just finished working on her masters in pharmacology;
she was pulling down six figures with a major chain. They gave her a new Escalade to get to and from work, as well as an expense account. In high school she got straight A’s without batting an eyelash. But Pam always struggled. Sometimes she felt like she was in a fog. She would read and reread the material over and over again. Many times she’d fall asleep from sheer exhaustion after getting through only a few pages. She barely squeaked through high school. The principal told Pam’s mother that she should find a nice boy and get married when she asked what would be the best direction for her daughter to go regarding further education. But Pam had a gift for helping others. She volunteered at a local nursing home three times a week. The patients there always looked forward to Pam’s visits. She had a way of making them feel at ease and there was never a chore she refused to do. And when she left each time she would think to herself that she’d love a job like that-where she could help people. But the books always got in the way. Night after night she sat at her desk studying. The other people in the class took the occasional night off for a movie but not Pam. If she wasn’t in school and not at the nursing home her nose was buried in her books. And tonight she has more reason to stay in her room, the door firmly closed. Misty stopped for a cup of coffee and was happily engaged in telling her mother and father about all the things happening with her job. “They want me to teach a class once a week, can you believe
it? They love the way I present the materials, they say it’s wonderful how I so
easily grasp every assignment! They’ve given me another raise!" Pam’s parents sat at the dining room table agreeing how smart and talented Misty was. Pam listened through the door a single tear running down her cheek. At three o'clock in the morning Pam’s mother shut off the light in her room. She had fallen asleep in her book again. Next to the book scribbled on a post-it note was “Why can’t I be smart like Misty.” It broke Pam’s mother’s heart. Pam stayed after school every day for the next two weeks, often the only one in the classroom which was at street level. She was engrossed in her reading, so she didn’t notice the man slip in the door. He was about seventy years old and walked with a cane. Although it was warm, he wore a cardigan sweater and long wool pants. But when Pam looked up it was his face she noticed. She never saw such a face. It looked illuminated. She put the book down. The man sat at the desk next to her. Slowly he said, “I know you have struggled most of your life. I know that you have lived in the shadows of others. But I’m here to tell you that it’s your time now. You have not believed that you are capable of achieving the goal you set for yourself, a goal that brings happiness not only to you but to others as well. But you are capable. This is what you are meant to do.” And just as quickly, just as mysteriously, the man vanished. Pam ran to the door and threw it open but he could not be found. “How could he get away so fast? He walked with a cane?” But something happened to Pam. As she sat down again at her desk and began to read it started to make sense. It was like the sun cutting through the morning fog. She was beginning to understand. Misty’s arm was around her sister’s shoulder as she raised her glass. “Attention please! Gather around and congratulate my sister, the new nursing assistant- she starts Monday! Pam watched as everyone raised their glasses and cheered. For just a moment, she saw the face of the stranger she had met all those months ago. He was smiling.
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| 5. Michael A Law of Attraction Short Story By Deborah Ailman Michael Morales was a shy kid who most people said lived “on the wrong side of the tracks.” He liked playing stick ball with his friend in front of the small bungalow. His father was a junior executive at a large advertising agency in midtown Manhattan, and his mother stayed home to take care of him and his three-year-old sister, Anna.
At the local elementary school most of the kids were like Michael. They came from hardworking families, but their clothes were hand-me-downs. There were no cell phones and they didn’t have the latest video games at home. But they had close knit families; families that ate dinner together every night and played board games instead of watching T.V. But all that was about to change. George Morales sat at his desk on the fifteenth floor of Galore advertising agency. His office was cramped and windowless. He was hunched over his desk perspiration dripping down his face even though the air temperature in the building was a cool 72 degrees. “I’ve got to make this ad campaign work,” he thought to himself. “If it does, the promotion will be mine!” It was not long after that George was called in the executive Vice President’s office. When he left, he was a senior executive in charge of several large accounts including the one he was working on. He also added 50,000/ year to his existing salary. Mr. Bennett told him that it was time to get some new suits. George glanced down at the well worn suit that his wife repaired so often. He smiled. Life was becoming a whirlwind for Michael. They were moving away from the bungalow at Broad Channel and going to a place called Great Neck. Michael thought it was an odd name for a town. But it meant a new school for him. His little sister ran around saying something like “we go, we go!” Michael thought for a quick moment that it would be nice to be his sister’s age. SHE didn’t have to worry about making new friends. The Morales’ rented a small house in what was obviously an upscale neighborhood. Kids walked with designer sneakers busily talking on cell phones. Driveways were lined with the latest SUV’s. The school wasn’t far from their little house, so Michael walked. He got some new clothes albeit they weren’t the designer duds of the other kids. He went quickly to the office and found where his first class was. Math. Well, that was good because he always did well in it. “My future engineer,” his dad would say. He handed the slip of paper to the teacher. “Class,” she said, “we have a new student, Michael Morales, please make him welcome.” From the back of the room there was a nasty sneer. “Spic!” one of the boys yelled loudly. He was quickly sent to the principal’s office. Michael looked down at his shoes. “Take a seat, Michael,” the teacher said. Michael could feel the stares on his back. They felt like daggers. He didn’t belong here. He wasn’t one of THEM. He wanted to go back to the little bungalow at Broad Channel and play stick ball with the other kids and laugh about whose pants had the most patches in them. He smiled as he thought about it. The bell nearly jolted Michael out of his seat. Lunchtime! Now what? Where would he sit? Would anyone talk to him? He nervously selected a table at the far end of the lunchroom and unwrapped his sandwich. As he ate, his eyes darted around looking for a friendly face. But there was none… Celeste was chatting with the girls from her earth science class. They were discussing their plans for the weekend when she noticed the downtrodden new kid sitting by himself. Celeste remembered what it was like to be the “new kid” It was only a few years before that her family moved from California because her mother made senior partner in a large New York law firm. She remembered how different New York was from California and how she struggled to make friends. “But I’m not going to let it happen again…” she murmured to herself. “What did you say,” Karen asked her. But there was no answer as Celeste joined Michael at the lone table. Michael beamed as they ate their sandwiches together. Someone reached out to him. Somehow he knew the rest his journey would be easier.
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6. The Census Taker A Law of Attraction Short Story By Deborah Ailman
Marie was a loner. She was in her early sixties now and retired from her job at an old steel mill in Pennsylvania. She moved to the small Florida town and bought herself a tiny condo on the second floor of a renovated store. But she spent most of her days in front of the television, its monotonous blare soothing her into oblivion. Marie did not make friends easily, and now that she didn’t have a job to go to she was even more isolated. Sure, there were activities going on at the condo but as she watched a group of women chattering lively by the pool she just sighed. “Why am I so shy?” she thought to herself. But the idea of approaching the women made her freeze in terror. It would be another lonely night in front of the boob tube again. As she drank what was left of her cold cup of coffee, an ad caught her eye in the daily paper . “Hiring census takers” it said. Marie jotted down the address and jumped in the car. “Something to do at last,” she thought. Marie passed the test and then was assigned to training. The class was lively and the material was interesting. She started to look forward to learning new things and seeing her classmates, many of whom were retired just like she was. Could she finally find some friends? As she knocked on her first door, Marie could barely whisper the words “United States Census Bureau” and hold her badge up for the man behind the door. But Jim was glad for some company, any company. His wife had died two years ago and he was lonely. Monica was the outgoing one, always making plans for dinner and dancing at the neighborhood clubhouse. She had him bowling and playing bocce ball on Monday mornings. And she was always laughing, always happy. Until that day at the doctor’s office. “Cancer” the doctor said and within six months the laughter was gone. And so were their friends. Oh sure, they tried to draw Jim out of his shell for awhile. But it didn’t work, and so the friends moved on leaving a sad and lonely Jim spending his days as Marie had, with the television as his only company. “Please come in” Jim said as he opened the door for the little lady and her clipboard. Marie came in and sat on the couch. “I have a few questions for you, and it will only take a few minutes.” Jim poured her a glass of ice tea. It was hot walking door to door in the Florida sun, and Jim wanted the nice lady to be comfortable even though it would only take a few minutes. But almost an hour later, they were still talking, albeit it wasn’t about the census. Jim was chattering like a school boy, and Marie anxiously hung on to his every word. When she left Jim’s house, she had a date for dinner that night and eventually every night after. The doorbell rang and the old lady shuffled to the door to answer it. “United States Census Bureau” chirped the census taker, who beamed with vitality and happiness. “Good morning, ma’am, my name is Marie.”
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