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Two stories put Al Steiner in my Top 20 All Time Favorite Erotic Authors list:
AFTERMATH
A comet has struck the earth! Civilization as we know it is over. In the Aftermath, new relationships are forced on the survivors.
"Aftermath" addresses some of the issues that Niven & Pournelle's "Lucifer's Hammer" avoided. Buy the latter at the bookstore. Read the former from the archives or at Stories Online.
Another 2001 Golden Clittie Winner.
Doing It All Over
Are you up for another long read? Like MichaelD, Al writes full length novels. "Doing It All Over" answers the question, 'what if you could be 15 again, knowing what you know now?' It is packed with sex, suspense, sex, philosophy, sex, romance, sex, and true love. Read it at Stories Online.
How Al Steiner Saved My Life
From Doing It All Over by Al Steiner, Chapter 11:
"What's wrong?" I asked, puzzled.
"I'm sorry Bill." She said, her voice worried. "I don't think I'm going to make it tonight. Daddy's sick."
"Sick?" I said, "What's wrong with him?"
She shook her head. "He says it's just the stomach flu but I don't think so. He was sitting in his chair after dinner and he started getting all fidgety. Then he started throwing up. He's all pale right now and sweaty and he looks like he's not breathing right."
"Sweaty?" I asked, feeling an instant return of my paramedic instinct. When people were sweaty for no good reason, something was usually very wrong. That in conjunction with "not breathing right" made me immediately concerned.
"Yes." Nina nodded. "I've seen people in the ER that look like he does now." She told me. "And usually they're very sick. I'm worried about him Bill. I've been trying to get him to let me take him to the hospital but he's being stubborn. He's scared, I can tell, but he won't go. I want to stay here in case something happens."
"Let me see him." I said suddenly.
"Bill," She shook her head. "I don't think..."
I wasn't going to take no for an answer. I pushed past her and entered the Blackmore house for the first time in many months.
"Bill!" Nina protested.
"Where is he?" I asked her.
She looked at me for a moment, her eyes scared, her own face pale. She pointed to the kitchen. "In the den." She said. "Through there."
"Come on." I told her, heading that way.
Mr. Blackmore's den was a room that had been built to house a bedroom. He had long since converted it to his own personal use. An oak, roll-top desk was the dominant piece of furniture. It sat against the far wall. It's surface was scattered with books containing lovingly placed stamps beneath plastic covers. On the wall above the desk a deer rifle sat in a rack. On either side of this were large racks taken from an elk and a deer. On a small love seat next to the desk was Mr. Blackmore.
"Jesus." I muttered, looking at him.
He looked worse than Nina had led me to believe. His skin was not merely pale but was gray and ashen. Sweat was glistening off of him, his shirt was damp with it. His mouth was open and he was breathing rapidly, seeming to struggle to get air in. His right arm was massaging his left shoulder.
"What are YOU doing here?" Mrs. Blackmore, who was sitting next to him, asked sharply.
I ignored her. "Mr. Blackmore." I told him, walking over. "You need to go to the hospital. Now."
He looked up at me. "Bill," He said, shaking his head. "I think you'd better leave. Sorry to have to postpone your little date." This last was said quite sarcastically.
I reached down and grabbed his wrist, feeling for a pulse.
"You will LEAVE this house immediately!" Mrs. Blackmore told me, ripping his hand away from mine.
"I know what I'm doing." I said forcefully, meeting her gaze. We stared for a second and she finally dropped her eyes.
I took his wrist back, finding his radial pulse. It was beating rapidly and irregularly, sometimes not pulsating for as long as six seconds. I noticed that when I could not feel the pulsations, Mr. Blackmore's breathing became more ragged at the same time. Though I did not have a cardiac monitor on me, I had a pretty good idea of why this was happening.
"Nina," I said. "Go call 911 and get an ambulance here."
"What?" Mr. Blackmore said. "I don't think..."
"Do it now." I told Nina calmly and with unmistakable command in my voice.
She gave a quick glance towards her father. "No Nina." He told her. "I'll be all right."
"Do it Nina." I said firmly. "Tell them he's having a heart attack."
Nina was convinced. She rushed to the phone. Mr. and Mrs. Blackmore were not. They called once after her but quickly realized it was futile. When she was gone they turned to me.
"How dare you come into this house and..." Mrs. Blackmore started.
"What do you think you're..." Mr. Blackmore started.
"Quiet, both of you!" I barked. It had the desired effect.
"Mr. Blackmore." I said, looking at him. "Are you having chest pain right now?"
"No." He told me. "Just some indigestion. She made some spicy food tonight and it didn't agree with me."
"Uh huh." I nodded. "Why are you rubbing your shoulder like that?"
"It's sore." He said. "What business is this..."
"Show me where your chest hurts." I told him. "Point with your finger."
Rolling his eyes upward he put a finger right in the middle of his chest. "Right here." He told me. "It's just indigestion."
"Indigestion doesn't hurt right there." I told him. "It hurts down here." I put my finger just under his rib cage. "And it doesn't radiate up to your left shoulder either. And it doesn't make you short of breath or sweaty. It doesn't make you throw up. And it most definitely doesn't make your pulse irregular. Have you ever had heart problems before?"
"No!" He said.
"You're having them now." I said. "You're having a heart attack Mr. Blackmore and a very dangerous one if I'm right about what I'm feeling in your pulse. You need to get to the hospital, now."
"What the hell do you know about it?" He asked angrily. "You're just a kid."
I smiled, gazing at him meaningfully. "We've had this conversation before." I said. "Do we need to rehash it? I think you're having a heart attack. Go to the hospital with the ambulance when it gets here. If I'm wrong, then you'll get to say I told you so."
Before he could answer Mary Blackmore spoke up. "Jack." She said softly. "Why don't you do what he says?"
I looked over at her in surprise. She was the last person in the world I expected to have as an ally in this thing. I saw raw, naked fear in her eyes. I think she knew that I was right and she was terrified that she was about to lose her husband. So terrified that she was even willing to listen to me.
"Listen to your wife Sir." I told him. "You want to see your grandkids someday don't you?"
"Okay." He nodded. "Once again young man, you've stated your case well."
So, it's Sunday Evening (12/20/2004), I'm (as usual) all alone in my house. I've had arm pain in the right arm for weeks. (Relax - it's a humorous nerve thing, as it turns out. Causes pain and numbness. But still...) After dinner, the pain migrates to the left arm and chest as well. I regret dinner, but "this discomfort will pass." I nap, maybe 90 minutes. Up again, still hurts. I try to relax it away, with less and less success.
Finally, 1 AM approaches, and Al Steiner's scene above plays through my head, all of it. Nausea? No, not really. Sweaty? You betcha. Buckets and rivers. Chest pain, radiating to the arms? Bingo. Breathing difficulty? If it weren't for short breathes, I'da had none at all. Denial? Up to now, you betcha. But Al Steiner's punk kid Billie would be sure I was having a heart attack. Best I call for an ambulance - I can always make fun of Al Steiner afterwards, right? Instead, I'm publicly thanking Al for writing a scene that Saved My Life.
Oh, we still had some drama to go. I called my daughter first. "Jennifer, I think I'm having a heart attack. Can you take me to the hospital?" Instant panicked 19YO with 1YO baby at 1AM, and it's 18º outside. "Dad, call 911! They'll send an ambulance!"
Hang up. Dial 911. Explain the emergency. "Sir, do you have someone who can take you? The local rescue vehicle is tied up elsewhere, yada yada yada, at least an hour"
Hang up. Call my daughter. Explain again. (Well, I don't expect her to drive me, but my grandson does have a father...) Ronnie didn't drive. In his own way, he's as sensitive and panicky as Jennifer. Sandy Drove. Sandy, "my housekeeper," the young woman who comes in every 2 weeks to straighten me up. Ronnie came with, and Josh, her husband. Sandy delivered me, on icy roads in the (pardon the expression) dead of night.
I've posted this note in the ASSM newsgroup, on my WeBlog, and even sent a copy to Al himself. It's not just a great story, it's a lifesaver. Read it.
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