Not a traditional review, nor a rating, since this is my own work. Just sharing some quotes from the six stories which make up this Tales of the Night collection:

Each morning fog rolls over the bay and caresses the Golden Gate, the most picturesque bridge in the world. In the evenings night descends from heaven like some mystical force of nature, alerting hearts that something wonderful is about to happen. The City by the Bay becomes a moonlit paradise of sounds and sensations. It teems with lights, music, ocean, and pretty girls ready to dance and have fun. San Francisco stretches out her romantic hand, beckoning you to join in all the living going on, all the love being found.

And for this reason, night is the loneliest time for those of us who have no one. Oh, we try for love, desperately we make the attempt, gallantly we forge on. But inevitably we fall into a seductive whirlpool of night and garter belts, lipstick and alluring lingerie, darkened hotel rooms and passion devoid of love. Love is the trophy others raise high in happiness, leaving the rest to seek momentary solace in sex bereft of tenderness and meaning, pretending for a few moments, perhaps even a few hours, that it is something more. A hollow consolation prize for losing the romance contest. ― Gypsy Summer

I frowned, staring into the eerie blackness along Route 33 truckers always complained about. It is odd how we rarely encounter true darkness. Somewhere, there is always light; a house, a town, headlights. Not here. Just total and complete darkness. I had been on the night run for months, long enough to get accustomed to total darkness if not entirely comfortable with it. What concerned me was the silence. I'd often had to pull over and take a pee along that godforsaken beltway. There were crickets rubbing their legs together in the cotton and wheat, grasshoppers jumping through the corn stalks, and June bugs flittering above the fields. Occasionally while relieving myself I'd even hear a lone armadillo burrowing. Tonight, however, I heard nothing. Less than nothing. Always there existed a strangeness here the truckers talked about, but tonight something had inexplicably hushed the sounds of night and made it stranger. The silence itself was dead; the kind of silence you get high up in the mountains when it snows, hushing the entire world beneath a white blanket. The blanket along Damnation Road was black, and it felt…unnatural. — Night Run

So I volunteered for the night run, sleeping by day like a vampire to avoid those reasonably happy people who had settled for less than heaven. I'd had the door shut on those soft, sensuous pearly gates one too many times, left to stand sheepishly on my little tarnished cloud as I watched someone else enter paradise with the one I worshipped. The heart can only take so much before it begins to hide in shame at its own foolishness.

Like all romantics, I wanted the kind of love that didn't exist in this world, at least not in my time. It had once upon a time, but it had faded like the final scene of a black and white movie long ago, never to return. — Night Run

We lived in a me-first world obsessed with morally inconsequential celebrities of dubious motivations and shallow character. How or why these people had become famous, or why they would be emulated and their every word newsworthy, no one of common sense could explain. The world had seemingly gone mad, and anyone pointing this out was reviled and mocked. ― City of Angels

It was after midnight by a mile when I slid off the bar stool at O’Malley’s and began to walk home. O’Malley’s is an old Irish pub and though I wasn’t Irish, nor did I drink like a lot of other newspaper reporters I knew, I stopped by for a Coke nearly every evening. I liked listening to other reporters — and cops, who also frequented O’Malley’s — shoot the breeze and relate old stories that hadn’t been completely true the first time they’d been told.

O’Malley’s was just somewhere to go which made every guy sipping a beer or doing shots feel a little less alone in a city like Los Angeles. Some of them still had wives, but you could tell they were lonely. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been hanging around a bar at that hour; they’d have been finding solace in soft flesh and perfume. Maybe their wives would have been finding some solace too, and more of them would have stayed married. Most of those guys, cops and reporters alike, were working on their second or third marriage. I didn’t think they were working hard enough, but maybe that was because I didn’t have anyone to go home to. — City of Angels

I turned my head and saw the big lamps, and I knew it was Violet Atwater. When I turned back around Mack had slowed because of the fog. Through the mist I couldn’t see Greyson Manor any longer. Violet almost caught up to us in her big Packard and then she was enveloped in the fog as well. It was the change in the air I noticed first. Fresh and clean, with something sweet like honeysuckle or jasmine drifting on the evening breeze. Mack smelled it too, because he sniffed and glanced over at me. ― City of Angels

Even in this state, after what had been done to her, she was beautiful. Behind the pain in her eyes lived spring, if they hadn't crushed it into a permanent winter. ― Night Run

I was at least four-hundred miles from life of any kind on this particular night when it began to rain. It was one of those summer rains that come down in buckets but pass quickly. I had a full load and no desire to slide off into a ditch so I gradually slowed, the air brakes whining like a lonely animal in the deep darkness. I pulled off onto the gravel shoulder and that's when I saw her. I came close to rolling over her because of the rain as she lay curled up in a fetal position. Her entire body was shaking so hard it frightened me. The rain was pouring but she made no effort to move. ― Night Run

“Mrs. Atwater will see you now.” She spoke in a tone which conveyed her disappointment, but her smirk indicated the pleasure she’d derived from startling me. We stood there a second or two before I realized she wasn’t going to walk me down to Mrs. Atwater’s office. I said, “Don’t ever let the world dampen that bubbly personality of yours, Ellen, it’s what makes you so attractive.” I didn’t look back as I ambled toward the office but I could feel her eyes on the back of my neck; no doubt thinking about untraceable poisons and such, and long needles. ― City of Angels

I liked the beat, too — Hollywood and the City of Angels. It had been a long time since any angels had appeared here, but enough of the old buildings and old stars still hung around to remind you of what she’d been once, in a world far, far away. ― City of Angels

How do I begin to tell you about Dana and all that she meant to my life? A writer can describe spring in technical terms; the scent of cherry blossoms awakening from their long winter's sleep; the first whiff of honeysuckle in the air; and the bright cool promise of the sun before it turns harsh in summer. Through some gift from God, perhaps he is able to imbue it so vividly for the reader that they can envision spring in all its loveliness. But can he ever truly capture on paper that feeling of spring in his heart? How could he find words to describe the rush of joy his heart feels at discovering life can be beautiful? Could the poetry of his prose ever paint a feeling, or recount his soul's wistfulness that when this moment passes, life will never be as beautiful again? All I can say is that is how I felt the first time I saw her. ― Requiem

It was such a beautiful sentiment, so pure in its innocence, so uncaring of the vulnerableness. A great love for Sarah swept over me for which, if pressed, I would never have been able to justify. But maybe that’s how love should be. Perhaps love is a magic between two people which should never be questioned, whether it happens in a heartbeat, or over time. Because to question it is to destroy its magic. ― City of Angels

That made her smile. She said in a rush, as though she’d been wanting to say it, “It’s funny how lonely you can be when you’re with a lot of people, isn’t it? And how lonely you can be when you’re all alone. Yet when it’s just one nice person, someone with whom you instantly feel like you’ve known forever, you’re not lonely anymore, because you’re two.” ― City of Angels

My little twenty-year-old thirteen-inch black-and-white TV had quit working a couple of months ago. I wouldn’t be able to watch Jimmy Stewart discover it was a wonderful life for the millionth time on Christmas Day, not this year. I tried to concentrate on crime in Isola, but kept thinking about those tips; planning how I’d spend the dough. I’d stock up on food first, can goods and package stuff I could heat up on my hotplate. And cases of Top Ramen for those lean times. Maybe I’d splurge on some cookies and a few snacks. A man needed something to look forward to in this dreary world. Heck, if I really made out like a bandit, maybe I could hold back a twenty so I could take a girl out to lunch. Maybe I’d even take her to the movies. Of course I’d have to find the girl, first. ― Christmas Eve

I took my time driving back to the warehouse to drop off the van. It would be the loneliest ten blocks I’d ever walked once I did, because I’d met Nancy. It is one thing to be lonely and ache for someone to care for, someone to love in the abstract. It is quite another to know who that someone is and discover she is just out of reach. No love is as far away as one just beyond reach. I drove with an aching heart through the city as it sprung to life only hours before Christmas. ― Christmas Eve

“Now people nowadays, especially the younger ones, they don’t have an ounce of romance in their soul. It’s all zombies and video games, shallow celebrities. They love insta-sex but make fun of what they call insta-love. They get a few minutes pleasure out of the foolin’ around, but don’t have the depth of heart to fall in love like a romantic will, so they scoff at it. Real love is like that sometimes.” ― City of Angels

Lone Tree was a cow-town without the cow. No one I ever talked to had an answer as to how it had sprung up here in the middle of nowhere, nor did they know who the genius was who had thought it a good idea. Picture an old western ghost town, add a filling-station, an abandoned drive-in, a couple of folks milling about just so you knew someone lived there, and you'd be pretty close to Lone Tree. ― Night Run

San Francisco is still the loveliest city in the world for my money, despite how they've tried to ruin her. Yeah, it attracts all the weirdos, and some of them aren't harmless like they used to be in days gone by, but for the most part the people are lovely and easygoing, and there is a romanticism that exists in San Francisco that you can genuinely feel as you walk around. The wonderful things about her still remain; the wharf and fabled Pier 39; the little cable cars climbing upward toward the stars; the Painted Ladies of Victorian Row; the thousand or so acres of Golden Gate Park; and the up-and-down streets where Steve McQueen once hopped in his '68 Mustang and chased the bad guys in their '68 Dodge Charger. Tony Bennett left his heart here for good reason. ― Gypsy Summer

Rain had been pelting San Francisco for the final two hours of my shift at the video store. The upside of working at Joe’s Double-Bill Video Rental — besides living in the most beautiful city in the world — was that Joe loved old movies. We always received the newest classic movie releases as soon as they hit the market. I was forced to appease the tasteless public and play the latest crude and rude comedy, bloody gore-fest, or mindless action flick while I was working. But Joe allowed me to take the classic films home for free, providing I brought them back when I came in to work my shift. — Night Cry

The swirling winds to which all those residing in San Francisco eventually become immune, had taken a respite by the time Calina looked up from the story in her lap. She had crossed her legs while reading, revealing a sexy white upper leg and the fact that her white stockings were only thigh-high, ending in a lacy cuff a few inches from Shangri-La. The weight of her gaze felt almost tangible as she looked beyond flesh and bone, staring into my soul. Her expression was filled with deep affection, as though in reading my story we had become lovers, rather than strangers. — Night Cry

The next two weeks were thrilling. Love is never as wonderful as when it begins. There is joy in romance unlike any other joy. You cannot wait to get up in the morning to see her. You cannot wait for evening to arrive so you can tell her goodnight, and dream of her. It began with coffee in the morning, that long seven-block stroll as the city awakened. A magical walk that transformed the world into a beautiful place. — Requiem

Laura carefully applied her make-up, knowing it made all the difference at forty-six. Internally, at least, the years had not been kind, especially the years since her husband had cast her aside for a petite and vivacious supermarket tart named Kelli. Kelli with an "i" whose voice was higher than her IQ; Kelli with her pert and supple breasts; Kelli with her tiny waist; Kelli with her natural bright blonde hair; Kelli with her firm, tiny heart-shaped ass. She had taken Laura's husband so easily; Laura with her flowing dark hair; Laura with her full soft breasts not quite so pert anymore; Laura with her slightly rolled waistline; Laura with her wider and softer rear end. The divorce had left Laura feeling like an old pair of worn and tattered jeans, discarded by Max for new ones rather than relishing in the comfort of the older pair. — Requiem

LONELY STREET is a collection of six fantastic stories of romance, adventure, and a touch of the supernatural. Each story is a unique experience that leaves the reader with a bright light amidst the lonely darkness of the night.

NIGHT RUN

As an introduction to this hauntingly beautiful novelette, Bobby Underwood writes,

“A thread of loneliness and the night runs throughout Night Run. I have attempted to imbue it with both romance and raw emotional beauty.”

Well, he did much more than attempt it. That “raw emotional beauty” undercurrent of the tale served as a small flame of light that grew brighter as the story unfolded. For those readers who are familiar with losing themselves to the night, they can take comfort from Underwood’s ability “to capture on paper that tangible disconnect between the hours of midnight until the sun rises”.
As Underwood so elegantly states, “It is that lonely disconnect from the harsh reality of day that gives those drunk on the night the freedom to risk everything for love.”

The story has a Twilight Zone feel to it, and the romantic aspect raises it to another level. The narrator, Neal sets the tone with this memorable passage:

“It is the worst news a man can be given, to be diagnosed a romantic. There is no cure, no vaccine, no drug to make it manageable. Nor can anyone prescribe a pill to dull the pain of disappointment and rejection. Romanticism’s earliest symptom, not always recognized as an indication of the disease, is falling in love. A lot. But the most serious symptom affects the eyes, for it is a romantic’s sight that causes all the real problems. A romantic’s eyes sees into the soul of others. They tangibly feel the warmth and kindness behind a girl’s smile at the checkout counter. They see clearly where others cannot, the tenderness of a woman most would dismiss as plain; knowing as sure as the sun rises in the East and sets in the West that she would be a hundred times more wonderful to love than all of her more superficially attractive friends combined. He knows these things because unlike normal humans, a romantic’s eyes are connected in some terrible and tragic way to his heart. He sees the true worth and beauty of a girl, or a woman, and is almost compulsively compelled to make her see herself as wonderful as HE sees her; as wonderful as she truly IS.”

“The discovery and diagnosis of the disease seals his fate. He dies a slow, agonizing death that leaves him a member of the walking dead. His heart is constantly broken into tiny pieces. Finally, his eyes still see what they once saw, but his heart can no longer act on it. The love he gave each time with such tenderness, hoping SHE would be the one to return it, always given to someone else. His love builds a wonderful bridge time and again, only to see the one he loves walk across it with someone else, causing his heart to ache. They remember him fondly, of course, perhaps even love him in some special place in their heart. But a romantic needs to be more than a sweet memory. He needs the love someone else is receiving every night, the love he made possible. But love is always just out of reach for the romantic.”

In anyone else’s hands, I’d say Neal doesn’t have a whole lot of hope, but with Underwood at the keyboard, hope always finds a way.

“I wanted someone who made me anticipate her smile all day long, and when it came, feel luckier than Lou Gehrig because it was directed at me.”

CITY OF ANGELS

“Perhaps love is a magic between two people which should never be questioned, whether it happens in a heartbeat, or over time. Because to question it is to destroy its magic.”

“Love is always a chance worth taking.”

In this fantastic tale, Underwood provides the lonely and romantic a magical and uplifting story that transcends time and logic. But, that’s exactly what true love does, isn’t it? Mystery and the supernatural play an exciting role here for a most enjoyable reading experience. In some ways, it reminds me of Nathan’s classic “Portrait of Jennie”, which I love. But, Underwood’s ability to capture the workings of the romantic heart makes this novella even better. I’ve read several of his books that give me this wonderful feeling that love can endure and provide hope in a seemingly often hopeless world.

CHRISTMAS EVE

This short story is a wonderful, atmospheric love story that allows you to imagine that there’s a bit of hope for the human race. Christmas is a time of magic and cheer if folks would just open their eyes and hearts to the possibility that anyone can have a second chance at a better life. Underwood uses a protagonist who, despite being lonely and poor on Christmas Eve, reaches out to try to convince someone in dire need of her own life-saving miracle that such things are possible, especially at Christmas.

A very heart-warming story for the cold times that enter all of our lives.

REQUIEM

Only Bobby Underwood could write such a heart-felt tale of two romances in one short story, and do it in such a way as to make you believe you’d just read something much longer. The two couples’ stories are interwoven artfully and beautifully amidst “...a world which had become callous and disconnected from kindness”. What the author manages here is to give the reader a nice, welcome respite from that unkind world that is increasingly becoming more familiar in the days in which we live. I say, Bravo, Mr. Underwood! And, thank you for this wonderful story that shows that love and kindness can conquer all of our ills.

GYPSY SUMMER

“...night is the loneliest time for those of us who have no one.”

In GYPSY SUMMER, Avery had a first-hand acquaintance with the night and loneliness until he met the beautiful gypsy girl, Mirela.

“...even though we had only just met, I loved Mirela deeply in my soul. Make of that what you will. Madness perhaps. But isn’t that what love is, a special, wonderful madness we live our entire lives hoping to experience?”

But love with Mirela throws a high and tight fastball at Avery in the form of an evil gypsy curse. Will their love be strong enough to survive?
Underwood hits another home run with this exciting thriller romance written in the style of those classic Weird Menace stories from the golden age of pulp fiction.

NIGHT CRY

A story within a story and another romantic thrill ride reminiscent of those Spicy Adventure magazine stories of the 1930s. It’s spicy, to be sure, but so tastefully done, it becomes higher art in its homage to those classic pulps. As in GYPSY SUMMER, there’s a curse involved in this one too, which kept me on the edge of my seat with my heart beating faster as I hungrily read to a fantastic and satisfying ending.

The six stories in LONELY STREET are a soothing balm for all you hopeless romantics out there. Five stars is not nearly enough for the good feeling this book leaves with you. ( )