WIP no more, fair lady
New story goodness. Now with porn...lol! Hopefully the LJ cut will work.
NOW
“Where should I start?”
“Well, I’ve always been a fan of root causes myself, so I’d say the beginning.”
“With my life story? Ok, I was born…”
“No, not that far back, I think. But I’m sure we’ll get to it”
Summer 1980, Caweetoolee Mill Hill, North Carolina
Doralee Gordon was twice a widow. Once to the cheap whiskey that kept the demons her husband Warren brought back from Germany at bay and the final time to the cotton dust that finally filled his lungs in late 1979. Despite her personal struggle, she birthed four babies and raised two to adulthood. The children, Kimberly and Donald, were both married to people Doralee didn’t understand. Kimberly’s husband, Ray Wilson, was a hippie. He wore his blond hair long and braided his scraggly beard and always smelled funny. She didn’t understand the attraction, but Kimberly was happy and Ray did support her so she could stay home and watch the stories with her Momma every weekday. The oldest, Warren Junior, was married to some Yankee bitch he met at college named Natasha, who insisted that her name be hyphenated to show how liberated she was. She was convinced that Doralee and the rest of the folks in Caweetoolee would turn her boy into some hideous redneck, killing small animals and hating Negroes and raping every gal he met, so she fought hard to keep Doralee’s grandson Donald away, but Warren Junior insisted that the boy spent every summer helping Doralee in the garden and with the handful of chickens she kept, so he’d be self-sufficient like his granddaddy and daddy. Warren Junior knew that growing up a city boy would mess Donald up and hoped that the lessons of the Hill would temper the hard edges a big city like Greenville would force him to have. Respect for elders, a working knowledge of nature and an understanding of his roots would make the boy into a better man. So that explains how a rambunctious ten year old came to be running through Doralee’s living room at 10 AM on a June Saturday.
“Bye, Grandma!” , Donald shouted as he came darting through the kitchen, grabbing a banana and a chicken leg as he circled the big round table.
“I’m going to Levi’s and to the crick and maybe to Missy’s to swim!” the boy said in one breath, followed by, “Love you!”
“Slow down, Donny” Doralee said over her shoulder as she mixed cornbread for lunch. “You know they ain’t no need to run in the house.” She said, just before the crash.
As soon as she heard it, she knew it was bad. Even before the gasp of pain and tears started, she knew. As she entered the living room, she surveyed the wreckage. Her curio cabinet was intact on the outside, but the boy had busted the filigreed glass on one door and cut his knee pretty good, not to mention the knot he had raised below his bowl-cut bangs and the matching black eye. She gently yanked him up and guided him to the kitchen table. After filled a hot water bottle with ice and making him put it on his head; she grabbed a dishrag and cleaned up the cut and poured hydrogen peroxide on it, then sprayed it with Bactine ™, and put a big band-aid on it.
“I told you not to run in the house, didn’t I?” she asked calmly, having dealt with this too many times to count in her sixty two years.
“Yesum”, Donald mumbled, trying very hard to bawl and whine like he wanted, but he knew that Grandma would just shush him, saying that boys don’t cry about nuthin’.
“Is the cabinet busted up bad?” he asked, also knowing that his daddy would beat him silly if it was.
“The glass is broke and I natcherly ain’t looked inside yet, but I think Mr. Robbins next door can cut me a piece to fix it.”, she said, pleased that the boy was worried about more than himself.
“I’m real sorry, Grandma. I didn’t mean to. Honest!” the boy said, knowing that he was at fault AND that if he didn’t apologize, his daddy would be all kinds of upset when he saw him on July Fourth.
“I know Donny, now you go on and play, but be home by one. We’re having pork chops for lunch”.
“Yes ma’am!” he said and the boy was out the door and up the street before Doralee got to the wreckage. Outside of the door, the outside was fine, but then the old cedar cabinet had stood up to two moves and both Warrens’ tempers over the years. Inside, most everything had survived in one piece except for her one memento of her one trip outside Caweetoolee by herself in the last forty years, a foot tall ceramic Statue of Liberty she bought while waiting on Warren Senior to come home from Europe in 1946. She remembered his letter word for word, especially that he would be coming into New York on April 30th on the SS Carrier. The statue and Warren Junior were the only souveniers she brought back from that trip. She gathered up the pieces and put them in a bowl and put it in the back of the cabinet behind some of Warren Junior’s school stuff. She knew no one would notice because nobody paid the old cabinet any mind. In fact, she had heard Kimberly and Warren Junior arguing about who would get it if she died at the hospital the last time her heart had acted up. She decided then to call Mr. Fowler Hix, her lawyer, next week and change her will so that Donny got the cabinet and everything in it, just in case. She knew he’d appreciate it when he got grown. Then Doralee went back into the kitchen to finish her cornbread and to cut up some tomatoes for lunch. The tears staining her cheeks vanished into the hem of her housecoat without another thought. With that, after Mr. Robbins cut her some glass and put it in, the old cabinet returned to its place in the background, the five fragments of the busted curio still in the chipped blue soup bowl and the incident was forgotten. Hell, the incident was forgotten that day when Donny came home for lunch at full sprint, dragging the remains of his Dukes of Hazzard t-shirt behind him while he wept.
“Grandma!! Missy broke up with me! She said a half-Yankee jerk and when I argued with her and dunked in the deep end of their pool, her brother Jackie beat me up when I got out!”
“Now, now, first quit the bawling. She’s just a girl and there are a bunch more of them about. Second, Jackie’s momma owes you a new shirt and I’m gonna call her after we eat, ifins I don’t walk up there.”
“Grandma, why are people mean?” Donny asked between stifled sobs and mouthfuls of cornbread.
“Son, that’s just how the world is. All we can do is be better than most and hold on”, she said, knowing that the two boys would be thick as thieves by morning and that the McCullen girl would be back to trying to steal a kiss from Donny after church by Sunday.
NOW
“Yes, that’s how I remember it too, but what’s the big deal?”
“Ah now, that would be telling. Aren’t you curious about what happened next and after?”
“Well, not really. I know already how THAT story ends. What I want to know is how I got here and what that Tom Sawyer-equse side trip has to do with anything.”
“Patience. As we go, I think you’ll know.”
June 2008, Cheslea Falls, SC
Donald Gordon was fed up. He was tired of getting the shaft at his lovely job as Director of the Cheslea County Archives. His co-workers were twits and the board that ran the place didn’t know a city directory from a highway map, but just loved giving him advice on how to store 200 year old diaries and century old ball gowns anyway. His apartment was a sty even by bachelor standards, so sitting around in his shorts while reading some crap novel and surfing the net for anything interesting was out. He did the natural thing. He got changed and went to the local dive, Captain Jack’s. It was everything you wanted in a small town watering hole, even if the nautical theme made no sense. There was old country on the jukebox, the bartender doubled as a bouncer, the waitresses were easier to seduce than whores in Vegas, and draft beer was a buck a mug until nine. By then, Don would be so wasted, he wouldn’t care that the prices went up to five bucks. He’d either work hung over the next day or rely on the wonders of water, cheap cigars, aspirin, and coffee to get through, like he did most weekdays. If he DID decide to get laid, he knew that Susie, the flat chested but big butted back-up bartender with thick blond curls would be happy to oblige as she had so many other times. Susie was really after a ring or at least a round of shacking up, but she’d settle, like everybody else. Of course, Don didn’t know it, but tonight would be a bit different. After about four beers inside an hour, Don noticed a guy standing near the stage, watching the house band try to tune up and harmonize. The guy was a classic ginger, with dark red hair and beard and freckles the size of dimes all over his face and arms. Being five eight and less than a buck fifty and paler than a ghost at high noon made him stand out even more, being surrounded by either farmer tans or the results of too many hours in the tanning bed. Don finally managed to focus through his beer goggles and was stunned.
“Bobby? Bobby Ricketts? Zat you, man?”, Don hollered over the crescendo of general bar racket, mainly consisting of a broadcast of the Braves losing again, two dozen drunks discussing local gossip, and a band trying to remember how “Ring of Fire” went. The red head turned towards the noise and grinned from ear to ear.
“Donny? Donny Gordon? Damn dude, it’s been, what, fifteen years now? Twenty? How the Hell are ya?” The red head said, sweeping the bigger Donny into a bear hug. “I ain’t seen you since we walked at App State. You and whozit, Nikki, still together?”
“Nope, Darling Nikki dumped me about a month into grad school. Some professor decided to make her his project for the semester. Since all I was doing was working so we could live and he had cash to waste and an office for quickies; that was it. What brings you to this pisshole anyway?”
“Don, old buddy, I am now an agent for one of LA’s finest agencies. That band that has been assaulting your ears for the last three years is the next Hootie. I’m going to sign them to a record deal, as soon as the lead singer sobers up enough to speak English.”
“Dude, Pappy Roberts IS sober, he’s just sounds like that natural. So, you here for a while?”
“Nah, just long enough to do this and give out plane tickets to the band. Come out and see me sometime. We’ll go hell raise somewhere classy. Here’s the card. Call the cell, since I’m on the road so much. See ya around, Donny.”
“You too, Bobby. And I’ll holler at ya when I’m out that way next. Call me next time you’re over this way. Donald said this despite the fact that he had never been west of the Mississippi and probably would never cross it. He also knew that Bobby would never come anywhere near Cheslea. It was just one of those daily rituals Southerners are so good at.
The twinge in Donny’s chest went as unnoticed as the click of the base reattaching to the skirt of the Statue of Liberty back in Donny’s dark and empty apartment as the sudden urge to piss over came him as his old roomie headed back to the stage.
The next few weeks passed without any real incident. Don still worked every day, though he did finally get his apartment neat enough to bring Suzie back a couple of times. She was such a sexual athlete, he never noticed the whispered “I Love You”s that came in the heat of afterglow. He sure the Hell didn’t say it back. His mom came over once just after the Fourth of July, but since his Dad’s suicide five years ago; they just went to dinner and that was it. He only called her on her birthday and Mother’s Day, but he did go see her up in Chambersburg every Christmas. Though he had to admit, it was more for the side trip to Gettysburg than the chance to get lectured about his failings as a son and to eat tofu and black bread. Thanksgiving was spent at his aunt Kim’s house in Caweetoolee just across from Granny’s. His mother had made it clear at Granny’s funeral in 1989 that she’d only go back to that “bump in the road” in handcuffs. Don enjoyed seeing his cousins, but was glad to be able to just give them back. Just after Labor Day, he got an invitation to a regional history seminar in Atlanta that caught his eye. It was on the difficulty of finding employment records for textile mills after the parent companies had closed, which was right up his alley. The fact that the main speaker was Dr. Nicole Mauvine-Hitchens was gravy.
The rest of the summer passed like most of the last five years had: quietly. Don stayed close to home, saw Susie a bit more than he liked, and spent a week in Caweetoolee babysitting while his aunt Kim and Uncle Ray went on a cruise. That cured whatever baby-craving he might have had. By the end of the week, he was ready to sell all four kids to the gypsies for a buck each.
Labor Day 2008, Atlanta GA
The end of August, Don drove down to Atlanta and got checked into the Marriott and decided to go have a drink to get over the joys of driving in the center of Hell. To his dismay, he found the hotel bar slap full of people, all of whom were there for the some conference he was. So he took off to Little Five Points to find a bit more relaxed spot to get his beer on. To his shock, the place was not crowded, but at a barside table he spotted Darling Nikki herself, all alone and surveying quite a spread of empties.
“Hi, do you mind if I sit here? The place seems to be a bit ful tonight.”, Don said, trying hard not to stare down her scoop-necked blouse.
“That’s fin-Holy Hell, DONNY! How are you baby?”, Nikki shouted as soon as she realized who he was.
“How’s the folks?” She asked.
“Dad passed away a few years back, but Mom is still Mom”, he said with what he hoped was a charming grin, but was actually a leer. “How’s the Doc?”
“A bastard.” She snarled. “Sonvabitch left me a month ago for some sweet little red head with big tits.”
Don chuckled at the irony, but held his tongue. It may have come late, but payback was still sweet.
“Well, I never thought he was real smart. But to trade down like that…”, Don said. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Nope, just sit here and drink”, the lady said, “Here, let’s buy you a few. Four Wild Turkey shots here and?”
“A double screwdriver and draft beer”, Don said, turning back to soak in the sight of his ex in a state he’d hadn’t seen in almost twenty years. The redhead still wore her hair in a ponytail but now she favored sleeveless scoop neck blouses instead of long-sleeve peasant blouses. Unless he was mistaken, she still sunbathed nude though, based on the lack of a tan line where her spaghetti strap had fallen off her shoulder. He was jerked out of his lustful reverie just as he recalled her tan legs and love of going barefoot when she spoke.
“So, you here for the seminar or do you live here now,”, she asked, four more empties added to the six previous. He sipped his screwdriver, wincing at the crummy excuse for vodka they used. The next one he’d order a bit more specifically.
‘Nah, I’m in South Carolina now, trying to run a small archives setup for the County. No pressure to publish and steady benefits. Were are you now? Still at Converse?”
“For now, but if the divorce goes through, I’m leaving at the end of the year. Winthrop wants me to runs their Women’s History program. And I have no interest in seeing Dr. Dickhead around town.”
“Huh, you’d be in my neighborhood. I’m in Cheslea Falls. Call me sometime and I’ll show you the sites.”
“Donny, do you forgive me?” The question was whispered but the look said volumes. Nikki wanted to be forgiven, or at least the whiskey did. ‘I know I shit on you back then, but I was young and selfish”.
“Nikki, of course I do, no hard feelings. Now do you need another round?”
“No, I need… Don’t make me beg, Donny. Just take me back and hold me and tell me everything will be alright, like you used too.”
“Sure, just let me settle up out tab and we’ll go. You at the Marriott?”
“I don’t wanna go to my place, I wanna go with YOU, Donny.”
“Ok, let me get us a cab”.
It had been years since he had necked in a back seat, especially with an audience, but the attraction that he had buried for so long overwhelmed any concern about prying eyes. Besides, he was in Atlanta for a weekend. What were the odds of seeing said cabbie again, especially without a buzz on? He was amazed at the way they fell into the old familiar rymthym. He knew exactly what to do and when and so did she, notwithstanding her condition. The fifteen minutes cab ride left them both no real state to stroll through a hotel lobby, but the promise of further fun pressed them on.
Nikki did not respond to any of the attendees who sought her eye for even a second, so focused was she on her looming release. As soon as the elevator doors slid closed, she began to grope Don in earnest. Don broke their embrace only to press the ‘Nine” button and to find his room key. The blast of cool air on his exposed dick told him that Nikki was about to give him one of her hair-curling blow jobs. Just then the door chimed and slid open. Thankfully the corridor was deserted. Nikki led him down the hall, using his semi-flaccid penis as a leash. As soon as he got the door open (on the third try), he and Nikki stripped each other to boxers and panties respectively. The two of them exchanged glances and then fell on to the queen bed, entwined in each other. Her gasps and his moans of pleasure filled the space where words do no good. Both knew, even through the alcohol that there was no emotion involved, just pure need. The only break came when Nikki asked Don to set the bedside clock radio for six AM as she kissed her way down his beer gut. As soon as she got all of him into her mouth, he reached down and, using that sign language only old lovers understand, got her to swing her body around and into the “69” position without disengaging. Following a mutual orgasm and lengthy kiss, they moved into the missionary position. In an instant, both were twenty-one again, as attractive and instinctive as ever. The sex was athletic and intense. From missionary to cowgirl, to doggy and back to missionary, they rolled and contorted, crying out when release approached and sighing at its passing. After an hour, they both collapsed, as spent as tax refund checks on vacation.
“Damn”, they both said at once with mutual grins and giggles.
“You were…beyond belief”, Don said, trying to hide his pride in his performance.
“Well, Mr. Gordon, you did extremely well yourself”. Nikki smiled back, the whiskey stench gone from her breath.
“Remind me why we quit doing this again”, Don said, half-curious and half-asleep.
“Shhh: Nikki replied, “Just hold me and rest up. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
When Don awoke to the static-filled tones of NPR and rolled over, he was confronted with an empty room, unchanged from the previous evening save for his suitcase on the dresser and a pair of floral nylon panties at the foot of his bed. With a sigh, he slapped the off button on the clock radio and headed to the shower. As he passed the damp panties, he tossed them into the bathroom trash can with a sigh and got into a hot shower to get ready for a conference he now wished was over.
Unheard in an empty apartment some two hundred miles away, a soft click echoed inside a curio cabinet as the tablet bearing the date July 4, 1776 in roman numerals slid back in place on a foot high replica of the Statue of Liberty inside a chipped blue soup bowl.
The conference was. That was all. Don Gordon went through the motions and even got an invitation to speak at the one next year in Mobile. But Dr. Nicole Mauvine-Hitchens did not speak to him the rest of the weekend, but did give him a sad-eyed smile when he went to get a copy of her book signed. He gave her his card then, more out of habit that out of any expectation of a repeat performance or of seeing her again. He did not doubt her story of martial woe or that she had enjoyed their encounter as much as he had. But it was simply a fuck not a round of love-making like it once had been.
The next six weeks ran together. More mindless days at work, whining about budget cuts and missing out on a big donation of material by the VFW to Winthrop. More nights spent at Captain Jack’s, drinking cheap beer and bedding Susie. Finally, he decided to burn a week of vacation up in Altamont NC before he lost it to the County’s idiot leave day policy. The week he picked was the last week of October.
The week in the mountains did him some good. He hiked off about two inches of gut and breathed clean air. He hit some of the local hippie shops, but did not go home with any of the willing young things he encountered. Not out of any deep love for Susie, but mainly out a lack of interest and fear of finding thicker hair than his in intimate places. For some reason, he was catnip to women either twenty years his senior or ten years younger. The ladies he was “supposed” to be dating weren’t interested. He had long adjusted his sight accordingly, which was one reason he enjoyed sex with Susie so much. The age gap faded when she was such a willing pupil. Of course, the beer helped them both. The only odd event that came close to bumming him out was a quick clip he saw on the late local news one night in his hotel room. Of course, it was the middle of the “crime and crash” report and he had toned it out while he read a book on noted Altamont authors. Until he heard the name Kacie Saunders. He looked up with a start to see a cute brunette with a black eye discussing the mugger she had just fought off, not three blocks from his hotel. As he stared, gaping, he hit him that he knew her. It was Kacie! His prom date! The girl he left in Greenville to go to App State and major in history while she went to Furman. The last time he had seen her was high school graduation when she gave the valedictory address. She had aged very well and he was please to see that she was still gorgeous. He was also glad to hear she was ok and that the guy had been caught minutes afterwards. After Kacie had maced him and kicked in the nuts twice. The tremor of pain down his back went unnoticed as he flipped the light off and headed to the nearest all night diner for a late supper.
Far away, inside a blue bowl, a gentle click marked the reunion of the crownless head of Lady Liberty and the rest of her body.
The next couple of weeks passed as usual. No real drama. About a week before he headed up to Caweetoolee to see his aunt for Thanksgiving, a co-worker passed away suddenly. Well, as suddenly as a hypochondriac can. Angela Dodge was renowned among County employees as having more aliments than anyone outside the Mutter Museum. She had back trouble, flat feet, headaches, constant nausea, eye issues, defective hearing aids in both ears, and a host of female aliments. Amazingly enough to Don, none of that killed her. She passed away from complications from Lasik eye surgery. Common consensus was she died from an infection she hadn’t already taken seventeen antibiotics for. However, the county closed down due to her 45 years of service as a clerk in Traffic Court so that employees could attend her funeral in Columbia. With Don’s luck, he got drafted as a pallbearer for the long time old maid along with a few deputies and the County Manager. The service was standard funeral home issue, but Don still tearred up at Amazing Grace, even a bad copy from a copy. While walking back to his car, his natural grace kicked in and he went ass over elbows as he tripped over a faded funeral home marker. As he cussed silently to himself and thanked the stars that no one had noticed, he glanced at the name on the marker and gasped. It was for a Tyler T. Philips. The only Tyler Philips he knew should still be alive and well in Greenville. Heck, Tyler was a three sport all-star jock in high school and was a year younger than Don. Of course a lot could change in almost thirty years, but still, Tyler couldn’t be dead. He frantically searched his mental databanks for what HIS Tyler Philips’ middle name was when it hit him. Tallmadge. After he dusted himself off, and wrote off the khakis he had worn, he whipped out his Blackberry™ and ran a quick online search for the name before him and the date on the stone. Sure enough, the obituary popped up and everything matched. Tyler was killed at 25 by a drunk driver in downtown Charlotte while going to a concert. As Don staggered to the car, he wrote the dull throb at the base of his skull off as some kind of weird reaction from the fall.
Meanwhile, back in Cheslea Falls, the Statue of Liberty regained her crown and knocked her home in the bowl onto its side. The upraised torch still lay on the rough wooden shelf, biding its time.
The Thanksgiving visit in Caweetoolee was bittersweet. He enjoyed seeing his aunt and uncle and the momentarily tame kids, but he felt a distance. While helping his uncle Ray chop some wood for the wood stove, Don decided to ask about it. Ray told him that he and Kim had considered divorcing due to long standing issues now that the kids were old enough to handle it, but that he had just been dianosged with prostate cancer. Ray reminded Don that he was always welcome, regardless of what happens.
“This is as much your home as yours, boy. You became the man you are across the road. No matter what your mama says, this is home. Always.”
Don merely nodded, trying hard to imagine the upheavals that would result from either a divorce or his uncle’s death. Neither prospect had a good outcome so he shoved away.
“Hey, boy, I axed you a question. Have you heard from Missy lately?”
“What? Oh, Missy? Nah, not since Granny passed. Why? She famous now or something? What did she do, marry a serial killer?”
“Nope, she moved down your way. To Lake Catawba, I think.”
Don nodded. Hundreds of folks lived on Lake Catawba. Hell, the damned thing had close to 500 miles of shoreline and almost that many subdivisions. He had camped in the small State Park on the shore on the Cheslea County side a few times and met with prospective donors at one of the big golf courses on the lake’s northern shore, but he doubted he’d see Missy McCullen any time soon. Hell, he doubted he’d know her. After not seeing her for twenty years and hanging out with her since they both started junior high school, he probably couldn’t pick her out of a lineup.
“Naw, she married some banker named Lancaster from Charleston. She comes home to see her Daddy every Christmas and comes to ask about you almost every year.”, Ray said with a sideways glance at his nephew.
Ray felt that every man needed to be married at least once and he knew that the Susie gal Don was currently fooling with wasn’t wife material. He did hate that Don and Nikki had broken it off after college, but he knew better than to pick THAT scab again. Ray did know that Missy had told Kim that she had divorced the banker and bought the lake house to get out of Charlotte. Ray knew Don would go see his Mom at Christmas, but he had hopes of getting the two together at New Years.
“Donny. Donny Gordon! Wake up before that wedge jumps in your lap, boy. Dang, I never thought you’d still pine for that girl. Let’s get this done so I can get me a beer and another turkey sandwich before your Aunt turns it into turkey casserole.”
And that, Don thought, was the end of it. Missy lived on Lake Catawba, just like fifteen thousand other yuppies. He was stunned because he figured she’d wind up working at a gas station and pumping out a kid a year by a dozen different fellers. Good for her. Maybe if he got either real drunk or real, real horny, he’d give her a ring for old time’s sake, assuming she was in the book and he could find her. But why the Devil did he suddenly taste homemade sweet potato pie and cherry ChapStik™?
The next month was more hectic than most. Don drug himself to the mall once to get some stuff for the cousins and to the local five and dime to get stuff for his mom, aunt and uncle. He did take Susie out to dinner at the new Italian place in town, before they came back to his place. She stayed the night and left her toothbrush. Don knew it was on purpose, but didn’t mind. Hell, it was almost Christmas. Let her think whatever makes her happy. The new girl at Captain Jack’s. a leggy blonde with stripper boobs named Jasmine, had already caught his eye. She would be the New Year’s present he REALLY wanted to unwrap. What little there was he hadn’t seen already, anyway. The trip to Chambersburg was uneventful, though Gettysburg got bypassed this trip up. The joy of a Wednesday Christmas meant less time off. The good thing about that was, less time to fight with Mom about when he would move closer. The visit wet really well. Mom even broke down and cooked steaks. They tasted like liver and were tougher than sun-dried leather, but she had tried. She even mentioned coming to see uncle Ray and aunt Kim after hearing about Ray’s cancer. It was the least stressful holiday visit he’d ever been on.
Thankfully Cheslea County had a fairly enlightened policy on time off for New Years. He got both the Eve and the actual Day off and burned a sick day to recover from both. He knew he’d be skipping the traditional black eyed peas and collards, since he hated both of them almost as much as he hated onions, but the booze would make up for it. With that in mind, he headed up to the big liquor store at Boulder Mountain to load up for his New Years party. He had invited some folks from work, some of the regulars from Captain Jack’s and both Jasmine and Susie. If the booze was really top-shelf, he might be able to pull off a threesome. Then, all hell broke loose.
As he tugged the crap-assed buggy with two sticky wheels down the Rum aisle, he saw her. Missy McCullen. Looking better than a body had a right to. Her blonde hair was still curly and she had grown into her long and now quite shapely legs. From the looks of things, she’d had a kid or two but got most of the weight off quick. The clothes, as befitted a yuppie, were designer. She had smaller boobs than he liked, but that was ok. He knew he was staring with his mouth open when she spoke,
“If you like it so much, why don’t you… DONNY! DONNY GORDON!”
With that, she leapt over a display of fruit flavored rum and damned near knocked him over.
‘Hi, Missy. Long time no see.” He said, glad he could still move a little even with the aches and pains of middle age. “What brings you here?” He said, playing dumb.
“Oh, got divorced and wanted to be on the water, but beach houses are so expensive. All that insurance. And the storms, mercy. How are you? You look great!”
Her enthusiaum had not faded from the time they were ten, he noticed with a grin.
“I’m fine. Still a bachelor. In fact I’m hav-“
At that moment, in an empty apartment, in a dark and crowded wooden curio cabinet, Lady Liberty finally grasped her torch again after nearly thirty years. Once again, she stood whole and upright. Even the chipped soup bowl seemed to regain some lost luster by her presence.
With that, Don Gordon fell forward, dead. The verdict of the coroner after the autopsy was death by sudden heart failure, despite the fact that Mr. Gordon’s heart was healthier than that of most ten year old boys. No other explanation made any sense. Mrs. Lancaster was treated and released at the scene for shock.
NOW
“Where should I start?”
“Well, I’ve always been a fan of root causes myself, so I’d say the beginning.”
“With my life story? Ok, I was born…”
“No, not that far back, I think. But I’m sure we’ll get to it”
Summer 1980, Caweetoolee Mill Hill, North Carolina
Doralee Gordon was twice a widow. Once to the cheap whiskey that kept the demons her husband Warren brought back from Germany at bay and the final time to the cotton dust that finally filled his lungs in late 1979. Despite her personal struggle, she birthed four babies and raised two to adulthood. The children, Kimberly and Donald, were both married to people Doralee didn’t understand. Kimberly’s husband, Ray Wilson, was a hippie. He wore his blond hair long and braided his scraggly beard and always smelled funny. She didn’t understand the attraction, but Kimberly was happy and Ray did support her so she could stay home and watch the stories with her Momma every weekday. The oldest, Warren Junior, was married to some Yankee bitch he met at college named Natasha, who insisted that her name be hyphenated to show how liberated she was. She was convinced that Doralee and the rest of the folks in Caweetoolee would turn her boy into some hideous redneck, killing small animals and hating Negroes and raping every gal he met, so she fought hard to keep Doralee’s grandson Donald away, but Warren Junior insisted that the boy spent every summer helping Doralee in the garden and with the handful of chickens she kept, so he’d be self-sufficient like his granddaddy and daddy. Warren Junior knew that growing up a city boy would mess Donald up and hoped that the lessons of the Hill would temper the hard edges a big city like Greenville would force him to have. Respect for elders, a working knowledge of nature and an understanding of his roots would make the boy into a better man. So that explains how a rambunctious ten year old came to be running through Doralee’s living room at 10 AM on a June Saturday.
“Bye, Grandma!” , Donald shouted as he came darting through the kitchen, grabbing a banana and a chicken leg as he circled the big round table.
“I’m going to Levi’s and to the crick and maybe to Missy’s to swim!” the boy said in one breath, followed by, “Love you!”
“Slow down, Donny” Doralee said over her shoulder as she mixed cornbread for lunch. “You know they ain’t no need to run in the house.” She said, just before the crash.
As soon as she heard it, she knew it was bad. Even before the gasp of pain and tears started, she knew. As she entered the living room, she surveyed the wreckage. Her curio cabinet was intact on the outside, but the boy had busted the filigreed glass on one door and cut his knee pretty good, not to mention the knot he had raised below his bowl-cut bangs and the matching black eye. She gently yanked him up and guided him to the kitchen table. After filled a hot water bottle with ice and making him put it on his head; she grabbed a dishrag and cleaned up the cut and poured hydrogen peroxide on it, then sprayed it with Bactine ™, and put a big band-aid on it.
“I told you not to run in the house, didn’t I?” she asked calmly, having dealt with this too many times to count in her sixty two years.
“Yesum”, Donald mumbled, trying very hard to bawl and whine like he wanted, but he knew that Grandma would just shush him, saying that boys don’t cry about nuthin’.
“Is the cabinet busted up bad?” he asked, also knowing that his daddy would beat him silly if it was.
“The glass is broke and I natcherly ain’t looked inside yet, but I think Mr. Robbins next door can cut me a piece to fix it.”, she said, pleased that the boy was worried about more than himself.
“I’m real sorry, Grandma. I didn’t mean to. Honest!” the boy said, knowing that he was at fault AND that if he didn’t apologize, his daddy would be all kinds of upset when he saw him on July Fourth.
“I know Donny, now you go on and play, but be home by one. We’re having pork chops for lunch”.
“Yes ma’am!” he said and the boy was out the door and up the street before Doralee got to the wreckage. Outside of the door, the outside was fine, but then the old cedar cabinet had stood up to two moves and both Warrens’ tempers over the years. Inside, most everything had survived in one piece except for her one memento of her one trip outside Caweetoolee by herself in the last forty years, a foot tall ceramic Statue of Liberty she bought while waiting on Warren Senior to come home from Europe in 1946. She remembered his letter word for word, especially that he would be coming into New York on April 30th on the SS Carrier. The statue and Warren Junior were the only souveniers she brought back from that trip. She gathered up the pieces and put them in a bowl and put it in the back of the cabinet behind some of Warren Junior’s school stuff. She knew no one would notice because nobody paid the old cabinet any mind. In fact, she had heard Kimberly and Warren Junior arguing about who would get it if she died at the hospital the last time her heart had acted up. She decided then to call Mr. Fowler Hix, her lawyer, next week and change her will so that Donny got the cabinet and everything in it, just in case. She knew he’d appreciate it when he got grown. Then Doralee went back into the kitchen to finish her cornbread and to cut up some tomatoes for lunch. The tears staining her cheeks vanished into the hem of her housecoat without another thought. With that, after Mr. Robbins cut her some glass and put it in, the old cabinet returned to its place in the background, the five fragments of the busted curio still in the chipped blue soup bowl and the incident was forgotten. Hell, the incident was forgotten that day when Donny came home for lunch at full sprint, dragging the remains of his Dukes of Hazzard t-shirt behind him while he wept.
“Grandma!! Missy broke up with me! She said a half-Yankee jerk and when I argued with her and dunked in the deep end of their pool, her brother Jackie beat me up when I got out!”
“Now, now, first quit the bawling. She’s just a girl and there are a bunch more of them about. Second, Jackie’s momma owes you a new shirt and I’m gonna call her after we eat, ifins I don’t walk up there.”
“Grandma, why are people mean?” Donny asked between stifled sobs and mouthfuls of cornbread.
“Son, that’s just how the world is. All we can do is be better than most and hold on”, she said, knowing that the two boys would be thick as thieves by morning and that the McCullen girl would be back to trying to steal a kiss from Donny after church by Sunday.
NOW
“Yes, that’s how I remember it too, but what’s the big deal?”
“Ah now, that would be telling. Aren’t you curious about what happened next and after?”
“Well, not really. I know already how THAT story ends. What I want to know is how I got here and what that Tom Sawyer-equse side trip has to do with anything.”
“Patience. As we go, I think you’ll know.”
June 2008, Cheslea Falls, SC
Donald Gordon was fed up. He was tired of getting the shaft at his lovely job as Director of the Cheslea County Archives. His co-workers were twits and the board that ran the place didn’t know a city directory from a highway map, but just loved giving him advice on how to store 200 year old diaries and century old ball gowns anyway. His apartment was a sty even by bachelor standards, so sitting around in his shorts while reading some crap novel and surfing the net for anything interesting was out. He did the natural thing. He got changed and went to the local dive, Captain Jack’s. It was everything you wanted in a small town watering hole, even if the nautical theme made no sense. There was old country on the jukebox, the bartender doubled as a bouncer, the waitresses were easier to seduce than whores in Vegas, and draft beer was a buck a mug until nine. By then, Don would be so wasted, he wouldn’t care that the prices went up to five bucks. He’d either work hung over the next day or rely on the wonders of water, cheap cigars, aspirin, and coffee to get through, like he did most weekdays. If he DID decide to get laid, he knew that Susie, the flat chested but big butted back-up bartender with thick blond curls would be happy to oblige as she had so many other times. Susie was really after a ring or at least a round of shacking up, but she’d settle, like everybody else. Of course, Don didn’t know it, but tonight would be a bit different. After about four beers inside an hour, Don noticed a guy standing near the stage, watching the house band try to tune up and harmonize. The guy was a classic ginger, with dark red hair and beard and freckles the size of dimes all over his face and arms. Being five eight and less than a buck fifty and paler than a ghost at high noon made him stand out even more, being surrounded by either farmer tans or the results of too many hours in the tanning bed. Don finally managed to focus through his beer goggles and was stunned.
“Bobby? Bobby Ricketts? Zat you, man?”, Don hollered over the crescendo of general bar racket, mainly consisting of a broadcast of the Braves losing again, two dozen drunks discussing local gossip, and a band trying to remember how “Ring of Fire” went. The red head turned towards the noise and grinned from ear to ear.
“Donny? Donny Gordon? Damn dude, it’s been, what, fifteen years now? Twenty? How the Hell are ya?” The red head said, sweeping the bigger Donny into a bear hug. “I ain’t seen you since we walked at App State. You and whozit, Nikki, still together?”
“Nope, Darling Nikki dumped me about a month into grad school. Some professor decided to make her his project for the semester. Since all I was doing was working so we could live and he had cash to waste and an office for quickies; that was it. What brings you to this pisshole anyway?”
“Don, old buddy, I am now an agent for one of LA’s finest agencies. That band that has been assaulting your ears for the last three years is the next Hootie. I’m going to sign them to a record deal, as soon as the lead singer sobers up enough to speak English.”
“Dude, Pappy Roberts IS sober, he’s just sounds like that natural. So, you here for a while?”
“Nah, just long enough to do this and give out plane tickets to the band. Come out and see me sometime. We’ll go hell raise somewhere classy. Here’s the card. Call the cell, since I’m on the road so much. See ya around, Donny.”
“You too, Bobby. And I’ll holler at ya when I’m out that way next. Call me next time you’re over this way. Donald said this despite the fact that he had never been west of the Mississippi and probably would never cross it. He also knew that Bobby would never come anywhere near Cheslea. It was just one of those daily rituals Southerners are so good at.
The twinge in Donny’s chest went as unnoticed as the click of the base reattaching to the skirt of the Statue of Liberty back in Donny’s dark and empty apartment as the sudden urge to piss over came him as his old roomie headed back to the stage.
The next few weeks passed without any real incident. Don still worked every day, though he did finally get his apartment neat enough to bring Suzie back a couple of times. She was such a sexual athlete, he never noticed the whispered “I Love You”s that came in the heat of afterglow. He sure the Hell didn’t say it back. His mom came over once just after the Fourth of July, but since his Dad’s suicide five years ago; they just went to dinner and that was it. He only called her on her birthday and Mother’s Day, but he did go see her up in Chambersburg every Christmas. Though he had to admit, it was more for the side trip to Gettysburg than the chance to get lectured about his failings as a son and to eat tofu and black bread. Thanksgiving was spent at his aunt Kim’s house in Caweetoolee just across from Granny’s. His mother had made it clear at Granny’s funeral in 1989 that she’d only go back to that “bump in the road” in handcuffs. Don enjoyed seeing his cousins, but was glad to be able to just give them back. Just after Labor Day, he got an invitation to a regional history seminar in Atlanta that caught his eye. It was on the difficulty of finding employment records for textile mills after the parent companies had closed, which was right up his alley. The fact that the main speaker was Dr. Nicole Mauvine-Hitchens was gravy.
The rest of the summer passed like most of the last five years had: quietly. Don stayed close to home, saw Susie a bit more than he liked, and spent a week in Caweetoolee babysitting while his aunt Kim and Uncle Ray went on a cruise. That cured whatever baby-craving he might have had. By the end of the week, he was ready to sell all four kids to the gypsies for a buck each.
Labor Day 2008, Atlanta GA
The end of August, Don drove down to Atlanta and got checked into the Marriott and decided to go have a drink to get over the joys of driving in the center of Hell. To his dismay, he found the hotel bar slap full of people, all of whom were there for the some conference he was. So he took off to Little Five Points to find a bit more relaxed spot to get his beer on. To his shock, the place was not crowded, but at a barside table he spotted Darling Nikki herself, all alone and surveying quite a spread of empties.
“Hi, do you mind if I sit here? The place seems to be a bit ful tonight.”, Don said, trying hard not to stare down her scoop-necked blouse.
“That’s fin-Holy Hell, DONNY! How are you baby?”, Nikki shouted as soon as she realized who he was.
“How’s the folks?” She asked.
“Dad passed away a few years back, but Mom is still Mom”, he said with what he hoped was a charming grin, but was actually a leer. “How’s the Doc?”
“A bastard.” She snarled. “Sonvabitch left me a month ago for some sweet little red head with big tits.”
Don chuckled at the irony, but held his tongue. It may have come late, but payback was still sweet.
“Well, I never thought he was real smart. But to trade down like that…”, Don said. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Nope, just sit here and drink”, the lady said, “Here, let’s buy you a few. Four Wild Turkey shots here and?”
“A double screwdriver and draft beer”, Don said, turning back to soak in the sight of his ex in a state he’d hadn’t seen in almost twenty years. The redhead still wore her hair in a ponytail but now she favored sleeveless scoop neck blouses instead of long-sleeve peasant blouses. Unless he was mistaken, she still sunbathed nude though, based on the lack of a tan line where her spaghetti strap had fallen off her shoulder. He was jerked out of his lustful reverie just as he recalled her tan legs and love of going barefoot when she spoke.
“So, you here for the seminar or do you live here now,”, she asked, four more empties added to the six previous. He sipped his screwdriver, wincing at the crummy excuse for vodka they used. The next one he’d order a bit more specifically.
‘Nah, I’m in South Carolina now, trying to run a small archives setup for the County. No pressure to publish and steady benefits. Were are you now? Still at Converse?”
“For now, but if the divorce goes through, I’m leaving at the end of the year. Winthrop wants me to runs their Women’s History program. And I have no interest in seeing Dr. Dickhead around town.”
“Huh, you’d be in my neighborhood. I’m in Cheslea Falls. Call me sometime and I’ll show you the sites.”
“Donny, do you forgive me?” The question was whispered but the look said volumes. Nikki wanted to be forgiven, or at least the whiskey did. ‘I know I shit on you back then, but I was young and selfish”.
“Nikki, of course I do, no hard feelings. Now do you need another round?”
“No, I need… Don’t make me beg, Donny. Just take me back and hold me and tell me everything will be alright, like you used too.”
“Sure, just let me settle up out tab and we’ll go. You at the Marriott?”
“I don’t wanna go to my place, I wanna go with YOU, Donny.”
“Ok, let me get us a cab”.
It had been years since he had necked in a back seat, especially with an audience, but the attraction that he had buried for so long overwhelmed any concern about prying eyes. Besides, he was in Atlanta for a weekend. What were the odds of seeing said cabbie again, especially without a buzz on? He was amazed at the way they fell into the old familiar rymthym. He knew exactly what to do and when and so did she, notwithstanding her condition. The fifteen minutes cab ride left them both no real state to stroll through a hotel lobby, but the promise of further fun pressed them on.
Nikki did not respond to any of the attendees who sought her eye for even a second, so focused was she on her looming release. As soon as the elevator doors slid closed, she began to grope Don in earnest. Don broke their embrace only to press the ‘Nine” button and to find his room key. The blast of cool air on his exposed dick told him that Nikki was about to give him one of her hair-curling blow jobs. Just then the door chimed and slid open. Thankfully the corridor was deserted. Nikki led him down the hall, using his semi-flaccid penis as a leash. As soon as he got the door open (on the third try), he and Nikki stripped each other to boxers and panties respectively. The two of them exchanged glances and then fell on to the queen bed, entwined in each other. Her gasps and his moans of pleasure filled the space where words do no good. Both knew, even through the alcohol that there was no emotion involved, just pure need. The only break came when Nikki asked Don to set the bedside clock radio for six AM as she kissed her way down his beer gut. As soon as she got all of him into her mouth, he reached down and, using that sign language only old lovers understand, got her to swing her body around and into the “69” position without disengaging. Following a mutual orgasm and lengthy kiss, they moved into the missionary position. In an instant, both were twenty-one again, as attractive and instinctive as ever. The sex was athletic and intense. From missionary to cowgirl, to doggy and back to missionary, they rolled and contorted, crying out when release approached and sighing at its passing. After an hour, they both collapsed, as spent as tax refund checks on vacation.
“Damn”, they both said at once with mutual grins and giggles.
“You were…beyond belief”, Don said, trying to hide his pride in his performance.
“Well, Mr. Gordon, you did extremely well yourself”. Nikki smiled back, the whiskey stench gone from her breath.
“Remind me why we quit doing this again”, Don said, half-curious and half-asleep.
“Shhh: Nikki replied, “Just hold me and rest up. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
When Don awoke to the static-filled tones of NPR and rolled over, he was confronted with an empty room, unchanged from the previous evening save for his suitcase on the dresser and a pair of floral nylon panties at the foot of his bed. With a sigh, he slapped the off button on the clock radio and headed to the shower. As he passed the damp panties, he tossed them into the bathroom trash can with a sigh and got into a hot shower to get ready for a conference he now wished was over.
Unheard in an empty apartment some two hundred miles away, a soft click echoed inside a curio cabinet as the tablet bearing the date July 4, 1776 in roman numerals slid back in place on a foot high replica of the Statue of Liberty inside a chipped blue soup bowl.
The conference was. That was all. Don Gordon went through the motions and even got an invitation to speak at the one next year in Mobile. But Dr. Nicole Mauvine-Hitchens did not speak to him the rest of the weekend, but did give him a sad-eyed smile when he went to get a copy of her book signed. He gave her his card then, more out of habit that out of any expectation of a repeat performance or of seeing her again. He did not doubt her story of martial woe or that she had enjoyed their encounter as much as he had. But it was simply a fuck not a round of love-making like it once had been.
The next six weeks ran together. More mindless days at work, whining about budget cuts and missing out on a big donation of material by the VFW to Winthrop. More nights spent at Captain Jack’s, drinking cheap beer and bedding Susie. Finally, he decided to burn a week of vacation up in Altamont NC before he lost it to the County’s idiot leave day policy. The week he picked was the last week of October.
The week in the mountains did him some good. He hiked off about two inches of gut and breathed clean air. He hit some of the local hippie shops, but did not go home with any of the willing young things he encountered. Not out of any deep love for Susie, but mainly out a lack of interest and fear of finding thicker hair than his in intimate places. For some reason, he was catnip to women either twenty years his senior or ten years younger. The ladies he was “supposed” to be dating weren’t interested. He had long adjusted his sight accordingly, which was one reason he enjoyed sex with Susie so much. The age gap faded when she was such a willing pupil. Of course, the beer helped them both. The only odd event that came close to bumming him out was a quick clip he saw on the late local news one night in his hotel room. Of course, it was the middle of the “crime and crash” report and he had toned it out while he read a book on noted Altamont authors. Until he heard the name Kacie Saunders. He looked up with a start to see a cute brunette with a black eye discussing the mugger she had just fought off, not three blocks from his hotel. As he stared, gaping, he hit him that he knew her. It was Kacie! His prom date! The girl he left in Greenville to go to App State and major in history while she went to Furman. The last time he had seen her was high school graduation when she gave the valedictory address. She had aged very well and he was please to see that she was still gorgeous. He was also glad to hear she was ok and that the guy had been caught minutes afterwards. After Kacie had maced him and kicked in the nuts twice. The tremor of pain down his back went unnoticed as he flipped the light off and headed to the nearest all night diner for a late supper.
Far away, inside a blue bowl, a gentle click marked the reunion of the crownless head of Lady Liberty and the rest of her body.
The next couple of weeks passed as usual. No real drama. About a week before he headed up to Caweetoolee to see his aunt for Thanksgiving, a co-worker passed away suddenly. Well, as suddenly as a hypochondriac can. Angela Dodge was renowned among County employees as having more aliments than anyone outside the Mutter Museum. She had back trouble, flat feet, headaches, constant nausea, eye issues, defective hearing aids in both ears, and a host of female aliments. Amazingly enough to Don, none of that killed her. She passed away from complications from Lasik eye surgery. Common consensus was she died from an infection she hadn’t already taken seventeen antibiotics for. However, the county closed down due to her 45 years of service as a clerk in Traffic Court so that employees could attend her funeral in Columbia. With Don’s luck, he got drafted as a pallbearer for the long time old maid along with a few deputies and the County Manager. The service was standard funeral home issue, but Don still tearred up at Amazing Grace, even a bad copy from a copy. While walking back to his car, his natural grace kicked in and he went ass over elbows as he tripped over a faded funeral home marker. As he cussed silently to himself and thanked the stars that no one had noticed, he glanced at the name on the marker and gasped. It was for a Tyler T. Philips. The only Tyler Philips he knew should still be alive and well in Greenville. Heck, Tyler was a three sport all-star jock in high school and was a year younger than Don. Of course a lot could change in almost thirty years, but still, Tyler couldn’t be dead. He frantically searched his mental databanks for what HIS Tyler Philips’ middle name was when it hit him. Tallmadge. After he dusted himself off, and wrote off the khakis he had worn, he whipped out his Blackberry™ and ran a quick online search for the name before him and the date on the stone. Sure enough, the obituary popped up and everything matched. Tyler was killed at 25 by a drunk driver in downtown Charlotte while going to a concert. As Don staggered to the car, he wrote the dull throb at the base of his skull off as some kind of weird reaction from the fall.
Meanwhile, back in Cheslea Falls, the Statue of Liberty regained her crown and knocked her home in the bowl onto its side. The upraised torch still lay on the rough wooden shelf, biding its time.
The Thanksgiving visit in Caweetoolee was bittersweet. He enjoyed seeing his aunt and uncle and the momentarily tame kids, but he felt a distance. While helping his uncle Ray chop some wood for the wood stove, Don decided to ask about it. Ray told him that he and Kim had considered divorcing due to long standing issues now that the kids were old enough to handle it, but that he had just been dianosged with prostate cancer. Ray reminded Don that he was always welcome, regardless of what happens.
“This is as much your home as yours, boy. You became the man you are across the road. No matter what your mama says, this is home. Always.”
Don merely nodded, trying hard to imagine the upheavals that would result from either a divorce or his uncle’s death. Neither prospect had a good outcome so he shoved away.
“Hey, boy, I axed you a question. Have you heard from Missy lately?”
“What? Oh, Missy? Nah, not since Granny passed. Why? She famous now or something? What did she do, marry a serial killer?”
“Nope, she moved down your way. To Lake Catawba, I think.”
Don nodded. Hundreds of folks lived on Lake Catawba. Hell, the damned thing had close to 500 miles of shoreline and almost that many subdivisions. He had camped in the small State Park on the shore on the Cheslea County side a few times and met with prospective donors at one of the big golf courses on the lake’s northern shore, but he doubted he’d see Missy McCullen any time soon. Hell, he doubted he’d know her. After not seeing her for twenty years and hanging out with her since they both started junior high school, he probably couldn’t pick her out of a lineup.
“Naw, she married some banker named Lancaster from Charleston. She comes home to see her Daddy every Christmas and comes to ask about you almost every year.”, Ray said with a sideways glance at his nephew.
Ray felt that every man needed to be married at least once and he knew that the Susie gal Don was currently fooling with wasn’t wife material. He did hate that Don and Nikki had broken it off after college, but he knew better than to pick THAT scab again. Ray did know that Missy had told Kim that she had divorced the banker and bought the lake house to get out of Charlotte. Ray knew Don would go see his Mom at Christmas, but he had hopes of getting the two together at New Years.
“Donny. Donny Gordon! Wake up before that wedge jumps in your lap, boy. Dang, I never thought you’d still pine for that girl. Let’s get this done so I can get me a beer and another turkey sandwich before your Aunt turns it into turkey casserole.”
And that, Don thought, was the end of it. Missy lived on Lake Catawba, just like fifteen thousand other yuppies. He was stunned because he figured she’d wind up working at a gas station and pumping out a kid a year by a dozen different fellers. Good for her. Maybe if he got either real drunk or real, real horny, he’d give her a ring for old time’s sake, assuming she was in the book and he could find her. But why the Devil did he suddenly taste homemade sweet potato pie and cherry ChapStik™?
The next month was more hectic than most. Don drug himself to the mall once to get some stuff for the cousins and to the local five and dime to get stuff for his mom, aunt and uncle. He did take Susie out to dinner at the new Italian place in town, before they came back to his place. She stayed the night and left her toothbrush. Don knew it was on purpose, but didn’t mind. Hell, it was almost Christmas. Let her think whatever makes her happy. The new girl at Captain Jack’s. a leggy blonde with stripper boobs named Jasmine, had already caught his eye. She would be the New Year’s present he REALLY wanted to unwrap. What little there was he hadn’t seen already, anyway. The trip to Chambersburg was uneventful, though Gettysburg got bypassed this trip up. The joy of a Wednesday Christmas meant less time off. The good thing about that was, less time to fight with Mom about when he would move closer. The visit wet really well. Mom even broke down and cooked steaks. They tasted like liver and were tougher than sun-dried leather, but she had tried. She even mentioned coming to see uncle Ray and aunt Kim after hearing about Ray’s cancer. It was the least stressful holiday visit he’d ever been on.
Thankfully Cheslea County had a fairly enlightened policy on time off for New Years. He got both the Eve and the actual Day off and burned a sick day to recover from both. He knew he’d be skipping the traditional black eyed peas and collards, since he hated both of them almost as much as he hated onions, but the booze would make up for it. With that in mind, he headed up to the big liquor store at Boulder Mountain to load up for his New Years party. He had invited some folks from work, some of the regulars from Captain Jack’s and both Jasmine and Susie. If the booze was really top-shelf, he might be able to pull off a threesome. Then, all hell broke loose.
As he tugged the crap-assed buggy with two sticky wheels down the Rum aisle, he saw her. Missy McCullen. Looking better than a body had a right to. Her blonde hair was still curly and she had grown into her long and now quite shapely legs. From the looks of things, she’d had a kid or two but got most of the weight off quick. The clothes, as befitted a yuppie, were designer. She had smaller boobs than he liked, but that was ok. He knew he was staring with his mouth open when she spoke,
“If you like it so much, why don’t you… DONNY! DONNY GORDON!”
With that, she leapt over a display of fruit flavored rum and damned near knocked him over.
‘Hi, Missy. Long time no see.” He said, glad he could still move a little even with the aches and pains of middle age. “What brings you here?” He said, playing dumb.
“Oh, got divorced and wanted to be on the water, but beach houses are so expensive. All that insurance. And the storms, mercy. How are you? You look great!”
Her enthusiaum had not faded from the time they were ten, he noticed with a grin.
“I’m fine. Still a bachelor. In fact I’m hav-“
At that moment, in an empty apartment, in a dark and crowded wooden curio cabinet, Lady Liberty finally grasped her torch again after nearly thirty years. Once again, she stood whole and upright. Even the chipped soup bowl seemed to regain some lost luster by her presence.
With that, Don Gordon fell forward, dead. The verdict of the coroner after the autopsy was death by sudden heart failure, despite the fact that Mr. Gordon’s heart was healthier than that of most ten year old boys. No other explanation made any sense. Mrs. Lancaster was treated and released at the scene for shock.