Men of All Seasons Box Set

by R. W. Clinger

  He wanted to laugh but didn’t. Instead, he moved up to Sadie, placed a palm over her shoulder, and provided it with a gentle squeeze. “I’ll call your cellphone before I come in next time. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds like I’ll live longer, and you won’t have to arrange my funeral, young man.”

  “Exactly. That’s my intention.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, they talked about Sadie’s duties for the day: clean both bathrooms, prepare appetizers later in the day for his guests, and place and organize the Robert Riley tomes on a reading table in the living room for the guests to pick through from those he had retrieved from Turn the Page Books. He also wanted her to light an arrangement of candles for the evening, hinting that it would make the house smell better as opposed to all the cleaning supplies she had spent that morning and afternoon using. He expressed such a concern with politeness, of course, not ever wanting to be a tyrant and crossing a line by disrespecting the woman.

  “Can you please make sure the candles are something fruity and flavorful, if you don’t mind, of course?”

  She agreed to all of his conditions and demands, just like she had numerous times before. Sadie was good that way, always on task, on the ball, a productive employee, and someone Stone would recommend for any household duty, although he wanted to keep the woman to himself.

  It was now time for Stone to get a shower, since he’d been unable to give himself a thorough clean up after the sex with Cameron Phillips. Not only did he feel dirty, but he also smelled dirty, of sweat and semen mixed together. He preferred to feel Cameron’s hot spray of semen on his naked frame for the rest of the day, relishing its heat and a gluey wash-down, but he smelled rank. He excused himself from Sadie and her work, trotted upstairs to the bathroom, undressed, and stepped under the shower’s spray.

  * * * *

  A good woman who worked hard, Sadie Harrison was above the norm, Stone often told himself. He assumed that all women were like that: straight-forward, no holds bar, and challenging when they needed to be. Sadie’s history with him had been unequitable and withstanding. Not only did he consider her one of his best friends, but he also looked at the woman as a mother figure, turning to her when he needed advice, vent about dramas in his life when they sporadically occurred, and other mad-capped adventures on his rollercoaster-like life. Of course, he had thought about mentioning Cameron Phillips to Sadie and their sexual romp that afternoon, but felt afraid she would maybe freak out about his impromptu intimacy with the stranger, even if he protected himself with a condom.

  Being a devout Baptist, Sadie believed in the good Lord and Heaven, with a capital H, she always reminded him. The last thing she wanted to hear from Stone were his dick tales and how he performed one of the deadly sins (man-lust, as she had called it) with another man. Not now. Not ever. Some things needed to be private, and Stone realized his sex life with men just happened to be one of those issues.

  Sadie didn’t have children and maybe used him in the same way Stone had used her, taking the professional cat fancy man under her wings and treating him as if he were one of her own. She clearly wasn’t above scolding him when needed, and she didn’t fret about loving him and caring for his needs. She didn’t slack in taking Stone in her hands like a little bird and providing him with some natural nurturing, such as hugs or a gentle squeeze to one of his shoulders when he needed. Sadie Harrison was a good woman like that, a true friend, and one he wanted to keep around for as long as possible. Through the good times and the bad times, Sadie made it a point to be at Stone’s side. Somehow, someway, Sadie had blown in off the lake and its scorching summer just to help him, be there for him. He just happened to be there for her, too, the perfect mother-son-like combination and union. Praise Jesus to that! Amen!

  Of course, Sadie had flaws, like any good human being on God’s green earth. She hated to wear a bra, sometimes used the term “great balls of fire” a little too much, and listened to one of those Cristian stations on the radio with a lot of eulogizing about God and His Kingdom and burning in fire and brimstone because of sin. But Stone gave the woman credit when credit was due. She didn’t talk to him about her God and Christianity and the fellowship of Baptists she enjoyed. Love and respect unfolded when it came to two different people who could find some balance in their connected worlds, sharing a little slice of what both of them called life.

  Truth told, Stone loved Sadie, and vice versa. They were an odd couple from two different societies, but somehow, they formed an odd relationship between them, a mother without children and a son without a mother figure in his life. Their pairing seemed special and lasting, and it was good stuff, Stone felt. Yes, it was! Good!

  * * * *

  Crap! The tub had filled with water during Stone’s shower. An inch of dirty water rose to two inches, and then three inches as if the tide along the lake rose overnight. His chest, ass, and part of his back were covered in soapy suds when he noticed what happened. He quickly rinsed under the spray and turned off the shower, preventing the tub from filling, even if he wasn’t done scrubbing his balls, neck, and thighs.

  This was the third time a bathtub situation arose in the last six months. The first time occurred on April 1, which he thought was a joke being played by Sadie. The second time happened on Independence Day. And now this third time just happened to feel like a never-ending chore of sorts. He’d have to dry off and call Jake Worthington of Worthington’s Wet and Wild Plumbing Supplies.

  Jake was Connor Worthington’s younger brother and helped Stone out with all his plumbing needs. Connor had been one of the founding members of the book club and loved Robert Riley, glad to get his brother to do a favor for Stone. Jake, unlike his brother, didn’t read. Not that he had to with his adorable good looks and charm. The party boy in his early thirties had been something to look at, though, a total head-turner with a million-dollar smile, fun to be around.

  Stone stepped out of the soapy pool of water. He dried off, fled to his bedroom, dressed, and called out Sadie’s name, in search of help regarding the plumbing problem.

  Stone knew that Sadie had every plan to vanish from the residence in a hurry before the book club started. She hated discussing Robert Riley novels and the elements of fiction. Those guests who had arrived were boring, arrogant, and of no interest to her.

  She barked at him, “And I’m not about to make those cocktail ice cubes with the bay leaves myself. Lord knows I’ve got better things to do with my time. The plumbing issue is your problem.”

  “I want to get Jake out here and fix this before the club meets tonight. Can’t you help me?”

  Purse in hand, dressed in her winter coat, boots, and gloves, Sadie, while making her grand escape from the Tudor, called out over her right shoulder, “Look in your office, Mr. Daye! Jake’s number is in the address book on your desk.”

  * * * *

  Sadie turned out to be right, of course, which usually happened in Stone’s world with the woman. The address book and Jake’s cellphone number were exactly where she had said they would be. Once he retrieved the address book and looked up Jake’s phone number, Stone punched the number into his cellphone, listened to two rings, and then heard Jake’s deep and sexy voice.

  “Worthington.”

  “Jake, it’s Stone Daye. I’m having problems with my upstairs tub again. Any way you can take a look at it?”

  “As a matter of fact, I can. Some jackass just cancelled an appointment on me. I’ll be right over, if I can get through the snow. I have a truck, though, which will probably get me there without any problems. If I can’t make, I’ll call you.”

  Right over meant almost forty minutes later, not that Stone minded or counted the minutes as they ticked by. Stone knew he couldn’t fix the problem with the tub on his own and needed the young man and his skills, just as he had needed most of the men in his life.

  Jake arrived with a tool bag in his right hand, a metal plumbing snake in his left hand, and a deep green ball cap
positioned backwards on his head, making him look blue-collar sexy, if there ever was a description. He beamed his pretty boy smile, showed off his pearly whites, and was just about as adorable as he could possibly be, without even trying.

  Jake is very nice to look at, Stone thought.

  Women were all over his six-three frame and muscled torso. The guy never seemed alone or girlfriendless. He usually dated pretty blonds with inflated bosoms and squealing laughs, all of which Stone thought were bumbling idiots. Stone supposed that turned out to be the life of a handsome, male player, right? Some unintelligent but good-looking women were there for the taking, and Jake Worthington wasn’t shy about taking them on numerous occasions. Good for him.

  “You know where the bathroom is,” Stone said, pointing to the stairwell that led upstairs.

  Jake nodded and climbed the stairs. Not five minutes later, he returned to the first floor with a transparent plastic grocery bag with a mound of wet hair caked in its bottom. The bag’s contents looked like a dead cat and smelled just as rank. He passed the bag to Stone, who immediately threw it away in the kitchen’s garbage can and returned to the foyer where Jake stood, awaiting payment.

  Jake said, “I don’t want cash today. I want your advice.”

  Thrown by the young man’s comment, Stone scratched his left cheek and asked, “What kind of advice?”

  Jake’s expression was somewhat depleted. Never had Stone seen the young man in such a bewildered state. Worthington men were strong, proud, and superhuman beings. Most considered them unbreakable and self-absorbed. Obviously, that wasn’t the case with Jake today since he looked at the floor like portraying someone embarrassed. He shook his head and let out a sigh that sounded puzzled and problematic.

  Jake lifted his head and asked, “Do you have a minute?”

  “I have more than a minute for you, Jake. You just removed a dead cat from my drain and didn’t charge me.”

  The young stud tilted his head to the right, rubbed his chin with two fingers, and asked, “Did you ever sleep with a woman?”

  Stone shook his head. “Of course not. I’ve never had an interest in such territories. There’s a reason I like men, and women have nothing to do with that.”

  Stern-faced with crinkled eyebrows, Jake asked, “Did you ever think about it, though?”

  “Never. Women are beautiful creatures to me, but I’m terrified of their girlie parts. Why do you ask? What point do you want to make?” Stone thought he would take the upper hand and push Jake to speak his mind, putting all his cards on the table.

  “I won’t mention a name.”

  “Of course not, Jake. I would prefer you didn’t. Plimpton is sometimes too small for gossip.”

  “But I’m thinking about sleeping with a man.”

  Stone nodded. “I presume you’re confused, right?”

  Jake smiled, beaming new life and warm light in his eyes. “I am. He’s a blue-collar worker like me. The guy’s an electrician and likes me. He always says, ‘If you were queer, I’d be all over you, and maybe inside you.’ He’s a nice guy and really cares about me, but—”

  Christ! Jake was talking about Bill Cather. Bill owned the Blue Bar, a queer bar on Nelson Street in downtown Plimpton, but he didn’t run it. Instead, the guy enjoyed being an electrician, obviously working with Jake these days.

  In Stone’s opinion, the two would make a great pair. Lovers. Boyfriends. Or just friends with benefits. It didn’t matter. Stone thought them coupled, into each other, handsome, and charming. He felt pretty sure they could make each other happy. And he knew both were Republicans, enjoyed handy work, played some pool, hunted, and liked to drink. It was a match made in heaven, if there was such a thing. Stone grinned from ear to ear, happy with what he had contrived within the folds of his mind.

  “You’re concerned about being intimate with him, aren’t you?” Stone blurted, getting to the point and heart of the matter. “You don’t know if you should cross a line of sexuality or not, fearing what could happen between the two of you.”

  Jake nodded, unable to look at Stone. “I think that’s it. He doesn’t have the plumbing I’m used to. But he treats me well and listens to what I have to say. Plus, he smells great all the time. And he isn’t bad to look at since he resembles Chris Pine.”

  A short laugh exited Stone’s throat and then he said, “Plumbing doesn’t matter, Jake. Nor does it matter if a guy looks like a Hollywood star. What matters is how your heart feels about this guy and if you want to sleep with him or not. I suggest you listen to your soul about this concern and do what it tells you. Feelings make us do some strange things. Just be careful in the process.”

  “What’s it like, though?” Jake leaned into Stone and asked, whispering.

  Stone laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about that, friend. Let the guy teach you some things and just go with it, but only if you want. Don’t get mixed up with all the physical stuff without feeling it in your heart first. Besides, if I know who you’re talking about, and I think I do, he will treat you just fine. He’s a nice guy with much integrity. I’d trust him if I was in your position, and I wouldn’t fear falling for the man.”

  Their conversation ended with a hug. Jake’s massive body rubbed against Stone’s, and Stone patted Jake’s back.

  During the hug, Stone said, “Keep me posted. I’m here to help or listen to you. Consider me your friend, an honest confidant.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Jake left with his snake and tool bag, maybe craving some intimate time with an electrician named Bill Cather or maybe not. Someday, Stone would learn, but not for another week or two, closer to springtime.

  * * * *

  Stone’s next door neighbor, Izzy Merlot, hated to read and did not participate as a book club member, although she did enjoy novels made into movies. Once she had said to Stone, “I used to read Daniel Steel and Nora Roberts, but thought it a waste of my time. I could have been doing so many other things.

  “Danielle,” Stone had corrected her. “Not Daniel.”

  “Whatever. Reading isn’t as pleasurable as I wanted it to be. That’s why I stopped.”

  Since that brief encounter and conversation with his neighbor, Stone decided pretty much on the spot he would never enjoy the woman’s company. Never had he bothered her for a cup of sugar when he needed one, and he never borrowed her lawn boy, although Ricky Stanton was a muscled hunk with the most adorable country boy face and piercing green eyes. Stone didn’t even check up on Izzy when she had the flu last February, sick in bed. He knew the woman lived alone, didn’t have any children, and rarely, if ever, have visits from her twin sisters, Marleen and Marianne, who both lived in Sarasota, Florida. Izzy, because of her negativity, was on her own and not his obligation. Had she liked Robert Riley novels, Stone maybe would have changed his mind and went out of his way for her. Then again, he didn’t think so.

  Approximately two hours before Stone’s book club members were supposed to arrive, Izzy bounced up to his back door, tapped three times, shook the glass in its wooden frame, and called out, “Stone! Stone Daye! It’s snowing out here. Let me in.”

  Stone thought an emergency had unraveled and rushed to the door, pulled it open, and saw a flushed and snow-covered chubby woman dressed in her pink pajamas and matching slippers. Izzy’s oil-hued hair was pulled up in pink curlers, and there was blood, or what resembled blood, on her left cheek.

  Alarmed, Stone asked, “What’s wrong, Izzy?”

  She lifted her right hand and pointed its index finger at him. “Is it true you’re having a party this evening?”

  He nodded. “It’s the monthly book club gathering. It’s my turn to host.”

  “Listen to me closely, young man. You will not be too loud like the last party you hosted, and Plimpton 911 will not show up at our houses. Do I make myself clear?” she scolded him as she would a twelve-year-old boy.

  He knew she was referring to July; the last time he had hosted the book club. The book of c
hoice ended up being Blue Wonderment by Robert Riley, a comedy about three men, a woman, and their dating fiascos. The book proved lively and filled with much fun. And since the members enjoyed it so much, they laughed and giggled during their analysis and discussion of the book, drinking a little too much.

  One club member, Vicky Turner, a middle-aged wife of an architect and the mother of three college freshman boys, had a little too much to drink in too little time. Vicky tripped over her own feet while fetching a fresh glass of Verde champagne and fell to the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs. Unfortunately, the book club member cracked her head open on the corner of Stone’s iron coffee table, passed out, and was eventually whisked away to the hospital after Plimpton 911 was phoned.

  Izzy probably saw the flashing red, white, and blue emergency lights from the ambulance and the two Plimpton cruisers that arrived at Stone’s house.

  Stone didn’t invite her inside, but did try to appease the woman by saying, “I promise we’ll be on our best behavior.”

  She huffed. “I don’t think you and your group of hoodlums know how to behave yourselves.”

  “Of course, we do, Izzy,” he said rather politely, ready to go nuclear on the woman, wanting to tell her to go away and mind her own business.

  “You’d better, if you know what’s good for you, young man.”

  Menial or dangerous threats were something Stone didn’t take lightly. Verbal threats were a type of bullying and uncalled for at any age. In his opinion, bullying was repulsive and accomplished by weaklings, or a flabby woman named Izzy, having no one to lover her. He thought it completely unacceptable. Before spouting off to the fat, cranky, and lonely neighbor, he tried to neutralize the moment.

  “The members of our club would love it if you stopped by for drinks and food, Izzy. What do you say?”

  Stone invited her because he knew damn well she wouldn’t go out of her way to attend his book party. Hell, he could have played one of the greatest movies of all time, Casablanca, and she still wouldn’t have made an appearance. But his offering came across as a nice gesture on his part as a neighbor, and as a man, even if she maybe knew he loathed her.