“Don’t you mean China? Anyway, If you had a man and real-world problems, you wouldn’t be over here at my house at seven in the damned morning complaining to me about shitty shoes,” Dawg said. “I ain’t paying for them or your prissy pink plants.”
“They drink just as much tea in India, but listen here,” she said, raising her voice and a shoe at him. He took a step forward, and Linda took a step back. Dawg lowered his head so that they would be eye to eye when he delivered the next words, which he meant with all sincerity.
“I ain’t listening to shit before I’ve had my coffee and I sure as hell ain’t fixin’ to discuss shit smeared on a pair of shoes that cost as much as a month’s mortgage,” Dawg told her. “And furthermore, you got a helluva nerve marching your ass over here confronting me about plants and pumps. Get out of my yard, lady, and go find you a man to keep you busy so you can stop bothering those of us with a life. Gone now, git.”
He closed the door in her face, leaving her standing on the front porch, shitty shoes in hand and at a loss for words. Buster, satisfied with his morning snack, walked up to her, nuzzling the leg of the white pantsuit, leaving smudges of peanut butter, dirt mixed with cayenne pepper, and something else she didn’t want to know. Anger coursed through her as she turned to take her leave only to find the neighbors all dropping their heads, pretending they didn’t just see her get embarrassed.
Linda prided herself in having a soft outer shell which appeared friendly to those she met, but Dawg had no idea that she was a lot tougher than she looked. At five feet six, compared to him, she was short in stature, but he had no idea how tall and how high her punches could reach. If he wanted war, the lady was going to give it to him in spades. The last thing that man ever wanted to do was piss her off, and right now, she was past pissed, covered in shit his dog had heaped upon her unsuspecting person, and ready to wage combat. By the time she was done walking the Dawg, he would be as tame as a kitten.
-Fin –
Now Available on Amazon in Kindle Unlimited.
A Hero For Hire
Chapter One - A Dumb Idea
It had to be the dumbest idea she’d ever had in her entire adult life, but desperation covered the slim body of Philomena Stephenson like a fine sheen of sweat. Her eyes ran over the ad several times, then she printed her words and proofed them once more before going back to the computer and clicking the send button. It would be less than a month before Great Grandpa Tommy’s 100th birthday celebration, at which her family thought it would be a wonderful idea to combine with a family reunion. A reunion of old leathernecks, flyboys, and soldiers who sat around a pit fire comparing war wounds along with old stories about the times they were nearly killed by enemy fire.
The whole thing soured her stomach even more than the idiotic act of placing an ad for a war hero to accompany her to Thomson, Georgia as her pretend man. Hiring a Hero was the sad act of a single woman who at 40 years of age had never been married, had no kids, and didn’t date. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like men, but in her line of work, the men she came in contact with were too liberal or too weird to take home to a red state to sit around a campfire with six generations of soldiers. Hell, she didn’t fit in herself as the youngest of five children, and being single with no children made her a point of personal contention with Roberta and Randy Stephenson, her parents.
Her father had served in the Vietnam War. Roger, her eldest brother, served in the Gulf War. Albert, the second eldest, proudly served in Bosnia. Philomena’s two sisters, Marian and Brenna, were both married to soldiers who equally did several tours in Afghanistan, which left only Philomena, Liberal Arts major who moved to California to work in the movie industry, putting makeup on movie stars, another sore spot for her parents who were hardcore believers that the gas that eked up from the San Andreas Fault made everyone in California batshit crazy. On second thought, looking at the ad she’d written, at this point in her morning, the idea held a bit of merit.
“I have to be out of my mind to think this will work,” she said, running her fingers through her dense curls.
Time, being a teacher of hard lessons, had taught her better than to take home a man who didn’t fit in with her family. The last date she took home for Thanksgiving 10 years ago found himself tied to a tree as target practice for her sadistic brothers, who took offense at her date’s lack of interest in watching them skin a deer. Poor Phillip stood appalled when the turkey for dinner was chased around the yard, its neck snapped, and the feathers plucked before it was placed in a deep fryer loaded with peanut oil.
“That is cruel and unusual punishment not only to the bird but also to my digestive system,” Phillip whined.
“How do you think you get meat in them stores out in Cali-forn-I-A Wussy Boy? Animals don’t come in pre-packaged containers wrapped in cellophane,” Roger said with disgust.
“I am a Vegetarian, I will have you know,” Phillip said with pride. “Each morning, I start my day with a hearty serving of vegetables, pureed with fresh fruits and organic juices.”
“Good,” Albert added, throwing the container of turkey guts at Phillip, “juice this.”
Phillip’s reaction was to vomit at the smell of the entrails. Both brothers, with the aid of the brothers-in-law, decided their little sister’s sissy boyfriend needed to be toughened up. After tying the man to Grandpa Tommy’s oak tree, each took turns with the bow and arrows, shooting at him. The man screamed so loud that the neighbors, who lived several miles away, called the police.
Jim Hanagan, the sheriff in Thomson and Philomena’s former high school flame, arrived on the scene to release Phillip. Having nothing to say to any of them, Phillip packed his suitcase, called a cab, shot mean daggers from his eyes at Philomena, and rolled away. Adding insult to injury, a recently divorced Jim took this as his cue to make a move on Philomena.
“I swear, gal, it seems like since our break up, your taste in men went downhill,” Jim said with his lips twisted to the side. “Ain’t no way in hell that bluetard satisfies a feisty bird like you. I still wake up some nights remembering the feel of you around me and that little trick you do with your tongue.”
Philomena couldn’t stop herself from slapping his smug face. Jim’s reaction to the blow was to arrest her for assaulting an officer of the law, which left her locked in a jail cell for the Thanksgiving weekend parked next to a man who smelled like old Cheetos and life’s regrets. The judge, a lifelong friend of her father’s, released her on Monday morning.
Left with little to say to anyone in her family, she showered away the sour hard feelings of not being accepted for who she was and drove her rental car to Atlanta to board her flight back to Encino. Her small ranch home, which held a workshop in the backyard for creature creations, slowly became her life. The pain of the experience was twofold. One, it was embarrassing that her brothers were such intolerant Neanderthals, and two, Phillip, who worked on several movie sets with several big-name movie houses, had Philomena black-balled. In the 10 years since the Thanksgiving incident, she’d earned a reputation as a makeup artist for horror movies, starting with small, low budget films and slowly working her way back into the good graces of the powers that be in Hollywood. It wasn’t an easy task since Phillip made sure she couldn’t get a job powdering the nose of a canine for commercials, but persistence was the one thing Philomena had in spades.
In the San Fernando Valley, a different kind of movie was filmed every day. It wasn’t her first choice of occupation to pay the bills, but the work was steady and the checks were regular as well as lucrative, which netted a nice chunk of change to start Philly’s Terrors, her creature shop, a company with a solid reputation and first-class horror designs and special effect makeup.
However, each Sunday afternoon when her mother called, she couldn’t find it in her heart to explain that she also did make up for porn stars in adult films. Powdering a puss or making a stiff rod shimmer in the light before it pounded a moaning actress wasn’t polite conversation
over tea. Holding so many penises in her hand each day or making artificial jizz for the money shot scenes also soured her on romance.
The few men she managed to date also seemed to be fans of the movies she made, often reenacting the sound effects or dialogue from the B-Rated films at the most inopportune times. At times, she felt as if the universe had conspired against her to make the professionally rewarding career the only life companion she would ever have. Other times, she truly believed that it was the only companion she deserved.
A ding in the background drew her eyes to the monitor. The ad she placed on the Extras for Hire casting call site was getting attention and people were responding. The frequency of the dings made her go back and read over the ad again to make certain there was no double entendre or misunderstanding in her wording.
A Hero for Hire Needed
A decorated military veteran needed for travel to Georgia as an escort May 25-29. Airfare and accommodations provided. Pay $3000 for the five days. Must be single and able to hold his own in a family of seasoned soldiers and Veterans. Uniform and regalia are also required and the soldier must be able to still wear, as in fit, in the dress blues. Serious inquiries only.
- Eager in Encino
Philomena’s phone rang, making her jump in the leather seat where she spent a great number of hours. She stared at the phone in fear that maybe one of the soldiers had back hacked her ISP and located her number. Shaking hands reached for the landline and she picked up the receiver. Dry patches formed on the back of her throat as she answered the old school rotary dial phone. Right now, she wished she’d updated the device to include a caller identification function on the phone.
“Hello,” she said softly in the line.
“Philly? Mom here,” Roberta Stephenson said. “We are getting everything ready for Grandpa Tommy’s birthday celebration and the family reunion. He’s asking for you, and it’s time you came home to meet all your nieces and nephews in person.”
“I’m planning to be there, Mom,” Philomena said.
“Are you seeing someone? You bringing a date?”
“Yes, Mom, I am,” she said.
“Lord Bless your soul,” Roberta replied. “I just hope he isn’t another one like the last fella you brought home. Your brothers have gotten better, but they are still who they are.”
“And I am still who I am as well,” Philomena said softly. “It would be nice if my family would love me and all of my differences.”
“We do love you, honey,” Roberta said. “However, we are your family, so we have first dibs on talking about you and your weirdness.”
“Funny Mom,” she replied.
“No, funny was hearing that sissy boy screaming like a girl when he was tied to Grandpa Tommy’s oak tree,” Roberta said. “But that’s neither here nor there. What’s important is you coming home to your family.”
“A family who hates me,” she said.
“Baby, don’t nobody in this family hate you,” Roberta said. “True, we don’t understand you, but you are a Stephenson and Stephenson’s stick together.”
“No, Stephensons stick people they don’t agree with against a tree and shoots arrows at their heads. That is not cool,” Philomena said.
“That was 10 years ago! I swear you hold a grudge longer than Aunt Celie,” Roberta chided. “Let it go, get on a plane, and come home. We haven’t seen you in so long.”
“How ironic. I didn’t see why any of you couldn’t get on a plane to come and see me,” Philomena said.
The long pause in the line is what made Philomena detest talking to her mother. The pregnant pause for the effect that was followed by a bit of down-home logic, which made no sense to anyone but her mother. Philomena waited for the excuse, which would follow about her sisters only sending birthday cards and Christmas cards, yet never calling. Or the excuse that her father was a different kind of man who never could relate to her idiosyncrasies. These were followed by her favorites, the real reasons her brothers were the way that they were. All of it was bullshit. Her family members were bullies. They bullied her and everyone around her, making her stick out like a thumb after being pummeled by a hammer, but she loved her great grandfather. Him, she missed.
“Philomena, we all love and miss you. The way you left 10 years ago, we just figured you were embarrassed to have us as your family and wanted no part of us. That’s why we hadn’t come out for a visit,” Roberta said. “We didn’t want to shame you in front of your Hollywood friends.”
“The only shame I have, Mom, is in the way my family treats me and those in my life,” Philomena said. “I will be there to see Great Grandpa Tommy and to celebrate his 100th birthday. He probably won’t know who I am, but I’ll be there.”
“So, you are only coming home for Grandpa?”
“Correct,” she said and waited.
There it was again. The long pause which made her asshole itch like hemorrhoids were trying to burst out and strangle her alive. She waited for her mother’s next words.
“As long as you’re here, that’s what matters,” Roberta replied.
“Yeah, whatever,” Philomena said. “See you then.”
“I love you, Philly.”
“Right back at you, Mom,” she said, hanging up the phone. She tossed her reading glasses to the side and buried her face in her hands. The tears were there, but they would not come. Several times she’d had her eyes checked by specialists to make sure they still worked, but she’d stopped crying over her family years ago. This time, she would be ready for them all.
If they wanted war, she would bring it home with her, wrapped up neatly in a uniform adorned with medals, a bad attitude, and more war stories than they could stand to hear.
“I create costumes and fantasy for a living, I see no reason why I can’t make one for myself,” she whispered. The computer continued to beep as she placed the reading glasses back on her face and began to sort through the responders. Five popped out at her immediately.
“And so, we begin,” she said, picking the five candidates she thought would work and sending a response as a starting point in her charade. “I just hope it doesn’t bite me in the ass.”
Chapter Two- Oh Hell No, Hero!
“I will meet you at Claudine’s Artisan Kitchen and Bakeshop on Ventura in Encino. Look for the red blouse and mini American flag on the table.”
She responded to each message the same way, giving the potential escorts to her trip to the family dungeon each an hour and a half, spaced appropriately apart through the day. A dear friend worked the bakery and would allow her to sit for the better part of the day with no interruptions or asking her to leave the building. She would order coffees, teas, or baked goods for the soldiers should they want a snack to nibble on as they chatted.
Uncertainty ebbed and waned as she waited for the first man to arrive. Adjusting her clothing, checking her lipstick, and quick patting her hair, she hoped the gents were still on military time. If there was ever a bee to buzz in her bonnet, it would be a man who was habitually late. Luckily, Sam Louis arrived on time.
He was a striking figure of a man. He held his left arm close by his side as if he were trying to hide his titanium metal hand. The wide shoulders led to narrow hips as he ambled his way to the table. Philomena offered him a smile. Sam Louis didn’t smile back.
“What I gotta do to earn those three gees?” he said abruptly before even taking a seat.
“Mr. Louis...” she started to say, but he interrupted her.
“It’s Major Louis,” he corrected.
“My apologies, Sir,” she said, clearing her throat. Philomena raised her arm in a quiet request for the man to take a seat.
“I ain’t sitting down until you tell me what this whole escorting thing entails,” he gruffed. “I ain’t proud of a lot of things I’ve had to do since becoming part metal, but I am not renting my dick out to some Ms. Lonely Hearts. Even if you’re kinda cute.”
“Thanks for the compliment and the insult in
one breath,” she told Major Louis. “I also think you’re right, this isn’t going to work out.”
“I didn’t say it wouldn’t work out. I just need to know if you are one of them freaky chicks who get off on doing the handicapped?”
Philomena’s mouth dropped wide open in horror. The thought of the men thinking she was paying for sex never entered her mind, but evidently, it was front and center on Sam Louis’. Everything in her wanted to get up and run, but in her heart, she knew this had to work.
“Sir, I have to go to Georgia for my Great Grandpa’s 90th birthday, which they have combined with our family reunion,” she said, straining her neck to look up at him. “I am from a military family, and they don’t take kindly to bleeding heart liberals. For once, I wanted to attend a family function with an escort who speaks their language.”
“You’re a lesbian, aren’t you?”
“No, I am not!”
“Then, why you gotta pay a man to go and pretend he likes you in front of your folks?”
“Major Louis, thank you for your time,” she said. “Would you like a cup of coffee to go?”
“Hell no, this stuff in here is pig piss,” he said. “What I want is for you to answer my question. You’re a nice-looking lady, a good set of tits, and warm eyes. Why are you paying for the company?”
“Because my father, brothers, and brothers-in-law are just like you,” she said. “Judgmental, pushy bullies. I wanted to bring home another asshole, so they could see themselves in the mirror.”
He chuffed at Philomena. Cleared his throat, adjusted his balls, and turned and walked out on her. One asshole down and four to go as she ordered more coffee along with a bear claw and a hearty serving of courage while she stared at her watch for an hour and fifteen minutes. Sergeant Joey Muniz entered Claudine’s next.
A good-looking man, a bit shorter than she would have hoped with dark, dancing eyes constantly surveying the room. His left leg shook as he constantly tapped the heel of his foot in nervousness.
Blind Luck (The Technicians Series Book 3) Page 11
