The Dirty South

by Penelope King

  I manage a weak grin, very aware of Colton’s eyes on me. “I promise. And it was nice to meet you too. Thanks so much for stopping by.”

  He gives me a tilt of his hat, and he and Colton head back across the gardens.

  A while later, I decide to go over to the main house. I need to see what the food situation is like. My small kitchen isn’t good for much more than just some light snacking, and I certainly can’t be eating at The Dirty for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, seven days a week. Colton had mentioned something about breakfast being available in the mornings here at the Manor, but that was about it.

  I throw on a fresh sundress and slide on my flip flops. Then I head on outside. The gardens in the courtyard were enchanting last night, but in the daylight they are even more colorful and lush. It’s clear the circular patterns of various flowers and bushes were meticulously laid out by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

  My gaze is drawn to the majestic water fountain smack in the middle of the courtyard. It’s a huge, ornately-carved sculpture – at least ten feet tall – of three entwined women wearing what appears to be loosely-draped material around their semi-nude bodies. I step closer and see that the basin holding the water is inlaid with turquoise and white mosaic tiles. I almost wish I had a penny on me, so I could toss it in and make a wish. Or maybe a dozen pennies.

  “The Moirai,” a familiar gruff voice says from behind me. I spin around.

  Colton is standing there, freshly showered… his tanned skin free of its usual sweat, grease, and grime. His hair is still slightly damp, and the slightest hint of stubble is visible along his jaw. The clean white t-shirt and blue jeans look as sharp on him as a tailor-made tuxedo. I feel a sudden rush, and focus on keeping my expression casual.

  As he steps closer, I catch the scent of something… intoxicatingly male. My body reacts instinctively, wanting to move still closer to him.

  But instead, I take a step back, and stumble against the side of the fountain. He shoots out his hand to steady me. “Whoa, don’t want you going for a swim.” A hint of a smile flashes briefly across his face.

  I get my footing and remove my shoulder from his grip. “I’m fine,” I murmur. Then I turn back to the fountain, admiring it anew. “The Moirai… the Fates.”

  “You know who they are?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I took Greek Mythology in undergrad. Loved it.”

  Colton moves even closer. He’s taller than I am, but not too much. I like that. He points to the one on his right. “That one’s Clotho, the one who spins the thread of life. That’s Lachesis,” he indicates the one in the middle, “the one who chooses your lot in life. And then Atropos there –”

  “The one who cuts the thread of your life. The unturnable one.”

  I glance up to meet his steady gaze. We look at each other for a moment, and I’m surprised at how comfortable it feels.

  “The former owners had this brought over from Italy almost thirty years ago.” Colton’s voice is subdued as he looks back at the fountain. “It’s always been my favorite part of the property.”

  I can see why. The trickling water is soothing, and the serene, knowing expressions on the faces of the three goddesses are strangely mesmerizing. “It really is extraordinary. This whole place is so beautiful. I was actually about to head on over now to check out the kitchen and the rest of the house.”

  He nods. “You should. It’s an amazing home. It’s been in the same family for almost two centuries, passed on from generation to generation. It’s even registered with the Historical Society.”

  I turn to admire the massive stone and brick structure again. “You’re telling me that house is almost two hundred years old?!”

  He chuckles softly. “Actually it’s closer to two hundred and twenty… the original owner lost it in a game of cards, or so the legend goes.”

  “Wow. Who owns it now?”

  Colton steps back and looks up at a bird soaring overhead “The last couple who lived here died in an auto accident about three years ago. Since then it’s been in the hands of a property management firm, with the money from the rentals going toward the taxes and upkeep. And the rest of the house is available for the occasional tourist to visit.”

  I glance around, trying to imagine who might have stood on this very spot over the past two centuries. What stories and secrets and mysteries lie within these gardens? I gaze over the luscious and artfully decorated landscape, and pause at the four bungalows.

  “Wait a minute,” I say slowly. “This was a working plantation at one time, correct?”

  Colton nods.

  “Then what exactly were those built for?” I motion with my chin, and Colton follows my line of sight.

  “Those weren’t slave quarters, if that’s what you’re wondering. They were built later… much later, and in the past decade or so were repurposed for guest houses.”

  “Were there ever slaves here?”

  “For a brief period, yes, there were anywhere from two to five slaves on the property. However, they were mostly assigned to the house and caring for the children. None worked the land, and they were so well provided for, they all refused to leave once the Emancipation happened.”

  I continue to observe the grounds in respectful silence, acutely aware not only of the rich history everywhere I look, but the fact that Colton is standing here talking to me like a gentleman. Even his energy feels different… less abrasive.

  “How long have you lived here?” I ask, then immediately wish I hadn’t. For some reason it seems like such a personal question. And why make him think I want to get personal?

  He shrugs. “A while. Several years ago I was doing a lot of traveling, so I was never around long enough to want the responsibility of having my own place. So I just started staying in one of the guest houses here. It’s home to me.” He glances at his watch. “You really should go look at the main house. There are brochures and everything in the foyer.” Then without another word, he abruptly walks away.

  I watch him as he saunters around the corner and disappears into the garage. Suddenly I realize… it’s Saturday night and he’s looking good. Obviously trying to impress someone.

  A moment later I hear the sound of an engine rumbling to life, and Colton pulls out in his big truck. As he drives away, a random thought crosses my mind – Did he have Dr. Dan check up on me? I remember when he was gently whispering questions to me in the darkness he seemed pretty concerned.

  Then again, he probably just didn’t want the new girl in town to slip into a coma and die or something while he’s trying to sleep next door. But still…

  I remember back to when I was sick with the flu. Brandon had made no attempt to help me or try to make me feel better. He had left it up to Stacia. And that time I broke my arm skiing when we were freshmen in college. Brandon ‘didn’t have time’ to stop by the hospital. Why did I ignore those signs for so long?

  I glare up at the statue of the three robed goddesses. “Okay, Fates… whichever one of you is messing with me, knock this shit off right now!”

  Chapter 10.

  Come Monday morning, I’m up before the sun. My sleep cycle is still obviously out of whack. I’ve always been a bit of an early riser, but this is pushing it even for me. I don’t need to be at Mr. Jackson’s law office until 9 a.m. – almost four hours from now.

  Yesterday had been a lazy day. In the morning I’d done a little shopping in town, stocking up on some groceries for my mini kitchenette. But the rest of the day I’d spent just relaxing around the grounds. I hadn’t seen Colton anywhere— not that I was looking. But I did meet Willie, the lovely older gentleman who lives in the bungalow between Colton’s and mine. We spoke briefly as he sat on his little patio working on his wood carvings. They were quite impressive, especially for someone who is legally blind. Glaucoma had robbed him of almost all his sight years ago, and now he spends the day with his ‘animals’ as he calls them.

  He’s such a sweet old man. I wish we could�
��ve talked more, but he was feeling tired. I’m planning on stopping back over there later after I get off work tonight.

  I fix myself a quick breakfast smoothie and decide to make the most of the beautiful sunrise. I throw on a pair of my favorite yoga pants and a fitted tank, and wrap my hair in a high, tight bun. Not even 5:30 am and it’s got to be in the mid 70’s already. Today is going to be another scorcher.

  At least the humidity isn’t as bad as it has been, and as I step out into the fresh morning air, I feel a beautiful sense of renewal that can only come with the dawn of a new day. I’m in a new place, meeting new people, starting a new job… Things should be looking up, and I should be feeling good.

  But even as I trudge across the beautiful gardens of the Manor looking for a good spot to lay my mat, I still can’t shake the queasiness in the pit of my stomach that I seem to carry with me everywhere I go. The poison of betrayal and deceit. To love someone so much, only to find out it was all a complete fabrication. I’d been playing a rigged game I was destined to lose.

  Correction… I was being played… used only as cover. Brandon was lying. His parents knew it. For God’s sake, even my own mother knew it! Well, at least she suspected. But no one told me.

  Brandon had known since high school that he was gay. But he hadn’t become active until we hit college. And instead of coming out and facing the truth and being honest with everyone… with me… he had hidden it, stayed ‘on the down low’, and pulled me in even closer. He planned a life with me. I planned my life around him. Even the major I chose, switching from Art History to Poli/Sci and English – that was for him, so we could go to law school together.

  And only now, looking back, do I see how strange that was. People date and fall in love all the time in college, and they don’t change their majors and their careers to mimic their partner’s. Brandon was always going to go to law school and follow in his father’s ambitious footsteps. That was a given. But I had a different, far less-ambitious dream. Until Brandon convinced me it was silly and a waste of my intelligence.

  He wanted me with him, wherever he went. So that meant changing my plans to suit his, and for some reason I did so happily and without question. At the time, it even made sense.

  But now I realize it wasn’t that my dreams were silly, it was that he was afraid of being alone without me for cover. And we’d been together for so long, he knew exactly how to manipulate me, while continuing to keep me in the dark.

  It still surprises me that he was so careless that night. To be in our own condo… with him... knowing that I had a key and was only a few minutes away. I can’t help but wonder if maybe he was tired of the lies, of the hiding, and subconsciously wanted the truth to finally come out.

  I catch myself. No way. If Brandon had been so ready for the truth to come out he wouldn’t have thrown me up against a wall and choked me nearly senseless. His psycho lover wouldn’t have gotten in my face and threatened my life, whispering the painful, awful things he’d do to me if I ever went to the press about him. Or what he’d do to Stacia. And my parents.

  Obviously neither of them was ready to be real yet. But that is no longer my problem. I have my own life to fix.

  I find a perfect spot beneath a shady oak tree. The sun filters gently though the leaves and casts soft streams of light on the grass below, like rays shining down from heaven. It’s private, and I like that. Just me and Mother Nature.

  I sit down, close my eyes, and take some deep, slow breaths. I force myself to be in the moment, and to let the past go. What’s done is done. That time is gone forever. Now is all that matters. This very second. And what I do from here.

  I have to let go of the anger… the hate… the disappointment. If I’m broken and soured because of what Brandon did to me, then he wins and I lose.

  Deep breath.

  But how do I just let it go? How can I ever trust another man again? Let myself be vulnerable? Let myself love? Handing someone your heart is a terribly risky game. What’s the point? The payoff?

  Another deep breath.

  And another.

  The only person I can rely on is myself. But I haven’t been true to my own wants, my own dreams, my own desires. I lie to myself and deny my own truths and then get angry when others do the same.

  Very deep breath.

  Focus.

  Let it go.

  I open my eyes and start slowly going through some poses. A few cat-cows, and then into child’s pose, working out the kinks. I move on into lizard’s pose. I’m down on my stomach and stretching backwards into cobra when I hear a loud rustling nearby, and some heavy breathing.

  I freeze. What is that?

  Suddenly, Colton bursts into the clearing. He’s wearing only loose black running pants and tennis shoes, and he has earbuds on, with his phone strapped around his inked-up bicep. He doesn’t see me, and I continue to lie perfectly still and hope that he won’t.

  No such luck. He glances my way and does a shocked double-take, nearly losing his footing.

  But he’s not the only one who’s surprised. In the sunlight I can clearly see the intricate designs that cover his bare torso in black, with splashes of color. And despite his impressive build, and the way his cut muscles are ripped and taut, something’s wrong. His skin is not as smooth as it should be. There are bumps and knots and ridges…

  Scars. He’s covered with them.

  I try not to stare, but I can’t help it. Colton, standing here half-naked and looking like he’s been through a war, is absolutely the last thing I expected to see right now.

  He looks like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. He just stands there looking at me, and I don’t understand the anger, the sheer hostility I see in his eyes right now. He takes an earbud out of one ear and moves closer, and I brace myself for whatever he’s about to say. Because it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be very nice.

  Then he stops, clenches his jaw, and absently wipes the sweat from his brow.

  He glares at me a moment longer. And without a word, he turns and continues running.

  *****

  Within five minutes of meeting Sheldon Jackson, my father’s old friend and my new employer, I know I’m going to absolutely adore him… and hate my job. The office itself is adorable— a converted two-story colonial, kitty-corner to The Dirty South. I’d admired the cute yellow and white house the other day, not even realizing that it was actually a law office. The law office. Well, part of it is. Sheldon lives in the upstairs section, and his offices are downstairs, with the exception of a small spare room up on the second floor where I’ll be doing much of my work. Turns out ol’ Sheldon never really got on board with the whole ‘computer thing’ and preferred to keep his files by hand. His former assistant had kept things in order for him for years, but since her untimely death last spring, he’d been having a tough time tracking things down.

  So he decided to get with the times and start uploading his cases and client history onto the computer. At least the important stuff. That’s where I come in.

  Absolutely unbelievable. Three years of law school, over one hundred thousand dollars in student loan debt, and over twenty-five hundred miles in three-and-a half days cooped up in a car, to do data entry in a small spare bedroom overlooking a restaurant and a garage. Wow. How is this my life? How exactly did I get here?

  But I realize that I’ve actually been pretty lucky. My law school grades were only slightly above average, and I’d always had secret concerns about being able to pass the bar in California. I’d just banked on the fact that I pretty much had a job guaranteed to me after I got married. But of course that’s completely off the table now.

  Sheldon had offered to hire me despite my mediocre grades and lack of any real experience, and also was willing to provide a surprisingly decent paycheck… and most importantly, a refuge from the storm brewing on the other side of the country. And for that I truly am grateful.

  Still doesn’t mean I have to love it.

&n
bsp; I look around the tiny room, almost completely filled with dusty file boxes. Where to begin? There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to his system, and it’s a miracle the man got any work done at all. Sheldon had just pointed to a stack in the corner and said those were his most recent and important files, so that’s where I should start.

  I make my way over to the pile, grab a box, and sit down at my desk. The big window to my left actually does have a pretty nice view. I can see the back bar entrance of The Dirty, the car lot side of the Grease Monkey, and the small park that separates the two.

  I catch myself searching for some sign of Colton. I can’t get that image of his scarred body out of my mind. What happened to him? Obviously, whatever it was, it was bad. Maybe he’d been in a serious car accident or something?

  I know he was really pissed off this morning that I was staring, but how can he blame me? Anyone would look. I mean, the man has a really hot bod. Add crazy tattoos, and throw in some dramatic body scars... and he expects me not to take a gander?

  Whatever.

  I turn my attention back to the box in front of me, grateful to have something to focus on other than the men in my life who seem to just keep causing me more grief. I want simple, happy, normal. I don’t want to be thinking about crazy, threatening ex-fiancé guy, and especially not angry, tattooed, scarred-up guy.

  But a few minutes later as I catch sight of Colton making his way to a car out in the back lot, I know this last part won’t be easy.

  Chapter 11.

  A few evenings later, I’m relaxing in the comfort of my own place and eating the dinner I’d picked up after work from The Dirty to go. I hate to admit it, but I’ve been avoiding the main kitchen at Magnolia Manor so as not to run the risk of bumping into Colton. I’m just not ready to deal with any awkward tension with him quite yet.

  And maybe he’s avoiding me as well. I’ve barely caught a glimpse of him over the past three or four days. Which is fine by me. Occasionally I see him going in and out of the garage of the Grease Monkey, always wearing his standard black t-shirt and jeans.