He broke the kiss. She nestled her cheek to his chest and wrapped her right arm around him. His hand found her buttocks.
"Pretty Lady,” he said softly, pausing to kiss her hair, “you're the college grad, but if it were me, I'd think long and hard before I sold something that meant so much to me."
"You sound like my dad."
"I take that as a compliment.” Swinging his legs to the side of the bed, he sat up, twisted around and pulled her close.
Julie rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. She knew her breasts were tight against his chest. She wished he would fondle them. She remembered the Bawdy Talk radio program and longed to feel his fingers on her areolas.
"You hair smells delightful. Special shampoo?"
Julie giggled. “Ivory soap."
He pushed her back and looked deeply into her eyes. “Do you trust me, Julie?"
She nodded and closed her eyes. His fingers began to pry apart the buttons on her blouse. Oh, please, God. Don't let him be too disappointed, she prayed. She felt him tug the blouse from her slacks. He pushed it back and she shrugged her shoulders, letting it fall to the mattress. She ran her fingers through his hair as he dipped his head and pinched the puffy flesh above each cup with his lips.
Suddenly his lips were again on hers, his tongue thrusting inside. His right hand cupped her neck and his left rested on her lower back. In one graceful move, she felt her body sliding down the bed and her shoulder blades touching the soft, white sheet.
"On your tummy,” he commanded.
She obeyed and felt him crawling over her prone body. She slid towards him as he sat on the edge of the bed. His fingers found the snap of her bra and he gently bared her back. She sensed him leaning over her and felt his lips on her hair.
"Such beautiful ears,” he said, stroking them between index fingers and thumbs. His kissed her neck and his talented fingers began to massage her back. “I've never seen such a graceful neck, even on magazine models."
His words sent her spirits soaring. Graceful, she silently repeated. He said graceful—not skinny.
"Does this feel good?” he asked, his fingers massaging the top vertebra and then moving to the next.
"Umm."
"Your skin is so soft and smooth."
He kissed her left shoulder blade and then the right. He worked his way down to the waistband of her slacks. His thumbs lingered on her spinal cord and his fingertips splayed out. Slowly he worked his way up, gently pleasuring each rib in turn.
He's doing something to the small of my back. He's kissing it. No. That's his tongue. Oh, God. His fingertips are pressing the outer flesh of my breasts. Fondle them, Cliff. Squeeze them. Pinch my nipples. She tried to lift her shoulders to accommodate him but she was suddenly too weak.
His hands were on her arms, stroking up and down. Her mind drifted, concentrating only on the pleasure his fingers offered. It felt so good. She felt so content—safe—happy—happy—happy...
She easily caught the ball and flung it back with all her might. She laughed with glee and clapped her hands as Dad made a diving catch.
"Come and get it,” Mom shouted from the back door.
Dad rushed to her side and swept her up in his arms. “Barbecue tonight, Julie. Let's not keep your mother waiting."
Chapter Three
Julie blinked awake as sunlight crept across the bed. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and reached for her watch on the bedside table. Her bra slipped down her arms.
What the hell? she thought. Then she remembered, wrapped her arms across her chest and stared at the window. He must have opened the blinds before he left. Why did he do this to me?
She stripped, showered, dressed quickly, grabbed her handbag and threw open the door. He was propped against the hood of her car, grinning like a jack-o-lantern.
"Good morning, Pretty Lady."
"Bastard,” she hissed. She slammed the door and headed for the restaurant.
He quickly caught up and fell in step. “Whoa, here, Julie. What's wrong?"
"You said you were going to have sex with me last night, but you didn't even take my bra off."
"I said I was going to make love to you and I did."
"Bull."
"Did you enjoy it?"
Julie refused to reply and reached for the restaurant door handle. He covered her hand, keeping the door shut.
"You asked me to teach you how to make love. That was lesson one. The first time you, uh, go all the way should be with someone you love. When that time comes, it will be different, but I promise you it will never be better than what we experienced last night."
He pulled open the door and waited for her to enter.
"Black coffee,” she said to the waitress. “Lots of it. Two eggs over light, bacon, toast and orange juice."
"Ditto,” Cliff said, sliding into the booth opposite her.
They remained silent through the first cup of steaming coffee. After their cups were refilled, Cliff softly said, “I like you, Julie. You're special. I want your first time to be special."
"Nothing could be more special than last night."
He smiled. “That's what I've been trying to tell you. When you've had time to think about it, you'll realize just how special it was."
Again, silence reigned as they ate breakfast. After consuming the last bite of toast, Julie said, “I have an appointment in a few minutes with Susan Kimel—Dad's attorney. It shouldn't take more than an hour. Meet me back in my room and do it right this time."
"I did it right last night,” Cliff insisted. He reached for her hand. “One day you'll thank me."
"I'm not a child, Clyde. I know about mutual masturbation. Couldn't we at least go that far?"
The magic grin returned to his face. “I do believe I've created a monster. It's time for me to move on.” He slid out of the booth, picked up the check and strolled to the cashier.
"Bastard,” she hissed under her breath.
Julie quickly walked back to her car, cranked it and backed out of the parking space. As she eased by the restaurant door, Cliff was emerging. He waved. She ignored him.
She parked in the lot between the Dollar Building and Papa John's, climbed the steep steps beside the pizza restaurant and entered the attorney's office.
The white-haired receptionist welcomed her with a smile. “You must be Julianna Wilson. Mrs. Kimel is ready for you,” she said, moving to the office door and opening it.
Julie had a mental image of a middle aged, shriveled up woman with black hair tied in a bun. She was totally unprepared for the young beauty that approached with outstretched hand.
"I'm Susan Kimel, Julie. Your dad talked so much about you that I feel I've known you all my life. Please have a seat. Coffee?"
"No thank you, Mrs. Kimel,” Julie said as she sat in the padded leather chair across from the attorney's massive desk.
"Please call me Susan, Julie. Mrs. Kimel is my husband's mother."
Julie chuckled. “I believe you have some papers for me to sign."
Susan slid a small stack of legal documents across the desk and offered Julie a pen. She moved the top document to one side. “This is your father's will. As you know, he left everything to you. The next document officially transfers the title of the land and buildings into your name."
Julie signed on the dotted line.
"This is simply an accounting of fees charged against the estate including my fee as executrix. Your signature indicates your approval of the accounting. You should read this document carefully before signing."
"I trust you,” Julie said as she signed. She glanced at the receptionist and wondered why she was still in the office.
"The last document transfers your father's checking account, certificates of deposit, and business account into your name."
"I didn't know he had any CDs or a business account."
Susan smiled gently. “I told you to read the previous document carefully."
Julie picked up
the accounting sheet and scanned it quickly. There were three ten thousand dollar CD's, a little over a thousand dollars in the personal checking account and fifty thousand in the business account. She looked up at the attorney. “I thought Dad was practically broke except for the land."
"Your dad remained mentally alert right up to his death. He managed his financial affairs beautifully and, during his later years, he became something of a genius with stocks. He played the bull market perfectly, buying low and selling high almost without exception.” Susan flashed a confidential grin. “If I didn't know better, I'd think he was guilty of insider trading."
Julie signed the final document and watched the receptionist gather up the papers.
"Mrs. White will notarize your signatures and we'll be done."
As Susan picked up a sealed envelope, Julie asked, “Where are Dad's checkbooks and CD's?"
Susan looked concerned. “I assumed you picked them up from the nursing home."
Julie nodded. “I told them to give away Dad's clothing and personal effects, but they had a couple of boxes for me anyway. They're in the trunk of my car. The checkbooks and stuff are probably in the boxes."
"If not, you let me know. We'll have to stop payment on the blank checks if you can't find them."
"Susan,” Julie asked, sliding towards the edge of her chair, “do you have any idea why Dad kept the business account and why he put so much money in it?"
"I frequently advised him to put those funds in CDs, but he always refused without explanation. Perhaps the answer is in this letter,” she replied, handing Julie the envelope as she stood.
Julie realized she was being dismissed and she stood up also, accepting the letter and putting it into her handbag. As the women shook hands, Susan said, “Julie, if I can be of any further help, please give me a call."
Julie returned to her car, popped open the trunk and opened the boxes. There were letters, newspaper clippings, scribbled notes, bank statements and check stubs. The CDs and checkbooks were also there. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she flipped through the pages of her dad's personal checkbook. She closed the trunk lid, propped against it, and pulled her dad's letter from her handbag.
"I can't handle this right now,” she mumbled as she stuffed the envelope back into her bag. She entered the Dollar Building, consulted the directory, and rode the elevator to the second floor.
The door to Creasy Green's office was open. A chubby man was sitting behind a cluttered desk making small talk with a well-endowed young woman. Julie cleared her throat to get their attention. “I'm looking for a Mr. Creasy Green,” Julie said apologetically.
The man stood, flashed a smile and extended his hand. “You found him, ma'am. This is Mrs. June Skinner. She shares the office suit and runs the best accounting service in Dot."
"The only accounting service in Dot,” June joked as she shook Julie's hand. “I must get back to work,” she said, approaching her office door. “Be careful, lady. Creasy will talk your pretty ears off."
Pretty ears, Julie repeated to herself. Cliff said I have pretty ears. “I'm Julie Wilson,” Julie said, settling into the offered straight-backed chair. “Perhaps you knew my father, Randolph Wilson."
Green settled his heavy frame back into the creaking desk chair and shook his head slowly. “Fraid not, Miss Wilson."
"He was in a rest home for the last few years."
"Passed away recently did he?” When Julie nodded, he continued. “My condolences, ma'am. What may I do for you?"
"I inherited a thousand acres about fifteen miles east of Dot. It's been in the family for generations but my life is now in Charleston. I have no use for it."
"You're not talkin’ ‘bout the old gas station and motel are you?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. There's also a twelve-room house on the estate several miles off the road. It's probably in bad condition. I haven't had the heart to look at it in recent years. My mom died when I was fourteen. After I went to college, Dad moved into a motel apartment. He said the house was too big for him to rattle around in and contained too many memories he longed to relive."
"A thousand acres you say?"
Julie nodded.
"Any other improvements?"
"It used to be a tobacco farm. There are forty, maybe fifty cleared acres and two or three barns. The rest is pine, cedar and maple trees. Oh, there's a big pond also. I believe I remember Dad saying it was about five acres."
"How much do you want for your place?"
"Mr. Dollar offered a hundred dollars an acre, but I think it's worth much more than that."
"Tim Dollar?” Green frowned and muttered something under his breath.
"Excuse me?"
"What I said I shouldn't have said, Miss Wilson. In many ways, Tim Dollar is a fine man, but business always comes first with him. He was trying to steal the place, ma'am. Tim Dollar likes buying land as much as I like eating T-bone steaks and mashed taters. When he finds out I'm looking for legitimate buyers, he'll make a decent offer. I guarantee it."
"That would be nice, Mr. Green, and I'm in no hurry to sell the place. I would like to get rid of it before taxes come due."
Green nodded as he reached for a document in his bottom drawer. “This here's a standard realtor agreement. Fill that sucker in for me and sign on the bottom. That makes me your official exclusive agent. My fee is a straight six percent."
"Sounds fair,” she said and she hunched over the desk.
"I'll go to Charlotte tomorrow and look up your land in the Register of Deeds office and then I'll take a look at it. I'm a right fair judge of land values, but I'll clear it with you before I advertise a price."
Creasy Green would sell the land and get a fair price. There was something about the man that assured Julie that he knew what he was doing. There was no reason for her to stay in Dot any longer. She returned to her motel room, packed, went to the office and paid her bill. She circled the Korner Kafe and Motel. Cliff's truck was gone. As she headed east on Highway 13, she knew there was no reason for her to stop at the old home place, but she also knew that she would.
It required a lot of jiggling to make the rusty old padlock open. She snapped on the overhead florescent lights and noticed that half of them were burned out and several more were flickering. She sat in the corner booth of the old restaurant, pulled the envelope from her handbag and stared at it for several minutes before summoning the courage to rip it open.
Dear Julie,
First, I want to thank you for being the wonderful daughter you are. Mom and I couldn't have asked for a more perfect child. I know that your weekly visits to me in the nursing home were inconvenient, but I also know you came because you love me.
I love you too, Julie. More than words can express. And I am so very proud of you. I think you are reasonably happy in your current lifestyle and I would not want to do or write anything that would change that.
I know you have no need of the old home place and that it is probably in your best interest to sell it. Use the money to make you even happier, Julie.
I confess that I wish you would keep the place. It's been in the family for five generations, you know. Sometimes I amuse myself by daydreaming of you, your Prince Charming and your children again filling the old house with love and laughter. Do you remember our annual treks into the woods to find the perfect cedar tree to cut, put in the living room and decorate for Christmas? Of course you do. I can almost smell your mother's Moravian cookies baking in the kitchen stove.
They tell me that traffic is once again building up on Highway 13. I dream of the motel rooms being filled with travelers like they once were, the gas pumps spewing out their precious fuel, minor automobile repairs being made in the garage and your mother's barbecue being served in the diner.
That's my dream, Julie, not yours. I'm not trying to influence you. Follow your heart. I just don't want you to forget your mother and me and the good times we used to have.
Love,
Dad
>
"Pretty Lady, are you in here?"
She tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come.
"Julie?"
The voice was coming nearer.
"Oh, there you are. Julie,” Cliff said as he approached the booth, “please don't turn a cold shoulder to me."
She held out the letter. He slipped into the booth opposite her and slowly read it. Julie watched him read and thought she saw moisture building in his eyes.
He looked up and smiled gently. “He writes well. The letter got to me and I didn't even know the man."
"I thought you were going to Charlotte."
"I did. I've never seen so many cars in all my life. I drove down Tryon Street and as soon as I could figure out how to do it, I turned around and got the hell out of Dodge."
"Why?"
"The place is too damn big for me. Besides, I couldn't think about anything other than the way we parted. Pretty Lady, what you think is important to me. Please try to understand."
"I forgive you, Cliff."
"I didn't ask for forgiveness. I asked for understanding."
Julie ignored the comment. “What are you going to do now?"
"I have a few bucks saved up—enough to live on for a couple of months. There's something about Dot that appeals to me. I think I'll hang around and see what happens. There must be a job open somewhere. I don't have to be a cook or mechanic. How about you, Pretty Lady? Did your meeting with the lawyer go okay?"
Julie nodded affirmatively while stuffing the letter back into the envelope. “Dad had more cash in his estate than I thought—about eighty thousand dollars.” Why did I tell him that? she wondered. “I also put the place on the market with a realtor. He thinks he can sell it with no trouble—maybe even to Tim Dollar but for a lot more money than Tim originally offered."
"You're really going to sell it?"
She smiled and waved the envelope in the air. “I think so, in spite of the pressure Dad applied."
"Aw, Julie, he was just sharing his dream with you. He wasn't trying to pressure you."
Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners Page 3
