Her eyes twinkled. “Then why did he have most of his money in the old business checking account? He was hoping I'd get sentimental and use that money to reopen the businesses."
"It's not a bad idea, you know."
"I know. It's just not right for me."
"So you're going back to Charleston?"
"Yeah.” She slid to the edge of the seat. “In fact, I'm on my way."
"Julie, since the power is still on..."
She sighed and her shoulders sagged. “I didn't think about the electricity. There's no use in paying a power bill. I guess I'll have to go back to Dot to have it shut off."
"Don't."
"What?"
"I need a place to stay until I decide what I'm going to do. I can't afford the Korner Kafe and Motel's rates for an extended period of time. Let me stay in the motel apartment your dad used for so many years. I'll pay the electricity bill and a reasonable rent too. When you sell the place, I'll skedaddle."
Julie snickered. “Skedaddle was one of dad's favorite expressions. Clyde, the apartment hasn't been used or cleaned in years. It's bound to be filthy. There may be roaches and rats. The roof may leak. There's no linens for the bed. There's..."
"I'll clean it,” he interrupted. “I have linens on my truck. I'll spray for bugs and set traps if necessary."
She sighed again. “You beat all. You know that?"
"Let's see what the apartment looks like."
The expression on his face reminded Julie of a puppy, begging for a treat, and her heart melted. She hooked the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and led the way.
"Hold on a minute,” Cliff said as they walked towards the first motel unit. He rubbed the dingy glass with his handkerchief and peered inside. “This must be the garage your dad mentioned in his letter."
"In the heyday of the business, Dad kept a mechanic on duty all the time. He pumped gas, changed wiper blades, radiator hoses and fan belts, installed new batteries and minor things like that."
"The more I hear about Mr. Wilson, the more I like him. He was my kind of man."
"He never did drugs or served time.” The hurt expression on Cliff's face stung. “I'm sorry, Cliff. I shouldn't have said that."
"Why not?” he replied, jamming his hands into his pockets. “It's the truth."
Julie pushed the master key into the lock and was surprised when the tumbler moved effortlessly. She pushed open the door and groped for the light switch. “Ugh. It stinks in here."
Cliff stepped past her. “Just a little musty. All it needs is airing out.” He smiled when he saw the window air conditioner. “I wonder if that thing works?"
"I doubt it."
He pushed the switch and the monster roared to life. He disappeared into another room.
"Cliff, the place is filthy and there are rat droppings. My God, look at those spider webs."
"It's perfect, Julie."
She followed the sound of his voice and found him in the kitchen.
Without warning, he pulled her close. “A living room, two bedrooms, a kitchen and completely furnished."
Her heart began beating too fast and she knew he could feel it. “You think you can make this place livable?"
"I know I can. If I start right now, I can sleep here tonight.” He pushed her back but clung to her hips. “I'll box up all your dad's personal things and store them in the second bedroom."
"I don't think you'll find anything. Dad and I did a thorough job when he moved to the rest home.” She chuckled. “The old house is another story. Heck. My paper dolls are probably still there. I know when I sell the place I'll have to go through everything. I dread it, but I'm not going to cross that bridge ’til I come to it."
She pulled away, placed the padlock key and the master key on the counter and turned to face him. “Clyde, you're welcome to stay here if you think you're man enough to make it livable. I don't want any rent, but I'll take you up on your offer to pay the power bill.” She glanced at her watch. “I really should get on the road, but I suppose I could help you do a little cleaning first."
He laughed. “I appreciate the offer, but there's no need for both of us to get filthy."
He placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly pulled her against his chest. His lips found hers and his hands stroked her hips. She neither resisted nor participated.
"Don't go, Julie,” he whispered.
She pushed back and, for a brief moment, their eyes locked. “There's no reason for me to stay,” she replied.
Cliff followed her to the door and leaned against it as he watched her walk to the Cavalier. “Have a good life, Julie."
If she had heard him and turned around, she would have seen tears glistening on his cheeks.
Chapter Four
Cliff walked through the motel apartment, making a mental list of the cleaning supplies he needed. On the way to Dot, he snapped on the truck's radio.
You're on the air.
Delilah, is that you?
Cliff gnashed his teeth as a loud squeal blasted from the truck's single speaker.
Turn your radio down, dear. You're causing feedback.
Oh. Sorry. Uh, is that better?
That's fine. Now, who are you and what's on your mind?
I'm, uh, Jane. I know today's topic is pillow talk, but may I ask something entirely off the subject?
Sure, Jane.
I've been listening to your program for several weeks now and it, uh, appears most of the ladies who call in, uh, pleasure themselves. Is that normal?
Sure it is, Jane. Don't tell me that you've never been intimate with your finger?
I ... I don't know how.
Jane, tell me something. How old are you?
Twenty-one.
How old?
Well, almost twenty-one.
Jane.
Thirteen.
Sweetie, come back when you're eighteen. This program is for adults.
This is Delilah Delight and the name of the game is Bawdy Talk. Kiddiepoos, go away. This is for the big guys only. Hello Caller, you're on the air.
Delilah, this is Betty.
Hello again, Betty. What cool things does your guy whisper?
Lot's of things but right now I'm pissed.
What's wrong, Betty?
I don't like the way you treated Jane. If she's old enough to ask she's old enough to answer.
I agree, but the Federal Communications Commission may not. How old were you when you started enjoying yourself, Betty?
Ten.
That early?
Yeah, and I was more fortunate than Jane. An older person taught me how to do it.
Who?
A babysitter.
Female?
Yeah—a teenager. I asked and she showed me.
Tell Delilah about it.
She took me to the bathroom and told me to take off my shorts and panties.
Did she play with you?
No, of course not. She asked me to sit on the toilet seat with my legs apart, strategically placed a mirror and showed me where that magic dot is.
Did she touch it?
She didn't molest me, Delilah. She taught me. She showed me how to wet my finger with saliva and touch my clit. She taught me how to rub it until the fireworks go off.
Cliff chuckled and snapped off the radio. “Too bad you didn't have a better teacher, Betty. That way works sometimes, but its much better to stroke the shaft gently, gradually building pressure. When the clit is swollen, then work on that bundle of nerve endings."
He pulled into the Discount House parking lot and thirty minutes later emerged with two large sacks of supplies and an upright vacuum cleaner. He added to his purchases four bags of groceries from the Bi-Lo store on the corner. As he headed back to the old motel, he again turned on the radio. The caller was laughing.
My guy is a lot like Sue's. As soon as he's done he starts snoring, but Delilah, during the warm-up he's a honey-voiced sensuous orator.
He really turns you on wit
h his pillow talk during foreplay?
You bet. He's the greatest.
What does he say?
I can't quote him, Delilah, but he says different things. He tells me what he's going to do to me and then does it. The anticipation is sometimes better than reality.
I know what you mean, Tonya. Do you ever whisper sweet nothings to him?
Sometimes.
Give us an example.
Well, last night we were going pretty good and I was feeling ... uh ... kinky I guess you'd say. He told me he was going to ram his thing in my throat. I said okay, but please don't spank me. He turned my bottom pink and then took me doggie style. Man, it was great.
"Ugh,” Cliff grumbled as he snapped off the radio. “To each his own."
He scrubbed the refrigerator thoroughly before loading it with perishables. Since he was already working in the kitchen, he stuck with it until it was spotless. Next, he turned his attention to the bedroom. When it was clean to his satisfaction, he unloaded his pickup, made the bed, placed his clothes in the dresser and closet and stored the remainder of his possessions in the spare bedroom.
Having skipped lunch, a gnawing hunger attacked as he completed the bathroom, but before heading for the Korner Kafe, he searched for and found the hot water heater. He dreaded taking a shower in cold water, but feared the heating element was burned out. The heater switch was in the “on” position, strengthening his suspicion that the heater had major problems.
As an afterthought, he checked the fuse box. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the appliance plug inserted in the “off” position. Guess the old man was trying to save a few pennies, he thought as he reversed the plug.
Since the parking lot of the Korner Kafe was full, he pulled into a space intended for motel patrons and walked back to the restaurant.
"Good to see you back,” Maggie Bennett greeted, offering him a menu.
"Didn't care for Charlotte,” he explained.
"Have you checked into the motel yet?"
He shook his head. “I'm staying at the old motel on Highway 13 until Julie Wilson decides what to do with the place."
"You guys aren't planning to give us competition, are you?"
Cliff flashed his magic smile. “Yeah. We're going to run you out of business. Serves you right for not offering me a job."
"If you don't get eaten up by roaches and rats first,” Maggie laughed.
"I fired off bug bombs before I left and I plan to set some mousetraps tonight."
Maggie smiled. “Cliff, I'm sorry but we're full right now. You shouldn't have to wait too long."
He chuckled. “As the owner of the place, I'd think you would be delighted to have standing room only."
Maggie winked and walked away.
As Cliff opened the menu, a movement caught his eye. He looked up and saw a black couple sitting at a table for four. The man was beckoning. Cliff pointed at his chest and the man nodded affirmatively.
"Pull up a chair and have a seat,” the man said as Cliff approached. “Name's Carl Elliott. This is my wife, Sarasue."
"Cliff Baker. You sure you folks don't mind?"
Carl offered his hand and a toothy smile. “Don't think I've seen you before, Mr. Baker."
Cliff laughed. “I was just passing through, but when I got on the other side, something drew me back like a magnet."
Sarasue placed her hand on his arm. “Dot effects some people that way, Mr. Baker."
"Please, call me Cliff. I think I would like to settle in Dot, Mrs. Elliott. You don't know of any job openings, do you?"
"If I'm going to call you Cliff, you must use our first names too,” she said.
"What's your trade, Cliff?” Carl asked.
"I'm a cook and a good mechanic, but I'm not choosy. I'll try most anything."
"You any good at changing diapers?” Sarasue joked.
Carl chuckled. “Sarasue runs a childcare business. I'm in construction."
"I'm afraid I don't know much about babies,” Cliff admitted.
"Carl is too damn humble,” Sarasue said, beaming at her husband. “He has his own construction company and is so busy it makes my head spin. Can't you use another big strong man like Cliff, Carl?"
"Not right now, but I'll keep you in mind, Cliff. Where are you staying?"
"I'm in the old motel on Highway 13 right now, Carl. I guess I'll stay there until Julie Wilson decides what to do with the place."
Carl's expression became serious. “I heard about Mr. Wilson passing away. Tim Dollar has had his eye on that land for a long time."
"You know Mr. Dollar?"
Sarasue snickered. “Tim Dollar owns the damn town, Cliff. He's building housing developments right and left. He's Carl's one and only customer."
The trio ordered and engaged in small talk as they enjoyed their evening meal. After desert was served, Cliff asked the question that had been on his mind during the entire time.
"Carl, what would you charge to come out to the old motel and look it over?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"The buildings are old and need a lot in the way of repair and paint. What I want to know is, are they structurally sound? Are they worth repairing?"
"You thinking of opening the old motel?” Carl asked, his mouth full of apple pie.
Cliff nodded. “The gas station, food mart and restaurant too."
"Can't do it,” Carl said.
"Carl!” Sarasue hissed.
"Honey, you know Tim wants that land and you said yourself he's my one and only customer. I can't risk ticking him off."
"You'll have your black ass out there first thing in the morning or it'll be a cold day in hell when you next crawl between my chocolate thighs."
Julie let herself into her apartment, tossed the keys on the table and noticed them slide under a stack of mail. She hurried to the bathroom and pushed her panties down just in time. Good old Mrs. Ferguson, she thought as she sat on the porcelain throne. She brought in my mail as I asked. I'll bet she kept my flowers watered and the fish fed too.
My God! I've been gone for over three weeks. The poor fish haven't had their water changed in all that time. She flushed, scrubbed her hands and rushed to her studio. The light on the fifty-gallon tank was on a timer and illuminated the murky water. Three guppies, having succumbed to the acidity in the tank, floated on the surface but the angelfish and other guppies seemed okay. Air bubbles escaped from the gravel and wiggled their way to the top as the lid of the treasure chest opened slowly, allowing a large bubble of air to escape. Thank goodness the aerator is still working, she thought.
Julie yearned for a long soaking bath and a good night's sleep in her own bed, but caring for her tropical fish was a greater need. Wearily she sank into her desk chair and picked up the telephone, noticing the blinking message light on her answering machine. She speed-dialed the closest Little Caesar's and ordered a pizza. She pressed the button and leaned back to listen to her messages.
"Julie, this is Mark. Call me as soon as you come in.” Beep.
"Julie, This is Mark. Where are you? Call me!” Beep.
"Damn it, Julie! This is important. Call me!” Beep.
Why is it my agent is the only one who ever calls? She snickered. Because no one else knows I exist—or cares.
"Julie, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but this is serious. Call me, damn it!” Beep.
"Okay, here's the deal. Wal-Mart has offered a super opportunity for illustrating Sunday supplements with line drawings and watercolors. It's the biggest deal I've ever been able to put together for you. If you don't call today, I'm going to accept without your prior approval.” Beep.
"Damn, Julie. Are you okay? I'll bet it's your dad, isn't it? Look, sweetie, I hope I didn't make a mistake. I signed us up for the deal, but time is running short. They want the first four supplements ready in just four weeks. I dropped the particulars in the mail to you this morning.” Beep.
"Julie, this is Mark. I called
the nursing home in Charlotte. They told me about your dad. I'm sorry, kid. Call me when you get home.” Beep.
Although she was exhausted, Julie's adrenaline was pumping. Wal-Mart, like all big chains, handled their advertising through large agencies. If Mark had lined her up with one of these outfits, this was the chance of a lifetime. She rushed to the table, threw aside the junk mail and retrieved the bulky padded envelope marked “urgent."
She rushed back to her studio, but the aquarium again caught her attention. First things first, Julie, she admonished herself.
Using the special tool, Julie cleaned the inside glass. She siphoned off a third of the water, being careful to suck up fish droppings and other crud from the bottom of the tank. All six angelfish followed her as she moved outside the tank. She floated a clean square of thin plastic on top of the water and slowly poured in the properly heated fresh water she kept in reserve. She frowned when the indicator light on the tank heater came on. She tested the water with her finger. Seems okay to me, she concluded.
The doorbell rang and she pulled a twenty from her purse before answering it. The pimply-faced teenage boy smiled broadly when she told him to keep the change. She returned to the studio, placed the pizza box on her desk and ate one slice before returning to the aquarium. Julie carefully removed the filter, took it to the bathroom, drained it, emptied the charcoal in the trashcan and scrubbed the container. Returning to the studio, she filled the container with fresh charcoal, slipped it in place behind the tank, plugged in the cord and smiled as the pump hummed and the container filled with water.
She stooped and pressed her nose to the glass. The angelfish took turns kissing her from the other side. “I missed you too,” she said. “Oh, you think you deserve a treat?” She searched the shelf on the bottom of the wrought iron aquarium stand and found the small tin of brine shrimp. She stood, sprinkled a few flakes into the water and watched all the fish gobble it down. “You're welcome, guys."
Julie pulled a large paper cup of iced tea from the sack on her desk, removed the top, inserted a straw, pulled another slice of pizza from the box and sat at the desk, eating and examining the contents of Mark's package. The urge to create drove from her mind all thoughts of the bathtub and bed.
The telephone rang. Damn, I didn't call Mark, she scolded herself. “Hello."
Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners Page 4
