The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club

by Duncan Whitehead

  Apart from Heidi and Fuchsl the large house was empty. Betty, once the chicken had been served, had returned to her smaller home to prepare a lesser dinner for her own family. Heidi climbed the stairs, Fuchsl following slowly behind her. She paused at the locked bedroom door and delved into her purse, which she had carried up the stairs with her. She pulled out the key that would unlock the door and slowly inserted it into the keyhole. The door creaked open, and Heidi entered the room that remained locked nearly all the time and was only ever entered by her and her alone. Even Fuchsl hesitated at the door before following his mistress into the still and quiet bedroom. As she entered the bedroom, Heidi gasped out loud. She always did. The images on the walls always left her breathless, especially those on the north wall. She gazed at the cloth that adorned the wall, mesmerized by its colors and significance. It always had the same effect on her. Whenever she saw it, she could feel her heart thumping in her chest so hard, she thought it would burst out from within her. She breathed in deeply and calmed herself. Slowly her heartbeat returned to normal, and she smiled broadly, staring, transfixed by the item gracing the wall before her.

  The only pieces of furniture in the room were large glass-fronted display cabinets, positioned randomly around the room, and Heidi, once she had pulled her eyes away from the north wall of the bedroom, moved over to the cabinet positioned in the center of the room. She marveled at its contents and opened the glass door, slowly releasing the catch and then gently removing one of the objects contained within. She held it up to the ceiling before lowering it to her chest, cradling it as if cradling a baby, gently rocking herself from side to side. Fuchsl gave a low whine and slowly backed out of the room, pausing at the door. He sat and watched his mistress perform the routine she did each night. Heidi smiled to herself and replaced the object back in the cabinet, took one last look at the walls, and left the room as slowly as she had entered, locking the door behind her.

  Carla was delighted with her enlarged and improved chest. When she had seen Cindy in the figure-hugging dress with the plunging neckline at Thelma’s funeral, revealing her ample bosom, the ex-dancer and cheerleader had become obsessed with the size of her own breasts. Carla had always wanted cleavage. Even all those years ago in Las Vegas, she had envied the well-endowed girls in her dance troupe. Not that it had made much difference. She was a very attractive young woman back then and had her pick of men, and the truth was that she had a perfectly fine cleavage anyway. Now though, it was great.

  Carla often wondered what would have happened had she not married Ian Zipp. She had known a lot of men back then and had fond memories of many, most of all Gino, son of the casino owner who had given the young dancer her first real break. She wondered how different her life might have been if she had continued dancing and married Gino. He loved her, he’d told her often enough. The bewitched man would send flowers, cards, and gifts of jewelry and furs, and he had been utterly devastated when Carla had never returned to Las Vegas from her vacation in Florida. She still kept in touch with him, though he was now married with children of his own. He would write to her frequently and would sometimes even call, and Carla knew that deep down he still pined for her. Well, who knows what could have been, thought Carla. One thing was certain: she had major voluptuous cleavage now, and she was still attractive. If this didn’t snare her man, nothing would.

  Kelly smiled as she watched Tom in the gym. From the treadmill she could see him bench-pressing weights. The man’s sweat-glistening body was like a machine, and his muscles moved as if they were pistons. He is a machine, thought Kelly, my very own sex machine. He had the physique of a Greek god, and her heart skipped a beat when he caught her eye and waved. How lucky she was. Twenty-five thousand dollars in the bank and a modeling portfolio photo shoot booked in two weeks—and an all-expenses-paid first-class trip to Paris with the man she loved, who still had no idea that he was about to embark on the trip of a lifetime.

  The best thing, though, was that Tom had the time off and didn’t even know it. Kelly had spoken to Captain O’Hare that morning. She had explained everything, and the captain was only too happy to switch some shifts and give Tom vacation time. He thought it was a great idea, her surprising him like that. Kelly waved again at her oblivious husband as he stretched. She gazed at his firm, tight buttocks and smiled. Tomorrow they would be in Paris.

  Cindy Mopper was fuming. She couldn’t ever remember being this mad. She was so angry, she had been shaking the best part of the day, and even now she couldn’t eat. That bitch! That nasty, nasty little tramp! Who the hell does she think she is? Does she have no shame? She’s acting like a two-bit hooker, the Jezebel! Cindy had been speechless when she had seen Carla that afternoon in the park. Along with Heidi, she had stood opened mouthed as Carla had removed her jacket to reveal her new bosom.

  “Oh, just a little self-indulgence,” Carla said, giggling and laughing, her breasts jiggling for all to see. Self-indulgence! She’s nothing but a whore, thought Cindy, that’s all she is. No doubt she’d been a whore in Vegas too. Well this wasn’t Vegas; this was Savannah, and as far as Cindy was concerned, war had been declared.

  Cindy would have loved to say that her friend looked ridiculous, but the truth was, Carla didn’t. She looked good. She looked twenty years younger than Cindy. That’s what hurt most. It was obvious what Carla was doing. She wanted Elliott and was going to get him, no matter the cost. Cindy knew that it wasn’t just a coincidence that Carla had had her boob job just after Elliott announced he was going to run for office.

  Cindy knew that Carla was going to go all out to snare the widowed Elliott. She knew that Carla would continue to bake pies and prepare chicken casseroles. She knew that Carla would continue to dress provocatively whenever Elliott was around, exposing more and more flesh each time she saw him. She knew that Carla would flirt and laugh at Elliott’s jokes and take every opportunity to be near him. And how could Cindy know this? How could she be so certain of her friend’s future actions and intentions? How could she possibly know what Carla was thinking? Well, because it was exactly what Cindy intended to do herself, and she was thinking the same thoughts she suspected her friend of having.

  Elliott knew that running for mayor was not the same as running for a city council seat. For a start, there would be a greater citywide focus of attention on him. Of course, the stakes were much higher, and being mayor would bring added responsibilities. Just like the presidential elections, certain tactics could be expected in the race to the mayor’s office such as digging up dirt, raking up past indiscretions, playing mind games, and attempting to slur the good names of opposing candidates.

  Elliott smiled. He had nothing to worry about. He was squeaky clean. He raised his cocktail of whiskey and water to his lips and took a sip. He nestled into his chair and watched as Biscuit and Grits snuggled next to each other in front of the television set. There was the question of his books, though. It wasn’t general knowledge that he had once been a writer, and he certainly had never advertised he’d been a writer. Should the subject be brought up in a debate or other forum, he was sure it wouldn’t be a problem. He had shunned interviews just after he had been published, back when he had been somewhat famous. Though he had never been asked about the inspiration for his stories and how he knew so much about the Bavarian region, especially its forests and many small villages, he felt confident he could handle any difficult questions. He would do what any decent politician would do in his position: he would lie.

  Doug Partridge kissed his sleeping wife on the forehead. She was shattered. It had been a long day for her at the hospital, and he felt guilty. He had ruined dinner by arguing with her and hated himself for adding more stress to his wife’s life. Just tonight, Katie hadn’t gone to Veronica, instead choosing Daddy over Mommy for a nighttime cuddle. Doug knew that this had upset his wife, though she had said nothing. She had just smiled, like she always did, and gotten on with things. He stroked his wife’s fa
ce, and she smiled in her sleep. He gently brushed her hair from her face and kissed her again; he loved her and wanted the best for her. She deserved it. He went over to his baby’s crib and marveled at his beautiful child, sleeping peacefully, a smile across her flawless face. It was perfect, his life, and he knew that he should be grateful for what he had. If only he could find some way of securing their future.

  Doug had written off his investments, for the time being anyway, and though he had told his wife the truth, he still felt the need to maybe just put some feelers out. Who knew? Maybe his old boss could find him work in Savannah. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. He quietly shut the bedroom door so as not to disturb his sleeping wife and child. Then he opened up his laptop, careful not to make any noise. It took a couple of minutes for the computer to start up and then a few seconds for him to click onto the wireless Internet network. He hadn’t logged into his roaming email account in such a long time, he could barely remember his password. He paused for thought, as if composing the email he was about to write in his head. Once satisfied that he knew what he wanted to say, he reread the message.

  Once the email was finished, he clicked “Send.” He then returned to the bedroom and peered around the cracked door; Veronica and Katie were both sleeping soundly. He returned to his laptop and opened the folder that he’d protected with a password. He paused, checking that no sound came from the room where his wife and daughter slept, and then began to type.

  The old man switched off his television set. The news was always grim, be it local, national, or international, and though the names and places changed, the headlines were always the same: murders, killings, wars, and terrorists. The old man sighed. He was tired, and it seemed to get hotter every year. Chalky, who lay at his feet, was exhausted too. The old man wondered how many summers his faithful companion had left—and for that matter, how many he himself had.

  He stood, walked to the window, and looked out onto Gordon Avenue. It was quiet, tranquil even, and the old man smiled at the nighttime scene. So this is home, he thought, and he chuckled to himself. Home. The word was empty. Home wasn’t a building, it was a state of mind, and since his wife had passed away, this was no longer home. He turned back to watch his dog slowly rise to his feet. Maybe a late night walk, just so old Chalky can stretch his legs before bedtime, thought the old man. He grabbed his dog’s leash, though he never needed it, and the Cairn terrier trotted to the front door for his evening foray into the quiet Gordonston night.

  Chapter 8

  Kelly Hudd had hardly slept at all. She couldn’t remember being this excited in her whole life. It reminded her of when she was a child at Christmas, waiting for Santa Claus to come down the chimney to leave gifts. She’d stayed up all night one Christmas Eve, unable to sleep due to her excitement. Well, this morning felt like Christmas morning. She looked over to where Tom lay next to her, sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware that he would be soon jetting off to Europe and the weekend of a lifetime.

  The alarm clock was due to go off in the next five minutes, and Tom would wake, thinking he was going to work, that it was just another normal day. Kelly could hardly wait. She was tempted to wake him before the alarm went off but decided she would let him sleep; he looked so peaceful and content, with a smile on his lips. She wondered what he was dreaming about. She hoped that his dream included her.

  Just after he had fallen asleep, she had secretly packed his suitcase and prepared his toiletries for the trip. The tickets had arrived yesterday via FedEx—two first-class tickets through New York in both their names. The thousand dollars worth of traveler’s checks was also enclosed, plus an unlimited voucher for use at the hotel, including a top-quality suite that had been reserved in Kelly’s name. Kelly again thought about waking Tom, though this time in his favorite way, which would really give him something to smile about, and noticed that she had only one minute before the alarm went off. What the hell, thought Kelly, as she lowered the volume of the alarm clock and slid down her husband’s body.

  “I just had the strangest dream,” said Tom, three minutes later, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

  “Oh really,” smiled Kelly, a mischievous look on her face.

  “Yeah, I was dreaming about meeting Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was weird, sort of, well, embarrassing really. We were in a gym, working out together…we were bench pressing, you know, when suddenly, and for no reason, he—”

  Kelly raised her hand, indicating that Tom didn’t need to continue with his story. She didn’t need to hear how his dream had ended. She swiped the blonde hair back from her face, adjusting it so it stopped falling forward onto her pretty features. “Well, you had better get ready or we’ll be late,” she said, hoping that her excitement didn’t show. She closed her eyes and grimaced, realizing that she had said “we” instead of “you.” Kelly crossed her fingers, hoping that her husband had not noticed her slip of the tongue.

  Tom checked the time on the alarm clock with the time on his watch and sighed “Oh, well. I suppose another day, another dollar.” He smiled and kissed Kelly on the lips before exiting the bed. “Have you been eating peanuts?” he asked her. “I taste salt on your lips.” Kelly shook her head and tried her best not to laugh.

  The first clue Tom got that something was not quite normal was when he couldn’t find his shower gel, nor could he locate his razor or shaving foam. He called out to Kelly from inside the shower, but she didn’t hear him. It mildly irritated him when she moved things around like that. Luckily, there was soap and shampoo in the shower, so he had used those. In fact, there was a lot of every type of toiletry product in their bathroom: shampoos, conditioners, scrubs, and cleansers, all perks of Kelly’s job. He had found an old razor, one of his wife’s that she used on her long legs, and he shaved with that.

  The second clue Tom got that something was not as it should be was the fact that Kelly herself was already out of bed and dressed. “Aren’t you showering?” asked Tom as he dried his hair with a towel.

  “I have already. Before you got up,” she said. “I’ve laid out the clothes you need to wear today. They’re on the bed.” Tom looked at the clothes on the bed: designer jeans, designer polo shirt—this was not the uniform of a Savannah firefighter.

  “Are you nuts?” he said and playfully flicked the towel he had used to dry his hair in the direction of his wife’s well-formed bottom. “I can’t see Captain O’Hare being too happy about me wearing that uniform at roll call,” he laughed, pointing at the clothes laid out on the bed and imagining his fire chief’s face on seeing one of his men dressed that way.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Brian. I have spoken to him, and he’s fine about it,” said Kelly, attaching an earring to one ear.

  “Oh, Brian is it?” joked Tom. “Well, it’s Captain O’Hare to me, and that’s very nice of you, but somehow I don’t think so.”

  Kelly looked at her husband as she fiddled with her second earring before finally inserting it into her earlobe. “Call him if you don’t believe me,” she said, rising from the chair in front of her dressing table. She motioned to the phone on the bedside cabinet. Tom looked at his wife and tilted his head in a way not too dissimilar to that of a dog confused or perturbed by a strange object or situation.

  “Are you serious? You spoke to the captain? O’Hare said I could have the day off?” Tom looked at the clothes on his bed and then at his wife.

  “Not exactly,” she replied. “More like five days off!” she cried and ran into his arms, which he opened. Still confused, he embraced his charging wife, lifted her off the ground and spun her around, bewildered by her excitement.

  “Five days?” said Tom. “He gave me five days off. I don’t believe it!” Tom swung his wife around one more time. “Are you serious? This isn’t a joke, is it?” he asked, suddenly concerned that his wife was playing a practical joke on him.

  “No, silly, I promise,” smiled Kelly, and
she kissed her husband’s still-wet lips as shower water dripped from his muscular body onto the floor.

  “Well,” he said as he removed the towel that was previously covering his manhood, “we should make the most of this and go back to bed.” He gnawed playfully at his wife’s neck.

  “No!” she cried. “We can’t. We haven’t got time. Come on! Hurry up and get dressed! Cindy will be here in a minute.” Tom did as he was told, though he was still none the wiser as to what was going on. Cindy? Their neighbor? Why would she be coming over at this time in the morning?

  As Tom finished dressing, he could hear the sound of female voices coming from the kitchen. He looked for his favorite socks but couldn’t find them—in fact, he noticed that a lot of his clothes were missing.

  “Good morning, Cindy,” he said as he walked into the kitchen. She smiled at the handsome young man and instinctively adjusted her hair.

  “Good morning to you,” she replied, a smile spreading across her face. He poured himself a coffee from the pot made earlier by Kelly. As he walked to the table, he noticed something different in the hallway. Two suitcases. Maybe Cindy was coming to stay; maybe there was something wrong with her house.

  “You moving in, Cindy?” he asked as he pointed toward the suitcases by the door. He hadn’t noticed that they were the suitcases he and Kelly had used for their last vacation to Florida.

  “Oh no,” laughed Cindy. For a moment she imagined living under the same roof as Tom, and she suddenly felt hot and flushed. She pushed the thought out of her head as quickly as it had entered. “I think they’re yours.” Tom looked at Kelly for clarification.

  “That’s right, Tom. They’re our suitcases. I think you’d better sit down for a minute.”