The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club

by Duncan Whitehead

  Kelly knew that Billy too had something to hide. He had told everyone, including his aunt, that he had been in India performing all sorts of charitable work. Cindy had even told Kelly she was going to donate funds to Billy’s charity, destined for the poor children of India. It was all a lie and Kelly knew it, and once Billy saw her, he would realize that she knew his whole India story had been a fabrication.

  But what if he didn’t care about that? What if Billy suddenly started telling the truth? What if he told Cindy he had really been in Paris, had slept with Kelly in a fancy hotel, and that she’d pretended to be a top model? Would anyone believe him? She could just deny it, but she was sure her nerves wouldn’t be able to take it, not if her continual vomiting was anything to go by. No. This was a drastic situation, and it called for drastic and immediate action.

  Kelly had to think fast, something she rarely did. There was no way she was going to risk losing Tom—especially because of some lying, two-faced, double-crossing kid from Atlanta. She flushed the toilet one last time, cleaned up the bathroom floor, then crept quietly out of the bathroom, and slipped through the open bedroom door. Kelly saw that Tom was sleeping soundly; he had to be exhausted, she thought. Shmitty watched inquisitively as Kelly gently closed the bedroom door and then tiptoed along the hallway to where her unpacked suitcase still sat. She opened up the case and winced when the noise made by the click of the latches seemed audible throughout the whole house. Satisfied she had not awakened Tom, she delved into her suitcase, rummaging among her clothing, searching for the one thing that might be the solution to her problem.

  Eventually, after emptying half the contents of the suitcase onto the hallway floor, she found what she was searching for. She grabbed the neatly folded sheet of orange paper and opened it. She read it, and then to make sure she had not made a mistake, she read it again. She recalled what Thierry, the waiter, had said to her in the café, that it maybe was a student prank. Well, maybe it was, thought Kelly, but she had nothing to lose by trying. She was desperate, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Kelly took the orange-colored flyer into the kitchen and lifted the telephone handset on the wall. She took a deep breath and then replaced the receiver. She crept back down the hallway and opened the bedroom door, Tom was still sleeping soundly.

  She returned to the kitchen, all the while with Shmitty watching her, confused as to his mistress’s unusual nocturnal activity. Kelly lifted the telephone handset for a second time and then dialed the number that was emblazoned across the bottom of the orange flyer that she clutched in her hand.

  Kelly tapped her finger on the kitchen cabinet impatiently—the call seemed to take forever to connect. She relaxed slightly when at last she heard the familiar sound of a ring tone.

  “Bonjour,” said the voice at the end of the line.

  Kelly paused. “Do…you…speak…English?” she asked slowly, her voice a hushed whisper.

  “Good morning. Yes, I do, Madame. How may I be of assistance?” inquired the accented voice. Kelly guessed that it was probably around seven in the morning in France.

  “Well, the thing is, I picked up one of your flyers while I was in Paris, and I was wondering…”

  Doug had not slept well. He woke at three and spent the rest of the night sitting in the den, flicking through television channels. He had turned the sound low, though, so as not to disturb the sleeping Veronica and Katie. He was getting used to the sleepless nights. The money situation was worsening. After returning home that evening, Veronica had announced that her car had broken down on the Truman Parkway as she headed to work. She had managed to get a lift from a passing colleague, but her car still sat abandoned on the shoulder of the two-lane expressway that linked the downtown Savannah area with its southern suburbs.

  It was going to cost a fortune to replace his wife’s car, and Doug had no idea where he was going to find the money. He had assets—plenty of them, including property in England—but they were impossible to liquidate quickly, and his family needed money now. He switched on his laptop, which he had brought with him into the den, and checked his emails. His in-box was empty. Maybe he was wasting his time, he thought. Maybe he should figure out another way of making money. He had considered another yard sale. He and Veronica could sell the household items they no longer needed. They had done one before, in less desperate times, just for fun and to clear the house of junk. They had made a few hundred dollars. He needed more than that, though. He needed thousands. They needed a new car, and he wanted to at least be able to treat his wife and child every now and then. He also needed some reserve funds, just until he could sell some property—it would be a buffer and keep him from worrying.

  Doug wasn’t sure he could get through another yard sale. He smiled as he recalled the previous one. He had risen early and laid out sheets in the front yard, to display the items he and Veronica intended to sell that Saturday morning. Then, throughout the neighborhood he’d strategically hung announcements, which he had prepared on his laptop and printed the night before, directing potential customers to his yard. The signs were pretty specific: YARD SALE, 4001 KINZIE AVENUE, 8:00 A.M. SATURDAY. He also placed a giant sign on the gate that opened onto his home’s garden.

  Later, Veronica had told him he should not have been so rude, but Doug had not been able to help himself. He’d never taken much notice of the old adage about dumb blondes—but that girl, wow, he recalled, she was just plain stupid! She came to the gate and peered into the yard, her Golden Labrador by her side on his leash. Bern was frantic, trying to get out of the yard to play with Shmitty, so Doug had had to banish Bern into the house, before he damaged anything. Doug had seen the girl (Kelly, that was right) before in the park, sometimes walking Shmitty but usually just waiting at the entrance while her dog ran wild with all the others.

  “Are you having a yard sale?” she had asked. Doug had looked at the then-pregnant Veronica, who was sitting on the front porch swing, and screwed up his face in disbelief at Kelly’s question. It was obvious that they were having a yard sale. Their belongings were strewn all over the garden on sheets, all marked with prices, and the big sign was placed directly where the girl stood. She had read it moments before opening her mouth.

  “No,” Doug answered, “actually we are not.” The girl had looked confused, which Doug thought was a look she probably wore often. “What we are doing is moving outside to live. We don’t like it anymore, you know, inside. I’m going to relocate the shower out here and then the kitchen and everything. It’s the way forward, I reckon. We will definitely save on heating bills and electricity. Actually, I’m going to knock a hole in the living room wall later”—Doug pointed to the side of the house—“so I can drive my car into the den. I think it would be better, you know, the car in the house rather than on the street and us sleeping outside.” Kelly had just nodded, her face a blank. “So later on, I’m bringing the beds out here, so we can sleep out here tonight. I’m going to dig a little hole, so we can use it as a bathroom.” As he laid out his “plans” to her, Doug pointed to the areas in the garden where the beds and toilet would be put. Kelly had simply nodded, then smiled, and walked her dog away without responding to Doug’s words.

  “That was so rude of you.” Veronica said, chastising Doug for his remarks.

  “What?” he protested, laughing. “It was a dumb question. Anyway, I doubt she has any idea what I was saying.”

  “Well, it’s not the way for you to get to know our neighbors. You know she’ll tell Thelma, and then it will get around that you’re an asshole. You don’t know it yet, but everyone gossips incessantly around here.” Veronica smiled. It had been a stupid question, but still, Doug should not have taken it so far.

  “Oh well,” said Doug as he shrugged.

  “It was funny, though, what you said,” laughed Veronica.

  Doug checked his watch. He had scratched it the day before. Another expense, he thought. It was
a Swiss Rolex, and he’d scratched the crystal face while unblocking the garbage disposal the day after the warranty had expired. Just his luck. It seemed everything was breaking down at the same time. It was four in the morning, which meant it would be ten in Europe. He logged into his email account again, not really expecting to see any messages in his inbox. He wondered why he was even bothering to check. He was surprised to find one new email requiring his immediate attention.

  Kelly crept into bed without waking Tom and slept soundly until ten that morning. Tom showered, dressed, breakfasted, released Shmitty into the yard, and left for work, all without disturbing his wife. He even called her supervisor at Macy’s and advised him that his wife would not be in to work that morning because she was suffering from food poisoning contracted in Paris. Kelly read Tom’s note, explaining what he had done, and she clutched it to her chest. There was no way she was going to lose this sweet man.

  As Kelly lay in bed, she went through the events of the previous night in her head. She had called the number advised on the orange flyer and spoken to a charming man with a French accent, who had taken her details. He had quoted her a tentative price, which would totally wipe out her recent winnings, and then told her that her proposed contract would be forwarded immediately to the next stage: consideration. If they accepted it, she should expect to pay the full amount immediately and without delay.

  Kelly had no regrets about it. As she saw things, she had no choice. She had been forced into a corner, and it was either sink or swim, as far she was concerned—and there was no way she was going to sink. She had followed the Frenchman’s instructions precisely and had logged onto the website address he had given her. As advised, once she had completed the online forms, she deleted her recent Internet history, took the flyer into the garden, and burnt it. It was 5:00 a.m. when she quietly crept into bed next to the snoring Tom.

  The Director couldn’t believe it; in all his time with the Organization he’d never known anything like it. Yesterday he had received two files containing proposed contracts; both not just in the same small American city, but also in the same neighborhood. Now, today he had received two more separate and different contracts, and again, it appeared that they were not only in the same small southeastern American city, Savannah, but they were yet again in the same Gordonston neighborhood. It was unprecedented. What in blazes was going on? He stood up, walked toward his window, and stared out at the view. This needed some serious thought. He would select one contract and hold the other three on file for the time being, following his organization’s policy. Of course, there was the money aspect to consider; each contract was of varying value, with no fixed price, but each had a minimum value. It would be up to the contractor, ultimately, to agree to carry out the contract for the agreed-upon price.

  The director returned to his desk and hit a button on his computer keyboard. The printer to his left whirred into action. Once the printer had finished, he collected four sheets of paper and brought them back to his desk. This would require some serious thought. He spread the four proposals out and leaned back in his chair. It was going to be a long day.

  When Doug Partridge read the email he’d received earlier that day, he felt a shiver run down the back of his spine. It was unexpected. He wondered what the implications of the email were. He considered his options and decided that the best thing to do, at this stage, was nothing. His main care was to protect his family from anything that could jeopardize their quiet and peaceful existence. He suddenly felt the urge to see his daughter. He crept into the nursery where she slept peacefully in her crib. He lovingly stroked Katie’s hair and adjusted the blanket that covered her small, fragile body. Leaning over, he kissed his child on the cheek. No matter what, Katie and Veronica were his priority, and he would make provisions for them, should anything ever happen to him.

  Billy Malphrus enjoyed the breakfast his Aunt Cindy prepared for him. He hadn’t eaten like that for months. European breakfasts were so different from the American variety. He had yearned for eggs, bacon, grits, sausage, biscuit, and pancakes for months. He’d hated the French version of breakfast, apart from the coffee. It was as boring as the place itself, after a while. Apart from the women, of course. He had been very successful with his conquests in France, and not just with the French girls either. He’d slept with women from all over the world. Not bad for a country boy from Georgia, he thought.

  As Cindy collected Billy’s egg-stained plate from the kitchen table, he wondered what breakfasts the Indians ate. Curry, probably, he thought as he raised his coffee cup to his lips. That was something he needed to research, should the question come up, which could quite easily happen. Billy watched as his Aunt Cindy cleaned the kitchen and fussed around him. Staying here in Savannah with his aunt had been a great idea. For a start, it was free; she wouldn’t charge him board and lodging. In addition, the food was great. Cindy was a fantastic cook, and he knew he was in for a culinary treat. All his favorites: fried chicken, dumplings, Brunswick stew—not to mention the famous Savannah shrimp.

  His Aunt Cindy had told him he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted. She had already put the word out around the neighborhood that should anyone have any odd jobs that needed doing, Billy could help and maybe make a little extra money—anything that would help him raise funds to help those poor Indian children.

  Billy offered to take Paddy for a walk while his aunt cleaned up the kitchen. Cindy fetched Paddy’s leash and issued Billy directions on how to reach the park. Kelly watched from behind the draped window of her living room as Billy left her neighbor’s house, Paddy in tow. As she observed his movements, her face obscured by the curtains, she felt nothing but contempt for him. It was definitely he—there was no doubt about it, but now he looked like a skinny, spotty, scruffy country boy. That’s how Kelly saw him. Trailer trash, nasty little hick, she thought, as the slightly built youth disappeared toward the park. Your time will come, she thought. Oh yes, your time will come, you lying, cheating bastard.

  Heidi watched as he took a full bag of trash from inside his house and deposited it next to the larger trash can near his garage. From her window, the window in her secret room, she could see every move that Elliott made. Look at him, she thought, totally oblivious to what is going to happen to him. She felt nothing but hatred, and her old frail hand began to shake as Elliott went back into his home. Thief! she thought. Nothing but a common thief.

  As Cindy stood at her kitchen sink, dishes soaking in the hot suds, she suddenly felt a surge of anger overcome her. Billy was a good boy; he always had been, and she was pleased he was here, spending time with her. Of course, she would give him five thousand dollars for those poor kids; she was pleased that she could aid him in his charitable deeds. Her anger had nothing to do with Billy. It was all directed at her so-called friend Carla Zipp. She was nothing but a tramp, a common whore who was not going to steal Elliott from her—no way, not as long as Cindy had breath in her body.

  Cindy was abruptly jolted from her thoughts. Her hands were bleeding. She had crushed the fragile glass she’d been wiping. She fished the glass shards from the sink. It was the same glass that Billy had drunk his orange juice from. If only everyone were like him, she thought—honest, hard working, caring, and thinking of others. She stared as a droplet of blood fell into the soapy suds. She shrugged and dabbed at her mild lacerations with the dishtowel, before placing band-aids over her wounds.

  Billy found the park easily and released Paddy from his leash. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the packet of cigarettes that he had been yearning for since he had arrived in Savannah the night before. His aunt didn’t know he was a smoker, and he was afraid that the sight of him sucking away on a cigarette could in some way detract from the image he was trying to create. As he lifted the cigarette to his mouth, he realized he was not alone in the park. A gray-haired man, slightly overweight, was approaching, two poodles closely following behind.

 
“Good morning,” said Elliott as he passed Billy. Billy nodded, the unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

  Billy watched as Elliott, Biscuit, and Grits left the park, only to be replaced by an old black man and a little dog. Billy watched as the old man started on the trail that circumnavigated the park, the small white dog following obediently.

  This damn park is busy, thought Billy, as he fumbled in the pockets of his jeans for his Zippo lighter. He flicked the flint, and the flame appeared as if magically summoned. He sucked hard on his cigarette, the menthol flavor filling his mouth, and then released the smoke into the warm Savannah air.

  Chapter 15

  The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club reconvened after a hiatus of over a week. The three women resumed their usual positions around the picnic table outside the Girl Scout hut in the center of the park. Each woman had before her the familiar plastic cup containing her favorite cocktail. Paddy, Fuchsl, and Walter—all delighted to have been at last reunited—chased one another and played their usual games as their owners sat and did what they liked to do best, gossip about their neighbors and happenings in their neighborhood.

  The big news in Gordonston was the arrival of Billy Malphrus. Cindy extolled the virtues of her kind-hearted young nephew to her two friends, who were most impressed by Billy’s recent selfless and charitable work in India. Both Carla and Heidi had chores that young Billy could do, and they would be delighted to spread the word to their other friends and neighbors that a fit young man was willing to carry out any job, however nasty or dirty, and that not only was he reliable but also one hundred percent trustworthy.

  The other big story in Gordonston was the unfortunate news that Kelly Hudd had contracted a highly contagious infection of some unidentified virus and was bedridden and quarantined within her house. It was a shame, because Cindy had planned a little get-together to welcome Billy to the neighborhood. The ladies all supposed that Kelly had contracted her sudden and rather unusual virus while in France. Unusual, because though highly contagious, it seemed that Tom was immune to it, as he seemed perfectly fine to Cindy when she had seen him that morning. He wasn’t sure what the name of the virus was that Kelly had contracted, but thought it was caused by food poisoning.