Goody Two Shoes

by Cooper, Laura

  Walking towards the foyer I found Evangeline greeting the guests as they arrived. She looked very strong this morning in her black silk conservative dress topped by a ‘Jackie O’ styled cap, complete with facial netting. I took my customary position next to her, protecting her from the whispers and gossips as much as I could. Evangeline isn’t my real mother, but she’s the closest thing to one I’ve ever known. I’d be damned if Charleston snobbery would further dampen her mood. With me at her side, the guests’ smiles turned away from mockery and more towards respect. Every one of them knew that I could ruin them with a single slice of my pen, and I could feel the sweat as I took their hands and accepted their condolences.

  When I’d first taken the job as editor of the society page at the Charleston Post and Courier, I’d planned on it being a stepping stone towards all things more literary, more important. A future ‘Fitzgerald’ if you will. Of course I ended up writing about weddings and events instead. But I have to admit that it does come with some perks. Trust me; they understood all too well that if they crossed me, their daughter’s wedding dress would be described as, “Delightfully twirly and quite appropriately off-white.” I nudged Evangeline gently and the clasp of her hand on my arm assured me that she too enjoyed their fear.

  At twenty-six I felt the power that my writing wielded. Having Charleston’s elite under my thumb had been the laughter that Evangeline needed. Sitting at the worn table in the kitchen at the island house, I’d shared all of Charleston’s most embarrassing stories with Evangeline as my father lay in the upstairs bed breathing his last breaths. You see, she refused to abandon my father as he had her, so she brought him to the island until that last breath.

  I could see the twinge of acknowledgement on Evangeline’s face as she matched each story to the face I introduced to her in the mammoth foyer. As each of Charleston’s most elite gossiped about Evangeline’s sordid past in the corners of her home, Evangeline was snickering under her breath at their much more recent indiscretions. It delighted me that I could give my step mother this gift and ease the stress of the day for her. The information I’d shared with her had empowered her to stand tall against their forces.

  “Is that Randall Clemmons, darling?” Momma whispered, glancing towards the fireplace. “Isn’t he the one who prefers ladies undergarments?”

  I redirected my gaze towards the fireplace where the owner of Clemmon’s Shipyard leaned against the thick marble. Of course I hadn’t mentioned him by name in my column, but everyone in town had seen him with a cast and walking on crutches. There was little doubt that the man in the car accident out on Highway 17 a few months ago was Randall. He’d been visiting a friend in the country when he was suddenly called home, and in his rush he’d forgotten to change his under garments. The nurses at Roper Hospital had a fit when he came into the Emergency room stripped down to his red and black bra and panties. “I wonder what color he’s wearing today?” I laughed in a hushed whisper.

  Momma chuckled, “He’s probably not a fan of yours after that article!”

  I nodded, “Probably not. But why are they all wearing the same blazers?” I noted the patch emblazoned on their breast pockets. It looked like a sand dune, with sea oats blowing in the wind. The ocean on the far left and a freakish looking eye above it all, watching.

  Evangeline shuffled, “Oh that’s just that silly Club of your Dad’s; some shipping club or some such nonsense. I can’t imagine what those old farts could possibly have in common other than that.”

  She was right. They were all stodgy old farts; their cigars reeked and I was relieved to see one of the catering staff replace the ashtrays on the antique coffee table. It doesn’t surprise me that they’ve found the bar, or that they’re hotly discussing something of the utmost importance. With men like that, everything is always of the utmost importance; there is no gray area. What does surprise me is that they seemed to be discussing other men at the funeral, like gossiping old biddies. They glanced at my brothers and began whispering again, probably hoping to recruit new blood into their little fraternity. The thought humored me. I recognized each of them; they’d been the power players in Charleston circles my entire life. But times are changing, and technology was running amuck against their old fashioned accountants and handwritten books. New blood was exactly what they needed.

  Recognizing Jonathon Galloway in the shadows of the foyer, studying the men with the same lack of enthusiasm, I caught his eye and left Momma’s side.

  “Jonathon!” I grinned, “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “Good morning, Ellen. I want you to know that I would’ve been here even if my father hadn’t insisted.”

  I laughed dryly; he was certainly clear and concise. Nearly five years my junior, Jonathon was the only son of my father’s partner, Jonathon Galloway, Sr. I scrutinized the young man towering over me who had spent every summer of his first fifteen years with our family on the island. Strawberry blond curls and a rather looming figure were the only remnants of the cute, precocious child that had trailed behind me and my sister and brothers on the beaches. His tall form had acquired grace, a boyish charm, and a rakish smile. “So you have to tell me the news at Harvard!” I said cheerfully.

  “Oh hell, Ellen, you know nothing ever changes up there. It’s like North Charleston; they build some shit and hold a ceremony for some dead guy, and after that it’s back to keg parties and shootin’ cans. After you left Radcliffe, the men had nothing to strive towards; it all went straight to hell.”

  I giggled at the misshapen compliment, “Jonathon Galloway! I hear you’re quite the playboy around town now, so don’t try to schmooze me with your practiced responses!”

  Jonathon’s smile took a serious turn, “On the record, or off?”

  Curious, I said, “Definitely off!”

  “Okay, OFF the record I am indeed fucking my way through the list of Charleston debutantes as we speak. ON the record, I only regret that I didn’t put you at the top of my list!” Jonathon’s eyebrows lifted with flirtatious invitation.

  Now, just because I was raised by a woman who opened her legs more than the Ben Sawyer Bridge doesn’t mean that I am naturally inclined to follow suit. In all honesty, my years at Radcliff had been dull and relatively sparse, sexually speaking, and the years since hadn’t been an orgy either. But lack of masculine attention makes a woman brave, and the image of Horace Devereux rolling in his fresh grave at the knowledge that his daughter was getting screwed at his funeral enticed me. “Would you like to see the gardens?” I said the words loud enough for Evangeline to take notice.

  Evangeline’s head turned towards me in recognition. She winked and returned to her faux grief. I know that given the opportunity she’d gladly sneak away for a private celebration herself. She was probably eyeing a victim now.

  Jonathon followed me through the massive oak double doors at the rear of the foyer. Ancient, flaming red myrtle’s covered most of the garden. What they didn’t encase, the fading summer wisteria did. I quickly assessed the small lawn; there was no one out there. Thank God Horace Devereux had a smoking room inside his house or the yard would have been crowded with puffing old men. The scent of early fall filled the air and was blooming in abundance in the garden; the perfume was a welcome retreat from the stuffy historic mansion. Jonathon trailed me through the small walkway that had been tunneled beneath wisteria vines. A thin moss covered brick trail below the canopy led to the cottage behind the ancestral home.

  The cottage had been constructed when Evangeline had come to live with us originally; it was her living quarters at the time. My mother, Christina Devereux, had been smart enough not to allow a beautiful young nanny to live inside her home with her husband. If only she had been smart enough to avoid small pox, Evangeline would surely still inhabit this tiny structure and Christina herself would be inside greeting her husband’s mourners.

  Jonathon reached the doorway behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure we should be out here? It is y
our father’s funeral after all.”

  I turned around to face him and said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Jonathon! One should never allow circumstances to delay entertainment.”

  I felt his massive hands on my back. His hands were not those of a physical laborer; they were manicured, plush and long. They trailed across my skin masterfully, through the now open back of my dress and around to cup my heavy breasts. My nipples hardened under his touch, and my skin crawled with desire. Jonathon spread the back of my dress and slid it over my shoulders, allowing it to fall into a heap of starched linen on the floor below. In a moment of oddity, Jonathon bent down to pick up the dress; my eyes followed his curious move. He lifted the dress and held it by the shoulders carefully, searching the room for a suitable location to park it. Finding a long discarded chair in the corner, he gently propped the garment over its back. I followed his every move with interest and lifted my eyebrows in question. “Well, it’s linen. It will be a wrinkled mess if we leave it there!” he said.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. This was one unique man! I watched with even greater curiosity as he unbuttoned each of the tiny blue attachments on his Brooks Brother’s shirt. Curly blond hairs pierced through his broad chest. Without removing his shirt, simply leaving it open, he unleashed his belt and reached for the zipper.

  “Here let me help you with that!” I rushed to assist, noticing the trembling in his hands. I’m all too aware that this is an unusual situation, and I can’t blame him for a small panic attack. But this is a day of release. Evangeline is released from a life of servitude and with her freedom, I too am un-caged. Being her sole source of comfort all of these years hadn’t been a vacation. I feel the need to express that, and Jonathon just happened to offer to walk into the Garden with me.

  Kneeling in front of him, I faced his zipper head on. I slowly pulled the metal clasp down; his cock sprang from the enclosure like a ravenous beast having its cage door finally opened. I chuckled, maybe he wasn’t as intimidated by this unexpected foray as I’d imaged.

  “Oh great, just what every man looks forward to when they drop their pants… laughter,” Jonathon groaned.

  “Lord no Jonathon, its perfect. I mean seriously look at how long it is! It’s like you, long and tall!” I giggled again running my fingers up and down its spine playfully. “I was just thinking that my dragging you out here suddenly might be uh… scary… things might not pop up right away under those circumstances.” I continued to trace my fingertips around the head as I spoke. “But this big guy attacked me as soon as I opened the door!”

  Jonathon joined my humor, “Okay, okay! I might not have been completely honest about why I came here today. Let’s just say that I may have had a fantasy about you once or twice…”

  I met its gaze without fear; my passion for him was stronger than anything I’d ever felt. It could’ve been be the desperate need I had for release right then, but I know I’d never experienced anything quite so strong. I turned back to the serious matter in my hand. It was a bit longer than any I’d had before, but its girth was easily sustainable. Flicking my tongue to test its flavor, I accidentally tickled the tip. The beast sprung to life with fury at my touch. The taste was manly and needful as I opened to allow it entrance. I drew it in eagerly, wetting its length with my saliva as it aimed for the back of my throat.

  With hunger rising between my legs, I prepared his beast, running my wet tongue around its head down to the curly blond hairs at its base. I felt the strong veins along the side with my tongue as though they were Braille writings, explaining the map of my future. I was infatuated with it, as though I needed to know its most intimate detail.

  The cock fought with desperation to find its way back into my mouth, but I denied it entrance until its head began to weep with salty tears. When it began producing its own moisture, I allowed it back into its desired location. It plunged into my mouth with a vengeance, and Jonathon’s hands on the top of my head guided me tenderly back and forth on it, massaging his length. With my mouth full, I used my hands to slide Jonathon’s slacks down his legs. Feeling the muscular thighs beneath my fingers and the waves of blond hairs heavily coating them, my own wetness threatened to explode.

  What I thought was going to be a simple romp in the Garden had turned into something so much more powerful. Sensuality I’d not known crept to the surface and was overtaking me. His body, his words, his carriage, everything about this man suddenly fascinated me. It’s as though we were two frogs searching the world for that one magic touch that would turn us into Princes and Princesses.

  My fingers barely touched his thighs and I smiled, noticing the shiver that ran up them. When his legs were free of cloth, I turned the bulk of my attention back to the demanding monster in my mouth. Running my tongue in swirls around it I felt the first notion of its purpose, the beginnings of the slippery mixture spilt into my throat and enticed me to draw more. Incensed by his desire, I increased pressure. The muscles in my face pulled him in and out of my mouth with growing suction. My hands cupped the tight balls at his base and rolled them between my fingers. Jonathon’s hands were still on my head, urging me to complete the transaction. As my suction increased, he spat the first stream of nectar onto my tonsils. I maneuvered my tongue to greet the next splash, and then the final slow meandering remnants of Jonathon.

  But I was startled by the dim sunlight that filtered suddenly into the tiny cottage.

  “Hmpff huff hgm…” A masculine shadow in the doorway issued.

  I looked up from my position on the floor to see a young, sturdy, black man standing with the sunlight on his back. “Yes?” I voiced.

  “Ma’am, your momma sent me to get you. Said you needed to come on in now. That lawyer is ready to meet with ya’ll.”

  Still kneeling in front of Jonathon’s rapidly shrinking genitals, I thought for a moment, “And who exactly are you?”

  “’Scuse me ma’am, I am Hawthorne. Took over for my daddy when he retired.”

  My mind wandered back in history, “Wait! Little Robbie Hawthorne? Hampton’s boy?”

  “Yes’m.” The young man responded. Even as he spoke he took two strides to my side, lifting my elbow in his massive hands to help me from my compromising position. I could have sworn I saw his eyes twinkle as he lifted me with one hand to my feet.

  “Well, my my Robbie, you look so handsome in your uniform!” I noted the straight black suit. “But don’t you think it’s taking the whole southern black servant thing a bit too far?”

  “Thank you Miss Dev’ro. ” Hawthorne carefully removed my dress from the forgotten chair and handed it to me as I slid my barely clothed ass into a worn wicker sofa and observed him with humor.

  “’Fraid your momma thinks Daddy’s old uniform is still the style,” he mumbled uncomfortably.

  “Hghhmmm” Jonathon cleared his throat.

  “Oh forgive me, Robbie. Surely you remember Jonathon Galloway?”

  “’Deed I do.” Hawthorne said, and then began muttering disapproval under his breath as he moved to gather Jonathon’s clothing.

  “Hey! What did I do?” Jonathon exclaimed, but caught his clothes in mid air as Hawthorne tossed them to him in a ball.

  Robbie continued muttering under his breath, “Ain’t no business takin’ advantage…” Clearing his throat, Hawthorne made his complaints legible, “It’s just that a man of your stature ain’t got no business taking this girl out here and havin’ your way with her!”

  Jonathon’s face lit up with laughter. His paper white teeth shone through his crooked smile, “Robbie! First, I have no stature. Second, she was the one on her knees, not me!”

  I burst into laughter, “Oh yeah, right. Throw me under the train. I see how this is going!”

  Hawthorne’s seriousness didn’t falter, “Still, it just ain’t right, at the funral and all.”

  “For God’s sake Robbie, you sound like my great grandmother or something. It wasn’t that long ago I was pushing you on the damn tire swing in t
he back yard!” Truthfully, if my mind did the math correctly, Robbie was about Jonathon’s age. What was the deal with this southern accent thing he’s doing? He probably had a better education than I did!

  “What the hell is that accent thing? Didn’t you go to Wofford? I thought I heard something about you playing football there?” Jonathon’s face still marked his humor, but now contained marked cynicism as well.

  Robbie straightened, “None of that has anything to do with finding Ellen on her knees in the Garden during her Daddy’s funeral. Get your damned clothes on and get in the house before I bury your ass over there behind the bamboo with that last dog of her Daddy’s.”

  Jonathon held up his hands in defeat. It was fairly clear that Robbie had taken over the ‘goings on’ at the Devereux mansion. He bent down and pulled his pants on.

  “Hang on a minute here! What if I’m not finished!” I complained, still giddy from the current that’d passed between me and Jonathon.

  “Oh you’re finished. And for the record Ellen, if you feel the need to suck that skinny little dick again, would you mind doing it over at your own house. I’ve got to get this place in order for Mrs. Devereux.”

  “Hey! I resent that! It may be skinny, but it gets the job done!” Jonathon teased.

  I glanced up at him and chuckled, “I hope I get to test that theory one day!” But I stood and dressed per Robbie’s orders regardless. The realization that Robbie was caught in a precarious situation dawned on me. Evangeline had no idea how to run a house of this magnitude, so she’d gone with the only reasonable path, find someone who did. Robbie had grown up here; he was impressively educated and well trained, and that made him the logical choice to manage the house. I had to give kudos to my step mother. She’d chosen well.