by DK Herman
Liv is my grandfather's cousin. She has short, gray hair, plain features, and a more than generous figure. I couldn't imagine her any other way. She'd shown me as much love as Gram and Aunt Jeannie over the years, and I love her dearly. She may not be as sophisticated as some people, but Liv has more common sense and warmth than most.
Years ago when my Pap was still alive, Liv's husband and two small boys were taken from her in a car accident. She came to live with us and insisted on doing the cooking. Since she's a terrific cook, we agreed, and she's taken over supervising the cleaning staff, along with the kitchen.
I sat next to Liv at the patio table, munching on a cookie. A cool breeze ruffled my hair. I stretched, looking up at the thickly leaved oak and poplar trees. Kicking off my sandals, I wriggled my toes and sighed.
Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in my right foot. I knew what it was before I heard something snarling. "Rupert, let go!"
"Rupert, you bad boy," Gram said, clapping her hands. "Come here this instant."
After a violent shake, the tiny, sharp teeth released my big toe, and I heard small paws run underneath the table to my grandmother. Rupert is Gram's dog. A wee sized mutt, I suspect Rupert is a mixture of Pomeranian, Yorkie, and crocodile.
He has aggression issues and bites any part of me that he can get into his mouth. My toes are a favorite chew toy, and I try to remember to wear shoes when he's near. He's adorable to look at, but miserable to most people and animals.
I much prefer the company of the Pit bulls, but Gram adores Rupert. So, I've surrendered my dignity, and nice pedicures, and try to get along with him. Rupert, however, takes no prisoners.
"Who are you dating tonight?" Liv asked with a chuckle.
"You don't know him," I said, checking the damage to my toe. Everyone at the table was looking at me so after some mental squirming, I spilled everything I knew about Brian Sims.
"What does he do at the pretzel factory?" George asked.
I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess there must be different duties to make pretzels. “I’m not sure, I'll ask him." I finished my lemonade.
"And he's short and balding." Liv clucked and shook her head. "Does he make a lot of money, making pretzels?"
I shrugged. "Looks aren't everything. He might be a really nice guy."
"Ben's a sweetie," Liv said. "And he's real nice to look at."
"Ben doesn't like me that way," I insisted and stood up. "I have to start getting ready. Brian said he's taking me somewhere nice, so I bought a new dress."
I hugged Gram and Liv before going upstairs to the western wing of the house where my suite of rooms are located. My suite belonged to my parents before they died in a plane crash when I was eight.
Both my sitting room and my bedroom are decorated in shades of my favorite color, green. The bedroom furniture belonged to my parents, which made me feel close to them. I have a fireplace and a balcony that looks out over the backyard and woods. And in the big bathroom is my very own garden tub.
I stripped and got into a cool shower to wash my hair. Then wrapping my head in a towel, I climbed into the tub to soak and shave my legs. I've gotten waxed once. But I'd rather look like bigfoot than go through that hell again. I still let Gabi do my eyebrows every month at her salon when she trims my hair.
Gabi owns the best salon in town. She's a gifted cosmetologist who has practiced on me since we were kids.
After I was done soaking, I got out and dressed in a light robe. I turned the air-conditioning down and opened the patio doors that led onto my balcony. Peter, our groundskeeper, was in the backyard tossing a ball for Buddy and Princess. He waved when he saw me.
Peter has been working for my family since before I was born. He lives in a cabin in the eastern hedgerow, and he's gay. He keeps his sexual orientation under wraps, which is fine with me. It's up to him if he wants people to know. Either way, he's like family.
My cell buzzed twice, indicating I had a text message. It was from Gabi wishing me luck on my date with the bald guy. Geez, what was with everyone's obsession with hair? He's better than the stinky guy.
I checked the time on my alarm clock. Brian would be here in an hour. I took the towel off my head and headed back to the bathroom to do my hair.
I made it downstairs ten minutes early. My new, ivory, handkerchief-hem, halter dress has foamy, shamrock green, lace trim. I wore it with ivory, platform-wedge sandals, and silver hoop earrings. I carried an ivory clutch with my basic necessities, like my wallet, cell phone, and a Ruger .380. A girl never knew what she might need.
I smelled like my favorite Lilac body spray and had gone all out with my makeup and hair. The latter Gabi had trimmed last week, and it fell in layers from crown to my shoulders. My tan complimented the gold highlights perfectly.
I love getting ready for a night out. It’s half the fun of going out. I applied a little more lipstick as I heard a car pull up in front of the house.
Five minutes later, Brian was still sitting in his car, so I went out to him. Maybe he's shy?
"Hi, Brian," I said after opening his car door and sliding into the passenger seat. I looked over and smiled. He was staring at my home.
"It must be nice to be rich," he mumbled nastily.
I sighed quietly and buckled my seat belt. Even though my grandmother is extremely generous with me, the house and money are still hers. But I shouldn't have to explain my financial situation on a first date, and I wasn't going to. Strike one against Brian.
"You look nice," he said, backing out of the driveway.
"Thanks," I said, turning towards him with a smile. But when I noticed the faded jeans and tee shirt he wore, my smile faded.
"You're a little overdressed, but you still look nice." He steered the car down the lane and onto the highway. "You like fish, right?"
I'm overdressed, and we're going to eat fish. Fish is OK, but what happened to taking me out for a nice dinner? "Yes, I like fish," I said curiously.
"Good. I'm taking you to my favorite restaurant when I'm in Herville."
"Oh, where's that." I tried to sound enthused. I noticed we were passing my ex, Hank Ross's, bar and restaurant. If he stopped there, I may have to shoot Brian.
"Ray's Diner," he said with a smile.
Ray's has been in business for fifty years. It's the kind of place seniors and families with a lot of kids eat. You order at the counter, then wait for your number to be called when your food is ready. Everything is deep fried: chicken fingers, fries, breaded mushrooms, onion rings, breaded shrimp, and the house specialty, breaded fish squares and hush puppies.
I looked down at my outfit. At least I looked nice, but everyone was going to know I expected to go somewhere else. You know, someplace where the ketchup, salt, and pepper didn't come in little packets.
To be fair, Brian never said where we were going, so I decided to make the best of it. Ray's did make great hush puppies.
We arrived after five minutes of awkward silence. After Brian got out of the car and headed for the entrance, I scrambled out of his car and followed.
Inside, Ray's was the same as ever. The worn, yellow linoleum floor and red formica booths were exactly as I remembered them. The air heavy with grease from the large fryers, smelled like the breaded foods it had cooked.
As I stood next to Brian to order, I noticed that my platform sandals were a mistake. I could see over the top of his head, and his huge bald spots, one in the front of his head and one in the back, were unavoidable from this angle. I tried not to stare at his smooth pink scalp and studied the menu board.
I'd heard baldness came from having too much testosterone, and it didn't look that bad. So, I smiled at the woman behind the counter and ordered a fish, fries, and hush puppy basket with a large fountain cola. Then I stepped aside so Brian could order.
"Mine's separate," Brian loudly told the woman.
I kept my jaw from dropping onto the counter and dug out my wallet. Then taking my soda, and a plastic chip with th
e number twenty-two on it, I made my way to an empty booth.
Sitting down, I waited for my date. I smiled at a little boy standing on the seat of the next booth, staring at me with ketchup and fries smushed all over his face. He was adorable. Suddenly, I swore I could hear my biological clock ticking madly.
"Nice dress," the boy’s mother said smugly.
"Thanks," I replied with a tight smile. Would life with a guy like Brian be worth a little ketchup smeared face of my own?
A plastic chip was tossed onto the middle of the table, the number eight landing upwards.
"I have number twenty-two," I said cheerily, showing Brian my plastic chip. “They must not use them in order.”
He shrugged and sat down. Silence descended over the table. I played with the straw in my soda, trying to think of something to talk about.
"What do you do at the pretzel factory?" I asked.
"I run the salter," Brian replied.
"That must be interesting." I said, trying to keep a conversion going. At the coffee shop, we discussed the weather. But since it's still hot and dry, I thought he might enjoy discussing his work.
"It pretty much runs itself," he said. "But hey, do you want to see pictures of my collection?"
"Sure." I leaned forward as he pulled out his cell.
"This is my newest addition. It cost me a hundred and fifty bucks," Brian said proudly, showing me a picture of a ceramic strawberry.
"That's nice," I said and sipped from my straw.
"It's a salt shaker. I've been collecting them for twenty years." He switched the picture on his phone. "This one I found at a yard sale."
It was a pig with an apple in its mouth. I glued a smile on my face. "That's cute."
Brian kept swiping left for another ten minutes. He must have the biggest salt shaker collection in PA. Five more minutes passed and my face hurt from forcing a smile, and my eyes were glazing over.
A woman's voice called number eight, and Brian popped up to retrieve his food. He returned and began to eat. I played with my chip while I waited for my number to be called, trying to ignore the chomping, smacks, and gulps coming from across the table. Brian must be really hungry.
Finally, my food was ready, and I made my way to the service counter. I got my tray and added packets of tartar sauce. Putting my hand on something sticky when I reached for some ketchup packets, I dropped my tray off at our table and went to the ladies’ room.
I washed my hands and admired myself in the mirror, wishing I was somewhere I could show off my dress. I looked at my perfectly made-up face in the mirror and frowned. If things didn't drastically improve with Brian, I wouldn't see him again.
I dried my hands, forced a smile on my face, and started back to our table.
"Son of a bitch!" Came flying out of my mouth when I saw Brian take a big bite out of one of my pieces of fish and put it back into the basket. "Freaking unbelievable!" I said through clenched teeth when I saw all four of my hush puppies were gone. People were staring, so I spun on my heel and stalked out the door.
It was still light enough to see where I was walking, but the stones along the side the highway were hell in platform shoes. Before I broke an ankle, I undid the buckles and kicked them off. Then with my shoes in my hand, I gingerly made my way towards home.
The stones hurt my feet, but there was too much traffic on route eleven to walk on the blacktop. My anger bubbled as I stumbled along, trying to avoid the sharper stones.
"He takes me to a 'nice dinner' at a greasy spoon, Dutch freaking treat, and then he steals my food when I'm not looking!" I screamed, waving my arms when a particularly sharp stone dug into my foot. "That God damned, jackass, salt shaker collecting, idiot!"
I swore worse things when I realized vehicles were slowing down to gawk at the crazy woman who was walking alongside the highway, screaming at herself.
An older, red pickup came to a stop on the shoulder in front of me. I didn't care if it was a creepy clown, they can give me a ride. "I have my gun, it'll be fine," I told myself, peeking into the open passenger side window. A wave of raw embarrassment flooded my body. "I can't catch a freaking break." I whispered, resting my head on the doorframe.
"Nice dress, Hallie. Need a ride?" Hank Ross said from behind the wheel of the pickup.
Clinging to the truck's door, I took a deep breath and counted to ten. I wasn't going to make it the four miles home without serious damage to my feet. The stones hurt worse than Rupert's teeth.
"Yes, a ride would be great," I said. Opening the door, I climbed into the passenger seat.
Hank pulled back out into traffic and smiled. "So, the bald guy took you to Ray's?" He chuckled.
I balled up my fists and took another deep breath. "What is it with people, discriminating against male pattern baldness?"
"I'm sorry," Hank apologized, but he was still laughing.
"How did you know he's bald, and he took me to Ray's?" I put my shoes next to me on the seat and examined the soles of my feet.
"I was passing by Ray's, on my way to Fairton, when you stormed out the front door. I saw you start walking, so I turned around to see if you needed help. He smiled again, his sapphire blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
Hank is over six feet tall, has thick, dark hair, and is ruggedly handsome. His body's as incredible as his face, with broad shoulders, muscular arms and chest, and well-formed legs.
We dated our last two years of high school. I was so in love that I gave him my virginity on Halloween night of our senior year. I thought we'd get married after college. But Hank had other ideas. We broke up, he enlisted in the army, and eventually he married someone else. They have an eleven-year-old daughter who lives with her mother in Maryland.
When I moved home last summer, we had one perfect date before disaster struck. Hank was arrested for a crime he didn't commit. He blamed me, and we were over again until the night of my grandmother and George's wedding reception.
After a romantic, slow dance, we ended up making out in a storage room. I was ready to do almost anything he wanted. But it turned out that what he wanted was for me to give up my agency. I walked out on him and got drunker than I ever have in my life, experiencing my first blackout.
He told me the next day (after I found him naked in my bathroom) that he'd found me crying outside the reception hall. He claims that he took me home, and being the gentleman that he is, he carried me up to my rooms. There, I undressed and climbed into bed, promptly passing out. He laid down next to me to make sure I'd be alright.
He woke up before me and took a shower, thinking I'd be up to a little making up when I woke up. I wasn't, and after he left, I cried myself back to sleep. The next day, I swore off booze and got serious about finding someone to settle down with.
"And how did you know he's going bald?" I asked, just as the answer came to me.
"Gabi," we said in unison.
Gabi is my oldest, best, and dearest friend, but I should remember that anything you tell her makes the rounds through the town gossip mill. Probably because the center of that mill was Gabi's salon.
Eighty percent of the female population of Herville gets their haircuts, dye jobs, and/or mani-pedi's there. I go there myself and take part in the ritual of grooming and discussing who's doing what with whom.
But still, I was a bit miffed that Gabi told Hank that I'm dating a bald guy. Jeez, so he's her cousin, I deserved some loyalty too.
"Well, I'm not dating a bald guy anymore." My eyes widened when I realized I’d said the words out loud.
Hank's laughter filled the cab of his pickup.
"Don't laugh," I scolded. Then I smiled in spite of myself. "It's not because of his lack of hair. It’s because he’s boring, stingy, and a thief."
"A thief?" Hank looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
"He stole my hush puppies," I said, anger creeping back into my voice.
"The bastard! That's gotta be a hanging offence," Hank said and laughed harder.
; I crossed my arms over my chest, but I was smiling again.
Hank pulled off the highway and onto my family's lane. It led to two driveways: one to our home, the other to Peter's cabin. A hundred feet before the driveway, just out of sight of the house, is a small wooden bridge. The bridge spanned a small creek. When Hank and I dated twenty-two years ago, we always stopped on the bridge for a goodnight make out session. I wasn't surprised when he stopped there now.
Shifting the truck into park, he reached for me. I resisted at first, then softened when his fingers brushed my cheek and caressed my bare shoulder.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered.
His lips touched mine and heat raced through my body. My arms came up and circled his neck, pulling him closer. His hand roamed down my torso as his tongue touched mine. A moan escaped from my throat, just before a horn sounded behind us.
We jolted apart, both of our heads swiveling to see who was driving up behind us. It was my Aunt Jeannie and her boyfriend, successful defense attorney, Karl Beyer. They were both eating huge ice cream cones. Aunt Jeannie managed a little wave when she saw me in the truck.
Hank shifted into drive, and we rolled on towards my home. He parked in the driveway and turned to me. "Any chance of continuing this at my house?"
"Do you still want me to give up my agency?" I looked into his eyes. He was weakening, but not enough.
He nodded. "I don't want any more ugliness in my life, and I can't sit around and worry about the woman I love. As it is, I have to worry about my only brother, the police detective. It's not fun."
"See ya," I said wistfully and slid out of the truck.
"You'll come around," he said before I closed the truck door. "You love me too."
Without another word, I walked to my front door, went inside, and closed the door.
CHAPTER TWO
I woke with bright sunlight filling the room. It was eight o'clock, and I only had an hour to get to the office. Forcing myself to get out of bed, I stumbled to the balcony doors. Resisting the urge to whip the drapes closed and climb back into bed, I looked outside at the gorgeous summer morning.
