Bad Reputation: The Complete Collection

by Matt Hader

  “Oh, wow.”

  Sharon hadn’t seen him in over twenty years. And my how the years had been kind to him. He was a lean 6’2”, with sandy-blonde hair, tan, and wearing only cargo shorts, as he washed his black colored, two-door BMW convertible in the driveway of his parents’ home.

  “Oh, my god,” Sharon said, aloud. “It’s Dougie Borchard.”

  Dougie Borchard, neighborhood heartthrob back in his teen years, and who still held his own. He squinted toward the white Dodge Charger, but he couldn’t see who was driving because of the sun burst reflection off the windshield. He went back to absently washing his car.

  Sharon waited for him to turn his back before she accelerated around the corner and to her own home at the other end of Iowa Drive. She pulled into the short driveway of a cute, sage-colored, California-rancher home with cream-colored trim. Her parents had built the house in the early 1960s and lived there for the remainder of their lives. Sharon reached into her purse and activated the automatic garage door with the small remote control attached to her own key-chain.

  Once safely in the garage, she closed the overhead door, grabbed up her luggage, and stepped into the home through the kitchen door. She smiled as she set her bags down and studied the empty space. The open concept home had been updated just six months before she and Donald had moved to Balmoral, and the rehab was holding up just fine.

  The previous renters, a nice young professional couple from Nebraska, who were working for a Silicon Valley tech startup, had moved back home to be closer to their families. They had felt so badly about how they skipped out early on their one-year lease that they offered Sharon two-months of rent, on top of their security deposit, as compensation for them departing early. Sharon turned down their generous offer. She had different plans for the home, and simply wished them well.

  Sharon stood in the living room of the house and looked east, through the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall folding glass doors, toward the Oakland Hills and the peak of Mt. Diablo across the bay. The neighborhood was built terrace-style up the side of the Baywood Knolls hill, and that allowed her to see over the top of her back yard neighbor’s roof top -– just like the people across the street from her home would be able to see over hers.

  She unlocked and unfolded the massive wall-to-wall glass doors to their wide open configuration, inhaled a few deep breaths, and just took it all in. She truly missed living here, and without warning, her confused emotions began to boil up to the surface once again.

  Before her eyes could completely fill with tears, she spun on her heels and launched herself headlong into her day.

  She stepped back into the garage and unlocked the large, wall-sized storage locker housed there. Inside, on one of the shelves, was a bucket organized with cleaning materials. Alongside the shelves was a space where a vacuum cleaner, as well as a large air mattress, pillows, and a set of sheets, were stowed. She grabbed up the air mattress and the bedding.

  ***

  She felt like a stalker, but she couldn’t help herself. The BMW convertible was either gone or parked in the closed garage. Dougie was nowhere in sight. On her second pass of Dougie’s home, while out for an afternoon jog, Sharon had the overwhelming urge to ring the doorbell. She slowed to a walk, then stopped altogether, and studied the house. It looked as if Dougie had kept the home very well-maintained and in working order.

  She assumed that Dougie’s parents, who were in their mid-60s when Dougie and Sharon were both in high school, twenty-plus years ago, were probably gone by now and that he owned the house outright. In fact, over fifty percent of the homes in the area were family homes that were passed down from one generation to the next. California’s property tax history had a little something to do with that. The lower property taxes were ‘grandfathered in’ and passed along to the ones doing the inheriting, so it was mostly foolish to sell.

  “Sharon?” said the elderly woman’s abrasive voice.

  Sharon knew immediately who called out to her. She took in a sharp breath and spun, “Beverly!” She cautiously approached Beverly, her elderly life-long neighbor. “What a surprise,” said Sharon as she leaned in and gave Beverly an awkward hug.

  “What surprise? I’ve lived here for fifty years. Are you back now?”

  “Well, not exactly. Still living outside of Chicago.”

  “That idiot Donald and the boys are good?” asked Beverly.

  Beverly was the type who hadn’t quite got the handle on calibrating her conversational filter, even at her advanced age. Back when Sharon was growing up, Beverly was the vocal neighborhood bully. She would unabashedly dole out her condescending opinion to the other adults on anything that had to do with her block and how the neighbors ran their daily lives. Apparently, she was still in excellent form. But back in the day, she never turned her ire on children. She didn’t have any kids of her own, and her husband died years ago, but she loved the local youngsters, and looked out for them the best she could.

  “Everyone’s just fine,” Sharon lied.

  Beverly gave Sharon a knowing glance and added, “Not sure what you saw in that jackass you married. You’re better than that.”

  “It was lovely seeing you, Beverly,” said Sharon, as she leaned to walk away.

  “That kid across the street moved back in, you know.”

  That stopped Sharon. “He was gone until his parents both died. But now…” said Beverly.

  “Yeah, I wasn’t- I was just-”

  “Don’t give me that baloney, sweetie. I saw you checking the place out. It’s okay. No harm in looking, right?” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level, leaned closer, and said, “I’ve been looking since he graduated from college. Especially when he mows the lawn on a hot day. Shirt off, the whole shebang. You get me? No harm, right?”

  “Does he have a family?”

  “You should ring Dougie’s doorbell. I’m telling you, that kid has not changed one iota since high school. Still a practical joker, too. Remember that one Halloween with the underwear? That moron got what he deserved.”

  “I never forgot that,” said Sharon with a giggle, as she thought back to the time a teenaged Dougie tucked the lacy panties he found on their sexy female neighbor’s clothesline into the center console of an asshole-of-a-man who had lived mid-block. The jerk neighbor made it a habit of giving area teens a hard time, and coming down hard on them for even the most minor teen-related infraction. After the jerk neighbor’s wife found the frilly undergarment, the man’s shitty attitude towards the area teens softened considerably.

  Beverly looked skyward, took in a deep breath, and said, “It’s a beautiful day to be carefree. Wish my hip and knees would let me boogie again. I was really something in my day. Take care.” And with that, she waved goodbye and waddled into her own home.

  Sharon studied Dougie’s house, and stepped across the street, up onto his porch -– where she froze in place. After a five-count, Sharon ran down the steps, the street, and back to her own family home.

  ***

  Following a restless night’s sleep on the uncomfortable air mattress, Sharon went for another jog, showered, and dressed in her formal wear for the wedding she had to attend later that morning.

  Her eyes had a bit of ‘baggage’ underneath, nothing a little concealer couldn’t handle, but she was most proud of how the lacey, peach-colored cocktail dress looked on her toned 40-year old body. The daily workouts were, well, working out.

  As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, Sharon knew that she needed to make just one more adjustment to her total ensemble. She slid the wedding ring off her finger and placed it on the bathroom countertop -- and then left the house.

  ***

  As she maneuvered the Dodge Charger into the parking lot on Borel Avenue, where the chain drug store was located, she spotted Dougie in his parked conver
tible. But he didn’t see her. Dougie, dressed in cargo pants and a t-shirt, quickly hopped out of his car and headed into a dry cleaner store with a bundle of what appeared to be dress shirts.

  Sharon parked, exited her rental car, and kept her eye on the dry cleaner’s door for as long as she could, before she entered the drug store.

  As elegantly as she was dressed on that Saturday morning, she turned all the heads of the cashiers at the front of the business the moment the automatic doors slid open. She was there to simply retrieve a small pack of mints for the long, conversation-filled, wedding day ahead.

  Sharon looked absolutely incredible for that hour of day, but if any of the other shoppers or employees could see her inner thoughts they’d find a jumbled mess of inconsistencies.

  Was she really going to follow through with the divorce? If so, should she try and get her sons to live with her in California, or allow them to stay in the Chicago-area with their loving father? How long will it take for her belongings to arrive so that she wouldn’t have to spend another extra night sleeping on the uncomfortable air mattress?

  The moment she fully entered the store, she actually forgot why she was even in the place. She absently grabbed a pushcart and began to meander among the aisles. She looked at everything, and nothing, and tried to clear her head for what needed to truly be done in regard to her marriage. That was that. She had to begin divorce proceedings. It was time.

  She nearly bumped into another 40-year old woman pushing a cart, and rounded one aisle to enter the next. Sharon then stopped to admire the cosmetic assortment the store had laid out. It was an entire aisle, both sides, dedicated to only women’s makeup. It really wasn’t all that unusual, but Sharon needed something positive stuffed into her mind at that moment. Even a tidbit as pedestrian as a fully stocked makeup aisle would do the trick.

  The other 40-year old woman backed her cart up and reached past Sharon for some makeup remover that hung on a display hook. Unknowingly, Sharon grabbed the other woman’s cart and rolled away without either one noticing.

  “Stunning,” was all he said, and she immediately remembered the voice.

  Sharon stopped, turned, smiled, and said, “Hey. Look at you. How have you been, Dougie?”

  Dougie Borchard, who was long and lean, and looked relaxed and as tan and as sexy as she remembered. He stepped in to give her the briefest of hugs, and said, “I’m great. Wow, you look fantastic. Heading to Susie and Allen’s wedding?”

  “Weren’t you invited?”

  “Yeah, but I’m skipping it. I need some alone time this weekend. Work has just been incredibly busy. Overwhelming, really.”

  “You have to always look out for yourself first,” she said, as she held her purse a bit tighter to her side. The purse didn’t match her outfit, but she didn’t care about style when it came to keeping its contents safe and secure.

  “Is that your professional opinion, doctor?” he asked. When Sharon only smiled, he added, “Beverly got to talking yesterday afternoon. She hasn’t changed all that much, you know. Still keeping watch over the old hood.”

  “Oh, right,” is what Sharon said, but she mentally kicked herself for even speaking to Beverly in the first place.

  Dougie smiled, and said, “So? You’re back in town alone?”

  “Yeah, just me this trip,” she said.

  But Dougie had a strange expression on his face. When he looked down into her pushcart, Sharon followed his gaze. They both saw the only item in the cart -- an over-sized box of condoms.

  “Excuse me,” said the 40-year old woman. “You have my cart.”

  Sharon took in a sharp breath, quickly switched carts with the woman, painted on a fake smile, and said, “Dougie, it was great seeing you again, but I really have to get going.” As the other woman walked away, Sharon leaned in to kiss him on the cheek -- but Dougie gently, yet firmly, took her upper arm in his grasp, and whispered in her ear, “You don’t want to be stuck at some pretentious wedding. That Allen is kind of a condescending prick, anyway. Come with me. We’ll have a day around the bay. It’ll clear your head. Guaranteed.”

  Sharon slowly pulled her cheek away, but kept her eyes locked on his sexy hazels for a long moment as she seriously considered his offer.

  She gently backed away and said, “I have to go.”

  ***

  The wedding ceremony was spectacular. Sharon’s friend Susie and her groom exchanged vows under a cloudless sky near the clubhouse of the exclusive Burlingame club. Allen seemed charming, despite Dougie’s warning. Sharon shed a tear or two during the ceremony, but they weren’t tears of joy for her friend. Everything about the wedding reminded her of her own failures in life -- and her soon-to-be divorce.

  Sharon was so caught up in her own inner turmoil that she didn’t even realize the ceremony was over and that the bride and groom had already exchanged rings and kisses. She got to her feet and straggled along in back of the rest of the attendees as they headed toward the reception tables near the clubhouse.

  Later, as she stood alone and clutched her Prada bag tightly to her side, she reached for her third glass of champagne from the roving waiter’s tray. She raised the glass to her lips and stopped cold.

  What the hell was she doing? Getting sloppy drunk at a wedding reception was not what she needed right now. Her mind cleared just a bit as that realization struck her. Then she noticed a few lecherous stares from a group of drunken male wedding guests, who were probably placing bets on which one was going to take her home that night, she assumed correctly.

  Sharon needed to be stronger. She had to take charge and move on from her failed life in the Chicago-area. She required clarity, and not to get drunk enough to be awkwardly pawed on a wedding reception dance floor -- which could lead to… a place she did not want to be.

  At that moment she saw the BMW convertible circle into the parking lot. The car skidded to a stop and parked haphazardly. Dougie jumped out of the convertible without using the door. His eyes scanned the outdoor wedding party crowd for just an instant before they locked onto her.

  ***

  After she purchased a comfortable pair of cheap flip-flops at a 7-11, Sharon dumped her strappy dress shoes and purse back at her home on Iowa Drive. But she still wore the peach-colored cocktail dress as she and Dougie drove to Seal Point Park on the San Francisco Bay.

  The ride to the park in the convertible was quite pleasant. Neither Dougie nor Sharon said much as they took in the sights and the sunshine. The effects of the earlier champagne had almost worn off, and Sharon sat back and enjoyed watching people walking, working in their yards, and going about their days. It was home. It all seemed so right to her.

  “I made my seed money from a food distribution venture and that allowed me to start up the documentary film business,” said Dougie, after they had parked the car, and slowly walked, ascending a fifty-foot high man-made hill on the edge of the calm, gray-blue San Francisco Bay waters.

  “Impressive. Who would’ve thought one of the kids from the neighborhood would be so successful.”

  “You’re a doctor… Come on.”

  Sharon lowered her head and nodded. It was nice to be reminded of the effort that was placed into creating the professional life she had forged for herself. She hadn’t been complimented so sweetly, and succinctly, in some time. But Dougie’s last remarks reminded her, from all those years earlier, of how he was a man of few words. They were usually simple and great words, but he used very, very few to make his points. The company, the scenery, and bright sunshine lifted her mood rather quickly. And she didn’t feel an ounce of remorse over ditching Susie and Allen’s wedding reception.

  As they walked the crest of the hill, a 747 lumbered low overhead. It passed above the highway 92 Bridge and headed in to land at SFO. The jet was so close that she could make out the individual wind
ows of the plane. She watched the plane for a moment, and then took in the sight of the bay waters and the sun dappling off the Oakland Hills across the way. She missed living here so much, and thought, at that very moment, that it would all work out -- she was going to move back home. The contents of her purse would help her to do that.

  A flash of blue light caught her attention to the right, and she noticed as a San Mateo police car, light bar activated, pulled up directly in back of Dougie’s convertible -- which straddled two parking spots.

  “Uh, oh,” said Sharon, as she nodded to the car.

  “Ah, shit. Should’ve parked better, huh?” he said. Dougie began to walk back down the hill towards the car, before he stopped himself, and said, “Screw it. It’s only a parking ticket. No use moving it now. Hey, when’s the last time you were at the marina?” He turned and charged back up the hill, and led the way without awaiting an answer.

  ***

  The marina at Coyote Point was a favorite hangout of a teenage Sharon, Dougie, and a group of their neighborhood buddies back in the day. The area hadn’t really changed all that much since that time. There was a flat, wide arching park along the water, a wooded high point to the south where you could get an even better view of the planes landing at SFO, and of course, the impressive marina that was chock-full of an assortment of sail, and motorized, boats -- each deposited neatly into their individual slips.

  The high ridge to the south of the park was where Dougie attempted to kiss Sharon once when they were 15-year olds. She had rebuffed him for fear of where the kiss may lead. All these years later, she regretted not moving forward that day.

  “The point, huh? Remember?” asked Dougie through a charmed smirk, as he took a dirt path that would eventually lead them to the highest peak of the ridge.

  “What are you doing?” asked Sharon through her own flirtatious grin, as she followed along.