Daring Young Man

by Ellwood, Leigh

  making kissy noises and beckoning Lauren closer. Lauren shook her head. The entire room moved and blurred before her, but Bob stayed in focus, and his focus appeared to be the valley between her ample breasts, which heaved in her black lace bra. Lauren felt her nipples spring to attention. Bob pursed his plastic mouth. "Sit on my face," he demanded. Lauren snorted. Why did he sound like a mafioso? No more watching Sopranos

  reruns before bed. "No," she said. "Come on, let me lick that gorgeous pink clit of yours. Press your thighs against me

  and grind that sweet pussy into my face until I suffocate." "No! What do you mean, suffocate? You can't breathe anyway, you're not real!" Could he move his arms now? Lauren scooted away, just in case, and hoped she hadn't had enough wine to render him mobile. Horny as she felt, she wasn't in the mood to fuck in the Twilight Zone. Let Ellie and Sue engage in the sexually bizarre.

  "Let me taste me you again, Lauren," Bob begged. "I want to run my tongue up and down your pussy lips and drain you dry. I want to make you come, just like the good old days." "You want to go back into the closet?" Lauren warned, her voice slurred. "What's the matter, Lauren? Don't we have fun? Don't you like riding my cock, feeling me vibrate inside you?" Bob sounded like a pained mafioso now. "Why do you want to bury me in the backyard, after all I've done for you, and to you?"

  "You're not real, Bob," Laura said, and rose on legs of gelatin. She waved her arms for balance, forgetting she still had one last swallow in her glass. Liquid red rained on the carpet and Lauren cursed. "Ugh, Merlot," Bob groaned. "That's not coming out." "Doesn't matter. The landlord will have new carpet put in when I give up the lease to

  this damn place." "Why you doing that?" Lauren looked pointedly at her plastic playmate. "No point in keeping this apartment

  when Jake has a big house." "What? Oh, come on, Lauren. You're not really going through your stupid plan to

  seduce that old geezer, are you?" Bob laughed. "I didn't think you were into soft serve." "Good night, Bob. You can sleep out here with the box of dildos. Make some new friends." Lauren stumbled away, looking for the hallway and failing. Who had changed the structural integrity of her apartment?

  "I bet he's never eaten a pussy in his life," Bob called behind her. "Eating pussy probably wasn't invented when he was young." "Yeah, well he's gonna eat this one, and he'll be the only one who does." She could

  have sworn she had a bedroom. Bob's voice faded. "It's not gonna happen, Lauren. Jake's mooning over his dead

  wife." "Dead being the operative word, Bob. She's not coming back." "Long as he remembers her, though, she'll never really go away," Bob teased her.

  "Fuck somebody your own age. Better yet, fuck me." "Go to hell, Bob." Where was her bedroom? "Sit on my fa—!" Lauren found the right door and slammed it, effectively silencing Bob. She hoped

  the insecurities voiced through the sex doll wouldn't follow her as she dreamed tonight. She crawled headfirst into bed without bothering to undress the rest of the way, fisting the sheets in a poor attempt to center herself as her inebriation threatened to make her sick. Her pussy ached, but she fought the urge to crawl back to the living room and straddle Bob's big mouth. Not that she could if she wanted to; too much wine had turned her body to lead. She hadn't the strength to even palm her pussy and stroke herself to orgasm. She wanted Jake to do that to her. Man. She really loved the guy. She really wanted him to love her back.

  Three

  Hey, Kenny, who's that girl over there? The one in the blue dress, walking with

  Marcy? She's new in town, then? Oh, no reason, I'm gonna marry her, is all... A bleating car horn tore though Jake's memory, and the sepia-toned Dareville of old shifted back to present day. Jake ground the clutch and jarred the stick shaft back into drive, then urged the truck through the intersection Cindy Redding crossed with her cousin Marcy forty-three years ago. Dareville had changed quite a bit since the day he first laid eyes on his beloved, and Jake took care to note everything as he passed into the gravel lot of the market, parking in his designated spot.

  He leaned back in his seat and sighed, looking askance at the road. Every detail remained vivid, every move ingrained in a timeline Jake often relived. That day had been the first of the senior year, with Cindy and Marcy headed to first period English class at Dareville High. After the final bell of the day, both girls snacked on French fries and Strawberry Nehi at the Shake 'N Stop, then walked it off with a few leisurely laps around Dareville Memorial Park before heading home. Jake couldn't join them due to his after school job at Doc Anson's drugstore, but the grand picture window in front allowed him a perfect view of Cindy's activities.

  He could only watch her from a distance, Cindy swinging his heart in circles the way she swung her clutch purse around on its string-thin strap as she and Marcy joked amongst themselves.

  He remembered how, the next day, he introduced himself to her. A few days after that, she and Marcy had forgone the Shake 'N Stop for the snack counter at Doc Anson's, and its handsome young soda jerk.

  Jake slid out of the truck cab and surveyed his immediate surroundings. Small as Dareville was, it had changed drastically since that time. Dareville High was now a private elementary school undergoing a massive renovation, names from the Vietnam and Desert Storm eras had been added to the granite memorials in the park, Doc Anson had long since died, and Jake's Organic Market now stood where the Shake 'N Stop had been.

  And Cindy Redding no longer crossed the street in a pretty blue dress. She wouldn't cross from the town square to the parking lot to greet Jake with a kiss, no matter how hard he envisioned it. He shook his head, forced to be content with going back to work instead.

  The concern of his employees and regular customers, however veiled by strained smiles and surreptitious glances, was overwhelming and easy to detect once the automatic doors of his store slid open. Jake took it all in stride, nodding to every person who acknowledged him, hoping nobody would stop him for conversation. Small towns yielded big news, and Jake didn't doubt everybody present knew he had gone to the cemetery yesterday. He didn't want to bother with any more condolences.

  Sad, welcoming murmurs were drowned out by the soft rustle of paper grocery sacks and the chirping of barcode scanners. Jake nodded again to those he knew and hoofed quickly to his office, only to immediately confront another soft frown.

  Marlene Robeson sat behind his desk, poring over green-lined spreadsheets scribbled in pencil. She snapped to attention at his near quiet footfall. "Jake, honestly, you need to join the twenty-first century," was her greeting.

  "I'm well, Marlene, dear, and yourself?" Jake snatched a tissue from the box on his desk and mopped his brow. Ninety degrees in the shade, and Marlene had the AC turned off in his office. It had been on full blast when he left to run his errands; only she and his assistant manager had permission to be here in his absence, and Danielle always made herself scarce when Marlene was around.

  Marlene was either a penny-pincher of the highest order or the world's oldest masochist, Jake decided. One long stride had him in front of the dial. He ignored the look of disapproval on Marlene's face and smoothed a wrinkle from one covered leg.

  "Besides," he said, "what's wrong with the way I look? From what I understand, coveralls never went out of style. Sure, I could sew some rock band emblems on the pockets—"

  "I'm talking about this, Jake." Marlene slapped a chubby hand on the tattered ledgers stacked before her. The force caused a clump of graying dark hair to fall between her eyes, and Marlene wearily blew away the errant strands. "How do you expect me to figure everything out if you've got numbers written all over the place? They're even in the margins, and written in faded ink. I don't know how you're still in business."

  Jake nodded to the coffee machine at Marlene's right. "Is that fresh?" It was the least combative remark he felt he could make. Marlene's complaints were nothing new, and Jake thought it highly amusing that a retired accountant of Marlene's skill couldn't decipher the market's records,
seeing as how often she talked of working for less organized clients. No, this was a dialogue practiced once too often between them. Marlene complains of lack of organization, he insists Cindy never had a problem doing the books…

  …which would be Marlene's cue to remind Jake that Cindy was dead. Jake didn't need to be reminded, and he didn't feel like continuing with the school play. He hoped Marlene would take the hint, get the books done, and go home.

  Unfortunately, she stuck to the script. "You need more help, Jake," she said, her brown eyes soft and pleading. She pressed both palms to the desk and idly picked at the blotter. "You need to get a computer in here, with accounting and inventory software, and you need to hire a regular assistant to use it because I know you don't have the patience for it."

  "I don't, you're right. I'd rather get my hands dirty," he said. He would rather, too, not continue the age-old discussion of buying a computer. Wasn't it enough that he conceded to the electronic scanners at the cash registers five years ago? The constant beeping aggravated him; it sounded so impersonal, as if prompting customers to get their groceries and get the hell out of the store. The last thing Jake had intended with the market was to make shopping seem more like the hurried chore it didn't have to be. People hurried enough as it was, rushing from place to place, gobbling down dinner before soccer practice, ballet lessons, and twelve hours of godawful reality television. Jake wanted the store to be a place where people could slow down, and enjoy browsing what he had to offer.

  He missed the days of old, the melodic ka-ching of a cash register, and the pleasantries exchanged with customers as he rang up and bagged their items. Such stories he had shared with people in the forty years he had worked and/or owned markets…customers became friends, they would bring their children to shop, and their children would grow to become customers. He longed for those days again, that way of business might be the tonic he needed to get on with life. But, he didn't want a computer, of that he was certain; technology for him didn't

  make life easier, it made life move faster. He wanted to pace himself. He had wanted that for Cindy, too. She left too soon. "Look," Marlene was saying, "it's not like I'm asking you to get HAL…" Jake looked at her, frowning. "Who's Hal?" "HAL. You know, HAL, from 2001…forget it." Marlene sighed. "Just get a small computer. A laptop, it won't take up any space. You can have all your business files in one folder, and you can get rid of all this paper crap lying around waiting to catch on fire." "What if there's a power outage?" Jake asked. "All my records will be lost." Marlene tapped her temple and smiled. "No, Jake. It's all stored in the memory

  banks." "I have a good memory." "You have a good stubborn streak, is what." With one final slap on the desk, Marlene stood, granting Jake a better view of her. He took note of her nice floral print dress—cinched at her thick waist and scooped wide at the neck to accentuate her full bosom, hemmed at the knees to show off her shapely calves. Too nice a dress to wear for one hour's work in a sweltering office, he decided. Perhaps the sixtyish divorcee had a late lunch date.

  If that was so, then it was all the more reason Marlene should be going. All Jake wanted to do was work and, when time permitted, maybe sit at his desk and think of Cindy. "I'll keep the computer in mind, Marlene, if you really think it will help," he said. He hoped, rather, his words would encourage her to leave, but Marlene frustrated him by reclaiming the chair.

  "Phone rang while you were out. A Miss Jenkins from Wilson Realty," she said archly. Damn. Marlene knew better to answer the private line in his office. Marlene held up a slip a paper and squinted. Jake saw the slanting cursive through the paper, punctuated by dark pen point impressions. "She wanted you to know that the Drydens have accepted your offer, and that you should call her back to schedule an appointment for closing." The paper fluttered to the desk and Marlene frowned. "Now why would you make a land purchase through a realtor who isn't your own son?"

  "For the same reason I expressly instruct people to let the voice mailbox pick up my private line when I'm not around," Jake said calmly, pouring a mug. Because it's none of your damn business. It's nobody's business. Not yet, anyway.

  Eventually, though, everybody in town would know that Jake planned to open a second store in Suffolk. Business was strong at Jake's, so much that the purchase of a vacant storefront in the heart of Suffolk was doable, if not necessary. More customers were coming to Dareville from that area, so why not save them the trouble of driving? A second Jake's, too, would reach customers even farther away.

  A second Jake's would give him more work to do, more opportunity to push away the pain of his loss. Work work work…he wouldn't heal, but the activity would help.

  "All the more reason why you need an assistant," Marlene insisted when Jake grudgingly revealed his plans in the wake of her wheedling. "You can't manage two stores with this system, Jake. You'll lose more money than you'll take in."

  "Danielle will run the Suffolk store full-time. It makes perfect sense, since she lives out that way," Jake said. "She knows the business inside and out, too. I don't doubt her abilities and I trust her completely."

  "So do I, Jake, that's not what I meant. I know Danny does a great job here, but who's going to help you here when she's gone?" "I'll hire another assistant manager, Marlene, more than likely I'll promote from

  within. I'm already thinking of a few people." "Well, of course, but they'll be doing Danny's old job, and not taking on these financial responsibilities. If you're serious about opening a second store, it would be better to have somebody handle the books for both to keep everything organized. Really, Jake..." Marlene rounded the desk and came up beside Jake, touching his arm. Jake flinched; this was not the comforting touch of friend, a gesture of camaraderie.

  He watched, frozen, as Marlene's smooth, manicured hand cuffed him at the bend of his elbow and slid up toward his shoulder. This was a caress, a silent, passing innuendo that Jake didn't want to encourage, and it prompted him to reconsider why Marlene was dressed so nicely in the middle of the day with nowhere in particular to go. "Marlene…" "You get somebody to come in every day for about four hours, instead of once a

  week like I do," she interrupted. "She could work here since you seldom use the office." "I hadn't budgeted for an office manager," Jake said. "Just a boost in Danny's pay

  and hourly wages for about eight employees. It's not going to be a big store." "Pay a minimum wage. It'd be a good job for somebody who is retired and knows

  money." There was no mistaking the hint in her voice. She. Who else could she be? Jake sighed. He liked Marlene, but wasn't sure he wanted her around more than she already was. Why, too, was she hinting about a paying job when she had been perfectly happy to offer her services for no charge after Cindy died?

  "Marlene," he tried again, "are you having money troubles yourself?" Yes, it seemed odd for somebody like Marlene to be in a bad way financially. Jake imagined she could balance the national budget if given the chance. She was fishing for something.

  "Oh, no." Marlene stepped back and released Jake as if she had been burned. "I just think with your business growing you should consider something a little less volunteer."

  "Why pay somebody when you're doing my books for free, though?" Jake teased. He had to admit, he didn't come to work in the best of moods, but Marlene's squirrel-like expressions and fidgeting gestures were fun to watch. Just come out and say it, girl, he wanted to add.

  "Unless you're thinking," he said instead, "that you would rather have the time for yourself. I certainly wouldn't blame you, I'm sure you have better things to do…"

  "No, of course not. I don't mean it like that." And the soft, suggestive grip returned; Jake felt her hand tighten this time around his bicep. It felt almost possessive, and it unnerved him. Where a simple touch like this from Cindy would have quickly encouraged an erection, Marlene's touch did nothing for him sexually.

  "I enjoy being here, Jake. I love the work, it's given me a sense of purpose since I retired, and since Chet and
I split," she continued, her voice bitter at the mention of her ex-husband. "But the workload will grow as Jake's grows, and with this new place you'll need somebody to be here for more hours to help."

  "You do have a point there, Marlene." Jake shifted nervously in place and fiddled with his coffee mug. It was enough to negotiate freedom from Marlene's grasp, and he rounded the desk to his chair to avoid further contact. "I probably could use another employee."

  Another lover, though, was out of the question, and as Jake looked into Marlene's eyes it was becoming all the more clearer to him. Marlene didn't want to just replace Cindy in the office, but Jake didn't want to think about another woman in his bed. He couldn't.

  "Tell you what," he said finally. "I'll call Red and have him place an ad in the Shopper for a new position. Maybe start interviewing next week." He cast his eyes down to avoid the look of obvious disappointment on Marlene's face. "Oh, okay," she said. "But don't you think—" He tapped the ledgers and cut in quickly. "Are we good for the week?" Marlene opened her mouth again to answer, but it was the scream coming from deep within the store that caught Jake's attention. The distant clatter of falling boxes and muffled curses urged him out of the office, past a bewildered Marlene, to see what was ruckus had erupted in his store.

  Four

  "Miss McKenna, a word, please?" Lauren looked toward her open classroom door and her smile instantly faded. While it wasn't unusual for Principal Yost to call teachers into the hall for a quick consultation during class periods, Lauren recalled the tone of the middle-aged, balding man's voice was never so grim. She didn't like the straight line of Yost's thin-lipped expression, nor the white of his knuckles as he stood in the threshold, gripping the doorknob. This was bad.