She whispered in my ear. “Then, afterwards, we go back to your place and make mad and passionate love, again and again until I have sucked you dry. Agreed?” This was followed with a tongue in my ear.
“Agreed.”
She looked into my eyes. “But first say it.”
“Say what?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Oh my, this is so sudden. What will our parents think?”
“If you don’t say it, I will march to the kitchen housewares store next door, buy the biggest knife I can find, and cut off your penis and chicken-fry it.”
Not a nice feeling. My erection began to disappear. I thought this Texan girl could do it too. “Karen, I love you so much. Will you marry me?”
“Yes, I will.” She planted a big fat, wet kiss on my lips. “Now get in there and use that credit card your boss gave you.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me into the shop, like a tugboat in full power. Fortunately she wasn’t too demanding and didn’t want me to buy something with the Hope Diamond attached to it, but neither did she want a micro-granular speck. It was a compromise of modesty and the Texas ‘bigger is better’ philosophy.
Karen was a woman of her word. After fulfilling her part of the bargain back at my place, by making love for two hours, we arrived for dinner later that evening and gave the good news to the family.
“Well, it’s about time,” said Mrs. Owens.
By the January 3rd, our picture was on the fourth page of the local newspaper, under engagement announcements. Karen wanted to move in with me immediately, although her parents had different opinions on this. Karen argued that she was a big girl now. Her parents argued that we would be ‘living in sin’ and that God wouldn’t bless us if we did. It sounded so much like the story I heard from my father about when he proposed to my mother; the local Catholic priest said the exact same thing. The issue was brought forward to the pastor of their local Baptist church. Although the man was kinder and more progressive than his ‘foaming-at-the mouth’ televangelist counterparts, he was also against the idea of us moving in together before the wedding. Nevertheless, to minimize the collateral damage, he penned down the earliest date he could find in his appointment calendar. We suggested Valentine’s Day but he was booked out for that date months in advance. He suggested the end of the month, then asked if we had enough willpower to hold back from any more sexual activity until then, emphasizing that it would be worth the waiting. For the sake of everybody’s satisfaction, we agreed. We also had to agree to meet one time with other engaged couples for pre-marriage counseling in two weeks. It would be a very short engagement.
My parents were also happy about the good news. Mother wanted to come out ASAP to help the Owens with the preparation. My dad seemed skeptical about me marrying a Texan girl; it also meant that he had to travel again long distance, which he didn’t like.
We would be busy before the wedding, not only with preparations, but also cleaning up the mess that had occurred after the announcement in the papers. What mess am I talking about? Well, on the 4th of January, the windows of our book shop had been smashed, the door broken into and the walls spray-pained and vandalized! Parts of the walls had the word ‘Bitch!’ scribbled on them. Talk about a Nazi Krystallnacht. Karen almost had a nervous breakdown when she saw this and I had to send her to the doctor to get a sedative. It wasn’t a pretty scene at all.
There was one idiot who would do this – OK, perhaps two.
Number one candidate idiot was Willi.
Number two was Bo Hopkins, or perhaps the corrupt Sheriff Driscol.
However, I doubted if this was Mr. Hopkins’ particular style of getting revenge, after all, he had more to lose than Willi. But the police couldn’t find Willi anywhere. Or at least they weren’t admitting it.
It was endless paperwork with the police, the insurance and with getting handworkers to replace the glass, repaint walls and repair bookshelves. We had to close for several days until everything was repaired and decent enough to re-open.
Then I received a letter in the mail at home. It was a death threat from Willi, using colorful metaphors, calling me a ‘filthy white trash Scum-Billy. Since you love whores and queers so well and idolize that nigger, commie, muslin, scholiast destroying the USA. You brain dead bastard. Just remember, we true southerners know where you live asshole!”
This wasn’t comforting at all. I went to my closet and searched for the Red Sox baseball jacket that I wore the day I arrived in Texas but hadn’t worn since; I rummaged through all the pockets.
There it was, the paper napkin with the telephone number scribbled on it. I dialed it immediately.
“Horny Toad Bar and Grill.”
“Yes, I got your number from a biker named Killer Jack Evans. I need to reach him.”
After leaving a message, I called the police about the letter. They promised to have a squad car parked near our house and shop for the next few days to keep an eye out. We still didn’t get a lot of sleep. About two days later, I heard the distinctive noise of a Harley Davidson chopper pulling up at the book shop. I came down in time to see Killer Jack open the door and enter the shop. He had a package under his arm. One of the workers at the register turned a shade paler on seeing the huge man step inside, as if he could have been the one who did the vandalism. Karen was on her lunch break and away from the shop.
“Jack.” I shook hands. He wasn’t wearing his usual Hell’s Angels jacket, but another jacket with logos I didn’t recognize.
“Daniel, you called for me.”
I nodded and signaled to the cashier that I would handle this. “Follow me to my office,” I said to our biker friend.
“You have an office?”
“It’s my store, Jack.”
He followed me upstairs, whistling to himself as he absorbed the books and furnishings. After closing the door and sitting down I offered him a drink, which he accepted. I even allowed him to smoke a cigar which I kept for special guests.
“Looks like you have it made in the shade, Daniel,” he said, puffing rings in the air above me. “A slick book store, a successful blog. I loved that story about the tornado. “
“Just doing my job. You’ve changed since last time we met. You’re wearing another biker jacket. That means you changed clubs. Isn’t that taboo?”
Jack nodded. “I’m now with the Banditos in Dallas.”
The Banditos were the second biggest motorcycle club in the country, and powerful rivals to the Hell’s Angels, sometime having violent clashes with each other. “What’s going on, Jack? Changing clubs can be hazardous for your health, if you know what I mean.”
“Let’s just say the less you know, the better. Just to change the subject, I hear you’re getting married, to a local girl in town. Congrats. Looks like you don’t hate Texas as you once did.”
“Thanks. That’s part of the reason why I was looking for you.”
“So how can I help?”
I explained everything that had happened in the past few weeks, especially about the vandalism and death threats from Willi.
“So what do you want me to do?” Jack asked, eyeing the office environs and windows.
I slipped a note to him, with all the info I was able to muster about Willi and his possible whereabouts, including pictures. “Find this guy. Convince him that it is not in his best interests to stalk, vandalize or threaten me, my fiancé or her family, our property or business premises ever again.” I began to feel like Don Corleone giving instructions to a Sicilian thug to wipe out a mob rival. I added the additional information, so that there were no misunderstandings. “Please don’t kill or injure him, unless he tries to be stupid and comes after you, but I think he’ll understand where I’m coming from.”
Jack placed the cigar on the glass ashtray and examined the photos and papers.
I added while he was reading, “I’ll pay you for your services.”
He chuckled. “You don’t even know how much I would charge for such a job
. But I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll find this punk and scare the shit out of him, but in return I want you to do me a favor.”
“What’s that?
Jack picked up the packet from the floor, the one he had brought in with him. He placed it on my desk. The box was about the size of a printer, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. It looked heavy. “I want you to hang on to this for a few weeks. Whatever you do, don’t open it. Hide it in the safest place here. Can you do that for me?”
“It’s not a bomb or anything like that?”
“I assure you, it’s not a bomb, but I don’t want you to ask too many questions either. Nothing is going to happen.”
I studied the box for a moment. What sort of seedy business was I getting into now?
“Jack, I’ll hang on to your box on one condition, I want a number where I can reach you directly, not a bar and grill.”
Jack nodded and pulled out a business card. It was a men’s club in Dallas, the type where pole dancers plied their trade.
“I’m manager there,” Jack said. “That’s my personal cell phone number.”
I took the card and finished my drink. “Thanks. Let me know how it goes with Willi.”
“You bet.”
Chapter Sixteen
I forgot about the packet as the weeks passed in preparation for the wedding. We decided to hold the ceremony at the ranch, since the Owens Family were in the wedding business and had the facilities ready, with contacts for florists and caterers and all that stuff.
The following day, my mother arrived at the Hamilton Airfield. She stepped out and gave great big hugs to Karen and me. She had a present for Karen. “It’s a little something from Boston,” she said.
Karen unwrapped the present, revealing a porcelain clock in the shape of the Old North Church in Boston; the location from which the famous "One if by land, and two if by sea" signal was sent, relating to Paul Revere's midnight ride just before the start of the American Revolution. I found it cheesy, but also knew that the present was for her and not for me.
“Thank you, Mrs. Preis.”
“Please call me June, sugar. See, I can also speak southern.” She laughed.
Karen hugged her again. “Ah, you’re so sweet, June.”
“Have you bought a wedding dress yet?”
“Yes,” said Karen. My parents paid for it.
“How many bridesmaids and ushers have you got?”
“Only two; my roommates. They’re my best friends. Daniel still doesn’t know who to get for a best man.”
Mother looked at me with suspicious eyes. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I guess I don’t make friends easy out here.”
“Your father is coming out,” she said.
That surprised me. “When and how?”
He’s taking an Amtrak to Dallas as we speak. He wants you to pick him up at the station in Waco so he can chat. He says he has important things to say to you.”
I still couldn’t understand why dad didn’t want to fly anymore. “I’ll bring Karen with me.”
“No, he specifically said that he wants to see you first, before you introduce Karen to him.”
We took mom’s baggage to the Dakota. As we drove to my place, I asked her, “What’s going on, mom?”
“I think your dad is getting old. He doesn’t want you to stay in Texas. He wants you to come back to Boston; both of you.”
Karen sat in the back and placed her hand on my mother’s shoulder.
“But June, I don’t want to move to Boston. Daniel and I have already talked it through. We’ll visit you for Christmas and Easter and all that. I would love to see Boston and see the sights, but I could never live there.”
“I know, Karen. I understand. That’s why I have a plan.”
Later that afternoon I drove alone to the train station. It was the Amtrak station in a small town called McGregor, just outside of Waco. The diesel passenger train inched up to the simple platform and stopped.
Out stepped my dad; although he was only 52, he looked weary and a little frail. He had lost some weight since the last time I saw him. He carried two small suitcases. He always dressed like a salesman with that funny bowtie, making him look like an accountant from a 1950’s movie. As I came up to him on the platform he placed his bags down so we could embrace.
“Wie gehts, dad?” I said in German, his mother language.
“Gut, Daniel. Alles klar mit dir?”
“Es geht mir immer gut.”
We continued speaking in German throughout the drive home. He always spoke to me in German, ever since I was a baby. Although by the time I went to Kindergarten and heard my playmates converse in English, I stopped talking to him in German and spoke English. Nevertheless, he replied in German and it has been that way ever since. In college I decided to converse with dad once again in German after a hiatus of many years. It was helpful in getting a job with the Berlin, Berlin magazine after college.
“I can’t believe you don’t want to fly anymore, dad. It’s perfectly safe, you know.”
Dad was studying the environs, the same way I did when I first came out here. He must have thought I had lost my mind.
“Nothing wrong with trains, son. Do you know that 82,000 passengers ride on 300 Amtrak trains per day? These long-distance trains have their best ridership in twenty years.”
“Where did you get that from?”
“From a brochure I read.”
“Well, anyway, I’m so happy you came out for the wedding, dad. That’s what’s most important.”
“You know I still find it dumb, son.”
So, here it comes. “What do you find dumb?”
“That you want to marry someone from this empty wilderness and not some nice girl in Boston.”
“Are there any nice girls in Boston? I couldn’t find any when I was there.”
“You also had every chance to find a pretty Fraulein in Berlin, but nothing happened.”
“Dad, I made my choice. You’re going to love Karen when you meet her.”
“She probably has this terrible Texas accent that I won’t understand.”
“No, she speaks English wonderfully, and her parents too. Everyone has stereotyped Texas as some backwater, primitive land of nut cakes, but that’s not true.”
“Well that’s what you once wrote in your article on the internet.”
“You mean on my blog.”
“Whatever. Look, Daniel. I know you will make a fine husband to Karen and I’m looking forward to meeting her. She looks pretty in the pictures you emailed us. But that’s not the problem.”
I slowed down because I knew that there would be a speed trap around that upcoming hill – and I was right. The police car was just sitting near a signpost, with a radar gun pointing at the drivers coming by. I was so proud of myself. “So, what is the problem?”
“The problem is that I hear that you don’t want to come back to Boston. That’s your home, not … this place.”
“Dad, home is where relationships are at. You left Germany to marry mom. Isn’t it the same thing with me?” Dad was at least eight years older than mom, but she didn’t mind that. I could see from the old wedding pictures that dad was healthy and strong in those days. It was the last couple years that his health was in decline.
“What about my book shop back home, son? I’m not getting any younger. I hoped that you would quit that sleazy magazine you work for and take over the management of our family shop.”
“If I quit now, I can get sued by my boss for breach of contract. You have a great manager already. It can’t be for that reason. Is it because we’re so far away?”
Dad sighed. “Yes, that too. Think about it, son. You might have children one day. Do you expect me to come out here, to this wasteland, to visit them?”
“Dad, we’ll be coming out to Boston when my project is finished. That’s a promise.”
“But it’s only a visit.”
“Yes, but we’ll come out twice a year. K
aren and I have already agreed to that.”
Dad was silent for a while. The sun was close to the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. A message buzzed from my phone, an SMS from Killer Jack:
Found the person you wanted.
Explained message loud and clear.
He understood.
I smiled in satisfaction. At least Jack didn’t have to kill Willi or do some other Mafioso thingy, like cutting his fingers off with a cigar cutter.
Dad muttered something.
“What’s that, dad?”
“It’s the rheumatism. It acts up on me when it gets cold.”
I nodded. Mother was right. She knew everything. “You know, dad, just a few more miles up ahead, they have this nice hot springs. They made it into a resort hotel.”
That seemed to have captured his attention. “Interesting.”
“It’s two off-ramps up ahead. I’ve been keen on seeing the place myself. I’ve read about it on their webpage. It treats all sorts of problems rheumatism and back aches. They even have a great team of masseurs.”
“Won’t we arrive late at this place … Hamilton … of yours?”
“Not at all. If it’s OK with you.”
He nodded. “It’s OK with me.”
My smart phone buzzed in my pocket. “Ah, mom sent an SMS.”
“She’s there already?
“Arrived this morning. Her lawyer contacted her. Gave her some good stuff about my work situation.”
“So you are trying to leave that smut magazine after all?”
“This is the Bible-Belt, dad. Such a career change in these parts will be beneficial to me and my future wife.”
We arrived at the Owens Ranch later than expected. Dad enjoyed the two-hour stop at the health spa and its facilities and he wanted to book another session as soon as possible. Dad found Karen an ‘interesting person’ when he first met her; he even allowed her to call him Aaron, much to my satisfaction. My parents would stay at the ranch for the next few days until the wedding. The Owens insisted and they had enough room for them. Mom was hoping that dad would love the spa so much that he would come back every winter for therapy against his rheumatism. I wanted to get an early start at the book shop the next day, so I gave Karen a goodnight kiss and said goodnight to everyone at the ranch. By the time I got home, my smart phone buzzed again. Bronsworth.
Heart of Texas Page 13
