A Collection of Short Stories

by Les "Buzz" Harcus

"You look absolutely beautiful!" beamed Janet Martin watching her daughter, Amy, preening in front of the full length closet mirror in her new royal blue prom dress.

  Janet found it hard to believe her youngest daughter, her baby, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Amy was sixteen now, and going to the senior prom with Jim Roberts, one of the nicest boys in high school.

  A week ago, Thursday night, Amy had worn a grin ear to ear when she hung up the phone after Jim had called to ask her. She had floated around on cloud nine for hours afterwards. "He could have asked anyone else in school," she had squealed, "but he asked me! Wow!"

  The past week had flown by with a million, zillion things to do: shopping, shopping, shopping, a special dress, royal blue with matching shoes, her mother's small diamond ear rings, getting her hair styled, manicure, a bottle of Guicci perfume, and countless hours on the phone with her girlfriends talking about their dates, what band was playing, where to go afterwards for late dinner and on and on.

  "Mother, I'm so excited," Amy suddenly blurted as she opened the box from Masters Floral holding her corsage. Jimmy had thought to have it sent over that afternoon. Nervously she tried pinning on the corsage, finally succumbing to help from her mother's deft fingers. "I've got goose bumps!"

  Janet laughed. Glancing at the grandfather clock, she figured Jimmie would be over any minute now. It was half past six, and the dance started at seven at the high school.

  "Ralph!" Janet called up the steps to her husband. "Bring down the camera. I want several pictures of Amy and Jimmie standing in front of the fireplace. And I do hope you're wearing something decent."

  "Is that the new sweater you bought at McLaren's Department store?" Janet asked her mother, who had just entered the room.

  "Yes,” Grandmother Street answered pulling the sweater close about her. “These old bones need the warmth of a sweater, even in late May.”

  "Mom...do you think Jimmie will like my dress?" Amy was still preening in front of the mirror, adjusting a curl, grinning at herself.

  The phone rang.

  "Now who could that be?" Janet said stepping across the room and picking up the phone. "Hello..." she said, and then the color drained from her face."Wha-what did you say?" she stammered. Her heart sank as she listened to Clara Roberts.

  “Jimmie was dressed up in his best suit, hair combed, and ready to walk out the door when I noticed red spots breaking out on him. I knew immediately what it was: Chickenpox!”

  "Oh...lordy..." Janet breathed tossing a quick, nervous glance in Amy’s direction. "Oh...lordy..."

  Grampa George Street glanced up from where he was cleaning the grill in the airport's small cafe, surprised at the sight of a small jet plane just touching down on the tarmac at Lordsville airport. Fancy little jet, he thought, private. He watched as the plane came to a stop at the adjoining hanger.

  Lordsville was just a speck on the map with its little airport. Anyone going anywhere on business or vacation would have driven up to Saint Louis to catch the larger jets of any of the various major airlines. Mostly crop dusters and a few small, older vintage aircraft were all that could be found at Lordsville.

  George wondered why it landed here? Who's coming to town? Word had it that some bigshot multi-millionaire developer was interested in building a dozen condos over by the Mississippi, but then, they talked that way all the time. Still...

  The cafe was empty for the moment, time to clean off the grill, clean off the counter, square away the booths and several tables, put out silverware, water glasses and coffee mugs and tidy up a bit before the factory lunch break at ten.

  George stopped working on the grill to watch as a man in a sharp black uniform stepped off the plane, quickly followed by a beefy man in a wrinkled business suit. They were carrying on a heated conversation. George figured the first guy to be the pilot and the other guy the developer.

  With a grim look on his face, the pilot headed directly for the adjoining hanger. If he needed help he'd be in luck for Chet, the local airplane mechanic, was working on an old Waco biplane tonight. The beefy guy was already on his cell phone talking excitedly to someone by the way his hand flailed the air.

  He slammed the phone shut and made a beeline for the cafe.

  "Hey!” the beefy guy snapped entering the cafe. "Where the hell are we?" He ran his fingers through his greasy hair.

  "Lordsville," answered George.

  "Very funny," he replied with a disgusted look. "I mean where the hell are we in relation to Chicago?"

  "Couple three hours...two hours from Saint Louis."

  "Damn!" the man swore again. His black eyes took in the cafe in a glance. "Damn," he repeated and stormed out the door.

  George turned back to cleaning the grill. “Wonder what that's all about?”

  "Howdy," a voice said behind him. "Do you have soft drinks?"

  George turned around and found himself facing a nice-looking young man dressed in a black business suit, hair neatly combed, smiling. He was a far cry from the sloppy dressed kids that hung around after school.

  "Sorry...didn't hear you come in," George said with a grin. "We got all kinds of pop. What'll you have?"

  "Diet," the man replied settling down on a stool.

  "You off that jet plane?" asked George as he pulled a cold pop from the cooler.

  "Yes. Pilot said we lost our transponder, or something like that. Had to set down here. Too dangerous to fly into O'Hara without the proper equipment."

  "Right." He set the pop and a glass of ice before the youth. "You with the beefy guy?"

  "Herb?" The young man chuckled. "Yes. He's my manager. We're on our way to Chicago -- or at least we were. He's upset because he has to call and cancel a television engagement. Our whole schedule is screwed up. The pilot said he has no idea when we'll be able to take off again, probably late tonight." He poured pop over the ice and took a sip.

  "No!" screeched a shocked Amy, whirling around to face her mother. "No! No! No! Not chicken pox...not now...not tonight!"

  The look on her mother's face told the story. Suddenly Amy burst into tears. This was terrible. No, this was worse than terrible; this was a major disaster!

  Her dad was just coming down the steps carrying his camera, even wearing a tie and sports coat for this special occasion. "What?" he said stopping on the steps, looking from Amy to his wife. "What?"

  "Jimmie's got the chicken pox." blurted Amy and threw her arms around her mother's neck, sobbing.

  "There...there..." Janet said trying to console her distraught daughter. "Maybe dad could take you --"

  "No! No! I...I can't...I just won't go!" Amy threw an apologetic glance at her dad. "I'm sorry, daddy, but...no..."

  "But honey...you spent over a hundred dollars for the dress and new shoes...and you look so pretty...really..."

  Amy gave a forlorn look at her father. "Dad?"

  "Now listen to me,” Janet bristled, “Girls have gone to proms before with their dads. He’d show you a good time –“

  "Honey, your dad's a good dancer," offered Grandma.

  Amy slumped down in a chair, crushed, face in her hands. Her whole world had just crumbled before her. All her girlfriends would be in their ball gowns and with their special boyfriends -- and she'd be there with...dad. She'd never hear the end of it.

  George took a seat at the counter, having struck up a friendly conversation with the young fellow, Paul. "So, what kind of TV engagement did you have in Chicago?" he asked taking a sip of coffee. "You some kind of hot-shot rock and roll singer, or maybe a baseball player, or --"

  "Naw. "I'm in a teen movie that’s going to be released this coming week. I have to promote it. Chicago. New York. Some of the big TV talk shows. "I'm an actor."

  George grinned. He soon learned that Paul was from a small town out in the Texas panhandle, a place about the size of Lordsville. He'd just graduated from high school last year and, modestly he'd said, had gone on to Hollywood where he auditioned for a teen movie and won the lead role.


  George was impressed by his modesty and small town sincerity. None of that Hollywood baloney he'd read about in the tell-all movie magazines that his wife brought home from the supermarket.

  "I suppose you got one of them Hollywood starlets for a girlfriend," George grinned.

  "Nope. I haven't gone out with any of those starlets," Paul replied. "The studio bugs me to start dating them, but all those gals are too pushy, too phoney --"

  "Hold that thought," George interrupted, turning and grabbing his jangling phone. "Airport diner," he said, then listened as his distraught wife told about Jimmie and his chicken pox, and poor Amy is just heartsick.

  "Aw...I'm sorry," he said, "and her being the cutest girl in school." His eyes happened to light on Paul reflected in the back bar mirror. Nice looking kid, he thought, and then his brain ignited: Yeah! Why not!

  "Lemme call you back in a few minutes," he told his wife, "place is getting busy. Uh...is Amy still dressed for the prom?"

  "Yes. Of course. Her dad's gonna take her!" The phone went clunk in the receiver.

  "Any idea how long you're gonna be here?" George asked turning back to Paul.

  "No idea, but the pilot said they'd probably have to send to Chicago for a part...or maybe Saint Louis."

  "That'll be at least three or four hours," George said, thinking aloud, scratching at his chin. He planted himself in front of the young man and leaned over the counter looking squarely into his face. "Paul, how'd you like to do me a favor...a really big favor?"

  "What?" Paul questioned, leaning back, searching the old man's face.

  Quickly George relayed Amy's plight. Seeing as how Paul was all dressed up, would he mind taking his granddaughter to her prom?

  "I'll loan you my Chevy and give you twenty bucks to show her a good time," he added, pulling out his wallet and fishing out a twenty. "What d'ya say?" As he started to put his wallet back, he suddenly slapped it open, and showed Paul a picture of Amy. “She’s a darn sweet girl, sixteen, and full of fun.”

  Paul looked at the snapshot of Amy. Warm smile, blue eyes, blonde, cute. “Very nice,” he said. “You should be proud of her.”

  It was obvious to Paul that George had no idea who he was, that according to the Hollywood trade magazines, he was Hollywood's latest heart throb for the teen-age set. His latest motion picture was due out next week, hence the need to hit the talk show circuit in Chicago and New York.

  "Will you do it?" George asked hopefully, fumbling in his pocket and pulling out his car keys, adding them to the twenty. "Yeah, sure..." Paul grinned, "I'd be delighted to take Amy to her prom. Besides, my manager is going to be busy for a while making phone calls.

  George gave him the keys and twenty and showed him where his car was parked, following quickly with directions to Amy's house.

  Paul was no sooner out of sight than George was on the phone calling his daughter's house. "Janet, honey, I've got a date for Amy!" he beamed. “Nice young fellow. Make sure Amy is all gussied up. I'm sure he'll show her a good time."

  "Who is this guy?" Janet demanded. "Where's he from? He might be an axe murderer for all I know --"

  Still apprehensive, she listened as her father explained about the private jet plane and the nice young fellow, Paul, something or other, having forgotten his last name. I even loaned him my car and gave him twenty to show Amy a good time."

  Once again Amy stood before the mirror, only somber, now very apprehensive. Fresh makeup had been applied. But her spirits were still low; what on earth was grampa thinking sending a total stranger to take her to the prom. It'd probably be just as agonizing as going with her dad.

  The doorbell rang. Everyone jumped.

  Janet answered the door. Her eyes widened at seeing teen idol Paul Anderson standing at her door. “Hi,” he said, ‘I’m Paul Anderson here to take Amy to the prom.”

  "Hi...hi..." she gulped, “pleased to meet you.” Turning, she called, "Amy...honey...your-you're date's here."

  Amy came into the living room from the parlor, then gasped at seeing who was standing in her doorway. It was him! Paul Anderson, the hunk who's picture hung in every girl's locker at school; this was her date!

  “Hi Amy, I’m your date. Is that okay with you?” he grinned.

  “Oh, wow, I mean yes, really, yes!” she grinned back.

  The prom was a blur dancing to the music of a big band sound. Amy was definitely the belle of the ball in the arms of the handsomest guy in the world. And she followed his lead easily, his every move, melting into his arms.

  Envy shown in the eyes of all the girls, even the guys stood in awe. Amy and Paul joined the gang for late dinner at Bennie’s burger joint. Paul’s cell phone went off just as they got seated. He quickly answered. “The plane is fixed and ready to go,” his manager snapped. “We can make the late show in Chicago. Get rid of the bimbo and get your ass over to the airport pronto!”

  Paul snapped his cell phone shut, dropped it in his pocket, and turned back to Amy. “What’s good here?”

  “Bennie’s got the best burgers around,” she said.

  “Burgers, fries and coke,” he laughed. “Great.”

  At Amy’s doorstep he shook her hand, but she faked him out with a great big hug and kiss. “This was my best date ever,” she breathed, “Thank you, Paul.” And then the porch light came on.

 

  Paul walked into the diner and dropped the car keys on the counter. "Plane's ready to take off," came his agent's gruff voice rising from a counter stool. "I hope you had a good time because I had to cancel out the late night interview.”

  "I had a great time." Paul retorted, turning to Amy’s grandfather. "You have a very nice granddaughter," he said, shaking George's hand. "I'm glad you asked me. I really had a good time."

  "No, I thank you," George responded quickly. "I really appreciate what you did. Y'all come back now, y'here." He slapped Paul fondly on his shoulder. "You'll always be welcome."

  Paul sat back buckled in his seat as the jet sped down the runway and gently lifted into the night sky. It had been one terrific evening with a very gorgeous date. Amy was the kind of girl he couldn't find in Hollywood, the warm, friendly girl-next-door type, and he'd especially enjoyed the warmth of her kiss as they parted.

  Amy lay back on her bed that night dreamy-eyed. She and her mother and grandmother had talked far into the night about her handsome date and what a wonderful time he had shown her. If ever she had wanted a special prom date, this had to have been it!

  The End

  Novels written by author Buzz Harcus are available at Amazon.com and wherever eBooks are sold and include the following:

  China Marine: Tsingtao Treasure – Harry Martin is conned into returning to the old Marine barracks in China to recover a cache of hidden black market money. This is 1979, thirty years after the Marines were kicked out of China in 1949. The cache couldn’t possibly be there. And then the murders began. Someone else is after the cache. Knowing the cache must be real, Harry gets to China as member of the crew aboard the Swedish grain carrier, Otto J. Nurad. He saves the ship from sinking, tangles with the gorgeous blonde cook, Osa, finds love in Shanghai, and fights for his life in Tsingtao retrieving the cache.