Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (41 page)

Bo checked Big Willie's office, but he had not yet arrived. As he drove the cart to the park offices, he searched his memory for any clue as to why the Superintendent would want to see him. He had never even met the man.

The day started with greater anticipation than usual. Instead of going back to the driving range, he and Big Willie were finally going to play nine holes of golf after work and Bo was looking forward to it. Now, however, he approached the unexpected meeting with a sense of dread.

“I'm Bo Nading. Mr. Hathaway wants to see me,” Bo said to the gray-haired man in Hathaway's outer office.

The man extended his hand. “I'm Bob Hathaway, Bo—good to meet you. My secretary doesn't come in until 9:00 so I was out here waiting for you. Come on into my office."

After both men sat down in the luxurious room, Hathaway said, “I have bad news. Last night someone shot Big Willie's wife. The police think it was another of those senseless drive-by shootings."

“Is she okay?"

“They don't know yet. The bullet entered her back near the base of the spine. She cut a sizable gash on the back of her head when she fell on a piece of furniture. She's in ICU at Baptist Hospital. I spent a couple of hours with Big Willie at the hospital last night. She was still unconscious when I left."

“Is there anything I can do, Mr. Hathaway?"

“Big Willie is a basket case. He really came unglued. He and his wife are very close. I had a sense that he was feeling guilty about something, as if he caused the tragedy somehow. He may be out of work just a couple of days, but if her injuries turn out to be serious, I frankly have no idea how long it will be before he comes back. Can you look after things for a while, Bo?"

Bo studied the plush carpet, trying to think of the best reply. His mind was racing. Finally he looked the grim-faced man in the eye and said, “I'll do my best."

“That's all I ask. Big Willie said you could handle it.” Hathaway stood and ushered Bo towards the door, but Bo wasn't ready to leave.

“I'll need help."

“I know that Big Willie is understaffed. I'll call Personnel as soon as they open and get you a couple of loaners from the grounds crew."

“Thank you, but I need other things, too. I've only worked here two months, Mr. Hathaway. Could you get Tad Ryder to cruise the courses each day and check up on me—make sure I'm getting everything done?"

“Good idea, and I'll do the same when my schedule allows. Is there something else?"

“Yes sir. I guess I just realized it, but Big Willie is my friend as well as my boss. I need to find ways to help him through this. I'll put in all the hours necessary to get the job done, Mr. Hathaway, but I'd appreciate it if you would let me work out my own schedule so I can give some time to Big Willie."

“You're on your own, Bo. Just keep an accurate record of the hours you work. Big Willie told me he caught you working off the clock when you first came here."

“Yes sir.” Bo shook hands, but when he turned to leave, Hathaway maintained his grip.

“I just remembered something else Big Willie told me. He said you and your wife have only one car and transportation is sometimes a problem. I'll have the motor pool issue you a pickup until Big Willie gets back to work."

“I appreciate that, sir. That will help."

Bo felt he should tell Betty immediately about this development and he drove the short distance to the entrance gate. As he parked at the gatehouse, with its large windows on all sides, he was surprised to see a man in a business suit standing inside the structure with Betty. They had their backs turned to him and it was clear that the man's arm was around Betty.

Bo knocked on the door and then entered. They both turned with a start.

“Hi, Bo. This is Max Holder. I met him a couple of weeks ago when he and his family were camping."

Bo nodded at the distressingly handsome stranger and decided to ignore him. “Betty, Big Willie's wife was wounded in a drive-by shooting last night. I don't know what her condition is, but she's at Baptist Hospital. I've got to fill in for Big Willie until he can come back to work. Would you go with me to the hospital after you get off this afternoon?"

“Sure, Bo. I'll pick you up shortly after four."

Driving back to the clubhouse all Bo could think of was the stranger's arm around Betty. Suddenly he turned the cart off the road, bounced through a field, maneuvered through a wooded area and stopped just short of the clearing, fifty yards from the gatehouse. The man was still there. He couldn't see the man's hands, but from the position of his left arm, the left hand had to be on her bottom. It can't be, Bo thought, but as he tried to think of some other explanation the man suddenly put his hands on Betty's shoulders, drew her to him and kissed her. Bo was furious, but did not know what to do.

He headed back to the golf course and comforted himself with the fact that the kiss was on her forehead. He could not push from his mind the other fact, however. The man had crushed her breasts against his chest and Betty did nothing to stop him.

Bo's coworkers were waiting on him when he arrived at the maintenance shed. He quickly filled them in on Big Willie's situation and sent them out to mow greens. He then sat at Big Willie's desk and stared at the computer screen. He wished that he had paid more attention during high school computer technology classes. He knew Big Willie kept the maintenance schedule on the computer, but he was afraid to turn the thing on.

He went back to the shed and began the process of disconnecting chargers and moving the carts into position beside the clubhouse. He fantasized about the scene at the gatehouse. He visualized the stranger with his hands on Betty's breasts. He thought he heard Betty moaning with pleasure. He imagined the man stripping off Betty's uniform, bending her over...

He frequently interrupted his fantasies, reminding himself that these things did not actually happen, but his thoughts returned so quickly that by the time Tad Ryder arrived for work, Bo was having difficulty separating fact from fantasy.

Bo entered the clubhouse just as Tad hung up the phone. “I need to talk to you,” he said to the visibly shaken pro.

“I know. I was just talking with Mr. Hathaway. Damn, Token, you just don't expect something like this to happen to someone you know."

“Knock off the Token shit, Tad. My name is Bo."

“Sure, kid. Sorry. Listen, I don't know much about the details of course maintenance, but I'll help any way I can."

“Right now I need a refresher course on computers,” Bo replied. “Big Willie keeps the maintenance schedule on his computer, but I don't know how to get to it."

For the next hour the two men worked at Big Willie's desktop as if they were close friends. The result was five printed schedules, one for each crewmember, which Bo posted on the bulletin board in the shed. He assigned himself the most difficult task—mowing fairways at the par three course.

Between customers Betty concentrated on the five caricatures she was working on. They were good. She knew they were good. She was excited because it appeared that she was going to earn money for her art long before she had expected. She worried about what Bo might have seen. She hoped he had not noticed anything, but she wished that she had given him some explanation for Max's presence in the gatehouse. Her mind drifted back to the day she first met Max Holder.

It was two weeks earlier, shortly after her 11:00 o'clock lunch hour began. The day was hot and humid, so when she left the comfort of the air-conditioned gatehouse, she removed her jacket and tie, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her starched white shirt. It was her custom to eat a bag lunch sitting on a log a couple of hundred yards down the nature trail nearest the front gate. From this vantage point, the view of Mallard Lake was breathtaking.

It was there that the tall, good-looking man in his thirties had made his first appearance. Other strangers occasionally passed her way, but they did not have wavy blond hair, deep blue eyes, a heart-melting smile, or muscles bulging under bronze skin that were amply displayed as his had been, wearing only walking shorts and sneakers. He was so friendly and easy to talk with.

Betty pictured Max sitting beside her on the log and talking at such length that she was almost late getting back to her job. She remembered them exchanging names and the resonant sound of his voice as he told her that he, his wife and two small sons were spending a week camping at Tanglewood. His family liked to fish each day in Mallard Lake, but he preferred hiking, had stumbled onto this nature trail and then discovered her.

She smiled as she remembered that the next day he was already sitting on the log when she appeared, just as she had hoped. He said he enjoyed their talk the previous day and hoped she would return. He said he owned an advertising business in Charlotte that, after years of hard work, was extremely successful. He was in the process of buying a new house near Charlotte and was thinking of moving his business to the same little community to avoid the high office rent and taxes he was currently paying.

Betty accepted the entrance fee from a customer and waved him into the park, but her mind was still replaying her recent experience with Max Holder. He was waiting for her again the third day. He told her she was pretty. She laughed and contradicted him. He insisted. He agreed that braces would do wonders for her, but said she had inner beauty, a quality lacking in most of the women of his acquaintance. He was so very easy to talk with.

She told him of the agony she suffered all her life because of her physical appearance—that she had married Bo because he, too, was ugly and no one else would likely be interested in either of them. He kissed each finger on her right hand before she departed.

On the fourth day, she felt so close to him that she told of the attack by the Herks, explaining the necessity for wearing a wig. She even spoke of the death of her mother, brothers and sisters. She had never discussed this traumatic experience with anyone, not even Bo. She remembered how her tears had flowed and how he held her in his arms. He gently removed her wig and stroked her head, saying repeatedly, “My poor baby. My poor baby. My poor, poor baby."

After several minutes, he softly asked what she did for fun. She told him about her interest in art and the correspondence course in cartooning she was talking. He wanted to see her work and walked with her back to the gatehouse.

The fifth and last day he told her that from time to time he needed the services of an artist to sketch appliances, women modeling underwear and things like that. She said she wasn't good enough but he thought she was. Then, without any warning, he said he wanted to see her breasts. The unanticipated request momentarily stunned her and when she did not immediately answer, he slowly unfastened the remaining buttons on her shirt.

She vividly remembered her emotional reaction. She was afraid someone would see them, and yet she did not want him to stop. He unfastened the clasp between her bra cups, gently massaged both breasts, kissed them, sucked the perspiration from the v-shaped valley her breasts formed and playfully flipped her engorged nipples with his experienced tongue. He led her by the hand through bushes and, when they were completely shielded from view, he pulled her to him, right hand on her left breast and left hand on the back of her head, forcing her lips to his. She could hardly believe that he was kissing her. Even Bo avoided kissing her because of her teeth. He wanted her mouth on his penis, but gratefully accepted the rapidly pumping hand she offered instead.

Her panties were soaked now as she relived the experience, just as they had been then. She felt guilty, but she was also elated. She thought she would never see him again, but he showed up this morning. He said he was working on a television commercial for a used car dealer. He needed five caricatures of the owner in specific poses and brought Polaroid's of the man to serve as models. If her sketches were good enough, he promised to pay her five thousand dollars—one thousand for each caricature.

Her reverie ended, and anticipation caused her heart to beat faster when she saw her lunchtime replacement approaching. She yanked off her jacket and tie and unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt—one more than usual.

Betty hurried out of the gatehouse, forgetting to take her bag lunch. Once on the nature trail she broke into a jog. She met him in “their place” and threw her arms around his neck while forcing her long tongue deep inside his hungry lips.

He had a blanket, which she helped spread on the ground after they pushed through the bushes to the spot where she had earlier fondled his penis. While he was removing her clothes, she scolded, “You must be more careful where you place your hands when we are in public. That was my husband who came into the gatehouse this morning. I'm afraid he saw you fondling my buns."

“That was your husband?” he said. “Gorgeous lady, you deserve better than that."

His hands roved over her body; his lips set off exciting little explosions in her central nervous system. She let him do whatever he wanted. She did everything he asked. She freely gave him what she had previously denied. He was being so good to her. She felt she owed him the only thing she had to offer. She was on her way to a wonderful career and she both understood and accepted the ground rules.

But how could she explain him to Bo?

“Bo,” Betty said as she entered Interstate 40 on the way to Baptist Hospital, “you remember the man you met this morning, Max Holder?"

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“A couple of weeks ago, while he and his family were camping, he saw my cartoon sketches. He told me that he runs an advertising agency in Charlotte and sometimes needs the services of an illustrator. I didn't think much about it at the time, but that's why he came to see me this morning. He is working on a television commercial and wanted to give me an opportunity to do some caricatures for him."

She kept her eyes on the highway, but was aware Bo was staring at her. “He had his arm around you."