Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (69 page)

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said as the rejuvenated fire burst into flames. “The kitchen's over there behind the living room and the hallway leads to the bathroom, a storage closet, and two bedrooms. There are two more rooms upstairs, but I don't use them."

“Randy, I appreciate..."

He stopped her with an uplifted hand. “I use one bedroom as a study. You can sleep in the master bedroom and I'll take the sofa."

“Why don't we both sleep in the bedroom?” she asked. “You do have a double bed in there don't you?"

“Mama Jo,” he grinned, “I told you and I told you. I am not interested in having sex with you."

“Randy Baby, I said sleep, not screw, in the bedroom, but if you don't think you can control yourself, I'll take the sofa. I think it will be nice to sleep by the fire."

“You go take a bath and I'll straighten up the place a little,” Randy suggested. “I've got a cheap bottle of champagne I was going to uncork tonight. We'll have ourselves a little private party while we watch the ball drop at Times Square on TV."

“Sounds exciting,” she said sarcastically, “but you don't have to get me drunk to sleep with me."

Randy picked up clutter in the living room, set out two glasses and a bowl of peanuts and carried his package back to the study. As he passed the bathroom, he noticed the door was open a few inches. He jerked his eyes away when he saw her nude body relaxing in the tub, but on his return to the living room he paused long enough to get a good look at her soft white breasts. He felt like a peeping Tom, but he could not help himself. He had seen all shapes and sizes of breasts in pictures and movies and described in detail the breasts of the many sluts who passed through the pages of his fiction, but, at age thirty-two, this was the first time he ever actually viewed a woman's naked chest. He adjusted his underwear that seemed suddenly too tight and sneaked guiltily into the living room.

When she joined him he turned down the volume of the television and beamed. “It's an old joke,” he said, “but you sure do clean up nice—and smell good too.” She was wearing the red, men's-style pajamas and white fuzzy slippers purchased earlier. “In fact, if it weren't for your shaggy hair, you'd be down right beautiful."

She laughed. “Give it a chance to dry,” she said. “But I do need to get it cut. It's way too long."

“You want me to take a shot at it?” he asked.

“Have you ever cut a woman's hair before?"

“Nope, but if I mess it up we have a good barber in town and a beauty salon too."

“Why not?” she said and drew up a straight-backed chair next to the fire.

He found a pair of scissors in his study and picked up a large towel and her new comb from the bathroom. He stood behind her and covered her chest with the towel, clamping it behind her neck with a large paperclip. “How do you want it cut?” he asked.

“Suit yourself,” she replied.

He snipped away, cutting it shorter and shorter. She purred with every touch of the comb. He worked from behind her, from her left, from her right, and from the front. Then he did it all over again. She saw the long locks falling on her chest, on her lap, on the floor. She did not want her hair cut short, but she did not stop him. Finally he raked the comb over her scalp several times and stood in front of her, admiring his work.

“I'm a damn artist,” he bragged as he removed the towel, pressing his hands more firmly than necessary against her breasts in the process.

“Artist or butcher?” she joked. “I want a mirror."

“In the bathroom,” he said as he began to clean up the floor.

She screamed and he rushed to the bathroom to rescue her from whatever terror she had encountered. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek before he could protect himself. “I've never worn my hair short,” she said. “I love it. You're in the wrong profession, Randy Baby."

He smiled broadly as he pushed her away gently, his hands on her hips. She was so soft, so warm. “Let's pop the top on my Dot Grocery Special Champagne,” he said.

They sat on the sofa sipping the sweet liquid and eating salted peanuts while watching the leaping flames in the fireplace rather than The Tonight Show which was flickering on the television in the corner.

“What's that?” she asked, sitting erect.

“I didn't hear anything."

She muted the TV sound with the remote control. “Listen."

“That's just the sleet blowing against the front door,” he offered.

“I don't think so,” she said getting up and moving to the door. She listened for a moment and then opened the door a few inches.

They watched in silence as a poodle-sized mutt, gray fur matted with ice, slipped through the opening and marched slowly to the hearth. He turned around twice and laid down in a tight ball, his brown eyes focused on the humans to see what they would do.

“Yours?” she asked as she knelt next to the dog and scratched him behind his left ear.

“Never saw him before."

“I think he is yours now,” she laughed, moving her hand to the other ear.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with a dog?"

“Well, you feed it, bathe it, clean up after it, but mostly you just love it and let him love you,” she said, holding the dog's head with both of her hands. “You find him something to eat and I'll towel him off."

The mutt wagged his tail and leaned into Jo as she roughed up his fur with the towel she recently wore as a bib. She laughed out loud when Randy sat a bowl of Wheaties, complete with milk, in front of the dog.

“I'm fresh out of dog food,” he explained with a boyish grin while the dog, tail now wagging furiously, hungrily devoured the cereal.

“They've switched to Times Square,” Randy said, motioning towards the TV.

Jo turned up the sound while Randy refilled their glasses.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one—Happy New Year!"

They touched glasses as the Tonight Show band struck up the traditional
Auld Lang Syne
.

“Happy New Year,” they said in unison, followed by a sip of the cheap champagne.

“I'm not very good at making toasts, Jo. I don't know anything about your past life but I take it that at least recently it hasn't been very good. With all of my heart I wish that the New Year will be the happiest you have ever experienced."

They touched glasses again. “Randy, you're a good man. I've never known a good man before. May you never change."

Once more, their glasses clinked together. Still holding her glass, she put her arms lightly around his neck and gently kissed his lips. With her arms still propped on his shoulders she pressed her body into his and turned her head towards the fireplace. “Happy New Year to you too, Lucky."

The dog lifted and cocked his head to one side and barked. They both laughed and danced slowly to the music coming from the TV. “I take it that you just named the dog."

“Yeah,” she said. “The dog's like me. He's lucky you were willing to take him in out of the cold."

“Maybe I'm the one who is lucky,” he said softly. “If it weren't for you and the mutt, I would be spending New Year's Eve alone."

“Are you going to change your mind and sleep with me tonight?” she asked.

“No,” he replied gently.

“I always pay my debts, Randy Baby."

“You don't owe me anything, Mama Jo."

“Yes, I do—five hundred sixteen dollars and eighteen cents for clothes and stuff you bought me at Wal-Mart, six forty two for the burgers, and at least one night's lodging. Oh, by the way,” she grinned as she pulled her head back so she could look into his eyes, “Sandra Dollar wants you to call her in the morning."

“Good morning,” Randy shouted over the roar of the vacuum cleaner. “How long have you been up?"

She flipped the switch and smiled at him. “Good morning yourself, sleepyhead. I got up about five."

“I told you to let me sleep on the sofa."

“I slept well, Randy Baby. Sometimes I don't require much sleep and other times I can sleep for twelve hours or more. Come here, I want to show you something."

Jo led Randy by the elbow to the living room window, which, last night, was dingy but today was crystal clear. They stood silently gazing at the snow pouring from the gray sky, piling up on the ground and car, decorating the otherwise naked branches of the hardwoods and bending low the boughs of evergreens. Without thought, he put his hand lightly on her shoulder and she sagged into him.

“Its beautiful,” he said quietly. “If I could adequately describe this scene in a written paragraph I would consider myself an accomplished writer."

“Only God can paint a picture this beautiful,” she replied. She lightly jabbed her elbow into his side. “Come on,” she invited, moving towards the kitchen. “I want you to see what I've done in here.” She opened the swinging door and continued, “The floor's so clean and polished you can see your reflection in it."

“Mama Jo,” he said with affection, “you don't have to do all this. You are my very welcome guest."

“Yes, I do have to do it. I told you last night, I always pay my debts. I figure by the time I finish cleaning the bathroom, we're even as far as last night's lodging is concerned. When I finish the bedroom and your study and do your laundry I'll be paid up for a couple of additional days.” She reached for the coffeepot. “How do you like it?"

“I like what you've done very much,” he said, “and I like my coffee black with one heaping spoonful of sugar."

“Here you are,” she said, adding the sugar and stirring the black liquid while extending the steaming mug towards him. “Get dressed and I'll fry you up some bacon and eggs. I take it you like bacon and eggs since that's about all you have in your refrigerator."

“I'm not much of a cook. Have you looked into the freezer compartment?"

She opened the door and laughed. “There must be fifty frozen dinners in there."

“Food Lion in Charlotte had a sale last week, but don't laugh. Those dinners are quite good, once you get used to them."

Randy stood in the kitchen, sipping coffee and admiring this girl/woman as she bragged about what a great cook she was and how she would prepare him some super meals as soon as the weather allowed them to visit a grocery store. She was wearing a short-sleeved white polo shirt, faded jeans, white canvas shoes, white socks and the jewelry he bought her.

“What are you staring at?” she asked.

He blushed. “Your crotch, to be perfectly honest. Aren't those jeans a little too tight?"

“They fit perfectly,” she said a bit defensively. “Besides, I want you to see what you are missing by making me sleep on the sofa alone."

“Jo, look, I, uh..."

Lucky barked.

“Looks like somebody else is ready for breakfast,” Jo said and she opened a cabinet door in search of the box of Wheaties.

Randy fled to the bedroom to get out of the pajamas that so graphically betrayed his sexual interest in Jo. When he returned, breakfast was ready.

As he finished eating the last bite of toast Randy said, “I have three questions."

“Fire away,” she replied as she slipped Lucky a piece of bacon.

“Question one. We use the same bacon, the same eggs, the same stove and the same frying pan. How come your cooking tastes so much better than mine?"

“I told you I was a great cook, and great cooks don't reveal their secrets."

“Question two. Was there something wrong with the bras we bought you yesterday?"

She laughed and jerked her shoulders up and down a couple of times. “What's the matter? Don't you like to watch my bouncing boobs? Next question."

“I like it too much,” he admitted with a smile on his face. “Last question. How in the world can somebody buy a pair of jeans off the rack that fit like yours fit you?"

“Just lucky I guess."

At the sound of his new name, Lucky jumped into Randy's lap and began to lick the egg yoke from his plate. “Damned dog acts like he owns the place,” Randy said as he stroked the dog's back and tried to keep his face from the wagging tail.

“Maybe he does,” Jo replied. “Maybe he lived here before you moved in. Randy, I got you a telephone appointment with the lady who owns the town. Now get yourself in the study and call her."

“I think I'll wait a while. I don't want to wake her. They had a party at their house last night and she's probably sleeping late."

“Randy Baby, it's after eleven. You slept practically all morning."

“Oh,” he said with the boyish grin creeping back to his face. He reluctantly strolled to his study and closed the door behind him.

Jo washed the dishes, scrubbed the bathroom and cleaned the bedroom. The study door remained closed. She washed the window in the bathroom and the two windows in the bedroom. Still the door stayed shut. She put on a fresh pot of coffee and looked through the kitchen window at the snow, still falling from the darkened midday sky. Finally, she heard the toilet flush.

She met him with a cup of sweetened coffee as he returned to the living room. “Well?” she said. “What did Sandra have to say?"

He took the cup, sipped it and placed it on the mantel. He squatted before the fireplace, stirred the coals and added three logs. “I can't believe you did that,” he said, still looking at the fire.

The tone of his voice alarmed her. “I did it for you,” she said. “It was the perfect opportunity to let her know you were a fellow writer and want to help her get a publishing company started."

“Not that,” he said, turning to face her. “You told her you are a prostitute."

“Oops,” she replied. “I shouldn't have done that, huh?"

He shook his head, stood and walked to the window to watch the snow. She joined him, placing her arms around his stomach and pressing her body to his back. “I'm sorry, Randy. That was a stupid thing for me to do."

“I still don't believe it,” he said. He turned around and kept her at arms’ length by putting his hands on her soft shoulders. “She said she investigated starting her own press some time ago and gave up on the idea because of its complexity. However, after talking with you last night, she changed her mind. She wants me to get the thing started. She'll pay fifty thousand a year plus expenses. There are two conditions."