Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (70 page)

She searched his eyes, confused.

“She wants to read a sample of some magazine articles I have written, one of my good novels, and one of my pornographic novels. You even told her that I write pornography.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “She's sending someone who has a four wheel drive vehicle over here right now to pick up those samples."

Jo didn't know how to respond. She dropped her head and waited for him to continue.

“The second condition involves you. You must be a part of the operation—same salary and expense account."

She looked back into his now soft gray eyes. “Randy, I swear to you, I did not say a word to her about any involvement on my part."

“I know. She told me. It seems that this rich lady, the cream of Dot society, also had a checkered past when she met Tim. She wants you to have the same opportunity at a better life that she blundered into when she met her future husband and wound up in Dot."

Suddenly he crushed her to him so tightly she could hardly breathe. She had not cried since she was fourteen and the tears surprised her. “Randy Baby,” she almost whispered, “I want to read your stuff too. I can help you. I'm not as dumb as you may think. I believe the time has come for me to tell you my story."

She regretted that he released her, but she took him by the hand and led him to the sofa. “Our coffee's cold. I'll get us a refill."

“I'm ready to switch to the hard stuff,” he tried to joke.

“You mean the Sam's Diet Colas I saw in the refrigerator?"

“Yeah. They're very good, Jo—if you like diet colas, that is."

She quickly pulled two cans from the refrigerator, handed one to Randy and popped the top on hers. He stretched out his legs and watched as she propped against the mantel.

“I'm just going to give you the highlights, Randy Baby. Most of the details are too painful for me to tell right now—maybe someday. Like you, I am an only child, born and raised in a little town near Dallas. My name is not Josephine, but my nickname has always been Jo. My real name is JoAnn Birdwell. My dad was a fundamentalist Baptist preacher. Mom's voice was beautiful and she was his choir director in all the little churches he served.

They told me over and over again while I was growing up how Mom nearly died during childbirth. Dad followed the Ten Commandments rather than the golden rule, I'm afraid. He was a harsh disciplinarian and mom didn't have the courage to buck him. He did not allow me to date. Dancing was a sin, so I could not even go to school proms with girlfriends. He ... he..."

Jo paused and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. Randy shifted his legs, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position.

“He beat me with his belt many times, even on the night before my high school graduation. I went to a play at the church with some girlfriends. Afterwards, when we were walking home, two of the girls smoked cigarettes. Dad smelled the smoke on my clothes and would not believe I was not smoking too. He made me take off my dress right there in the living room. He bent me over a chair and yanked my panties to my ankles. He blistered my fanny until blood was running down my legs."

Randy wanted to hold her, but remained glued to the sofa.

“Once, when I was fourteen, he came home unexpectedly early in the afternoon. I was wearing a tank top and cleaning the house. I loved housecleaning. I was good at it, and they always praised me for my good work when I cleaned, did the laundry or cooked a meal. I wanted so much to please them. Anyway, he stomped over to me, grabbed the straps of my shirt and yanked them down over my arms to my waist. I was not wearing a bra. I was a late bloomer, Randy, and I was so proud of the little knobs that finally emerged on my chest. He called me a wonton slut, a harlot, a whore and a child of the devil. He made me kneel before him with my hands on my head. He ... he lashed my breasts with his belt until they were bloody and made me go the rest of the night naked to the waist."

“Jo,” Randy said tenderly, “I..."

She silenced him with a shake of her head. “The funny thing is,” she said, laughing through her tears, “I think he loved me. He was trying to beat the sin out of me so I could be a good child of God.” She shook her head.

Randy mumbled, “Sounds like a sadistic bastard to me."

“He sent me to college at Mars Hill up near Asheville here in North Carolina. It's a wonderful conservative Baptist school, but not the ultra fundamentalist school Dad thought it was. They talked about a God of love and forgiveness—not the God of wrath and vengeance my Dad knew."

Randy found a box of tissues and took a handful to her. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She leaned her forehead on his shoulder and welcomed his arms around her.

“Shortly after I graduated Mom and Dad died and I went wild. I did all the things that were off limits as a child, and more. Over the years, I've had some good jobs, but I lost them all for various reasons. I lived with a man once for a few years, but I finally got tired of him bringing home his new girlfriends. I began to move around a lot, thinking that in the next town I would find happiness. I tried drugs and alcohol, but I didn't like losing control of my mind. I became hooked on cigarettes and smoked them like a fiend until I could no longer afford them. You know how I supported myself. I don't know why, but I'm not ashamed of it. I kept slipping further and further into the pit. I guess I had reached the bottom when you found me yesterday."

Randy stroked her hair. He felt as if his heart were melting. “How,” he began, “how did your Mom and Dad die?"

Lucky began to bark and scratch at the front door. Jo gently pushed Randy away and walked to the door. As she opened it, she turned to Randy and said very coldly, “A man caught dad in bed with his wife and blew a hole in his chest with a shotgun. Mom couldn't stand the shame. Two days later I found her with slashed wrists hanging from a rope in the garage. I think she wanted to make damn sure she would die."

“Uh, excuse me folks,” a huge black man said through the open door. “I'm Bobby Elliott. Mrs. Dollar sent me over here to pick something up for her. She said you might want to look through these papers,” he said, pushing the large box he was holding towards Randy who joined Jo at the door. “And she said for you to be sure to look in the yellow envelope inside the box."

Randy emerged from his study and played with the fire, waiting for Jo to come to a stopping place in the reading in which she was engrossed.

“That was my mom on the telephone,” he said when at last she looked up. “Said she wanted to wish me a Happy New Year. Why the hell didn't I think of that? I lied and told her I was just getting ready to call her. She also gave me a new telephone number. She's been moved into what they call the progressive care unit."

“I don't understand,” Jo replied.

“This nursing home has houses and apartments old folks can rent. Mom rented a furnished apartment. When the old timers get to the point that they cannot care for themselves they move to the progressive care unit that is staffed by nurses, practical nurses and orderlies."

“So your mom's health has declined?"

“She says she's okay, that she just has a little trouble getting around sometimes, but she didn't sound okay. Jo, as soon as weather conditions allow, I need to visit her."

“You love your mom, don't you?"

“Mom and Pop both,” he replied. “They were very good to me, but Mom is the one who pushed me, and I needed pushing. I have always been a little shy and lacking in self-confidence. I know she's disappointed in me. She wants grandchildren so badly."

“Hey, don't look at me,” Jo joked. “I had my tubes tied years ago."

“You've been hounding me to go to bed with you,” he grinned, “and now that you have your chance you turn me down."

“I'll go to bed with you any time, but I'll be damned if I'll ever change any dirty diapers."

“Ugh,” he agreed, wrinkling his nose. “Did you find anything of interest in that box from Mrs. Dollar?"

“Its loaded, Randy Baby. Except for the yellow envelope, it contains files of the research she and her business manager have done on the book publishing business. Look at this,” she said, pulling two checks from the envelope and waving them in the air. “She's written two of these things, each made out to you but one is for me as she explains in her letter. She says she forgot to ask you my last name, but you are to sign one of them over to me. They are for seventy-five thousand each—a year's salary in advance and twenty-five thousand towards expenses."

“Damn. She hasn't even read my stuff yet."

“In her letter she says for us not to cash the checks until she has read your work and has received assurance from me that I want to be a part of the project."

“Trusting old soul, isn't she?"

“Young soul, Randy. She is one foxy lady. You were too shook up last night to notice. You need to read the letter. She wants us to get up with a Sean Taylor of Dollar Computer Services. She wants us to each have a special computer setup and this Sean will provide it for us. It seems that everybody in the Dollar Enterprises communicates through email."

Randy strolled to the sofa, moved the box of files and sat beside Jo. “Do you want to participate in this project, Jo?"

She looked at him and searched his eyes. “You invited me in out of the cold for a few days. You didn't invite me into your life. You want nothing to do with me sexually. Seventy-five thousand dollars is a fortune to me, Randy Baby, but what do you want? Do you want me to be your business associate?"

“This is going to sound ugly, Mama Jo. I don't seem to have a choice. Mrs. Dollar conditioned the project on you being a part of it. I don't know you well enough to know whether or not I want a business relationship with you, but one thing I do know. I like you. I have known few people in my lifetime that I really like. I have no problem talking to and with you, and for me that is highly unusual."

“You didn't answer my question."

“You seem to be hung up on the sexual thing. Jo, I mean no disrespect, but my first sexual experience is not going to be with a prostitute. There, I've said it and I know it hurt you, but you forced me. I'm a damned thirty-two year old virgin—not entirely by choice. I don't want the diseases you have picked up in your profession and I don't want you to compare me with all of the studs you have slept with. Sex between us is never going to happen."

“Ouch. You still haven't answered my question."

“I think I did. There is no project unless you agree to be a part of it, so yes, I want you to be my business associate. It will be a free ride for you. I'm the one with the knowledge and experience. You just tag along and let me do all the talking."

“You conceited little mama's boy,” she shouted as she jumped up and faced him, eyes flashing with intense anger. “I'll be damned if I'm going to be a silent partner. I'm as smart as you are, little man, and any decisions made will be joint agreements. I am just as well educated as you and I am just as creative as you are. If I go into this business relationship it will be as an equal partner."

“Look, Jo, I..."

“I'm not through yet,” she continued, now pacing before the flickering fire. “Don't you dare look down your nose at me because I've been a prostitute. You write dirty books and screw a rubber doll. Yes, I found her when I was cleaning up your bedroom. You've heard of condoms. You're not concerned about any diseases I may have. You're concerned about performance. Well, you just go right on jerking off and writing your dirty books, Randy Baby. I'm out of here."

Jo darted to the front door with Lucky barking at her heels, flung it open, felt the rush of cold air and saw that the snow was no longer falling. She reached for her coat, hanging on a peg beside the door.

“Just where the hell do you think you are going and how are you going to get there?” she heard him ask. She lunged out the door, slipped on the porch steps, scrambled to her feet and started running as best she could down the driveway towards the road. Fifty feet from the house Lucky tangled with her feet and she sprawled headfirst into the snow.

Randy was right behind and tripped over her. He flailed his arms wildly in the air, trying to maintain his balance, but he wound up on his back beside her. He lay there a moment, then moved his outstretched arms and legs rapidly. He scrambled to his feet and looked at the impression in the snow. “I've always wanted to do that,” he said.

“Do what?” she grumbled as she ungracefully pushed herself to her knees.

He helped Jo to her feet and pointed, “Make a snow angel."

She laughed in spite of herself. “Know what I've always wanted to see?"

“Tell me."

“I've always wanted to watch a man write his name in the snow.” She giggled. “I tried it once. Trust me, women aren't talented in that way.” She looked at him and waited.

“You're kidding,” he said.

She continued to look at him.

He turned his back to her. “Don't look,” he demanded.

She heard the sound of his zipper, the sound of a stream of liquid hitting the soft snow and finally the sound of the zipper again.

“Not bad for my first try,” he announced.

She looked at the clearly discernable cursive yellow impression in the snow that read, “Jo."

“You're pretty good with that thing,” she laughed.

“Don't start,” he warned. He reached for her and drew her shivering body to him. “You're right about me, of course,” he said, “but not completely right. You've heard of brides left at the altar? I was standing in the hall behind the sanctuary waiting on my best man—my best friend—to arrive. The organ was playing, the guests were in their seats, and the preacher was nervously pacing beside me. The best man and the bride-to-be never showed up. At the time, he and my fiancé were on their way to South Carolina where they got married by a Justice of the Peace. It turned out that while insisting that we not have sex until we were married, she'd been balling him since grade school."

“Damn,” she said, hugging him a little tighter. “I'd rather have my breasts beaten with a belt."

“I
am
a little afraid of sex, and I
am
concerned that my performance won't measure up, but it is serious relationships that terrify me."