Read Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors Online

Authors: Sr. David O. Dyer

Tags: #Science Fiction/Fantasy

Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (9 page)

BOOK: Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors
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Sandra looked up from her reading when Bobby set a lunch tray on the library table. “Thank you, Bobby,” she said with a little surprise in her voice. “I didn't realize it was lunch time."

Bobby nodded and carried a similar tray to the study.

Sandra read to the end of the chapter, then moved to the table. Looks good, she thought, lifting the top piece of bread from the sandwich. Ham, cheese, lettuce and tomato with a pickle and potato chips on the side. I must remember to buy some Pepsi's, but Tim's diet colas will have to do for now.

Fifty pages and no further mention of Dunsey, she thought. I'll still bet he's off somewhere having a great time with Marner's money. And poor Silas, stuck with an orphaned girl. Damned if I would want to be stuck with somebody else's brat. Briefly, but only briefly, she thought maybe she was trying to stick Tim with her mother's orphaned daughter.

* * * *

Tim leaned back in his desk chair and admired his rearranged desktop. The 15-inch color monitor was on the back left-hand corner; the printer was to its right. The Zip drive that the pimply-faced salesman talked him into was just in front of the printer. The laptop itself was on the left and the external keyboard was conveniently located in the old typewriter well of the desk. He was most pleased with the way he had inconspicuously arranged the numerous cables connected to the laptop. To the right of the desk were the neatly stacked empty boxes that previously housed the computer components. He frowned when his gaze fell on the one box crammed with packing material. Everything would be in its place once he disposed of the trash box.

“Clean study Friday."

“Don't sneak up on me like that, man. You scared the dickens out of me,” Tim, a little embarrassed, said. “Friday would be good. Do we have trash cans?” Tim asked nodding towards the trash filled box.

“Out back,” Bobby replied as he picked up the box.

Now, Tim asked himself, do I start going through papers or do I start learning to use the computer? He stacked the documents received from lawyer Coan on the once again empty table, sat down at his desk, turned on the monitor, plugged in the Zip drive, and snapped on the laptop. He smiled broadly when the external monitor glowed with the unfamiliar, icon filled, Microsoft Windows opening screen in rich, brilliant colors.

* * * *

Both Tim and Sandra had hopes and, as Tim called them, plans for their lives. For Tim, planning required conscious thought, preparation, and the making of lists and schedules. Sandra's normal process was more subconscious. In the back of her mind, often not clearly defined, she knew what she wanted. Spur of the moment decisions normally prompted her daily activity. An outside observer would say that Sandra tended to act spontaneously, but that would not be technically correct. She knew what she wanted although her subconscious mind may not have yet defined it. Nevertheless, her subconscious desires brought her step by tiny step ever closer to definition and realization.

Her second attempt to sort Jan's clothes was much more successful. She was delighted with the wardrobe. While everything did not fit perfectly, most were close enough, and, if she could get her hands on a sewing machine, she felt sure she could alter the few items that did not fit.

While the second attempt at clothes sorting gave her pleasure, her mind would not release Tim's demand that she present him with a plan. Long-term plans just were not her thing, but she feared he might turn her out if she didn't come up with something. Of one thing she was certain. She wanted money, and lots of it. She had, without realizing it, ruled out earning it through prostitution and the rolling of drunks, as Silas Marner earned his through weaving. She could think of no way to steal it, as had Dunstan, because Tim's money was in a checking account. Gradually she came up with a short-term plan that she must convince Tim was long-term. First, she would find ways to please him—make him want to keep her around. Sex was good, but not enough. Next she would search for a way to get that money of Tim's out of the bank, but Tim must not suspect that.

Sandra knew that Bobby had been moving piles of Uncle Pete's clothing from the master bedroom to his pickup, so she was not startled when she heard him say, “This all. Clothes fit?"

“Tim will be pleased to have all that space for his things,” she replied pleasantly, “and yes, most of the clothes fit good enough for me. They actually belong to Uncle Pete's lady friend, don't they?"

“Yes. No. Mr. Harlow bought. She wore but didn't like."

“That explains why she went off and left them."

“You sew?” Bobby asked looking at the small pile that needed alterations.

“I used to when I was a girl. I may ask Tim to buy a sewing machine, but new clothes would probably cost less than the machine."

“Singer in attic. Mrs. Harlow. Fix before leave."

* * * *

Sandra stood at the study door for several minutes before Tim noticed her. He was playing some sort of classical music on the study stereo with the volume very low. He looks so happy playing with his computer and books spread out for reference, she thought.

“Hi,” he said rather sheepishly, hoping she would stay where she could not see the monitor.

She didn't.

“Guess I'm wasting my time,” he continued when she stood beside him, looking at the playing cards on the screen.

“What is that, solitaire?” she asked.

“Yeah."

“Doesn't playing the game help you learn to use the computer?"

“I guess it does.” He felt a little better about himself.

“I'm proud of you just for getting everything hooked up and working,” she said, beginning to execute her poorly defined plan.

“To be honest, I wasn't sure I could do it."

“Bobby removed all of Mr. Harlow's things from the master bedroom. I told him he could have them."

“That's great. Do you think Uncle Pete's clothes will fit him? It sure would be nice to see Bobby wearing something besides army fatigues."

“Bobby said Mr. Harlow had given him his old clothes before, so they probably do fit. I like Bobby, but I sure wish he would smile once in a while. He found an old sewing machine in the attic, cleaned it up and put it in the bedroom. I may try my hand at altering some things tomorrow."

“You can sew?” Tim asked.

“Maybe. We'll see. Mama had an old Singer and I taught myself, but that was a long time ago."

Tim did not verbally respond, but Sandra liked the smile on his face and the way he was looking at her.

“What do you think of charcoal steaks, baked potatoes and a tossed salad for supper?"

“Do we have any charcoal? For that matter do we have a grill?"

“There's a gas grill on the patio. The Van Fans had one like it in Jessup. I'm not sure if there are any briquettes, but we don't necessarily need them."

“Sounds good to me. Now that I think of it, I'm starving."

* * * *

On the indefinitely defined dividing line between the areas known as the Piedmont and Western North Carolina, late October days are usually sunny and quite warm, but the temperature drops rapidly when the sun sets. Tim and Sandra, both dressed in heavy sweaters, ate dinner on the patio, neither willing to admit the mistake. Sandra was perhaps less aware of the nip in the air, for she was concentrating on what she knew was an important speech she must make.

“Is your steak too rare?” she asked.

“It's fine,” Tim replied, his mind back in the study.

“This morning you asked me, challenged me, to present to you a plan, my plan for the future."

“Uh-huh,” Tim responded while chewing a bite of less than tender chuck steak. He tried to recall the conversation.

“You and I are different, Tim. You seem to know what you want and exactly how to get it. You have everything worked out in your mind, maybe on paper if the ‘to do’ list I saw on your desk is any indication."

She thought he nodded affirmatively as he raised the glass of iced tea to his lips.

“I don't have any experience with that. I sorta know what I want, but I don't know how to make detailed plans. I knew I wanted to leave home when I was a girl, but I really didn't know why or how. The notion came to me after I graduated from high school. I packed a few things, walked to the highway and stuck out my thumb. I did not know where I was going or how I would get there. Barry Waterton gave me a ride. After talking with him a while, I thought maybe I could hang out with him until something better came along, and I did. I didn't plan it. I just did it. I saw a ‘help wanted’ sign one day. I applied for the job and got it. I didn't plan it. It just happened. Then the opportunity came for me to become a Toy. I wanted excitement. I didn't plan it. I couldn't possibly have planned it. Then I became bored with the Van Fans. For the first time in my life, I tried to plan something—my escape. You know how that turned out."

“I'm not as good at planning as you may think, Sandra,” Tim said looking over her head at nothing in particular. “My dad was an accountant, so I planned to be an accountant. I planned to marry the perfect girl, have a nice job with an accounting firm, a house and maybe a couple of kids. Those were the basics. I added details as I grew up. In my senior year in high school the details changed a little. I decided to take a class in bookkeeping and another in typing. My teacher turned out to be super—best I ever had. She actually cared about us. She criticized poor work, but she always found something positive to say. I decided to become a high school teacher of typing and accounting—just a little adjustment in the basic plan. In that same year, I fell in love with the perfect girl, or so I thought. She was a year behind me. The trouble with my planning is that I have never learned how to build in the unexpected. My parents died in an automobile accident during my freshman year in college. That almost threw me. They left me enough money to finish college—and the house of course. I married my high school sweetheart just after I got my degree. We moved into the house. She obtained a job as a bank teller. That fall I started teaching in the local high school. Except for the children, everything seemed perfect. However, I did not plan for the unexpected. It did not occur to me that I would not like teaching. It did not occur to me that my wife would not turn out to be the perfect woman. It did not occur to me that I might one day get a divorce and lose my parent's house in the settlement. I made no backup plans. When the letter came from Mr. Coan, I seized on it as an opportunity to start the next chapter in my life. I didn't have much of a plan though. I quit my job, threw my stuff in the Mustang and headed for Dot. I thought I would convert the inheritance into cash, and then come up with a new plan. I
have
to plan, Sandy. That's what drives me. I must have goals with which to measure success. Maybe you don't. If I had made a better plan, a plan that went beyond marriage and profession, maybe I would never have seen..."

He dropped his head. His sagging shoulders made him look so sad. “Tim, sex is just sex. Was it really so bad to see your wife with...” She didn't finish the sentence. The tears in his eyes he tried to hide from her answered the incomplete question.

“To you, maybe, sex is sex. To me there are two kinds of sex, masturbation and making love. You can masturbate alone, or with aids, or with another person. Making love is something you can do only with another person about whom you care deeply. If I were going to masturbate, I'd just as soon not involve anyone else. If she loved me, if she cared about me the way I cared for her, she would never have gotten in bed with another man."

Sandra didn't know how to reply. She started to ask if maybe his wife had just been using a stranger's body to masturbate, but instead asked, “In the Whirl Pool, you were just masturbating?"

His voice was so low she could barely hear him. “I think we both were."

After playing with the food on their plates for a few minutes, Tim said, “You were talking about your plans. I interrupted. I'm sorry."

“I was just saying I have already given you the only plan I can come up with. I want to hang out with you until I find out what it is I want to do next. Isn't that good enough?"

“Maybe for you, but not for me. I can't plan around something like that. I am just a meal ticket to you, a Barry or Hank you can sponge off of until something better comes along.” He smiled broadly. “Scratch the Hank part. I don't turn you on like he did."

“Maybe I do want to sponge off of you. I am sponging off you, but there can be benefits for you as well. I'll cook, run errands, wash dishes, do the shopping, help you with whatever the hell it is you're doing now, rub your back and anything else you want me to do while I'm looking for something better. Who knows? It may turn out that it doesn't get any better than this.” Her nostrils flared. “It's none of your damned business, but I wasn't faking in the Whirl Pool. It was like—no, it was better than with Hank. I'm as surprised as you are. And another thing, damn it, you may prefer to masturbate alone, but my pussy is the best fucking sex toy you and your new fortune can buy.” She slammed her hand on the table and the dishes rattled.

“Sandy, I've already pissed you off. I may as well finish. I've thought about it. There's no way you and I will ever develop any kind of meaningful relationship. I admit you turn me on, but we're from two different worlds. This afternoon I decided to make you an offer. You can keep any of the clothes you like. You can have the Cavalier, and I'll give you $50,000. You can get on with your life and not have to roll drunks for a living."

“Is that an offer or an ultimatum?” she asked.

“For now it's an offer. Think about it, Sandy."

The contact of her thighs crashing into the table dumped iced tea into his lap as she hastily stood up. “Kiss my ass,” she threw over her shoulder as she fled to the sanctity of her ... his ... library.

* * * *

As she opened the book, she thought, Not a bad offer. Could I hope for more? The combination of tear stained eyes, small print and emotional drainage made her drowsy, but then he appeared in the doorway.

“Sandy, I..."

BOOK: Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors
4.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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