There were several stares, and Christina realized she had forgotten to maintain her disguise; but when she noticed her own image in a mirror she gave herself a wry smile. She didn’t even recognize herself. She noticed an old cuckoo clock on the wall; it suddenly let out a strange sound, and instead of a bird coming out of it, a naked female figure emerged in a running pose, followed by a lumberjack with an ax who chased her, moving the ax up and down. Classy.
She smiled at the morbid clock and decided that she wanted to buy it. But not now; she had to take the initiative, and she did. “Can anyone tell me how I can find Hancock Tool Supply?” she said in a strong voice.
There were some murmurs, and then a young man behind the counter said, “Follow Main Street straight on, and you’ll see it about a quarter a mile up ahead. Now, if you don’t mind,” he pointed at a sign by the door that said No Shirt No Shoes No Service, “You’re kinda dirtying the floor.” He gestured towards the floor and the exit. Christina looked down at the dirty puddle she stood in. Instead of arguing, she just nodded to the asshole and stepped back outside into the rain and the dark evening.
“Now that was one dirty old hag,” someone said, followed by laughter.
“Yeah, must be one of them mountain folks, all of ‘em dirty and shoeless.”
“Wouldn’t make it as nickel and dime hooker.”
“Damn hobo.”
Christina ignored the mean remarks. She was actually happy that none of them realized she was a famous film star—perhaps a falling star, but still famous. Of course, she had no make-up on and that did alter her appearance, and she was short, something most people never realized until they met her. They were still a flock of assholes, and she was rethinking buying the clock.
She passed what seemed to be a large biker bar; Harley or Death flashed on a sign. Outside were several large motorcycles, some under covers while others were not. The owners apparently didn’t mind if their bikes got wet. On the far side of the main building a drunk lay passed out in the rain, while another biker held one man by his neck and beat the crap out of him. Christina hurried away and eventually reached the town proper. She passed several buildings, and the street lights flashed disturbingly in the storm. Thunder crashed and echoed down the street, and in the distance she heard the sound of one or more emergency vehicles; probably cops, she thought. She passed a few restaurants, and was a bit surprised when she noticed that most of them were filled with people. Typical country music spilled out. Between the restaurants were large parking areas filled with pickup trucks and a few cars. For a supposedly small, “quiet” town, this was anything but. Had Tom been wrong when he recommended this place? After all, she’d planned to stay for several months, if she liked it.
So far it looked like she wouldn’t.
Finally, she reached Hancock Tool Supply. It proved to be a log building that didn’t look too big from the front. She walked up three steps to the covered porch. There were a few rocking chairs there, moving in the wind, as if they had invisible ghosts sitting in them. There was a second sign hanging down from the porch ceiling, and it swayed back and forth in the strong wind with a rusty creak; it reminded her of something from an old western movie. As of a matter of fact, the entire town reminded her of that.
Just as she headed for the entrance, the door opened and a person ran straight into her. Her suitcase hit the ground, together with a few of his bags. “Watch it, you filthy shit!” shouted the person who had run into her.
Christina almost fell back into the street, and stumbled down the steps on the porch, only to sink her bare feet into mud. She gathered herself and was just about to launch into a rage and let the brute have it, but all she could do was stutter like a little school girl. The big man just gave her a quick glance as he picked up his bags from the ground, before heading to a waiting truck. Christina watch, shocked, as the man pulled out and drove away. It had been a very long time since anyone had treated her like that. Was everyone in this town an asshole? A bit flabbergasted, she stared at the taillights on the truck, trying to remember the man’s face.
Sighing, she opened the door; and at that moment there came an explosion as lightning struck a power transformer, immediately plunging the surrounding area into darkness. She stood in the doorway, staring into a large black room as another lightning flash strobed. A woman screamed at the top of her lungs, and that made Christina scream too.
“Oh my God,” came a woman’s voice. “Sorry, you scared the living crap out of me. If you aren’t coming in, please shut the door, and if you’re coming in, please shut the door, but hurry, we’re closing soon. Be with you in a moment, hon.”
There was some rustling in a drawer and a moment after, the flash of a match-strike. A kerosene lamp soon lit up part of the place. Christina awoke from her trance and hurried in, making sure she shut the door; but then she remembered what had happened at the gas station and stopped, looking at the spotless, shiny floor.
“Now where did he lay the darn flashlight?” the old woman complained, and then noticed Christina still standing in the doorway, shaking, looking less-than-presentable.
“Oh my, what’s happened to you?” the old woman asked, holding the lamp high.
Christina stuttered at bit before she found the words. “I’m looking for a Mr. Hancock. He was supposed to pick me up at the airport. I’ve rented one of his log homes for the next two months.”
The woman behind the large counter—which filled one side of the wall—opened a hatch and hurried through towards Christina, looking very concerned. “You poor thing, what happened to you?” She eyed Christina from head to toe, shaking her head,
Christina repeated, “Mr. Hancock was supposed to pick me up at the airport, but…”
“By golly, I’m gonna have his hide for that. What a maroon! FRANK!” the old woman screamed. “FRANK, YOU GET YOUR OLD LAZY ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!”
Mumbling protests came from a staircase in the back, followed by footsteps as an older man in his late sixties hurried down the stairs.
“Frank, anything slip your mind this afternoon?” the old woman said sweetly.
With a deer-in-the-headlights look, the old man said, “Not that I know of…” trailing off as he saw Christina’s bedraggled form.
“You only forgot about our new tenant, Frank! Our famous tenant!” the old woman said bitterly as he joined them.
The old man looked like a bit ashamed, like a puppy who’d had an accident on the rug, as he looked Christina over. Before she knew it, she was wrapped in a large, warm blanket.
Frank tried to defend himself. “But she was supposed to call…” He trailed off again when he saw his wife’s stare.
“I did. Left a message on your voicemail,” said Christina.
Now Frank looked even guiltier. “Oh. Uh. Well, I have trouble figgerin’ that system out.”
“I suggest you learn,” Christina said icily.
“Well, don’t just stand there, help me get the lights back on or something,” his wife ordered, then said sweetly to Christina, “and you, dear, need to get into a nice hot shower before you catch a cold.”
Christina was too tired to object.
Five minutes later, the sound of an engine kicking in was followed by the lights flickering back on.
“Nothing like a backup power source. Told ya the new generator would be useful, Claire,” Frank rumbled; and just as he was heading towards the garage, he noticed the dirty track from Christina’s feet leading into the kitchen and through the store.
“I’m so sorry.” Christina said. “I…”
The old woman, apparently Claire, said comfortably, “Don’t you worry about it, honey, I’ll take care of it later.”
From the glance exchanged between husband and wife, Christina knew who would be the one cleaning the floor.
There was some sort of commotion from above, and some barking. Frank shouted, “Silence!” and the barking stopped.
Christina let herself be led into back of the s
tore, into a private area. She realized that the building must be much bigger than it had looked from the outside. The back of the house was large and comfortable, with a nice spicy smell from the logs comprising the walls. Claire took her to a guest suite with a private bathroom, where she placed a white plastic basket on the floor for Christina’s dirty clothes, and several towels on a counter. There were soap and shampoo and a conditioner of unknown origin. After a long, hot shower, Christina dried herself; and then it dawned on her that all her clothes were still in her broken suitcase. She got out of the shower and almost slipped, not because of the wet floor—it had a rug—but because she suddenly felt very tired. On a small pallet nearby lay some new clean clothes; shorts, a white T-shirt, and a thick gray morning robe.
Soon, Christina sat in a comfortable armchair with her feet propped up on an ottoman in a large family room, facing a huge fireplace while sipping hot cocoa, still wrapped up in the blanket like a mummy—Claire had insisted on it. She inspected the damages, including the loss of her latest pedicure—it had been a pure torture having one done, because of her sensitive feet, and she didn’t know why she had bothered. She frowned and shook her head at her own vanity.
She had stopped trembling, and the towel covering her head was very wet. It had taken Christina some time to calm everyone down, assuring them that she wasn’t mad and that she was all right. Frank had given her more than one thankful expression behind his wife’s back. Despite Christina’s movie parts, in which she usually played the part of a tough, outgoing badass, she was the direct opposite in real life: shy and rather quiet. So she listened more than she spoke to her new landlords.
Claire placed a large plate with an egg sandwich and some pickles with sour cream for dip on the table next to her. Christina had a ravenous appetite from her ordeal, and attacked the plate with no manners whatsoever. Claire looked on like a proud mother while Frank, still blushing, looked down at his boots. Christina was very tired and had difficulty listening to conversation.
“You’re welcome to stay here tonight,” Claire said at one point.
“Thank you, Claire, but if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to get to the cabin and get settled in as soon as possible.”
“That’s a nasty storm out there. Think you can take her there now, Frank?”
“Ha, this little breeze? ‘Course I can. I’m gonna get the truck ready.”
“And I have to lock up the store. You okay, hon?”
Christina nodded with a friendly smile.
After a while Frank came back into the large living room and said loudly, “Well, I’m ready.”
“Shhh,” warned his wife, and nodded over towards Christina, who was dead asleep in the big, comfortable armchair with her feet propped up. The only sound came from the burning logs in the fireplace. Frank and Claire both smiled at the sight.
“Guess I’ll take her in the morning, then.” Frank embraced his wife from the side, and they exchanged warm smiles.
Christina slept like a baby through the night, and she had a wonderful dream; but suddenly, the dream shattered into a million pieces, and she woke up instantly, screaming and laughing. Something cold and wet had slithered across the naked soft soles of her feet, and her reaction had been immediate, just as it sometimes was whenever she had a pedicure: she kicked the air and quickly rolled up into a ball in the big chair. The ottoman had tipped over, and Christina stared at the villain who had so abruptly ruined a wonderful dream—not that she remembered it anymore. Breathing heavily, with his long tongue hanging out, a stocky British bulldog stared at her in an amused but demanding manner. He began breathing heavily as he tried to climb up into the chair. Christina sensed someone to her right, and she turned her head, letting out another frightened shout. Facing her, only an inch away, was a huge Rhodesian Ridgeback, its large tail sweeping the floor. A long tongue gave her a morning kiss, followed by an eager stare.
A sudden loud bark from the opposite side made her jump a third time. On her left side stood yet another dog: a big black pit-bull, its tail whipping the air, demanding her attention. Still in shock and a bit confused by the wakeup call, Christina tried to gather herself. She felt something like a paw touching her left foot, and she quickly pulled it under the blanket. The bulldog had decided to join her in the chair; however, it couldn’t make it all the way up, and let her know it with a loud bark—and that set off the entire orchestra.
“You all right, hon?” A worried Claire charged inside the living room from the adjacent kitchen. “SILENCE!”
The dogs immediately stopped barking, but the bulldog kept struggling to conquer Mt. Chairverest.
“I, I think so,” Christina shuddered, giving the smiling dogs a toothy smile in return.
“Oh, you met our babies! That’s Nugget to your right and Hunter to your left, and of course the alpha of the pack, Winston. I believe Winston wants his armchair back. Frank must have let them inside. I think they like you, and old Winston don’t like many.”
When Christina tried to get up, Winston pushed his head against her left leg and looked up at her with an innocent expression. Christina melted instantly. He jumped up on his back legs, leaning his front legs on the armchair. He turned his beautiful, innocent dog face to her, giving Christina a questioning expression: What are you waiting for? Help me up, lady.
“You might want to give him a nudge. Don’t worry, they’re harmless when we’re around. We use them to guard our store and home—well, not Winston, he’s too old and lazy. Someone keeps feeding him goodies when I’m not looking.”
Claire gave Frank a glare as he entered the room. Christina got up from the chair, and at first she hesitated, but a quick bark reminded her of her duty to the Prime Minister. She helped the determined dog onto his armchair; he immediately turned a series of circles before settling down with a satisfied grunt and looking up at Christina expectantly.
“Oh, he likes you! Now he wants to be scratched behind the ears.”
Christina hesitated at first, but then she gathered herself. After all, she loved animals, she thought as she scratched Winston while making silly baby talk to him. A nudge from the side, and Hunter demanded his time with the stranger, and so did Nugget. Christina, now kneeling, petted both dogs, but Winston wouldn’t have it and barked right in her face. That made her fall on her ass in surprise, and soon the melee began. It was literally impossible for her to get up as the dogs welcomed her to their home; and since she was lying on the floor, it was obviously time to play. They scrubbed her with their tongues and Christina started to laugh and cry for help.
Frank whistled, loud and short, and as sudden as the dogs had jumped her, they backed away to sit a few feet away in silence…except for Winston, who apparently didn’t give a damn. He remained in the chair and demanded Christina’s attention, woofing again in his deep voice.
“Can’t tame them all, now can we?” Frank stated, while reaching out with his large hand to help Christina to her feet. Despite his age—Christina guessed he was in his late sixties or early seventies—Frank’s hand was firm as a rock, followed by a huge forearm corded with muscle. She felt as if she was almost flying to her feet as he tugged on her. “Sorry if the dogs gave you a fright; didn’t mean to wake you like that.”
Christina felt a little sorry for Frank, because so far all she’d heard from him since they’d met had been apologies. She gave him a friendly embrace and laughed.
“Breakfast,” Claire said loudly.
The dogs got on their feet and rushed into the kitchen, and Winston apparently got his superpowers back, having no problem jumping to the floor and racing after the other dogs while barking loudly, making sure they knew who was the alpha.
The large kitchen table was loaded with food, and with minimal fanfare they sat down and started to eat. Christina, who normally watched her diet, decided not to do so today, and tried a little bit of almost everything. The dogs each had their own bowls away from each other, but when Winston had finished his own, he deci
ded that the others were his, too. Poor Nugget and Hunter moved aside reluctantly while Winston slobbered away, and hurried up to the table, sitting next to Frank, who once in a while slipped them a treat.
Clair cleared her throat more than once; this seemed to be a casual ritual among them. At one point, Christina dropped her sandwich when a sneeze attack overcame her. When she reached for it on the floor, all she saw was a happy Hunter licking his lips. A large paw landed on her lap on the opposite side, and there was Nugget, demanding his share. Christina quickly smuggled some cheese to him, and all of a sudden she had two friends for life. Needless to say, Winston noticed what was going on; he barked loudly, making the other dogs whimper a bit while muscling in on the new guest, demanding his own treat.
“LEAVE!” Clair ordered.
All the dogs hurried back into the living room…well, Winston walked reluctantly, and when he reached the threshold, he turned his head and snarled, making sure he had the last word. Christina could have sworn that Claire had smuggled a treat to Winston when he passed her.
She looked around the kitchen of the log home, and liked the open plan and high ceiling. She hadn’t spent much time noticing it when she’d arrived. It was very homey, this home of Frank and Claire Hancock. They had been the perfect hosts; almost instantly she had felt welcome, as if she had known them for years. Tom Billing hadn’t lied about his friends; they were very nice indeed.
“Um, where’s my stuff?” Christina asked, after she’d had her fill.
Claire nodded her head to the side. They’d placed Christina’s suitcase on a counter. Next to it lay her clothes from the trip, all neatly folded and cleaned. Frank got up and eyed the case’s broken handle; he fumbled for his glasses in his left breast pocket, and with them on the tip of his nose, inspected the damage. “Nothing that I can’t fix, but it’ll take a little while.”
The Lumberjack Page 2