Dreams of Paradise

by R. B. Conroy

  “Oh…uh yes, yes.” Joe pushed the door shut and hurried around to the driver’s side and dropped into the deep bucket seat. The roadster’s big engine roared to a start. Susan cringed as her scraggily cat jumped out from behind a nearby bush and scurried across her tiny yard to find solace from the loud noise under her front porch. Loose gravel spewed from under the front tires as Joe hit the accelerator and sped toward Nancy Lopez Country Club. The car rolled up a slight incline near Susan’s house and then leveled out. Susan leaned over and tapped Joe’s hand which was lying on the gearshift. “Willie wanted me to tell you that he’s been a little under the weather lately, food poisoning or the stomach flu, he’s not sure which. He’s fine now, no temperature or anything, he’s just a little sore around the midsection.”

  “We could have made it another night.”

  “Oh no, he really wants to meet you, and he is looking forward to dinner tonight. He said he will be fine.”

  Joe crammed the gearshift into third and blended into the traffic on the nearby highway. “Something tells me this boy is just like his mother, very resilient.”

  “Oh…uh yes, I believe so.” Susan wished her son was like her, but in reality they were very different from each other. While Susan worked hard and faced-up to challenges when they arose, it seemed like Willie was always trying to find the easy way around everything. She was industrious and hard working and he couldn’t hold a job for more than a few months. She was a non-addictive personality, while he seemed to be able to become addicted to almost anything, including cocaine and sugar. She hoped all his years of hard living didn’t appear too obvious to Joe tonight. Her reference to his having the stomach flu might help explain the abnormal paleness of his face. Susan was very anxious about how the evening would unfold. She never really knew what to expect from her mercurial son.

  * * *

  To Susan’s surprise when they entered the restaurant, the maître de approached them and announced to Joe that the third member of their party had already arrived and been seated.

  Joe smiled at Susan, “Your son is very punctual--he really is very much like you.”

  A shocked Susan nodded at the doctor.

  On the way to the table, the talkative maître de described the panoramic view of Lopez golf course that awaited them in the main dining room. When they rounded a corner and walked past the open glass doors into the room where their table was located, Susan nearly gasped, but not from the sight of the golf course, but from the sight of her troubled son who was slumped down in his chair with his shaggy hair hanging down over his eyes. He looked disheveled and unkempt. She looked down at his feet protruding out from under the table and saw a pair of tattered tennis shoes that were being held together by several wrappings of duct tape. She looked up again at his pale, dank face covered with dark stubble which only added to the horrific sight. That boy is going to put me in my grave! She took a deep breath trying to calm herself.

  As the expectant couple neared the table, Willie saw them and quickly rose from his chair and smiled at his mother, “Hi Mom.” He leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. A surprised Susan was taken aback by the unexpected graciousness of her son. Then, to her surprise, he made eye contact with Joe and extended his hand, “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Stone, I’ve heard a lot about you.” The two men shook hands vigorously.

  “All good I hope?” Joe replied, flashing a broad grin.

  An animated Willie laughed out loud, “Are you kidding? I expected you to be seven foot tall and wearing a superman outfit!”

  Polite laughter ensued from all three, finally halted by Joe’s modest refrain, “Why thank you, but I’m not quite superman. Even though I truly appreciate your wonderful mother speaking so well of me, I really don’t deserve it.” He gave Susan an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

  “Please, sit down,” the doctor gestured toward Willie’s chair. He and Susan’s chairs were quickly pulled back from the table by the attentive maître de.

  Willie watched as they got situated in their chairs, then he sat down, grimacing as he pulled his chair up to the table.

  The observant doctor spoke up, “Your mother tells me that you haven’t been feeling up to par lately.”

  A somewhat embarrassed Willie replied, “Why…. uh yes that’s right. Flu or something. I had it coming out of both ends for a day or so, but thankfully, I’m feeling better today. Thank you for your concern.”

  Thank you for your concern! I’ve never heard my son talk that way. Susan thought.

  “This restaurant is much nicer than I expected. I really feel kind of underdressed,” Willie said. “I don’t go out much, so this was about all I could find to wear.”

  “It’s casual here in The Villages, Willie, don’t think a thing about it,” Joe replied. “I think you look fine.”

  Susan tossed Willie a scolding glance, “I realize that you don’t have a big wardrobe son, but I think you could have probably found something a little better than that outfit.”

  Willie’s brow narrowed, he looked fiercely at his mom and she returned the favor.

  Joe rapidly intervened in the tense face off, “They have wonderful daily specials here at Lopez. Why don’t we check them out?” He lifted the top menu from the stack left by the maître de and handed it to Susan. He then lifted another one and handed it to Willie. The stare-off between mother and son soon ended as they turned their attention to the menu.

  A short time later, the waiter appeared to take their drink orders. Susan and Joe ordered a glass of wine, while a smiling Willie ordered a rum and coke. Having made her decision on what to order, Susan lowered her menu and continued the conversation. Speaking and smiling warmly at a surprised Willie, she announced, “Willie was a fine athlete as a boy. He still holds the record for the two-hundred meter dash in middle school.

  “Oh, how nice!” Joe replied. “Please tell me more, Willie.”

  A suddenly eager Willie proceeded to talk endlessly of his athletic exploits as a youngster, using the terms “I was the best” and “I kicked everybody’s butt” over and over again. With a painful grin on her face, Susan interrupted her over exuberant son to announce that the waiter was returning to take their orders. When the waiter arrived, Susan quickly ordered shrimp scampi to stop her son’s self-centered gibberish about his athletic accomplishments. Joe order a filet, medium well, and the voluble Willie ordered a cheeseburger and fries and another rum and coke.

  The rest of the evening passed with continued lively conversation, with only a few mentions of Willie’s vastly exaggerated athletic achievements. To Susan’s delight on the whole, Willie was every bit the gentleman for the entire evening asking Joe several questions about his career in medicine and his life in Pittsburgh. Impressed by the tone of the conversation between her son and Joe, Susan remained quiet for most of the evening, letting the two men get to know each other--and that they did, with the clueless Willie giving the very gracious Joe several high-fives at different points in the evening.

  With the room darkening around them and the mellow sounds of the lounge singer in the nearby bar drifting into the dining room, Joe ate the last bite of his chocolate mousse and carefully placed the spoon next to the small desert dish. “They have wonderful mousse here,” he said while patting his protruding stomach. He clasped his hands together and fell back against his chair. “Willie, I have thoroughly enjoyed getting to know you this evening.” His brow lifted slightly waiting for Willie’s reply.

  “It’s been my pleasure, Dr. Stone. I can see why my mother is so fond of you.”

  Susan smiled warmly at the surprisingly well spoken epitaph from her son. Still not completely certain of his underlying motivations, she was none-the-less grateful for the nice evening they had all shared together.

  The doctor went on, “Your mother tells me that things have been a little tight for you lately.”

  Eyes wide, an anxious Willie replied, “Well, you know it’s a tough job market out there right now. And I…
.uh”

  “I’ve got a few things that need to be done around my house--painting, light plumbing, moving furniture and so forth. I will pay you $20 an hour in cash and you can work at your own leisure.”

  Willie was ecstatic, he fought to control his emotions, “Oh man, that would be great!”

  “Since you will be coming and going quite a bit, I will give you the code to the garage door for easy entrance to the house.”

  Susan winced at the offer to give Willie the code to Joe’s garage, but she couldn’t say anything. She could hardly disparage her son’s trustworthiness at this point in her relationship with Joe. It would hardly look good if she told him that her son was a dishonest lout who lied to her and stole from her on a fairly regular basis. Her stomach muscles were in a huge knot as Joe continued.

  “I will put a time sheet in the mudroom next to the garage so you can record your hours. You can come and go as need be and write your hours on the sheet each time you work. I will pay you at the end of each week on Saturday. Are you interested?” He scribbled the garage code on his napkin, ripped the code free from the napkin and laid it in front of Willie.

  A broad smile spread across Willie’s face. “Yes, I sure am, Dr. Stone. Thank you.” He snatched the piece of napkin off the table and crammed it in his pocket. He was ecstatic. He could make a few dollars to help fuel his growing dependency on drugs and gain unfettered access to the doctor’s lavish home.

  A beaming Dr. Stone slid his chair back and stood with his hand extended, “It’s my pleasure, Willie. See you tomorrow?”

  Willie stood and shook the doctor’s hand vigorously. “Yea, that will work. How about nine?”

  “That will be fine.”

  Susan flashed a hesitant smile that soon faded. She didn’t trust her son to be in Joe’s house alone, but she knew he really needed the money and didn’t want to stand in his way. After several moments of friendly good-byes, the dinner broke-up. Joe waited while Susan went to the ladies room, and Willie excused himself, left the restaurant and found his way to the corner of the parking lot and his green Honda.

  * * *

  Willie was literally floating across the parking lot to his car, “Frickin’ A man! Frickin’ A!” he shouted, punching his fist into the palm of his other hand over and over again. The evening couldn’t have gone better. He felt certain he had made a good impression on Dr. Stone. He couldn’t believe that the good doctor had offered him a job and the code to his garage. He could take his time, get the lay of the land in the doctor’s house and then began stealing those things that the doctor would probably never miss--like old jewelry. He would have a source of cash like he had never had before. He found the doctor to be wimpy and boring and too trusting--an easy mark for a conniving thief like Willie. With Tubs’ deadline hanging over his head, the first job at hand was to continue to charm the doctor and then hit him up for a twenty-five hundred advance against his salary. The stealing would have to wait until the loan was in hand.

  Willie smirked as he approached his beat-up Honda in the far corner of the parking lot, certain that he had just found his long awaited Sugar Daddy. That fat little toad doesn’t know what his lovely Susan has gotten him into. A wicked smile spread across his face. He opened the door, dropped into the sunken seat and punched the key in the ignition. The worn-out auto rattled to a start and began to roll toward the exit. On the way past the Lopez Pro Shop, Willie saw his mom and Joe talking and smiling as they walked briskly toward his car. He lifted his right hand and stuck his middle finger high in the air, violently jabbing it several times in the general direction of his unsuspecting mother and the doctor. “Aren’t they cute?” he growled. Willie pressed harder on the gas pedal and the old car belched out a nasty backfire as he sped toward the nearest exit.

  Chapter 17

  “Damn!” Tito grumbled. His eyes began to water as the strong odor of gasoline permeated the small garage area.

  “Someday you’ll learn how to pour gas in that trimmer, Tito,” the nearby Pedro snickered at his sullen cousin.

  “It too small, it hard to hit,” Tito moaned. It was early Saturday morning after another long week at work. Tito’s shoulders ached, his hands hurt from lifting and holding the heavy trimmer all week long. His arms and hands were covered with nicks and bruises.

  “Just part of the business, get used to it,” Pedro barked. And Tito would get used to it. He was making more money than he had ever dreamed of before he came to the United States. His weekly salary of $250, meager by U.S. standards, was big to a young illegal like Tito. His salary allowed him to pay his living expenses and still have enough left over each week to send some money back to Mexico to his family.

  Even though the money was good, Tito wasn’t totally happy. He wanted more--much more. He wanted a big house like the gringos had; he wanted a big bank account like the gringos had; but most of all, he wanted a car like his cousin Jesus had. It was a customized 1973 Chevy Impala with over-sized tires and bright shiny wheel covers. What excited Tito the most about the car was that the front end would go up and down at the touch of a button.

  Sometimes his cousin would take him and Pedro to Orlando on a Saturday night in his fancy Impala. They would spend the evening cruising around in the growing Hispanic community showing off the sporty ride. Even from the backseat, Tito felt like a big shot riding around in the striking low-rider. He would peer through the back window at the rows of bystanders and soak in the shouts and cheers as Jesus sent the front end lifting toward the sky. Tito loved the feeling of being the center of attention. He wanted a low-rider like Jesus’ more than anything in the world, but to realize his dream, he would have to come up with $15,000--a fortune to him. Jesus told Tito that a car like his cost about $11,000 and the wheels and hubs and hydraulics cost another $4,200. At his current salary, even if he got a few raises along the way, it would take him about ten years to save enough money to buy his own low-rider.

  * * *

  “You better get that smell of gas off of you. We are going to a new club up in Orlando tonight,” Pedro barked.

  “Are we taking the Impala?” Tito asked expectantly.

  Pedro shook his head, “Of course not, we are taking the truck. You know that Jesus never takes his Impala to a night club. He is afraid someone will steel his fancy wheels while we are inside.”

  Tito frowned. “Where are we working today?”

  “We’ve got six houses to do in Sunset Ridge and then we are done for the day.”

  Tito smiled, “Oh good, then we get off early!” Tito loved the abbreviated schedule on Saturday. They usually were done by early afternoon giving him a little time to take care of personal affairs before the weekly forays into the very active Latino nightlife in the Ocala and Orlando areas.

  “We’ll get off early if you hustle,” Pedro grinned at his cousin.

  The hypersensitive Tito took offense to the jabbing. “I always hustle. You lucky to have me.”

  “Ah..yea..yea.. we lucky alright.”

  Still reeling, Tito shot back, “Where is Jesus, why is he not working today? Seems like he takes a lot of time off.”

  “He had to go to the bank and take care of all the money stuff. We are lucky to have him taking care of the business. He’s a smart guy.”

  Tito sneered.

  “He told me to give you a message.”

  “Give me a message? What message?”

  “He said to tell you to be a good boy tonight. No fights!”

  Tito grimaced, “I won’t fight unless….”

  Pedro quickly interrupted, “No fights! He said if you get into another fight then you will not be able to go with us again. He said he tired of getting thrown out of places because of you.”

  A defiant Tito scowled at his cousin.

  Pedro glared back, “You heard me!”

  Tito took a deep breath, lowered his head slightly and replied, “Okay, no fights.”

  “Time to go.” The door on the old work truck creaked open and P
edro briskly slid in behind the steering wheel. A somewhat contrite Tito climbed in through the passenger side door and slammed it shut. The truck rolled out of the garage, the gravel driveway crunching under its worn tires. Pedro punched the garage door opener and pulled away. A brooding Tito watched in the passenger side mirror as the garage door slowly fell shut behind them.

  Chapter 18

  Pedro cruised into the open round-about, centered by a dazzling display of freshly planted snapdragons. Like all of the round-abouts in The Villages, it was a beautiful sight to behold. On the far side of the round-about, he exited onto Bailey Trail. A few hundred feet later, he paused next to the gatekeeper’s stop sign and waited for the gate to open. Once past the security gate, the little truck and trailer continued on its way to the Village of Sunset Ridge. Near the entrance to the upscale village, Pedro hung his arm out of the window signaling a left turn. After waiting a few seconds for a couple of colorful golf carts to whiz past in the cart lane, he turned left into Sunset Ridge. A short time later they were nearing the driveway to Dr. Stone’s house.

  Suddenly, Pedro’s brow narrowed. “Why is that scruffy guy trying to get in Dr. Stone’s garage? Dr. Stone is not home on Saturday morning.” Fond of the kind doctor, Pedro gunned the engine and turned quickly into the driveway. He slammed on the brakes, bumped the car door open, jumped out and hurried toward the suspected intruder. Apparently disinterested, Tito remained in the truck.

  The man punching the numbers on the remote keypad heard Pedro approaching and spun around to confront the fast charging Pedro.

  “What the hell?” Pedro exclaimed while slowing to a walk. “Is that you, Willie?”

  Startled by the sudden advance of the muscular Pedro, Willie just stared at him.