“Well,” G.W. said again, and realized that he probably should follow it up with something more substantive. “Well, let’s get out and take a look around, shall we?”
“Do they even have a bathroom, Daddy?” Jillian asked, dubiously. “I don’t see one.”
“It doesn’t matter, Jill, because we are not staying here,” Barbara Anne announced. “Drive on, G.W.”
But there was something about her tone that irked him. Perhaps it was her complete assurance that she spoke for both of them, that he would do her bidding without question. Perhaps it was the way she ordered him around summarily, like a servant. Whatever it was, G.W. made an instant decision that they were, indeed, staying here. He reached over and shut off the ignition.
“Car’s starting to overheat,” he announced, knowing that Barbara Anne would be unable to argue with that. “And Jill’s gotta go to the bathroom. And you’ve been belly-aching for the last half hour about getting something to drink.” He flipped a switch on the door, all four door locks flew up with a snap. “So like I said, let’s get out and take a look around.” And he swung open the door and stepped out into the afternoon sun.
“G.W.”, Barbara Anne called after him. “Jill and I will remain in the car,” she said, although Jillian had already pushed her door open. “Please leave the air conditioning running for us.”
“Can’t do that,” G.W. explained. “That’s what’s making the car overheat.” And before Barbara Anne could mount another objection, he slammed his door shut and walked around the front of the car toward the young couple at the produce stand.
“Welcome to Nature’s Bounty,” the young man said grandly, as G.W. approached.
“Come and share the bounty freely given to us by the land,” his red-haired companion added.
“Howdy,” G.W. drawled affably. They must be real, honest-to-goodness hippies, he thought, just like he had read about and seen on TV. The standard anti-hippie litany, so popular in Texas, flashed through his mind. They were dirty. They did drugs. They were Communists. They were dangerous. They fucked all day long. Well these folks may have been fucking, G.W. thought, but they seem to be fairly clean. And they don’t appear to be dangerous.
And they sure are friendly. Not like most of these ice-water Yankees, of which the stuck-up Boston blue-bloods were certainly the worst. No, these folks seemed right friendly. Real folks, just like Texans.
Maybe hippies aren’t so bad after all, he thought, struggling to keep an open mind. Maybe it was just a question of bad PR.
“I’m trying to find a bathroom for my little girl,” G.W. said. Their smiles were irresistible, and he found himself grinning back at them. “And my wife needs something to drink. And I think my car probably needs about a gallon of water. And I suspect,” he added, surveying the cornucopia spread out before him, “that maybe we need some fruits and vegetables, too.”
Something about his speech struck the couple as terribly funny, and they began to giggle. And for no understandable reason, G.W. found himself laughing in return.
“I’ll go get you some water for your car,” the young man announced. He ran around the end of the counter and ducked behind the building. Oh good, G.W. thought with relief. I was afraid that they didn’t have any water here.
“And I’ll take your little girl to the bathroom,” the woman said. Her eyes sparkled at G.W., who felt himself starting to melt. He tried not to stare too obviously at the slim, firm breasts that were peeking out of her half-open shirt. “Ooooo,” she cooed, looking past him, “she’s precious!”
G.W. turned to follow her gaze. Jillian, he discovered, had climbed out of the back seat and was approaching the girl who sat on the stool, watching Jillian with the same wide eyes, still swinging her legs back and forth incessantly.
The young man appeared from behind the stand, wheeling a gleaming cobalt-blue bicycle. “It’s going to take me a little while to get the water,” he announced, apologetically. “The pump doesn’t seem to want to work today, so I’m going to have to ride back to the house. I should be back in about half an hour or so.”
“Oh, hell, you don’t need to go to all that trouble on my account,” G.W. said, although he suspected that he might need that water if he wanted to continue driving. “I’ll just wait until the next car comes along and have them give me a lift to a service station.”
What a strange sight, G.W. thought. He’s all grubby looking, what with his ridiculously long hair, ripped-up shorts, ragged T-shirt, and no shoes. But his bicycle is all shiny and expensive-looking. Something about the scene struck a responsive chord in G.W.’s mind. He frowned.
“No, sir, it’s no trouble at all,” the young man said earnestly. “In fact, I appreciate the opportunity to be of some service to you. And besides,” he added, grinning, “it gives me an excuse to ride my bike.”
“Your bike,” G.W. said absently. “Your bike.” In the depths of his mind, some connection was furiously trying to be made.
“Yes, sir. I love to ride.” He straddled the bicycle and began to taxi it toward the road. “I’ll be back in a little bit, Cory,” he called over his shoulder as he wheeled away. Applying a burst of power to the pedals, he took off down the narrow road, waving back over his shoulder. Crouching low over the handlebars, he gained speed rapidly, and quickly disappeared around a bend in the narrow road.
“Cory,” G.W. said questioningly, lost in thought.
“Yes?” She smiled at him brilliantly. She looked delicious.
“Cory,” he repeated, thoughtfully.
“That’s my name!”
“Corinne!” G.W. exclaimed excitedly, slapping his thigh as it all came together. “Holy shit. You’re Corinne McVeigh, aren’t you? And that…” – he looked off down the road, but the figure on the bicycle was no longer in sight – “… that was, I don’t believe it, that was Roger O’Malley! I knew he looked familiar. God damn!”
The redhead’s smile grew even more intense, almost blinding G.W. with its radiance. She laughed lightly; to G.W. it sounded like the tinkling of a hundred delicate fairy bells. “We’ve been spotted,” she joked, gently. “You’ve blown our cover. And here I thought we were incognito.”
“G.W.!” Although Barbara Anne had stated her intention to wait in the car, G.W. had known that the lack of air conditioning would drive her out sooner or later. And sure enough, here she came. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on?” she snapped.
“Honey, c’mere, c’mere. You’re not gonna believe this.” G.W. motioned excitedly for his wife to join him. And finally, rolling her eyes in protest, expertly playing the long-suffering wife, she slowly ambled over to the counter. “Barbara Anne, you won’t believe who these people are!”
Barbara Anne smiled, but just barely. “You’re probably right,” she said, dryly. “But tell me anyway. The suspense is killing me.”
“This,” G.W. said, motioning toward the young woman who stood beaming at them with her shirt half open, “is Corinne McVeigh.” Corinne executed a half-bow, exposing entirely too much of her chest for Barbara Anne’s taste. “And the fella who just took off on the bicycle was none other than Roger O’Malley!”
Barbara Anne blinked her eyes expressionlessly. “That’s real nice, G.W.,” she said.
“Corinne McVeigh and Roger O’Malley!” G.W. was flabbergasted that Barbara Anne apparently didn’t recognize the names. “From the Olympics. You remember.”
“Can’t say as I do.” She smiled weakly. “Sorry.” She glanced over at Jillian, who was slowly circling the stool, staring cautiously at the redheaded child, who continued to swing her legs and stare back.
“Sure you do,” G.W. insisted. “Corinne McVeigh won three gold medals in swimming – or was it four?”
Corinne shrugged amusedly. “Something like that.”
“And Roger O’Malley won a silver medal in some kind of bicycle event. And they got married right there at the Olympics. It was on TV and in the papers and everything.”
; “It does sound a little bit familiar,” Barbara Anne conceded, grudgingly.
“We looked a lot different then,” Corinne observed wryly. “I’m surprised you recognized us.”
“The walrus mustache gave it away,” G.W. said. A vivid image flashed through his mind of the joyful couple, medals draped around their necks, exchanging vows on the infield of the packed stadium. Their hair was considerably shorter then, of course, and the costumes were a lot more conventional. But now that he thought about it, he clearly recognized the same beaming smiles.
“This is stunning, absolutely amazing, running into you out here in the middle of nowhere,” G.W. enthused. “Do y’all live around here somewheres?”
“We live on a commune down the road a little ways,” Corinne said. And G.W. smiled and nodded, although he had not the slightest idea of what a commune was. “I guess you could say that we’ve pretty much dropped out of society. We certainly have dropped out of competition.”
“Fascinating,” Barbara Anne said. “Could I trouble you for something to drink?”
“We don’t have a single thing here,” Corinne said apologetically. “The pump’s broken down. Why don’t you have some fruit? It’s so juicy, I’m sure you’ll find it refreshing. And it’s all organically grown, so you don’t have to worry about the poisons they put on them in most places.”
Barbara Anne responded with a look that suggested that she had never spent any time worrying about poisoned fruit. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, “I believe I’ll have a pear. Can I buy just one?”
“Of course.” Corinne smiled and spread her arms, the Earth Mother sharing the harvest. “Feel free to help yourself.”
“I must have left my wallet in the car,” G.W. said, exploring his empty back pocket, as Barbara Anne examined the pears. “How much is it?”
“Whatever you want to give.”
“No, I mean, how much do you charge for one pear?”
“We don’t have any set prices,” Corinne explained. “You can pay us whatever you think is right. Or nothing at all. Just do whatever God tells you to do.”
“But… that’s no way to run a business.” G.W. was bewildered. “I mean, how can you make any money like that?”
“Making money is not our goal.” Corinne smiled at his confusion. “The bounty of nature belongs to everyone. It is not ours to sell. It has been entrusted to our care, but it comes from God and it belongs to all the people on the planet.”
G.W. tried his best not to roll his eyes, but Corinne seemed to sense his incredulity just the same. To G.W.’s surprise, she did not seem at all offended. She smiled and leaned her body just the slightest bit in his direction. “You’re welcome to give us money if you’d like,” she said softly, as if she were sharing a confidence. “But it’s not a requirement. If you enjoy the food that we’ve grown, that will be more than enough reward for us.”
Her smile brightened. And even though her words really didn’t make much sense to him, G.W. was surprised to find himself smiling back.
2.6.2: Pierce's Bridge
“Excuse me.” Barbara Anne cleared her throat, hoping to tear Corinne’s attention away from G.W. for at least a few seconds. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, sounding more annoyed than sorry, “but do you have a restroom here that my daughter could use?”
“I’m not sure that I’d call it a ‘restroom,’” Corinne laughed. “There’s an outhouse, it’s only about a ten-minute walk from here. I’ll be happy to take her.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” Barbara Anne said. The thought of this woman walking off alone with Jillian – to an outhouse, no less! – was not at all appealing. “And you really should stay here and keep on eye on your fruit stand, don’t you think?”
“Not really.” Corinne shrugged. “Since we don’t mind if people take things without paying for them, there’s really no way that anybody can steal anything from us.”
“Good point.” Barbara Anne smiled stiffly. It was difficult to argue with that logic, but there was no way she was going to let a stranger – and certainly not this particular stranger – take Jillian off to some outhouse in the middle of a field somewhere. “However, if you’ll just point the way, I’ll take her myself.”
“There’s a path at the corner of the shed,” Corinne said, pointing to the far side of the stand. “Just follow it through the field about, oh, maybe half a mile. You can’t miss it.”
Barbara Anne wandered over to the side of the stand where, as promised, a narrow, well-worn dirt path wound off through the tall grass. Maybe I should have let her take Jillian, she thought, eyeing the path dubiously. But, no, she sighed, there’s no way I’d trust that woman alone with my child. And anyway, I’ve pretty much painted myself into a corner by arguing with her about it, I’ve got to follow through now.
“Come, Jillian,” Barbara Anne called. “Mother’s going to take you to the bathroom.”
Jillian looked around suspiciously. “They have a bathroom here?” she asked, incredulously. “Where?” she demanded. “I don’t see one.”
“Don’t talk back to me, Jill,” Barbara Anne said, tiredly. “Just come on.”
“Could I get you to take Sunshine with you?” Corinne asked, brightly. And before Barbara Anne could answer – in fact, while she was still trying to figure out what “Sunshine” was – Corinne turned to address the red-headed tyke. “Sunshine, honey, run along to the outhouse with the nice woman and the little girl, would you do that for me?” Corinne smiled winningly at Barbara Anne. “I do so appreciate you doing this for me. It saves me a trip. I know I’d have had to do it sooner or later.”
In response to her mother’s directive, Sunshine solemnly climbed down from the stool and scooted over to Barbara Anne as fast as her stubby little legs would carry her. Jillian ran after Sunshine, passing her when she stopped by Barbara Anne’s legs. “C’mon!” Jillian shouted shrilly, as she ran past Sunshine and headed off down the trail. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”
“You children wait for me!” Barbara Anne called after them as they scampered into the field. “Don’t get so far ahead of me that I can’t see you,” she admonished.
Before she followed the children on the trek to the outhouse, Barbara Anne cast one last glance at G.W. and Corinne, who already seemed to be deep in conversation across the counter. Look at her, Barbara Anne thought disgustedly, standing there with her shirt open and her boobs half hanging out. Shameless. Utterly shameless. Although I’m sure that G.W. is enjoying the show.
Suddenly, she was angry: How dare this brazen hussy stand there and show off her body to my husband like that! Then, just as suddenly, she was worried: Surely, she wouldn’t try anything with G.W. while I’m taking the kids to the outhouse, would she? And what will G.W. do if she does? He’s a good man, but like all men, he’s weak, and there’s no telling how he’ll respond if that… that temptress comes on to him.
But, Barbara Anne realized, the “bottom line” – as G.W. liked to say – the bottom line is that I have to go, I’ve worked myself into a situation where I don’t really have any choice.
So she took a deep breath, threw one last disparaging look at Corinne’s vulgar display of flesh, shook her head, rolled her eyes – and that’s when she noticed the plump, yellow-brown pear that still sat in her hand, intact. She regarded it quizzically, as if unsure of how it had gotten there. Then, as she started off down the path, she shrugged her shoulders, raised the fruit to her lips, and sank her teeth into its rough skin.
It was perfect. Firm, but not too hard. Wet, but not too squishy. Its cool juices exploded into her mouth, bathing her dry throat with a welcome spray of liquid refreshment.
She closed her eyes for a moment as she strolled down the path, savoring the unexpectedly delightful sensation.
2.6.3: Pierce's Bridge
“So,” G.W. said. Now that he was alone with Corinne, he inexplicably found himself at a complete loss for words.
“So,” Corin
ne echoed, smiling at him enticingly.
Is she making fun of me? he wondered. Does she know how uncomfortable I am? Or is she flirting with me? And why do I feel so helpless? I’m acting like a goddamn schoolboy with my first crush and a brand-new hard-on. Can she tell how nervous I am?
And just why am I so nervous? Is it because she’s a hippie, with all the things I’ve heard about hippie chicks? Is it because she’s won three – or was it four? – Olympic gold medals?
Why am I letting her intimidate me?
“Lots of nice fruit you got here,” he said, feeling that it was hopelessly inane as soon as he said it.
“Lots of nice fruit,” she agreed, demurely. “And vegetables, too. Do you see anything here that you like?”
Had she shaken her top just a little as she said that? Or was it just his overactive imagination? “What…” Suddenly hoarse, he had to stop and clear his throat. “What do you recommend? What’s your favorite?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” she said, thoughtfully, turning her head to inspect the full range of produce spread out on the counter before them. “To tell you the truth, I think your wife made the best choice. These are especially juicy today.” The basket of pears stood at the front edge of the counter, just to G.W.’s left. Corinne stretched languidly and leaned forward to reach into the basket. As she did, her half-open, oversize shirt hung low enough to give G.W. a clear view of her right breast, swaying softly with her movement.
G.W.’s eyes bulged. His mouth dropped open. His breathing grew labored. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. He stared at the firm flesh through the open shirt. As Corinne moved slightly back and forth over the wicker basket, he could see her nipple brushing softly against the rough fabric of her shirt.
Jesus, he said to himself, actually moving his lips. This is not an accident. She’s coming on to me.
“Here you go,” Corinne said, startling G.W. out of his reverie. She pulled a fat pear from the basket and held it up for his inspection. Instead of straightening up, she braced herself on the counter with her free hand so that she was still bent over and exposed to G.W.’s line of sight. “What do you think?” she asked coyly. “Nice pear?”
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