Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  “Hell, we're already funding the incorporation effort. How much is this town hall going to cost us?” Tim asked.

  Carl Elliott slid down in his chair as Vic looked at him.

  “Carl estimates we are talking about a million dollars for the town hall,” Vic replied.

  “Damn!” Tim exclaimed. “And what size cash contribution do you suggest we make, another million?"

  Vic nodded. “You can write it off your taxes, Tim."

  Tim looked at Susan. “For your sake, dear, I will consider your suggestion, but at the moment I feel Dollar Enterprises has already done enough for this community."

  “Don't worry about it, Susan,” Sandra said. “Tim knows it is a good suggestion and he'll come around. But, damn it, if anyone mentions this possibility outside this room, your ass is mine."

  * * * *

  Deborah Andrews slipped out of her Mercedes and studied her front lawn as she walked to the door. That man was supposed to cut the grass today, but it hasn't been touched, she thought. Good help is so hard to find.

  She placed the key in the lock and opened the front door.

  “Vera! Vera!” she screamed.

  When the cleaning lady continued to push the roaring vacuum cleaner, Deborah yanked the cord from the wall receptacle.

  “Afternoon,” Vera said vacantly.

  Deborah placed her hands on her hips. “How many times must I tell you?"

  “Tell me what, ma'am?"

  Deborah ran her finger across the coffee table, leaving an almost invisible line in the light coating of dust. “You must dust first, then vacuum."

  “Don't see that it makes no difference,” Vera says. “Been cleanin’ folks houses for nigh onto twenty year. I reckon I know what I'm doin'."

  “If you wish to continue your employment with me, you will do it my way."

  Vera nodded her head. “Yes, ma'am,” she said. “Next week."

  “Not next week, Vera. You will clean my home properly or I will not pay you for today's work. You will simply have to come back tomorrow and do it right."

  “Can't. Cleanin’ Mr. Bennett's house tomorrow."

  “Then you will stay tonight until the job is completed properly. Is that understood?"

  “Yes ma'am."

  Deborah covered her ears. “What is that racket?"

  “Sounds like a lawnmower to me, ma'am."

  Deborah threw open the front door and her eyes glazed with anger as she watched Frank Skinner back a riding lawnmower down the ramp from the bed of his pickup. She hurried down the steps, waving her arms and shouting.

  Frank saw her and shut off the engine as she approached.

  “What do you think you are doing, Mr. Skinner?"

  “Mrs. Andrews, I told you I would cut your grass today."

  “Not with that monster you won't."

  “I don't understand."

  “Mr. Skinner, you advertise expert lawn care. Any idiot knows that a huge riding mower like that rips grass up by the roots. You must cut my lawn with a push mower of no more than eighteen inches with razor sharp blades, and the lawn must be cut in a crosshatch pattern."

  “Mrs. Andrews, this mower does have razor sharp blades—three of them—and it collects clippings in the attached bag. It would take me twice—four times as long—to cut your grass with a push mower."

  “I see you have a push mower on your truck."

  “Yes. I use that for trim work."

  “You will care for my lawn properly, Mr. Skinner, or not at all."

  Damn, Frank thought. I wish I didn't need her business so badly. “Mrs. Andrews, I know you are a highly educated lady, but my family has been in the business for four decades. I will care for your lawn properly, and I will do it with this riding mower."

  “You will do it my way, or not at all, Mr. Skinner."

  “If I do it your way I will have to charge you four times the quoted rate because it will take me four times as long to cut your grass."

  “We have a contract, Mr. Skinner."

  “Yes, we do,” Frank said, trying to control his temper, “but the contract does not specify what kind of equipment will be used."

  “Mr. Skinner, I repeat. My way or not at all."

  Frank locked his eyes on hers and defiantly said, “I hate to lose your business, Mrs. Andrews, but it will be my way, or not at all."

  He cranked the engine and backed the mower up in preparation for driving it back up the ramp.

  He may be bluffing, she thought, but there is no one else available. I had to cut the damn grass myself these last two years. She shouted over the engine noise. “If I find one tuft of grass ripped out of my lawn by that monster, Mr. Skinner, you're fired.” She turned and stomped back to her house.

  Frank smiled as he watched her trip on her long, flowing skirt. I won that one, he thought, but it might be better if I had lost. That woman is bad news.

  * * * *

  “Come on in, Buzz,” June said, flinging open her apartment door.

  “Evening, June Bug,” Buzz greeted. “I brought a whole case of cold ones, right out of the cooler."

  “Need help with that?” Maggie asked while June helped herself to a bottle.

  “Hi, Maggie,” Buzz said as he headed for the kitchen. “I can manage."

  “I hope you don't mind me barging in,” Maggie said, following him. “June told me today that you are teaching her how to dance. I've danced a little in my time, but I thought I could use a lesson or two myself."

  “The more the merrier,” Buzz said. He sat the case of beer on the kitchen table, handed a bottle to Maggie and began to load the refrigerator. “I don't think I am much of a teacher, but June is a natural."

  “He's a great teacher, Maggie, like I told you. You'll see."

  The trio worked for more than two hours, pausing only occasionally for beer and bathroom breaks.

  At last, Maggie slumped on the sofa. “No more for me,” she laughed. “This is hard work. I'm exhausted."

  “Me too,” Buzz wheezed as he sat on the floor facing her, “and I used to be an athlete."

  “Well I need another beer,” June said and she headed for the kitchen.

  When June was out of hearing, Buzz said, “What's the real reason you are here tonight, Maggie? You are a great dancer and we both know it."

  Maggie smiled. “I thought I faked not knowing how to dance very well, damn it. What gave me away?"

  “You caught on to new moves too quickly."

  Maggie laughed. “The truth is, Buzz, that I figured you to be a first class sleaze-ball. I like June, and when she told me you were spending time with her every night in her apartment I thought maybe I should try to protect her from you. I was wrong. You're a nice guy."

  “You're not wrong, Maggie, but I'm not a sleaze-ball with every woman I meet. I like June too, but we're just friends."

  “Sure, you are. You can't wait for me to get out of here so you can take her to bed. One more beer and June will do anything you want."

  He laughed. “And not remember it in the morning. I think I created a monster. She sipped her first beer with me the other night and she liked it. She likes it too much. She gets like this every night."

  “Please use a condom, Buzz. I know you've been around and there is no telling what diseases you have picked up. I don't think June is on the pill either."

  “The truth is, June and I haven't done the dirty deed."

  “You expect me to believe that?"

  “No.” He smiled. “It's the truth, though. There are two things stopping me. First, she's head over heels in love with your brother and second, she tells me she's a virgin. Her first time should be with someone she loves. I'm just a friend."

  “Here you go,” June said as she reappeared carrying a tray with three brown bottles.

  Buzz noticed that June's bottle was already half empty.

  “Well, Buzzard, how'd I do tonight?” June asked as she flopped on the sofa beside Maggie.

  “Great,” Buz
z replied. “I think you are almost ready to go to a club with me."

  “Almost?” she pouted.

  “Well, there are a couple of moves I haven't taught you, yet. I just don't know how to teach you. Maggie, you need to learn them too if you intend to do any serious dancing in public."

  “What moves?” Maggie asked.

  Buzz grinned sheepishly. “I don't know how to tell you."

  “Come on, Buzzard,” June urged.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” Buzz said as his face brightened. “How about the three of us going to the Candlelight Club in Charlotte tomorrow night, just to observe. You watch the other girls’ moves. I think you'll get the idea."

  “Sounds like fun,” Maggie said. “I'm game."

  “Me too,” June agreed, “but Buzz, why don't you just tell us?"

  “I could if you were guys,” Buzz grinned.

  Maggie sighed and gulped down another swallow of beer. “We're all adults here, Buzz. Use your imagination. Pretend we are guys."

  “Yeah,” June urged.

  “Okay. You asked for it.” He drained his beer. “You need to wear loose fitting bras or no bras at all and shake your boobs around while you are dancing. It drives the guys crazy. You also need to grind your hips occasionally and hump a time or two like you were having sex."

  “People ... people don't actually do that, do they?” June asked.

  “Sounds dirty, doesn't it?” Buzz said. “Well, it is dirty dancing, but that's what everybody is doing these days. You'll see when we go to the club tomorrow night."

  “I've had it for tonight,” Maggie said as she struggled to her feet. “I'll help you straighten up, June, and then I'm out of here."

  “Don't bother, Maggie,” June said. “Thanks to your new schedule I don't have to go to work until ten in the morning. I'll clean up tomorrow."

  “In that case, ladies,” Buzz said, “I'll walk Maggie to her car."

  “You don't need to do that, Buzz."

  “It's on my way, Maggie. I'm parked beside your Blazer."

  As they descended in the elevator, Buzz said, “Maggie, I don't understand your brother Frank. He swept June off her feet and she's crazy about him."

  “She did mention Frank a few hundred times tonight, didn't she?” Maggie joked.

  “If there was a great girl like June interested in me, I'd be doing everything in my power to get her to the altar."

  “You, Buzz? I've never thought of you as the marrying kind."

  He laughed. “Old ‘love ’em and leave ’em Buzz’ will settle down when the right woman comes along, Maggie."

  They walked to the parking lot in silence. The night air was heavy with high humidity. However, Maggie was not sure why she felt so uncomfortably warm. It could be the weather, or the beers, or something else.

  Buzz opened Maggie's car door for her. She hesitated. “You can be a nice guy sometimes, Buzz."

  He enclosed her in his arms and placed his left hand firmly on her buttocks.

  She sagged into him, locked her arms around his neck and darted her tongue into his willing lips.

  June closed the blinds and stumbled to the kitchen. She pulled a beer from the refrigerator, twisted off the cap and sat at the table as she guzzled the beverage. She smiled wickedly. Damn, I'm good, she congratulated herself. I wonder if they will go to her place or his?

  Chapter Nine

  “Morning, Frank. You look like shit."

  “You don't look so great yourself, Buzz. Did you get any sleep at all last night?” Frank asked as he set two six-packs of Pepsi-Colas on the counter.

  “What do you mean?"

  “You and Maggie woke me up when you came in last night and all that moaning and groaning and creaking bedsprings kept me awake the rest of the night."

  “Now wait a damn minute, Frank. I don't know what you think you heard last night, but ... Maggie and me? Hell, why would I want your sister when I have that juicy twat of June's available to me twenty-four hours a day?"

  “Just ring up the Pepsi-Colas, Buzz. I'm in a hurry. I have an appointment with that snooty bitch at the school in a few minutes."

  Buzz waved the scanner over the barcode and gave Frank change for his twenty. “I hate that broad's guts. Somebody needs to teach her a lesson and I'll bet my bottom dollar it'll happen one day. Going for a contract to keep up the school grounds?"

  Frank nodded as he folded the bills and placed them in his jeans. “I had a run-in with the almighty Mrs. Andrews late yesterday afternoon. I'm probably just wasting my time this morning."

  “I doubt it,” Buzz said. “You're the only game in town and it must be costing the school system an arm and a leg to send a crew out here from Charlotte."

  Frank picked up the two six-packs and headed for the door. Buzz glanced at the empty store and followed.

  “Hey, Frank,” he said as Frank placed the soft drinks in the cooler in the bed of his truck, “let me have one more minute of your time."

  “What do you want?” Frank replied irritably.

  “I was just thinking. I know you have picked up a ton of business, caring for lawns in Dot, and I know you can't keep the garden shop open but a few hours a day ‘cause you have no help. If you get the school job, you're really going to be swamped and somebody said you are going to be doing the landscaping for all the Dollars’ new houses."

  “Surely you're not asking for a job."

  “Well, yeah. Maybe."

  “What about the store?"

  “It belongs to Bi-Lo, now. They have people who can run it. They're just letting me hang out as a favor to mom and dad."

  Frank laughed and headed for the cab of his truck.

  “I'm serious, Frank. The folks are moving to Florida tomorrow. There's nothing tying me to the store anymore and I like to work outdoors."

  Frank turned and glared at the man who was approximately his own size. “You're screwing my girlfriend—my former girlfriend—you're screwing my sister and now you want to screw me? Get real, Buzz."

  “Wait a damn minute,” Buzz said, placing his hand on Frank's arm. “You dumped June and what Maggie and I do is her business, not yours."

  Frank knocked Buzz's hand away. “Go to hell, bastard.” He climbed into the truck and slammed the door.

  “Frank, wait,” Buzz said as he edged towards the open window. “I haven't touched June. We're just friends. She is so deeply in love with you she wouldn't even consider going to bed with me. Look, we're all going to the Candlelight Club in Charlotte tonight. Come with us. You can be June's date and I'll escort Maggie."

  Frank cranked the truck and put it in reverse. “Go to hell,” he screamed.

  Buzz jumped back as the tires squealed and the truck raced backwards.

  * * * *

  Deborah sat behind the ornate desk in her private office and studied Frank's proposal for an agonizingly long time. Finally she looked up and leaned back in the heavily padded chair.

  “Mr. Skinner,” she began. “Your proposal covers all of our needs and your price is acceptable. However, I do not believe I can, in good conscience, sign the contract with you."

  “You are not likely to receive a better offer,” Frank said as he sat in the uncomfortable side chair.

  “A businessman should have dressed in a suit, not a tee shirt and jeans, to make this proposal."

  “I have work to do as soon as we finish our business here,” Frank explained.

  “My dear man,” she said as she eyed him haughtily, “I seriously doubt that you even own a suit. In addition, I was not pleased with the work you did at my home last night. When I inspected your work this morning I did not find any uprooted grass—I'll give you that—but you did not edge the flower gardens properly."

  “It got dark before I had time to finish, Mrs. Andrews. I will edge the gardens this morning."

  She leaned forward and glared at him. “Not enough time? How then, do you expect to find sufficient time to care for the school grounds? You have no employees."


  Frank resisted the strong urge to slap her. “I, uh, spoke with a potential employee this morning."

  “And whom might that be?” she asked as she picked up a pen and moved a notepad in front of her.

  “It's nothing definite,” he explained. “I have an ad in the Charlotte Observer and Dot Courier. I'll find the help I need."

  She dropped the pencil. “So now you are lying to me."

  Frank clinched his fists and counted to ten before replying. “I have no reason to lie to you, Mrs. Andrews. His name is Buzz Adams."

  “Buzz Adams,” she repeated. “The name is not familiar to me."

  “His parents own—owned—Dot Grocery. They have, as you must know, sold out to Bi-Lo, so Buzz is now looking for other employment."

  She nodded and leaned back in her chair. “When you have sufficient manpower to manage the work here, make another appointment with me,” she said, dismissing him.

  You accused me of lying to you, you egotistical bitch, he thought, so here goes a real lie. “Is that wise, Mrs. Andrews?"

  “Are you questioning my judgment, Mr. Skinner?"

  “I just asked a question. I have lived in Dot only a short time, but I understand from Mr. Dollar that the school system is anxious for you to sign a contract. They find it far too expensive to send crews out here from Charlotte."

  “You are a tenacious redneck,” she said.

  He bristled at the term.

  “When do you expect to employ additional help?"

  “I cannot give you a date. It will be as soon as possible. In the meantime, I can get the work done."

  “I will not sign a contract with you at this time, Mr. Skinner, but I will enter into a gentleman's agreement for a trial period—say through the end of August. If your services prove to be satisfactory, I will sign the contract at that time."

  Frank stood and extended his hand. “Agreed,” he said.

  She ignored his outstretched hand and waved him away. “I am very busy this morning, Mr. Skinner, and you should be also. When I get home tonight, I expect to find my flower gardens not only edged, but properly weeded."

  He nodded and walked quickly to the door.

  “Mr. Skinner,” she said, stopping him.