Goody Two Shoes

by Cooper, Laura

  Back at home I find, Simmons’ car missing from the Garage. What’s new? On the blackboard at the bottom of the stairs I see a note, “At the Club.” I know he means the golf club, but the words tickle me and I wonder if that’s not the same note Patty left for Steve at her house before going downtown to The Tramp Stamp Club. But my ride home has only reminded me of my pursuit towards a new vehicle, and I rush to shower and throw on my Walmart bathrobe. I’m anxious to cuddle now, and the only thing I have is the book Jonathon gave me. I consider this man, Quinn Carmichael; after all he could be my mystery lover. And I commiserate with him. Simmons isn’t going to be too thrilled when he finds out what I’ve been up to. Jonathon can make all the promises and guarantee’s he wants, I know my husband. Loggerhead sea turtles and Red Woodpeckers interest him, not me. If he needs a booty call he just goes to the golf club.

  I have to tell you that the realization that Jonathon was trained by Elise, the woman I met at Dr. Kellars office, explains a great deal. It explains why she felt the need to spank him. Then again, not many women would refuse the opportunity to paddle Jonathon. I certainly wouldn’t. I gather my book and settle down for the night, cuddling.

  Come sit down Quinn, I want to tell you what happens to a person who thinks they’re above the rules

  Ellen Devereux

  The Tramp Stamp Club

  By Quinn Carmichael

  The Rules

  I’ve mentioned that driving downtown Charleston can be a revolutionary concept. This time I’m running late and scramble to find a parking space near Jonathon’s exclusive address. The only problem is that everyone else is trying to park in the same vicinity so they can stand on the Battery and soak in the afternoon sun. I weave into the only open spot on the block and gather my change from the cup holder. I’ll only be here an hour or two so I count enough quarters to pay the meter. But as I push the first quarter into the machine it jams. Again I try to force it into the slot but something else is stuck in there. With a grumble I put my briefcase on the hood of my car and dig out a pen and a piece of paper. I write, “Meter Broken,” in plain words and slap it beneath my windshield wiper.

  I haven’t even pushed Jonathon’s doorbell when I notice motion behind me. Turning around I see a short woman wearing a navy blue polyester outfit that has the all too familiar insignia of the Charleston Police on her arm. She’s eyeing my car and seems to be jotting down my license plate number.

  “Excuse me! Excuse me Ma’am!” I race back down the tall concrete steps.

  By the time I reach my vehicle it already has a yellow parking ticket placed directly over my note. “I left a note. The meter’s broken!”

  She’s waddling off in her sharp blue cap but turns to face me, “Sir, if the meters broken then you need to find another place to park.”

  Now life is full of unfairness, this I know. “But I’m late, I’m only going to be an hour or so.”

  She shakes her head as she strolls off in search of other dangerous criminals to ticket, her hips sway broadly but she yell’s over her shoulder, “Take all the time you want, but the fine goes up every time I walk by here.”

  Ugh! I snatch the ticket from my windshield and climb the stairs. I ring the doorbell and Hawthorne is quick to answer. “Hawthorne, I’m so sorry to be late! Will you please tell Jonathon that I need to move my car and I’ll be back in a few minutes?” I wave the yellow ticket in my hand as explanation.

  Robbie Hawthorne shrugs, “Sure, but its Ellen you’re meeting with. I’ll tell her. Want to leave all that here while you move it?” He motions towards the heavy briefcase slung across my shoulder.

  “That’d be great. Thanks man.”

  “No problem,” And he accepts my load. But as I turn back around the same Police woman is standing over my windshield again.

  “Are you writing me another ticket?” I race back down to my car.

  “Sir, you removed the previous ticket, accepting responsibility for it. Yet you did not immediately move your vehicle as instructed. I’m giving you another ticket.”

  What? “I wasn’t even out of sight! All I did was climb the steps and tell them I’d be late!”

  “Sorry, Sir, I don’t make the rules,” and she slaps the new ticket beneath my windshield.

  “But…”

  “Sorry, Sir,” But I know she isn’t. I can see the evil grin beneath her cap. I’ll never understand how some people can be so utterly petty.

  After driving around for an additional ten minutes, I finally park my car and present myself to Ellen. “Ellen, I’m so sorry to be late!”

  She smiles graciously from her perch on the sofa. Today she’s wearing a deep orange dress, no doubt created by some magnificent Italian or Swede. I can’t help but notice her breasts again, so plump and perky. “Come sit down Quinn, I want to tell you what happens to a person who thinks they’re above the rules.”

  And she does.

  Ellen-Branded

  Tuesday night at seven, Ellen hid like an urchin behind the concrete pillars in the parking lot beneath Jonathon’s condo. She’d already waited for twenty minutes and was starting to feel the chill of the night creeping beneath her skin. Finally he stepped from the elevator, reaching into his pocket for keys; she shivered at the sight of him. Regardless of her interest in his new Club, she knew that she was already in love with him. He climbed into the yellow Impala and started the engine. As she waited for a few cars to pass before pulling behind him, she wondered about their future. He hadn’t been a member of the Club for long enough to be really attached to it, so she doubted he’d break up with her once she published whatever dirty little secrets these old boys had. She was sure it was going to make for a rocky path for a while but he’d get over it. Of course she was feeling confident now that he wasn’t up close. Rest assured, if he was standing in front of her the bravery would dissipate.

  Whatever he was doing lately had changed him, she’d lain in bed watching him the other night, confounded that the curly headed pest that used to follow her and her friends around the island was the same powerful man who’d just made love to her. Even his tall, rakish body had changed. She hadn’t missed the sudden apparel modifications either. Gone were the collegiate leftovers, and in their place were custom Berlin’s suits and silk Patchwork ties. What was missing in him was the boy, and she couldn’t keep her mind off the man who’d replaced him.

  She maintained a long distance behind his car. So long that she caught the light as he was turning left onto Vendue Range. When she was finally able to turn, she couldn’t find his vehicle anywhere. She parked the car in the parking lot of the seedy college bar ‘No Name Café’ and walked across the street. Unexpectedly, she had to dash behind a thick palmetto tree when he popped out of the parking garage and headed straight for her.

  But he turned on the sidewalk and climbed the steps to the Charleston Yacht Club. Kind of flamboyant for a Club meeting, don’t you agree? She jotted down questions in her tiny notebook. It took a lot of power and cash to reserve the Yacht Club for anything. She recalled the commotion when it’d come to reserving it for Elise’s wedding to Alan. This clearly wasn’t some old farts getting together for drinks; they could do that anywhere. At their houses for instance, wouldn’t that be more private? Through the enormous glass doors she watched every prominent businessman in the State, including the Governor, climb to the upper level and pass through the double doors into the banquet room.

  In the countless times she’d been to the Yacht Club, she’d never been allowed upstairs. The banquet room was reserved, always, for adults only. This wasn’t a blind investigation she was on here. No, she’d smoked out back a few days ago with a few employee’s who’d shrugged and told her it was just a big hall with a bar. None of them had ever tended bar there during Sand Dune’s Club meetings; they brought in their own bartenders and wait staff. But her attention was drawn to the next members who walked from the parking garage into the meeting.

  And she couldn’t believe her eyes
. It was her brother in law! Of all people: Alan. Why of course they’d recruit Alan. She should’ve seen that coming a mile away. As the company’s attorney, he’d sit at the right hand of Jonathon when he took over control. That made her brother in law a very prominent man indeed. It was her sister’s presence that knocked her for a loop. It was a men’s club, right?

  The hand that grabbed her arm was sharp with talons of acrylic steel. “Ellen, come with me,” a soft female voice growled. She recognized that frilly accent.

  Cynthia Pringle pulled her back into the parking lot with little resistance. It was cold, Ellen was freezing, and Cynthia was her boss’s wife. But this grip wasn’t one of friendly familiarity. Still, she didn’t fight, she wanted to hear what Mrs. Post and Courier had to say.

  Cynthia opened her car door and shoved Ellen onto the seat. “Sit!” The elder woman forced through tight lips. Ellen sat down in the glove leather seat and waited as the door was shut behind her. The heat of the car had been on recently; it was warm in there. A second later, Mrs. Pringle climbed into the driver’s seat and started her Mercedes. The car jerked out of the garage and angrily drove towards the Battery. As the car took a sharp turn, gravity planted her into the soft paneled door. This woman was totally out of her mind. “You can’t drive like this downtown!” she yelled as she held onto the door handle for dear life. The car skidded before it came to a full halt in Cynthia’s graveled driveway, “Get out!” the middle aged woman’s voice was cold as ice.

  Ellen climbed out and Cynthia rounded the car and resumed her grip on Ellen’s arm. Ellen felt her fingernails digging into her skin, “Hey, no reason to injure me!”

  “Oh shut up!” Cynthia deposited her on the sofa in her formal living room. The floral coverings and pink and green décor certainly didn’t match the woman’s blackness tonight. “Where’s Marcus?” Ellen managed, though she was certain of the answer.

  “He’s not home tonight!” Cynthia blurted with no hint of where he might be and no offer of when he would return. The woman turned on her, “Ellen, what in the world are you doing spying in the parking garage?”

  Her body still shaking from nearly freezing in the shadows on this chilly night, “I uh… Jonathon... writing a story for the paper.” Her words made little sense amidst chattering teeth, but Cynthia caught her meaning.

  “Ellen, I want you to stay away from these men. Do not under any circumstances spy on them, and do not attempt any story about them. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes ma’am.” She felt like a schoolgirl caught smoking in the bathroom at Bishop England.

  Cynthia’s face seemed to lighten with the words; Ellen thought she saw a tiny hint of a smile on her tight lips. “Ellen, I am not kidding. Your fate and your future in this town are pinned on you forgetting this whole thing.”

  A shot of fury blinded Ellen. Who the hell was she to threaten me? She bolstered in front of her, “I don’t give a damn who you are, my future is not in your hands. It is in my hands, and mine only. My ‘bullshit-o-meter’ is working overtime with all of you!” She stomped to the door and slammed it behind her, rattling the antique panes in the windows.

  She ran all the way back to Vendue Range, struggling for breath and tripping over the uneven Charleston sidewalks. When she finally reached her car she climbed in and burst into tears. Her knees and palms were blood red from having fallen so many times during her race to safety. She had no idea how dangerous Cynthia Pringle could be. No matter how she turned it, having a scene with the boss’s wife didn’t sound like a good idea. In every scenario she played out in her mind, she was getting fired. But then again, why was Cynthia there in the first place? The whole thing was creepy and ridiculous.

  Somehow she managed to drive her car across the Cooper River Bridge and back to the island through pain and exhaustion. By the time she reached her shower, her body was already aching from her night investigating the Sand Dunes Club.

  But Ellen was too devastated to sleep. Her mind raced over the possibilities of what this Club was doing that they felt the need to threaten her in this way. Even more devastating would be her reprimand from her boss, Marcus Pringle. Sleep finally gave way around four in the morning, and Ellen slept; tears streaked her face and soaked her pillow.

  In her dream, Evangeline was sitting on the side of her bed. It was evening, and she had come to her room to say goodnight and tell her a bedtime story, if Ellen was lucky. Except Evangeline wore the familiar scent of Polo Cologne; Ellen was confused…

  Her eyes flew open suddenly at the twist her dream had taken. That’s when she realized that the pressure on her mattress wasn’t Evangeline at all, it was Jonathon.

  Jonathon Galloway had sat for an hour on the side of her bed watching her sleep. She was so touchable, so plush, so absolutely stunning. She reminded him of a princess who needed to be kissed to wake from her slumber. He was painfully aware of the tears that streaked her face and matted her gorgeous locks. Each tear was a bullet to his own heart.

  The call had come at midnight from Cynthia Pringle. He assumed several other calls had been made before his own. He was instructed to tame Ellen Devereux, or the Club would see that she was tamed. Jonathon had no idea what that meant, but he didn’t have any interest in finding out. Out of respect for him, they had spared her for now. But if there was any further interference from her, they would deal with her themselves. And that seemed drastic and frightening to him.

  “Ellen… Ellen? Wake up sleepy head. I need to talk with you,” Jonathon urged, gently running his fingers across her forehead and hair.

  “Jonathon, what are you doing here?”

  He couldn’t help the smile that crossed his lips, seeing her so completely ruffled. “I’ve been asked to find out what you plan to do?”

  She ran her fingers through her hair. It was a giant knot of tangles, and her feet and knees ached horribly. They probably had cuts and bruises all over them she thought absentmindedly. Looking up at Jonathon, “What do you mean? What am I planning to do?”

  Hesitantly Jonathon made himself clear, “Ellen marry me?” He’d hoped for a more romantic proposal, one that they could hold forever with fond memories, but the Club had forced his hand.

  Air expelled from Ellen’s lungs without effort, “What? Marry you? Why would I do that?”

  He felt the crunch in his heart that he’d expected. In truth, he wanted Ellen and sincerely loved her. Her actions last night accelerated this question far sooner than he had planned. “Because I love you Ellen, and because I can’t protect you unless you do.”

  “Oh, so let’s go through this Jonathon. You’re a new member of this uh… Club, and they’ve told you to control me. Is that right? They don’t want whatever nasty little secrets they’re hiding to be the latest news in the Post and Courier?”

  He wasn’t shocked by her spot on diagnosis; he assumed she would catch on rather quickly. He didn’t want his mission from the Club to interfere with the truth that he felt in his heart. The problem was that he wasn’t at all sure how to separate the two at the moment. “That would never happen, Ellen. There will be no story, ever. If you marry me, you will learn all the nasty little secrets you want to know, then you’ll realize that the story you want to expose would cause far too much devastation. Otherwise, you’re just walking on extremely thin ice.”

  Ellen rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, her fury from last night was fired again, “Well isn’t that just the most romantic proposal ever? While half the women in Charleston would be oozing in their panties to get a proposal from the formidable Jonathon Galloway, I personally don’t give a damn about you protecting me. And I’m certainly not afraid of this little fraternity of yours!”

  Jonathon was shocked by her bluntness and her language. He wasn’t shocked by her anger. If the situation were reversed, he’d be pissed too. Only now she was crushing his pride as well as his heart. “I see, Ellen. I just want to make it very clear to you that I love you.” He stood and walked out of her roo
m, out of her house. With a prayer under his breath, he hoped not out of her life.

  Poor Ellen, sat in her rumpled bed with fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. The anger was racing through her veins like acid. Jumping out of her bed, she raced down the stairs to her typewriter. Thursday night, she pulled the final paper from the machine. Studying it for errors, finding none, she laid it on the stack of completed papers beside her. She had written for two days, getting up only to go to the bathroom, stomp around her living room, and eat handfuls of saltines. The information contained on the typed pages merely posed questions. She hoped by posing these questions to her readers she could inspire them to make their own conclusions. She showered and threw on some jeans and a sweatshirt.

  Downtown, she used her key to open the back door to the Post and Courier office. She laid the file on Marcus Pringle’s desk and went home to sleep. She slept deep into the wee hours of the morning.

  She woke with a frantic breath. She smelled smoke, fire. Quickly her mind raced, she’d left a fire burning in the fireplace yesterday. Her eyes flew around the room; it was always pitch black on the island; there were no streetlights, so the moonlight was the only illumination she usually had when she turned off the lights. Except it was a cloudy night. Rain was expected; the room was too dark. Movement in her room, figures darker than the air, caused her body to turn rigid with fear. She gasped as hands grabbed her but managed to issue a blood curdling scream before she was flipped over onto her stomach on her bed. Hands covered her body, struggling to control her as she fought for her life. They were going to kill her! That’s what Jonathon had come to tell her!