“You know, we could kinda pool our resources. It might benefit both of us. But we couldn’t tell anyone. It would just be our little secret. You understand, right?” Delie smiled as if she had just proposed the answer to everything.
“Delie, I don’t know what you’re saying.”
Now the girl was getting irritated. “I am trying to help you, but you just don’t get it. Why can’t you understand? Well, you’ll see. I am a valuable person to have in your corner. You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me.”
Delie got up and swept outside. She left no money for the Coke, but Kennedy had expected that. The door whooshed closed behind her. Kennedy was suddenly overcome with pity. Delie had grown up with that pig of a man in the house. God only knew what he had done to her and Dolores. Delie had never been exactly right in the head. Maybe she watched too much TV as a means to escape. Most of the time, she seemed confused by what was real and what she simply conjured in her sad little brain, fueled by the imagination of others.
For some reason, she always held Kennedy up as the goal, not with affection, but as an enemy that she needed to overcome. It was sad because Kennedy had tried to be her friend. But every overture through the years had been met with animosity or downright aggression. Finally Kennedy had given up. She now regarded Delie as someone with a child’s simplicity and uncensored thoughts that spilled out and needed to be dealt with on occasion.
Her sister, Dolores, on the other hand, had become evil. She lied and connived and pouted. She would do whatever it took, whether it was kiss ass or kick it, to achieve her purpose. Kennedy had nothing but dislike for her older half-sister and often wondered how the two could have turned out so differently.
She finished wiping down the counters and checked the kitchen. Moving to the back and smiling, she retrieved Wylie’s jacket from the locker and held it to her chest, then pressed her nose into the folds of it, inhaling his scent. He smelled of good cologne and man. She hugged it to her as she locked up and then started the short walk toward home. She had some sewing to do before bed tonight.
CHAPTER TWO
Wylie was stalling. He should have been focused on the new book, but his mind kept jumping in too many directions. He couldn’t concentrate, and he wasn’t hungry. He was still adrenalized by the encounter at the diner. The price for that kind of anger came dear. They might not even let him back into the place without a problem. Maybe he should find some other source of food, but the town seemed to have no other restaurants. Down the street was a small grocery. He could probably manage with that if he had to. He’d lived on worse when he was in jail.
His bouts with violence were rare and entirely out of character unless he thought someone was being victimized. Then his sense of honor kicked in. His parents had taught him that using his fists was the last bastion of scoundrels, but sometimes it was unavoidable. Luckily that didn’t happen often. Today, though, it had overwhelmed him, and he suffered an irresistible impulse to smash that guy’s head in. It frightened him, and he was grateful he hadn’t done more than draw a little blood.
Wylie’s reflection in the shop windows was distorted by dust and neglect, and the expression on his face was one of self-pity. A face appeared next to his in the glass. Wylie was surprised to see a young woman standing next to him, smiling a very knowing smile. She stroked his arm in a gesture of familiarity that unnerved him a little.
“Hi. I’m Delie.”
She might have been in her early twenties, but looked older. She was small with too much tummy and not enough hip or bust. Her makeup was heavy, so her face appeared to be an odd orange color in the sunlight, with round spots of red at the cheekbones. Her black eye makeup overshadowed the color of her eyes, making them appear an odd shade of brown. Her blouse was two sizes too small and cut way low, especially since she had no real cleavage to display. Her skirt ended just below obscene. She wasn’t pretty. She looked as if she needed to bathe and wash her hair. And shave her legs. It was clear she was trying to be sexy, which only made her appear pathetic and washed out.
Wylie felt a wave of sadness. He quelled the look of sympathy for fear it might insult her or add to her pain.
“Hi, Delie. My name’s Wylie. Wylie Nichols. Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, I know who you are.” Delie smiled back broadly, and he raised his eyebrows at her in question. “Small town.”
“Uh-huh. And there ain’t no work.” Wylie chuckled at his joke.
“Huh?” Delie was confused. “You need work? I thought your car broke down.”
“No and yes. I don’t need a job, and my car did break down. In fact, the mechanic has to wait on a part for it. Well, it was nice talking to you.”
Wylie walked down the street. Delie moved with him, walking backward so she could face him. She looked him up and down and then cocked her head several times as if trying to read his mind.
“Heard you beat up a guy in the diner. How come?”
“Asked too many questions?” The humor was lost on her.
After a few minutes, she spoke. “You’re from Denver, I’ll bet.” She nodded knowingly.
“Why Denver?”
“You just look like that. Am I right?” She seemed so anxious to be right; he didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.
“Sure, OK, Denver.”
Delie was delighted. “I can always tell. People around here think I am dumb, but I know stuff. I was in Vegas once.”
Wylie was totally baffled by her transition, but he opted for discretion and just smiled pleasantly. “Did you like it?”
“Like what?”
“Vegas?”
“Oh, that. No. They don’t like strangers there.”
“Unlike here?” His sarcasm, like his humor, went over her head.
“Yeah. I got married there, but my stepfather had it annulled. Guess he didn’t want to let go of his little girl. Anyway, that was two years ago. I wonder what ever happened to him. My husband, I mean. I know where my stepfather is.” She grinned. “So I’m available now.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“I know stuff.” She was like a child with a very special secret known only to her. And clearly marching to the beat of a different drummer.
“You said that. What kind of stuff?” He didn’t particularly want to prolong the conversation, but he had no constrictions on his time and she might prove to be a unique character. No writer could turn that down.
Delie seemed to have lost the thread of the conversation, but she continued talking anyway. “It’s OK. Maybe someday I’ll tell you a secret. If you’re very nice to me.”
“Well, OK, then.” Wylie didn’t know what else to say.
“So do you wanna go out with me tonight? Later, I mean. I have something I need to do first.”
Wylie was taken aback by the unexpected question. “Uh, well, I’d like to, but I have to get some work done.”
Delie looked confused. “Work? What kinda work you do?”
“I’m a writer.”
“Wow. Really? Did I read anything you wrote? Oh, not that I have much time for that sort of thing. I am too busy almost all the time. But did I?”
“Probably not then. But that’s OK. I understand.”
“So you could take the night off…if you wanted. For me.” She was trying seduction again and again failing miserably.
“I would like to, honestly, I would. But I can’t. I’m on a kind of deadline. You understand? But some other time, maybe. OK?” He tried hard not to offend her or encourage her, but she was very determined. He saw it in the set of her expression. This girl was part terrier. And so not right in the head.
She looked into his eyes, and suddenly her expression darkened. “It’s Kennedy, right? I couldn’t believe it when I heard it, ’cause I thought you must be smarter than that. Even if you are a stranger.”
Wylie tried to be conciliatory. “No, Delie. It’s not anyone. It’s work, honest.”
“Because if it’s Kennedy, you’ll be
sorry.”
Wylie wondered why everyone in this town seemed so quick to denigrate Kennedy. She seemed sweet and kind, and she was so sexy. His mind almost escaped into his groin at the thought. Maybe she withheld her favors from the men, and that was why they were so derogatory. But why did this girl seem to hate her too? His writer’s mind poked around and turned it over and poked at it again. It was a mystery, and that held a siren song. His attention went back to Delie.
“I really do have to work.”
“Really?” Delie brightened. “Well, OK, then. Another time? Right!”
“Sure.”
She hesitated. “So how long are you planning to stay in Sweetwater?”
“How long will it take to get a tie rod for a '68 Camaro?”
Delie just grinned at him blankly and walked away.
He watched her go with mixed emotions. He wondered if she was mildly delusional or completely out of her mind. Then again, maybe she was just playing with the new guy. He had learned a long time ago that people came up with all sorts of ways to amuse themselves. Especially in a small town with not a lot else going on.
It was Kennedy on his mind, however, as he approached the motel.
The Sleep Tight Motel would never survive in a town with any sort of urban populace or sophistication. The outside was peeling and begging for a sanding and repainting, and the rooms were shades of institutional green. The hotel had no amenities like a pool or a gym or even samples of shampoo and lotion in the room. Wylie’s accommodations included a double bed with threadbare white sheets and a ratty bedspread that had seen better days. It looked clean, and he was grateful for that. Next to the bed was a scarred nightstand, the requisite Gideon’s Bible in the top drawer. A dresser stood alone against the wall with an ancient television perched on top. There was no cable, no Wi-Fi, not even a hairdryer in the bathroom or a coffee maker. In front of the only window, a plain wooden table kept company with two old plastic chairs. Then again, what could you expect for thirty-five dollars a night?
Wylie was sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, the laptop in front of him on the table. He was not into the technical advances so prevalent everywhere, but he had given in enough to do his writing on a computer. He had no cell phone or Internet account, but preferred simply to hook up to a printer when he needed to or use a thumb drive to save his work. He missed the “olden days” when people actually talked to each other face-to-face and when a text was something you had in school.
Even his vehicle, now sitting in the garage down the street waiting for resuscitation, spoke of his love for an earlier time. So he felt right at home in Snakewater, where no one else seemed to own a cell phone either. Here, a trip to the nearby DQ or movie theater on a Saturday was probably the highlight of everyone’s week. Only one thing was disturbing him, and she plagued his thoughts like some unbidden craving. Kennedy was under his skin, and he couldn’t seem to think about much else.
Wylie was concentrating on beginning novel number three. The first two had been modestly successful, enough to encourage him to continue in his chosen profession. They had flowed out like a river, and writer’s block was something he thought lazy people used as an excuse. Until now. This time he just couldn’t seem to get a handle on a plot that inspired. Idea tumbled on top of idea, but none stuck.
He went to the nightstand, where a welcoming bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass waited his pleasure. He poured two fingers and threw it back, then poured another and sipped slowly as he walked to the window. He had opened it a while ago, since the air conditioner, if it existed at all, had certainly given up the ghost. The night was airless. He had thrust aside the heavy lined curtains to encourage any breeze.
He peered out into the night. Down the street, a woman laughed a little too loudly. Her voice increased in volume as she came nearer. After a minute she came into view, her arm looped through that of a small, pudgy man with a slow gait. She moved closer; a streetlight illuminated her face. Wylie recognized Delie. She saw him watching her, and she broke into a smile, clearly delighted. She waved.
“Hey, too bad you have to work. We’re having such a good time, aren’t we, Boyd?” She shook her companion’s arm, and he looked up, startled by the movement. It was obvious Boyd was as drunk as a skunk. Wylie watched them and again wondered about the girl. She seemed to have one foot in unreality and the other on a banana peel. He stored that line away for future use, not really ashamed that he loved old clichés.
Delie pulled Boyd along, closer to Wylie. “Boyd don’t talk much. Do you, Boyd?”
Boyd looked as if he were about to be sick, and she pushed him away. He stumbled to the edge of the road, knelt, and puked several times. Standing on shaky legs, he stumbled back to Delie while she waited with obvious disgust. She grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him along. She spoke to Wylie. “Well, bye.”
Her attention went back to Boyd. “Come on.” She erupted in laughter again, very loudly, but with an obvious forced quality that made Wylie feel sad for her. He shook his head and downed the last of his drink. He stripped off his clothes, switched out the overhead light, and slept. His dreams were full of an earthy woman beckoning, almost but not quite smiling at him.
Sunlight streamed in through the open window, pushing Wylie awake. The room was airlessly hot. Wylie had awakened in the middle of the night in a sweat. He optimistically kicked at the rusty air conditioner in the window, trying to encourage it. It coughed several times as it struggled to do the job it was built for. This morning, it was still failing.
The sheet covered his lower body and felt rough against his skin. It was as if the dust had dug its way below the surface to push into his pores. He desperately needed to bathe. He thought about his work, the deep, dark psychological dramas of death and sex, and wondered at his imagination. Now it was time for plot number three. He chided himself that there were hundreds of ways to murder and connive. Certainly he could manage to come up with one or two more. He had tried to work last night but ended up with more frustration than written words. Kennedy had dominated his thoughts since he’d first seen her on that porch, the setting almost reminiscent of a Wyeth painting. Something about her reached deep into his chest and stoked a sensation that had never been ignited before. It was both challenging and puzzling. His groin tightened, and he took a deep, frustrated breath.
He stretched, groaned as he rose. He sat on the edge of the mattress for a minute, then got up and made his way to the bathroom, a small, once-white room that was functional. It held a toilet, a sink, and a small mirror. He expected the mirror to be cracked, but it wasn’t. He turned on the shower, sending a stream of water into the bathtub. Wylie tested the temperature, then stepped in and closed the almost-clean plastic curtain. He tried to let his mind go blank. Sometimes the best ideas came in the shower. He closed his eyes, but the only imagery he could conjure was a beautiful siren calling with promises yet unfulfilled.
Damn it, woman, either get on with it or get out of my head. The thought was half-demand and half-prayer.
He jumped as the shower curtain was pulled aside. Kennedy stood boldly staring at his naked body. He felt himself get hard. She dipped her eyes to his erection. She smiled and raised her eyebrows. He decided he could give as good as he got, so he returned the stare unabashedly, looking first to her breasts, then meeting her eyes. There was that moment when he had to question the reality of what was there. Was this really happening? Or was this a product of his cock’s imagination?
His gaze never wavered as she slipped her tank top over her head. Beneath was an abbreviated black lace bra that pushed her firm breasts high, barely covering the pink peaks. She dropped the tank top on the floor and unfastened her shorts. They fell to the linoleum. Wylie suppressed a gasp, realizing she wasn’t wearing any panties. Her dark triangle of hair stood out in vivid relief against her creamy, white skin. She unfastened the bra, dropped it, walked out of her shorts, and stepped into the shower.
The water po
ured over them as he pressed his lips to hers. He explored her mouth with his tongue. He had never been so turned on in his life. Wylie smoothed his hands down her body, touching, revealing secrets. She pushed against him. Kennedy started her own journey with her fingertips, stroking, teasing, bring him to full arousal. She slipped to her knees and took him full in her mouth. She ran the tip of her tongue in tormenting circles around the hard breadth of him.
He inhaled and eased her back; if she continued this torture he would explode at any moment. He wasn’t ready to have this end. Now it was his turn. He urged her to her feet then knelt and pushed her legs apart, stroking the softness of her inner thighs as his tongue sought the small knot of hardness hidden in her most secret place. Her body tensed as he teased and sucked. It wasn’t long before she cried out.
Wylie stood and pushed her back to the wall. With agonizing slowness, he slid into the hot, welcoming cocoon of her womanhood. He drew back, but not completely. She made a noise in the back of her throat that signaled her need, and he drove into her as her hips pushed back against him, taking him ever deeper. The dance went on for hours, or moments, or for eternity until, inexorably, the world exploded in a burst of stars.
They held together, the now-cold shower running over them until, simultaneously, they both laughed.
Wylie reached over and shut off the faucet, then grabbed for a towel. He dried her off, beginning with her toes and moving up her legs, hesitating at the junction of her thighs to taste her once more. She groaned, and he grew hard again. He guided her to the bed, gently falling on top of her as she pulled him with her onto the soft mattress. He kissed her. She responded in kind, probing, demanding. This time he entered her and held, not moving, barely breathing. She, too, seemed to be suspended in time. They lay there, melting together until the throbbing in their loins demanded movement. He pulled back, thrust forward, and pulled back again, repeating until he couldn’t hold out a second longer. He exploded inside her as she thrust her hips into his and cried out her pleasure.
Texas Summer Page 3