James Ross - A Young Adult Trilogy (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  CHAPTER 66

  “Every time I come in here you’re on the computer,” Julie said to Curt after walking into the office.

  J Dub’s brother had his reading glasses halfway down his nose. He looked up to acknowledge her entrance. “It’s winter time. Maybe we can cut your hours back so you won’t be in here as much.”

  “What crawled up your tail pipe?”

  “I’m doing research.”

  “Looking for a date?”

  Curt dismissed her comment. “If we cut your hours back for the season that will give you more hours to shop. That’s something women like to do, isn’t it?”

  “You still haven’t answered my tail pipe question.”

  “It’s that time of the year. Money is short. Bills continue. Taxes are due. The sky is gloomy. And we’re up to our ears in legal problems.” Curt’s glance told her to leave him alone. “Now’s the time when we can get caught up with stuff that gets put off all summer. Between lawyers, judges and insurance guys we’ve had some costs get out of hand and I have work to do to try to fix it.” His eyes switched back to the monitor.

  Julie craned her neck to peek at what was on the screen. “As much time as you spend on that thing I’ve always thought that…”

  “Did you find out anything?” J Dub said to his brother as he entered the office. He turned to his number one assistant. “Can you watch the register, Julie?”

  “Did that throng of people that charged through the front door want a holiday gift certificate?” Two inches of snow covered the earth making it impossible to golf.

  “No, but the guys will be in shortly to play backgammon and gin. We need to make sure the coffee is ready and the liquor is stocked.” Julie took the hint and returned to the counter.

  “I can’t find anything on FOBS,” Curt said. “I tried search engines, secret societies, clandestine groups and corrupt organizations.” He removed his glasses and chewed on the arm that cupped behind his ear. “If we knew what it stood for we might be able to get somewhere.”

  “The guys will be in here soon. I’ll ask them if anybody has heard of it.”

  “I don’t know what else to do. You can ask Doc if his friend wants to give us more information.” He slipped his glasses back on, made a few strokes on the keyboard and returned his focus to the monitor. “Did the guy sound legit?”

  “Oh yeah, he was as serious as a lightning strike on the golf course.”

  “Are we spelling it right?”

  “He said F-O-B-S.”

  “That’s what I’ve been looking under.” Curt scratched his head. “My wrist is sore and my fingers are numb.” He glanced through the doorway, saw the back side of Julie and nodded in her direction. “And she thinks I must be brain dead, a porno pervert or the biggest serial dater in St. Louis.”

  “Keep plugging away.” J Dub left to tend to chores in the clubhouse. Over his shoulder he said, “I’ll check with some of the guys when they get here.” He expected them to file through the door any minute. Aieshia had talked the guys into joining the foster children for their annual trip to Eternal Fellowship. The organization provided toys, food and other miscellany for the needy, homeless and underprivileged. An older MooseMart that had been replaced by a newer supercenter was vacant and had the perfect amount of square footage in the form of a charitable donation. The guys had agreed to meet at the clubhouse and follow the Footprints of Hope van to the site.

  The weather was perfect to set the holiday mood. The skies were overcast. A brisk breeze reminded everyone that winter had arrived. Snow on the ground and patches of ice postponed any chance of a winter round of golf. The guys agreed to volunteer their time and do something different.

  One by one they and their respective habits filed through the door. They sat in the same spots. They drank the same drinks. They ate the same food. The only thing that was different was the day and the conversation, but even that in many ways was the same. This year they had something to be thankful for. Each had lined their pockets with a few extra bucks and Pabby and Shae had brightened their moods.

  “Question for you guys,” J Dub started. Heads turned to give him attention. “Has anybody heard of an organization called FOBS.”

  Blank looks and subtle head shakes followed. “How is it spelled?”

  “F-O-B-S. It’s an acronym. Curt and I can’t figure out what it means.”

  “It’s a group?”

  “Yeah. The initials stand for something.”

  Julie served a Bloody Mary to Captain Jer. “Now you behave yourself today. Go a little easy.”

  “I don’t need to be baby sat.”

  “Forget our baby sitters!” Trot yelled. The guys chuckled.

  “I doubt if that is it,” J Dub said, “but I like the way you’re thinking. It is something like that.”

  “F-O-B-S?” Julie pondered. “How about what Captain Jer is.”

  “What’s that, sweet cheeks?”

  “Full of bull shit.” The guys roared. Even the retired pilot gave her a thumbs-up for beating him to the punch.

  “If there was an organization like that then Jer would be elected president,” J Dub said.

  “How about friends of bikini straps,” BT offered.

  “Doubtful,” J Dub replied, “but I like the friends-of part of it.”

  “I like the bikini straps part of it,” BT countered, “especially if they’re loosened.”

  “Retired school teachers aren’t supposed to think like that,” Julie replied.

  “How about followers of BowTye’s suspenders?” Paco threw out. “That would be an assorted group.”

  “I like friends of Beirut safety,” Elia offered, his mind subconsciously on his heritage.

  “How about friends of bacon strips,” Fred said. The conversation had turned silly. He looked at Pork Chop. “You’ve had a few of those in your lifetime, haven’t you?”

  “My lifetime?” Pork Chop asked. “That’s a daily occurrence.”

  “How about followers of brave souls,” Paul suggested. He was thinking about those that had lost their lives in war.

  “What about a fraternity of big shots?” Scotty P offered.

  “That makes sense,” J Dub answered. “That’s what we’re referring to it sounds like.”

  “You guys are creative this morning,” Julie said.

  Uncle Woo shook his head enthusiastically. Something was going on. He started snapping his fingers.

  Julie turned to Pork Chop. “What’s he doing?”

  “He told me on the way over that he was looking forward to performing today.”

  “Where? What?”

  “The amphitheater.”

  “It’s cold out.”

  “He said that it’s been a sellout. The promoters were piping in heat. The tickets were bought within fifteen minutes of going on sale.” Uncle Woo got up out of his seat. His shoulders were bobbing up and down. His fingers were snapping to an internal tune. Pork Chop knew not to stop him. “Just let him go.”

  The old man closed his eyes and tapped his foot to the music playing in his head. He started dancing in the middle of the clubhouse. Then he surprised everyone by grabbing Julie. His left hand held hers high in the air while his right hand rested on her waist. She played along, enjoying the moment. He twirled her in circles and then strangely pulled away after spotting a magazine lying on the counter. Uncle Woo grabbed it, rolled it and placed it in front of his lips pretending that it was a microphone.

  “Friends.” He snapped his fingers and pulled back. “Can you hear me now?”

  “Go for it Uncle Woo,” Captain Jer encouraged.

  “Of. Are you with me?” He snapped his fingers again and turned in circles. The old guy headed for BowTye.

  “What has gotten into him?” Julie asked.

  Pork Chop didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Uncle Woo reached for BowTye’s hand. “Bighead Southstar.” After helping the performer to his feet he pulled back and snapped his fingers
to the beat. “Got it, kind sir?’

  BowTye played along. “I can feel it.” He started bobbing.

  “You are welcome to sing along.” The microphone was held to BowTye’s mouth. “Friends.” Fingers snapped. “Of.” Uncle Woo closed his eyes and swooned. “Bighead Southstar.”

  “Pork Chop, what the heck is he talking about?”

  “You’ve got me,” Pork Chop said. “He’s busy being a rock star.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Aieshia entered the clubhouse and immediately unzipped her jacket. Underneath she was wearing a Christmas sweater. On her face she was wearing a proud smile. Blinking LED lights flashed on a reindeer’s nose, a snow man and a sled that was parked on a roof. Pabby beamed. J Dub and Doc had helped him find the one-of-a-kind holiday gem.

  “All you need is tinsel and you’d look like a Christmas tree,” Captain Jer quipped.

  “Topped with fudge,” Trot quipped.

  “I sees ya love da chocolate.” Aieshia laughed along with the guys. “Dat’s why I’m wearin’ sparkles.” She had sprinkled tiny golden flakes across her face. “Are ya fellas ready fo’ some work?” She patted her cheeks and in the process displayed a new fingernail combination. The alternating metallic gold and aqua was replaced by holiday red and green. Pabby and Shae bellied up to the counter for some hot chocolate. Carla lagged behind. “As soon as you guys can get organized we can go.”

  A caravan similar to the one that headed to Hoof and Bridle Park several weeks earlier was assembled within twenty minutes. The same group was in attendance. At first glance, the exterior of the vacant building was unimpressive. Its exterior had faded bricks from the MooseMart lettering that had been removed. Two panes of glass in the front of the building had been taped. The mat that opened the electronic doors was missing.

  The adults and children entered as a group. They totaled thirty with a 50/50 mixture. A football field could have been placed in the interior. To think that it was too small and had to be moved to a larger location was intimidating. Some real estate developer had a sweetheart deal going with that client. Metal standards guided the crowd. Red velvet-covered links spanned the space between. “Looks like your typical cattle call,” Captain Jer mused.

  “Cows in one line and hogs in the other,” Trot added.

  “There’s nothing but super-size in all of this space.”

  They were directed to a sign-in area. As volunteers they needed to provide name and organization to receive stick-on name badges. Once there, one of the volunteers barked instructions.

  “We’ll need stockers, greeters, shoppers, baggers and counter sales people.” She raised her hands and pointed to the various lines that were forming under each task. “Feel free to identify whichever task you’d like to perform.” The elderly lady took charge. It was obvious that at some point in her life she managed groups of people and probably ran a husband or two off. “Please check your coats in with our coat-check personnel.”

  The crew scattered. “How would you like to come home to that every night?” Captain Jer said to anyone that would listen.

  “If I had a tail it would be between my legs,” Trot answered.

  Volunteers led the teens away. Adults primarily functioned in a supervisory capacity or as a greeter. Eight-foot-high standards were spread throughout the massive building. Blue curtains separated the aisles. Cafeteria style folding tables acted as counter tops. Matching curtains hid the legs. Donated gifts were placed atop the tables according to age range and separated by gender.

  “Make sure the parents only get one gift per child,” an organizer barked.

  “How will we know what to get them?” Shae asked.

  “They will check in and provide information to us about their household. We’ll give them a printout identifying the names, gender and ages of their children. Only one gift per child is allowed.” She was adamant. “After they are done shopping they can get a generic free gift for anyone under the age of eight.” She pointed to a pile of stuffed animals near the checkout counter. “When they are in line they can pick a mystery bag per family.” Toiletries were the main staples.

  J Dub, Doc, Scotty P, Paul and BT headed to the front door. They greeted people as they entered and directed them to the check-in counter. Fred and Pork Chop headed for snacks. “We’ll serve complimentary food for the volunteers during a twenty-minute lunch break. Make sure you grab a ticket stub. Red eats during the first shift, blue during the second.” The behemoths stopped in their tracks.

  Cold, metal folding chairs occupied the waiting area. A line weaved in a Z pattern to make it appear shorter than it was. Only red velvet ropes came between the people from all walks of life filtering through the door. The cool room provided more heat than they could afford for their own homes and the donated Christmas gifts were ones they couldn’t deliver themselves. The volunteers provided more smiles than their paycheck could.

  Aieshia organized the kids from Footprints of Hope. Many were shoppers. Their job was to grab an empty shopping cart and go to a person that had already checked in and was waiting in line. The shopper would take the printout, push the cart to the appropriate shopping area and suggest gifts for the parent. After several minutes of shopping the pair would go through the checkout line. A guy from Prairie Winds would escort the benefactor to the exit door. It was an efficient way to move the masses along. The focus was to provide a gift under a tree on Christmas morning for an underprivileged child.

  In a short period of time hordes of people jammed the check-in area. The kids couldn’t get caught up. Whenever they finished with one it seemed like two had been added to the waiting line.

  Pabby wore an everlasting smile. He was proud to be a part of the generous effort. “How many gifts do you need?” he asked a black woman that had to tilt the scales at three hundred and fifty pounds. She wore dark colored Spandex tights and open-toe sandals despite the freezing temperatures. A blue tarp that looked as if it once covered a roof in a weather disaster covered her shoulders and draped her upper body.

  “Seven.”

  Pabby looked at the printout. “All the gifts are for children that are six or under?”

  “One set was twins.” The gold capped tooth glittered when she smiled.

  “She got a pay raise from Social Security that year,” Trot said as he and Captain Jer overheard the conversation.

  “Stop it,” Julie said as she chastised the pair.

  Pabby took charge. He headed for the infant toys just inside the ropes. She towered above him and shuffled behind. As they worked their way past the counters full of toys she couldn’t decide between a Barbie doll, play-dough or a coloring book. “Do you have one in black?”

  “What?”

  “The doll.”

  “All we have is what is out.”

  The counter sales person jumped in to persuade the customer one way or the other. The pride that the kids took in helping the less fortunate was incredible. It was easy to understand why Pamela Porter wanted the children under her care to participate. Even the ones behind the scenes stayed active unpacking toys and re-stocking the reserve piles.

  A middle-aged white man stood in the waiting line as Shae’s turn to push the shopping cart arrived. The sole on one shoe flapped as repair had proved too costly. He was sporting at least a three-day growth of beard. His hair was windblown from the night’s weather. The jeans were tattered, the shirt pulled out. Shae wrinkled her nose. The smell was putrid. He handed her the printout. His breath smelled of alcohol as he forced, “Hi.”

  “You want two gifts.”

  “For my little girls.” He watched Shae’s labored gait as she took the lead. “They’re cute like you.” The comment caused Shae to smile. He made an effort to push the cart. “Let me help you.”

  “I can get it,” she persisted. “It’s my job.” She looked at the sheet. “Their ages are four and six?”

  “And they are the joys of my life.” He paused and reflected. “I only wish I could do more for t
hem.”

  “Just be there for them.” It was what she longed for.

  “I only get to see them once a month if I’m lucky.” His blue eyes looked sad. “Will you pick a present out for them?”

  The prompting was all Shae needed. “I know exactly what little girls want.” She headed for the designated counter. She had her eyes on many of the gifts. “These are in your age range and are some things that I always wanted and never got a chance to have.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have a mom or a dad.”

  The man jerked his head up at the remark. “Why, sure you do. Everyone has a mom and a dad.”

  “Not me.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “Then mine didn’t want me.”

  “Even if they aren’t around they want you.”

  “Then they didn’t show it. I’ve been in a foster home since I was little.” Her sadness disappeared as she focused on the toys. “What do your girls like?”

  “The oldest one likes to pretty herself up.”

  Shae reached for a make-up kit. “Then she’ll love this.” She opened the plastic box to show him the contents. “There are colors for her eyes and cheeks and lips.” All the contents were sealed. “I’d show you how to put it on but it’s all wrapped.” She reached to the other side. “These are the things that will help her apply the make-up.”

  “That’s exactly what my six-year-old will want.” He placed the box in the cart. A feeling of goodness overcame him.

  “What does the little one like?” Shae sounded like she was the older sister.

  “She is always singing and dancing.”

  Shae’s eyes lit up as she maneuvered the cart to the next stop. “You’ll have to pick this toy.” She showed him a doll that sang. “This one has different CDs that play. She can sing along with the music.” Shae picked two more toys. “These are both for dancing.” Her delivery made it sound like she was a toy expert. “The first one is a robot that can be programmed with different songs to dance to and the other one is a dance game.” She looked him in the eyes. “It’s got some catchy tunes that can get the party started.”

  The man watched as Shae’s fingers struggled handling the toys. “I’ll get them,” he said.