by Joy Redmond
Lance picked up the last letter and began to read.
September 1974
Dear Cousin Willadeen,
I know you have departed from this world but you’re still the only person I can pour my feelings out to. I never mailed any of the letters anyway, but writing them helped me empty out. This will be the last time I write to you.
I’ve been feeling poorly lately. I’m not sure what’s wrong, but I know my days here on earth are about over. I’ll be coming to see you and all the rest of the family that I love and have missed through the years. But I refuse to go before I see the face of Lance Jackson. I can’t emphasize the word REFUSE strongly enough. When I see him again, then I’ll gladly close my eyes in death. My journey on earth will be completed.
Sincerely,
Cousin Ruby.
Lance dropped the letter to the floor, ran his hands over his face and felt nauseous. “Sonofabitch! You were antagonizing me on purpose. I sure misread your eyes. I thought you were daring me when you saw me holding the pillow over your face. How wrong I was. Your eyes were begging me to do it. Well, I guess you won that round after all. Oh, what a bad boy I’ve been.”
He picked up the letters, stuffed them back inside the envelopes, pulled open a side drawer and picked up a rubber band and slipped it around them. “Miss Hampton, I’ll never call you ole Ruby again.”
Holding the letters, he patted his jeans pocket, making sure he had his Zippo. He went outside and saw Paco, the gardener, going into the garden shed. Lance loved to antagonize Paco by calling him, Taco. When Paco was out of sight, Lance hurried on his way, making it to the wooded area at the back of Winchester Manor.
Once in the middle of the woods, he piled the letters, flipped his Zippo and lit them. He stood and watched them wither into a pile of ashes as the smoke went upwards. “There ya go, Miss Hampton. They are coming up to the heavens to be with you. Nobody but me will ever know your secrets.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
From the day that Lance burned Ruby Hampton’s letters, he locked himself in the den, took out his notebook and wrote. Penny had her own agenda and didn’t seem concerned that Lance had found comfort in a locked room instead of with her. As long as she knew where he was and as long as he joined her in the bedroom at night, she seemed to be happy, and Lance did look forward to their nightly romps.
Lance made sure he had plenty of notebooks on hand. The pages were filling up quickly, and he found it to be good therapy. Yet something kept eating at him and nothing seemed to fill the void he felt inside. Booze and pills were the only thing that could take him to another world where all was beautiful and fulfilling.
When he tired of writing, he read motorcycle magazines. Late one evening, he saw an ad in a magazine. Lucifer’s Fun and Games. He eyed a picture under the heading. A woman and man attired in black, whip in hand, stared back at him. He read the address. Lucifer’s was located on the Georgia-South Carolina border. “Not that far,” he said, tossing the magazine on the desk.
He stuck his head outside the doorway. Hilda and Hobbs were not in sight. The other staff members were having a break in the kitchen, gossiping about the goings-on of Miss Penny. He scurried out a side door and hurried across the lawn which felt like a plush, green carpet. He straddled his bike as he flipped Paco the bird. “Here’s to you, Taco. You stupid little wetback,” he yelled.
“Drive off a cliff, you leaching, horny bastard. And the name is Paco, you loco.”
Lance laughed as he revved the engine, then sped up the driveway. “Let’s see how much fun you have to offer, Lucifer’s. This bad devil is on his way!”
Lucifer’s was a bar-club. A biker hangout. It was dark by the time Lance arrived. He walked inside, his eyes temporarily blinded in the darkness after the bright streetlights. He stood a few minutes, surveying the place. A Nazi flag was hanging on the wall with a black swastika. On stage, a woman gyrated under a blue spotlight, shaking her immense breasts in tune to the music.
A cocktail waitress served him several drinks as he watched the show on stage. Then he asked about other activities. The waitress placed his drink on a napkin and asked, “Whatya got in mind?”
“Somebody who likes to play rough. I want an expensive one, and I expect my money’s worth,” he answered, tucking a few bills into the waitress’ cleavage, smiling and giving her his bad-boy grin.
A few minutes later a burley, shaved head tattooed beast of a man appeared by Lance’s side. “Follow me,” Beast said.
Lance prowled through the dimly lit hallway looking into rooms. He finally picked a redhead with braids, dressed in black leather, a spiked choker, holding a cat-o-nine tails.
Beast collected the money and grunted.
The redhead motioned for Lance to enter her chambers of beating and bondage. Once inside, he undressed and lay face down on a bed.
The woman tied his hands and ankles to brass bedrails. She poured oil over his back, buttocks and legs. Then she began to lash, slow and easy, building strength as the whip came down time after time. When the whipping reached full capacity, she spewed obscenities and insults.
Lance began a low moan, building to a crescendo of screams. Then he amply ejaculated.
After that night, he rode to Lucifer’s on a regular basis. Each time he engaged in sadomasochist activities, he felt cleansed for a few days. Then it was back to Lucifer’s for more.
Early one morning he stripped and stretched out on the king size bed, looked upward, admired his taunt, muscular body, and smiled at his reflection in the ceiling mirror. He stretched his arms over his head, clasped his hands behind his neck, and chuckled. A year since I left California. A year since I made my way out of North Carolina. A year with Wild Penny. He winced from sore aching muscles.
“Yeah, what a year,” he mumbled as he rolled from bed and headed for the bathroom. He lingered in the shower, the cool water soothing the welts on his back. He towel dried, and as he rubbed himself, hostility and restlessness began to build, filling him like an over-stuffed toad.
He dressed, grabbed a few changes of clothes, stuffed them into a shopping bag, and emptied the bedside table of cocaine. He emptied the drawers in the bathroom, taking every full bottle of pills.
He reached the staircase and wound his way downstairs. He entered the den, inserted a key into the desk drawer, pulled out his briefcase that still contained several thousand dollars, and his journals. He stood in the doorway, looked both ways and he didn’t see any anybody.
He hurried out of the house, stuffed his belongings into the saddlebags and straddled the Harley he had parked on the front lawn, which caused Paco to cuss with a vengeance. He sped up the driveway, flipped Paco the bird and yelled, “She’s all yours, Taco. Get her while you can. Adios, Pricko!” He leaned against the chrome backrest and laughed.
When he got to I-95, he headed north. “Free again. Free as a bird. Watch me fly,” he yelled over the roar of the bike.
By the time he reached Nashville, Tennessee, he felt tired and his back still ached from the lashing. He hadn’t had any sleep the night before and he had been in such a rush, he hadn’t taken a black beauty or a benny. He took an off ramp when he saw a sign for a Best Western Motel.
He checked into the Best Western, purchased a newspaper from a machine in the front lobby, bought several packages of potato chips, cheese crackers, cookies, and candy bars from the vending machine. He bought two each of Pepsi, Coke, and 7-Up. He stuffed his food and sodas into a saddlebag and drove to the back of the motel.
He inserted a key into room 165, stepped inside, slammed the door, and dropped his belongings on the bed. Every muscle in his body ached. He sat on the side of the bed, his head dropped, and sweat popped across his brow. He fumbled through the many bottle of pills. Two bennies will snap me out of my funk.
He popped a top on a Pepsi, downed the pills, and started opening the junk food. He held a potato chip in the air, laughed and said, “Here’s to you, Penny.” He reached for a Payda
y candy bar. As he munched, he thought about how much fun he’d had with Penny. I’ll probably never have another sex partner like her, but what the hell. I’ll always have plenty of sex. A crook of the finger and women follow me like rats behind the Pied Piper.
After eating, he stepped into the shower. The tepid water beating across his back from the massaging showerhead eased his aching muscles. He let the water beat over his brow, easing the tension. He shaved his five o’clock shadow and splashed Aramis over his smooth face. “Prancee Lancee,” he sang as he went back into the other room. He shuffled through his bags and pulled out a pair of jean cutoffs and a blue tank-top. Then he slipped his bare feet into sandals.
He stuffed the room key into his shorts pocket and headed outside. He straddled his Harley, cranked it up, then sped away. He treated himself to a self-guided tour of Nashville. He liked the big city. There was plenty to see and do, and the humidity wasn’t as bad.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was dark by the time he found Toot’s Orchard Lounge. He walked inside where a wannabe county music star was playing a guitar and singing. The guy was pretty good. It was also interesting to watch people. The hours clicked away as he drank shots of Jack Daniel’s, checking out the women. He didn’t spy a woman who struck his fancy.
By two o’clock in the morning, he straddled the Harley and headed back to the motel. He unlocked the door, stumbled inside, flipped on the lamp, kicked off his sandals and headed for the bed. His bare feet smashed crumbs of potato chips and cookies into the carpet.
He sat on the bed, running his hands through his hair. Loneliness bathed his every cell. He hadn’t felt lonely since he had been a small boy, the house dark, not a sound except the creaking and popping of Hampton House.
He stood, teetered a bit, and took off his clothes. He lay across the bed, naked, staring at the ceiling. Suddenly, Ruby Hampton’s face glared back at him. He startled, tightly closed his eyes and chanted, “You aren’t here. You aren’t here.”
He opened his eyes and Bonnie Sue’s tear-streaked face glared at him. He blinked his eyes over and over. Then Penny’s beautiful face appeared. “Go away! All of you go away. Leave me alone.” He held his hands over his eyes. Several minutes passed. Slowly, he spread his fingers and peeked between them. He gasped. The faces began to dance across the ceiling. Voices began to yell.
“April Fool bastard!”
“I’m sorry Miss Hampton whipped you.”
“Yeah, give it to me baby. Harder.”
“Meow, meow,” Jimmy Cat cried.
He held his hands over his ears and rolled back and forth, feeling as if he were being gutted with a dull knife. He clutched the sheet as he watched the faces of Ruby Hampton, Bonnie Sue and Penny roll into a ball, roll across the ceiling, slide down the wall and form a puddle of bright red goo on the floor.
He scrambled for the shopping bag that contained his magic potion. He grabbed a bottle of Valium, dumped four into his palm, and tossed them down his throat. Forty milligrams of Valium along with whiskey will chase away any ghost. Even the devil. He lie back on the flimsy pillow and pulled the ends over his ears. A few minutes later, he began to feel the soothing floating sensation. Ah, yeah. Take me away.
Chapter Thirty
The next morning without opening his eyes, Lance automatically reached over to hug Penny. He opened his eyes when he realized the left side of the bed was empty. At first, he didn’t know where he was. Slowly, he looked around the room. He heaved a sigh, staring at the ceiling as if he were daring any face to appear. He swung his legs off the bed, let his feet touch the floor and felt crumbs. “Yeah, everything is okay,” he said. He picked up his pill bag and swallowed two bennies.
There was a coffee pot and a few bags of coffee in his room, complements of Best Western. He ambled into the bathroom after starting the coffee. He stood over the commode, taking his morning whiz, and his soul felt empty. Does Penny have a bigger hold on me than I thought? She was the first woman I ever spent the whole night in bed with. Did she humanize me just a tad? He shook his penis and shook his head. No way.
When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup, sipped the warm brew, then screwed up his face. “This is coffee? It should be called pond water. Coffee from an army helmet would taste better.” He picked up the newspaper and read the headlines. Nothing caught his interest. Nobody had been murdered. He scanned the want ads. An ad caught his eye. Wanted: Sales Rep. Caterjohn Pharmaceutical.
He scratched his head for a minute, running the idea through his mind. “Yeah, work for a pharmaceutical company. All the drugs I want at my fingertips,” he said. The more he thought about it the more the thought gave him pleasure. He stood and did a soft-shoe dance much like the one he had done the day he had fled Hampton House.
He sat on the bedside and dialed 9 for an outside line. Then he dialed the listed number. Surprisingly, he was able to make an appointment for that afternoon. He picked up a piece of motel stationary and dialed the front desk. A sweet female voice answered, “May I help you?”
He asked Sweet Voice for directions to the nearest mall. The clerk gave simple directions, and Lance wrote them down. “You’re only about two miles away,” she said.
He needed to buy a suit, dress shirt, tie, and a pair of wingtip shoes. Even though it was the style, he would be damned before he would purchase or be caught dead wearing a cheesy, polyester leisure suit.
He thanked the clerk, hung up and felt invigorated. He quickly dressed, tucked the directions in his shirt pocket, then headed outside.
He had no trouble finding the mall. After his shopping spree, he found a McDonald’s. He ordered two cheeseburgers, fries, chocolate milkshake and an apple turnover. He had no idea why he was craving junk food or why he was allowing himself the pleasure. He had always been a health nut and so was Penny. He smiled. We did have the same taste for food and sex, ole gal.
After he ate, he sped back to the motel, dressed, and admired himself in the bathroom mirror. “Lookin’ good,” he said. He went outside and got on his Harley.
He headed to the front of the motel and entered the lobby. Sweet Voice, looked up and said, “May I help you?”
Lance flashed his most charming smile. “I was wondering if you could give me directions to Caterjohn. The main office?" He placed the newspaper ad on the counter top and pointed to the address.
Sweet Voice said, “I can do better than that.” She reached for a counter rack and pulled out a city map. “I’ll trace the route you need to take. And on the back is a map to the suburbs, should you wanna check it out. They’re lovely.”
“That sure would be kind of you,” Lance said as he rested his arms on the counter top and gave her another charming smile. He watched her carefully drawing on the map. She seemed to be nervous by his closeness. I think I’ve found an easy lay. But business first. I’ll catch up with her later.
She handed the map to Lance. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. I’m good with maps and directions. I have to do it a lot.” She reached over to the rack and took out another one. “Here, you might need two, just in case you lose one.”
“I’m sure I’ll do fine. I thank you kindly and maybe I’ll see you later,” he said, taking the maps, his hand lingering on hers, then he winked.
“I sure hope so,” she said.
Lance walked outside, studied the map closely, then tucked it into his pant pocket. He cranked up the Harley, wondering how strange he must look, dressed in a suit and riding a bike. He chuckled. “Pretty damn weird to me!”
He had no problem finding his way to the main office of Caterjohn. I don’t have any experience. I’m not sure this is gonna fly. But what the hell.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lance was edgy, waiting for the receptionist to announce it was his turn to enter the door that three people had gone into and come out of.
“Mister Jackson, you may go in now,” the blonde girl said, walking across the floor, ready to usher him through the door as
if he were a child who couldn’t find his way. She’s as irritating as Bonnie Sue.
A sophisticated, middle age, no-nonsense woman with hard, blue-gray eyes, held the interview. Lance was his charming, charismatic self. He watched the woman’s eyes soften as he talked, and she even smiled a few times. If I can charm Iron Pants, maybe experience won’t matter. I do have two years of college and that has to count.
The interview lasted twenty minutes. Iron Pants said she would be in touch.
Lance felt his face redden when he gave the phone number of the motel and his room number. She’ll think I’m a ruffian and not trustworthy. “Thanks for your time and consideration,” he said, using all the charm he possessed. He was sure he saw a sparkle in Iron Pants’ eyes.
He slowly walked out of the interview room and sweetly smiled at the receptionist. Once outside the suite, he hurried to the parking lot, straddled the Harley and sped back to the motel.
He went to his room instead of paying Sweet Voice another visit as he had originally planned.
He stretched out on the bed, his mind in a whirl, remembering all the years at Hampton House, the years in California, and Jimmy. “It sure was good seeing you again. We didn’t spend that much time together, but it was good when we did. I sure hope you’re happy in Paris. I hope you don’t get your heart broken. As for me, I don’t have a heart. I’ve got a thumping gizzard.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Then the past year flooded over him. All the sex and fun he’d had with Penny. “I had to leave, ole gal. You were starting to get under my skin. I can’t have that. I’ll never let anybody get that close to me again. It was for your own good too. Trust me on that.”
He startled when the phone rang. He smiled and reached for the receiver. “Miss Sweet Voice,” he mumbled as he picked up.