Mayhem in Myrtle Beach

by T. Lynn Ocean

  Willie read the financial news in every single secondhand newspaper that he could obtain. He fantasized about building his parents a brand new home with a yard full of lush green grass and an apple tree in the front yard. He envisioned calling them together one day to say, ‘here’s your new home, Mother and Father. Is there anything else you’d like with it? A new clothes washing machine, perhaps?’

  As he entered his late teenage years, Willie had saved enough money to purchase some luxuries. Although his father disapproved, the gifts made his mother happy. She had thoroughly loved her new icebox, and even his father had grudgingly admitted that the radio was a nifty gadget to listen to at night before bed, while he smoked the cherry tobacco in his hand-carved pipe.

  Twenty-one

  Around Myrtle Beach

  Sunday afternoon

  “He’s done gone crazy,” Maggie told Ruth. She threw her head back to get the last possible swallow of root beer out of the can. “He wants to live! He thinks living, at this particular point in time, is getting his ear pierced.”

  Breakfast at the Sea Captain’s House had drawn happy food noises from the Great Wingers. The building was more than one hundred years old and was originally a beach house with full views of the ocean.

  News had spread quickly about the cremation to those who’d remained in the background, waiting for others to make a decision. Everyone quickly agreed that cremation and a scattering was what Willie would have wanted them to do. Much discussion about the deceased man had taken place during a breakfast of eggs Benedict and fresh fruit, and the group began to envision a picture of who they thought Willie was. It was when they were boarding the bus after breakfast that Sherwood realized something intangible was happening. Her group’s collective attitude had shifted somehow and they going out of their way to pay more attention to each other.

  “A lot of men get their ear pierced these days,” Ruth told Maggie. Tomorrow was Willie’s memorial service, and today, everyone in the group was purposefully doing their own thing. Sherwood knew the bus would half empty tonight for their show at the Palace Theater but she didn’t mind. She was just happy to see her seniors taking advantage of the sunny day. Mabel and Gretta had gotten a rental car to tour Charleston on their own. Several in the group were going deep sea fishing for the afternoon. Four were taking a sightseeing cruise along the waterway. Some were hanging around on the beach to collect shells and sunbathe. And Gus was getting his ear pierced.

  “Sure,” Nell agreed. “But it should be the right ear, or he’s gay.”

  “No, it’s the left ear. If he pierces the right ear, it signals that he’s gay.”

  “Signals to who?” Smith asked, joining the group.

  “Whom, Dear,” Mrs. Storrey corrected.

  “What’s going on, for pete’s sake? What signal?” Gus ambled into the midst of the conversation that centered on him. Or rather, his earlobe.

  “Signals that you’re gay,” Smith answered.

  “What?” He dropped the putter.

  “If you get the right ear pierced, it means you are homosexual, Gus,” Burt told him. “Or is it the left?”

  “Why don’t you just get both pierced, Gus,” Smith said dryly. “That way, you’re covered from all angles.” This drew a playful rib-poke from Mrs. Storrey.

  “I don’t care which damn ear they pierce!” Gus announced. He retrieved the putter and pointed towards the ceiling in emphasis. “I just want to wear the diamond Maggie gave me. And, I’m damn sure not going to wear it around my ring finger.”

  Rather than look insulted, Maggie was pleased. She had given him the diamond earring because she had lost its mate, and didn’t want to wear just one. It was a half-carat diamond stud that shone with a bluish-white brilliance. She gave it to Gus on a whim because she was really beginning to like having him around. Him and the putter. The three of them, she mused, had been together ever since their second night in Myrtle Beach.

  The rest of the group was stunned into silence by the announcement of the diamond gift.

  Smith recovered first. “Well, I’ll be damned! They’re going together!”

  “We’re not going together, Smith,” Maggie said, clicking her dentures. “But I kind of like the old coot. Beside, life isn’t a dress rehearsal, you know. How does that Latin saying go? Carpe Diem!”

  “Yeah, Smith. Seize the damn day, for pete’s sake.” Gus added, blushing.

  Maggie tossed her head back for a swallow from an empty root beer can. It was a habit. She shot a disappointed look at the can and dropped it into a nearby trash bin.

  “Well, then.” Smith decided that some free entertainment at Gus’s expense might be fun. “Let’s all go. We’ll offer mortal support, and all that stuff.”

  “Moral support, Honey,” Mrs. Storrey corrected.

  “Right. That’s what I said.”

  Half an hour later, seven Great Wingers stood inside a store that lay directly off of Ocean Boulevard in Myrtle Beach. They’d taken a taxi van to the shop that offered professional body piercing. The display ad assured them that the owner had been in business for over ten years. He was also certified in something, whatever that was worth.

  A burly man sporting colorful tattoos greeted them. He was over six feet tall and had the stomach of a Sumo wrestler. When he asked if he could help them, the seniors didn’t see his mouth move due to the long mustache that hung over it.

  “Uh, we’re the ones that called,” Ruth said. “You know, about the ear piercing. You said you’re the best in Myrtle Beach.”

  “I am,” the man said with simple conviction. If he was surprised to see a group of seniors crowding into his shop, he concealed it well.

  Gus stepped forward and jutting out an ear. “It’s my ear that we want pierced.” The pink putter lay at rest, as if observing the unfolding scene in silence. “I have a diamond I want to put in it.”

  “What other body parts do you pierce anyway?” Mrs. Storrey asked.

  The proprietor produced a photo album. “Anything you want. Take a look.”

  They all huddled around the counter to view the album. Mrs. Storrey turned the pages.

  “Oh, my!” Ruth and Nell said in unison at the photograph on page three.

  “It’s...it’s a... guy’s you-know-what!” Nell spoke in amazement. “With a gold ring.”

  Smith shivered and subconsciously folded his hands over his groin area. Gus turned a shade green and turned to walk out. Maggie grabbed his arm, stopping him.

  “Gus, if this man here can pierce... that there,” she waved a hand in the direction of the photos, “surely he can do a great job on something as simple as your earlobe,” she told him.

  The putter swayed with indecision.

  Continuing to flip through the photo album, the others gawked. They viewed close-up photographs of nostrils, lips, tongues, eyebrows and navels—all pierced with a gold loop or round stud.

  Meanwhile, Maggie convinced Gus to stay. Minutes later, he was seated in something that resembled a dental chair. A bright light shone down on him as the piercer moved in with a purple marking pen. Maggie, Smith, Mrs. Storrey, Jack, Nell, and Ruth encircled the pair.

  “Just a tad higher,” Maggie said.

  “More to the outside, I think,” Nell said.

  “That’s an awfully long earlobe, Gus,” Smith added. “You want the diamond on the north end or the south end?”

  “For pete’s sake!” Gus started getting up.

  “Okay, everybody.” The man with the marker said. “I appreciate your collective input, but how’s about you all be quiet now. I’ll take good care of your friend.”

  Gus flopped back into the chair. The putter settled in beside him. Silenced, the group watched with anticipation. The quiet stillness was unsettling.

  “When you shove the needle through the flesh of his ear, will Gus feel any pain?” Ruth asked.

  “Shut up, Ruth!” Maggie said protectively. “He’s about to be pierced.”

  Gus said no
thing, but the putter began nervously tapping the floor beside his chair.

  “Ouch! For pete’s sake!” Gus complained. His ear felt like a bee had stung it.

  “There, now. All done.” The burly man stepped away.

  The group crowded around Gus, who was clumsily trying to get out of the chair. He looked stunned and the hand not holding the putter reached up to feel the ear lobe. There was a stud in it.

  “In one month, you can take that stud out, and put your diamond in. Meanwhile, use this ointment on it every morning to keep it from getting infected. And, here’s a brochure for you to read on how to clean it your piercing. You’ll also want to spin the stud periodically so it doesn’t get attached to your skin.” Gus paled a bit, then recovered with a slightly green tone. He shrugged the man’s instructions off like they were no big deal, but pocketed the brochure to study later.

  There were several seconds of silence as everyone contemplated Gus’s new earring.

  “It really becomes you, Gus. Truly,” Mrs. Storrey said. “Very becoming.”

  Gus muttered something and blushed. He looked in the wall mirror and turned to view his gold stud at different angles.

  “She’s right, Gus,” Maggie said. “I like it. It’s definitely you.”

  The shop owner raised an eyebrow when Gus unscrewed the handle from his putter and pulled out a wad of bills to pay. He’d seen money stashed in some unusual places, but never in a golf club.

  “Anyone else want something pierced?” The shop owner asked.

  Mrs. Storrey raised an eyebrow and flashed Smith a sexy, questioning grin. “You could use a body ring down…there.”

  Smith’s hands instinctively moved to protect his groin. “Oh, no. No, Sylvia. I’m getting out of here.” That part of his body had seen enough attention lately.

  The group said their thank-you’s and followed Smith out of the store. Gus absently fingered the small stud in his ear while Maggie gazed at him with open adoration.

  Twenty-two

  Willie

  Willie never wanted to go without a meal again, or a new pair of shoes, or a warm jacket. Unless he did so by choice. He desired the freedom that money would offer. The options. The power. Besides learning investing techniques, his second love was baseball. And his third love was studying the ocean. He’d never taken much of an interest in the horses that his mother and father so loved. While his parents saw the strength and beauty of the animals, Willie saw blue collar employment, sore muscles, and the continual ripe smell of manure.

  Joey had gotten him hooked on playing ball, and Willie discovered that he was a very capable athlete. And his mother had sparked his interest in marine life when she gave him a small sea shell collection that had been her mother’s. Willie would often study the delicate shells and wonder about the creatures that had once inhabited them. His goal was to see the ocean in person and find some new shells for his collection. He dreamt of living in a two-story cottage with a view of the water and steps that led directly to the sandy beach below. He fantasized about sailing out far beyond the shoreline and not returning for days, or even weeks. And when he did return, he’d relax on the beach and eat grilled steaks to his heart’s content.

  The teen didn’t find out that he was adopted until he was packing a duffel bag to leave his home life for a military one. His mother told him the entire story as he studied his small sparse room and contemplated his future. The news made him realize how selfless his parents had been. Willie was moved and grateful, but more determined than ever to find success. He was eighteen and had never been out of the state of Kentucky.

  He volunteered for the Army and requested any assignment that would put him near the Atlantic coast. He found himself a soldier stationed on the North Carolina coast. He fell in love with the perpetual roll of the waves, which on a quiet night, could be heard as far as a mile inland. He fell in love with the continual brackish breeze that blew off the water. He fell in love with the way the sparkly sand felt beneath his feet. And he fell in love with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  She worked in a local textile mill and spent her free time sunning on the beach.

  Willie’s teenage heart literally skipped a beat the first time she smiled at him. It may have been the seductive titillation of the ocean breezes and salt air. Or, it might have been the fact that she was the most intriguing woman he’d ever met. The pair married on her eighteenth birthday, on the beach.

  When he left the military, the young couple moved to Florida’s east coast where she went to work at a cosmetics counter selling makeup and he began investing in real estate. He started by purchasing a tiny shack on three acres of land and calling it home. He made payments to the previous owners, who’d agreed to Willie’s request for owner financing. He worked to repair and restore the house while Jenna Louis turned the yard into a patch of colorful, blooming heaven. They cleared a mile of walking path through the brush that led directly to the beach and lined it with crushed oyster shell to keep the vegetation from growing back. He added a screened in porch at the rear of the house and she planted a small vegetable garden beside it. A year later, Willie sold the property for more than twice the original purchase price. He paid off his loan in full, then purchased another small home for them to live in.

  It was his first lesson in leverage—using other people’s money to make some for himself.

  Willie felt sure that the white sand beaches along the Atlantic Ocean and the temperate climate would begin attracting thousands and thousands of new residents. He was positive that once the word spread, those residing along the inland and Northern areas would migrate to Florida. The ocean would be the magnet and the sunny skies and warm breezes would seal the deal. Willie would be ready.

  With the use of leverage, he was able to purchase small tracts of land, make improvements to the property, and quickly resell to realize a profit. He became a knowledgeable real estate investor and the mostly undiscovered beaches were his gold mine. His speculation efforts branched out into construction before venturing into parts of the South Carolina and North Carolina coasts where he continued to earn amazing returns on his investments.

  He purchased a new house in Louisville for his parents by the time he was thirty-two. It came with acreage, a five stall stable, two quarter horses, and a walk-in pantry that was loaded with gourmet foods.

  Twenty-three

  Charleston, South Carolina

  Hartford Lakes Subdivision

  Sunday afternoon

  Gretta decided to do it. Willie’s unexpected passing got her to thinking that she didn’t want to die without seeing her grandson. She and Mabel rented a car and made the drive from Myrtle Beach to Charleston.

  A large breed dog started barking from inside the house the moment they pulled in the driveway. The woman who opened the door could have stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. Her cream-colored skin was flawless and her styled hair was the color of honey. On her heels, a white Labrador retriever barked once more, its tail wagging and tongue hanging out.

  Gold Digger flashed a blank, polite smile. “Hello. May I help you?”

  Gretta just stood, staring.

  Mabel stepped forward, believing that her roommate was about to change her mind and bolt like a raccoon caught in headlights. “Is Tommy here?”

  “You mean Thomas?”

  “Uh, sure. Thomas,” Mabel agreed. Gretta stood behind her, surveying the thickly landscaped front yard. It was lush with blooming plants, manicured Bermuda grass, dogwood and birch trees, and a swinging wooden bench.

  “Yes, can I tell him who is here?”

  “His mother.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m his mother, Gretta. You didn’t recognize me. I guess it’s been a long time.” She stepped in from of Mabel and made bold eye contact with the woman she thought to have stolen her son.

  Shock flashed across the woman’s face. After a beat, she recovered. “Please come in.”

  The Labrador ping-
ponged between Gretta and Mabel, sniffing them.

  “I’m Mabel, Gretta’s friend. What’s your name?” Gretta had only referred to her daughter-in-law as the gold digger.

  “Sheila.”

  “Good to meet you Sheila,” Mabel said in her slow drawl. “What’s your dog’s name?”

  “Doorbell. We started calling him that as a joke, but it stuck. He just turned a year old.”

  “He’s very well behaved. I just hate it when a dog tries to jump all over you. But Doorbell doesn’t do that, does he?” Mabel said to the dog in baby talk. Doorbell gave her outstretched hand a lick in answer. Gretta scoffed, seemingly unimpressed by both the dog and its tasteful surroundings.

  Sheila called to her husband and after excusing herself, retreated into the sanctity of her kitchen. Mabel and Gretta situated themselves on a navy blue leather sofa, and Doorbell plopped down on the floor between them. The furniture was cool, soft, and perfectly in place with the rich decor surrounding it. Dark Cherry wood tables, marble lamps, scented decorative candles, silk-covered throw pillows, and shiny live Fichus trees. The dog-eared paperback books and stack of magazines gave the room an inviting, warm effect.

  Minutes later, Tommy appeared. Tall and lean with a well-developed body that indicated a health club membership, he was a handsome man. His face was clean shaven and his thick blond hair, only slightly graying at the sideburns, was cut short. His eyes were Gretta’s. Doorbell jumped up to greet his owner before loping back to the two visitors.

  “Mother?”

  Gretta stood. “Hello, Tommy.”

  “My God! When did you—how did you get here?” was all he could think of to say. He made no move to embrace her. Doorbell sat down to watch the exchange and Sheila remained in the safety of her kitchen.