Sandra was dismayed when they drove into the Charlotte traffic, but Bobby knew his way around. Getting the drivers’ license required little time. She spent a few minutes in the waiting room studying a road sign chart in preparation for the eye test she knew would be required. The helpful examiner punched into the computer terminal the name “Sandra Hutchinson,” verified the existence of the license, and amicably made out the new license in her “married” name.
Bobby was less knowledgeable about the locations of women's clothing stores, so Sandra agreed to settle for Wal-Mart. They ate at the lunch counter and filled up the trunk of the Cavalier with bras, panties, shorts, pants, blouses, sweaters, make-up, tampons, combs, brushes, bubble bath, condoms and other items Bobby would have preferred never to have seen. The shopping trip ended with a stop at the Food Lion grocery next to Wal-Mart.
“Wasn't that Tim's Mustang that just passed us?” Sandra asked halfway back to Dot.
“Yes."
* * * *
As the extent of his inheritance began to sink in, Tim realized that Silas Coan's suggestion that he acquire a computer was a good one. A Mr. Tom Anthony, the Dot branch manager of the BB&T bank, suggested Microchip World as a good place to purchase computer equipment, and gave him directions to the Charlotte business.
A gangly, pimply-faced youth with a ponytail was the only unoccupied salesperson Tim could find.
“Excuse me. I'm looking for a computer, but I have no idea what kind I want to buy."
The friendly youngster broke out in a broad toothy smile. “Let's start with your computer experience and your needs."
“Well, I used to teach some business courses in high school, but the most modern equipment I was ever provided was the old 386 processor type. As for what I need—like I said—a computer."
The kid laughed loudly. “I meant what do you want to do with a computer?"
“Oh,” Tim responded with some embarrassment. “I will be working out of my home tracking rental property, stocks and bonds, home finances, stuff like that. I know I want a spreadsheet program, maybe a database, and, of course, a word processor."
“Are you going to be dealing with just a few records, or lots of them?"
“I'm not sure."
“Will you want to carry the computer with you, or will you do all of your work at a desk?"
“I haven't thought about it. I imagine most of my work will be at my desk, but it might be nice to have portable capability."
As he spoke, the young man was steering Tim to another section of the store. “My name's Sean."
“I'm Tim Dollar."
“Tim, this is the computer I recommend for you. It is portable, as you can see. The manufacturer rates the battery life at four hours. Two hours is more like it, but if you close the lid while not using the notebook, the battery will last longer. Of course, it has a color ten-inch screen. More importantly, it comes with 32 megabytes of memory and 500 megabytes of hard disk space. The screen is a little small for me. I would suggest you also get at least a fifteen-inch color monitor to plug in while working at your desk and a standard keyboard too. Now this model comes with a built in high-speed modem, a floppy drive and a CD-ROM drive. It's a fast little baby too, with a Pentium 150 chip."
Tim eyed the $3,500 price tag and said, “I assume this is the top of the line notebook computer and will not be outdated soon."
“Tim, this computer is already outdated. They come out with new computers so fast these days that a computer is out of date the moment it rolls off the assembly line."
Tim did not like the use of his first name by this computer nut, not yet old enough to shave, but he did like the kid's honesty. “Does it come with software?"
“Yeah. The operating system is Microsoft Windows 95. I expect Windows 98 will be available soon, but the upgrade won't cost but a few dollars. You can download the upgrade free from the Microsoft Internet site when it is available. It also has some games and other stuff—all junk."
“Junk?"
“Junk. I suggest you buy Microsoft's Office 97 Professional software. That will give you everything you need—word processor, database, spreadsheet, scheduler and a whole bunch more, including Internet access."
“If I decide to buy this computer will you load the software for me?"
“Sure, but we charge extra for that."
“Okay. I want to be certain that when I take it out of the box at home, it is going to work, and work right, when I plug it in."
The youngster laughed. “I'll check it out for you, but it takes a while."
“When do you close?"
“9:00 o'clock."
“It's not going to take that long, is it?"
The kid laughed again. “You are going to need a good printer. We have a sale on the Lexmark 2050. It's a color inkjet and does a nice job. Let's see now, you are also going to need a printer cable, carrying case, and some how-to books. I recommend the ‘Dummies’ series."
Tim was beginning to feel like a dummy. He watched carefully as Sean connected the computer, printer and modem. Loading the software did take a long time, but did not seem to be as difficult as Tim expected. The kid's demonstration of the equipment was too fast—his fingers flew across the keys and display images disappeared before Tim could read even half of the screen.
Tim was most interested when Sean accessed the Internet. In just minutes, a series of the dirtiest pictures Tim had ever seen appeared on the fifteen-inch monitor. “I thought the Internet was the Information Super Highway,” he said.
Sean grinned as a new image downloaded. “The World Wide Web is a part of the Information Super Highway, but everybody learns to use the Internet by searching on ‘sex.’ You'll have an e-mail address after you obtain an Internet provider. I think you'll like e-mail."
The only real problem occurred when Tim tried to pay for the purchase with one of his new counter checks. He explained that he had just opened the account and had not yet received imprinted checks. Sean took the check to his manager, to whom Tim also explained, suggesting that a telephone call to Tom Anthony would provide verification. The manager, not wanting to lose a sale, looked up the bank manager's home telephone number and received confirmation that the check was good.
* * * *
“Where the hell have you been?” Sandra complained when Tim arrived at the house after 7:00 p.m. “I cooked you a good, old fashioned fried chicken dinner, but it's cold as ice now."
“I like cold chicken,” Tim replied grinning.
“It's not funny,” she scolded.
“Get off my back,” he shot back, no longer trying to make peace. “You knew I had a long day scheduled with the lawyer."
“You weren't with the lawyer all day. We passed you about 3:30 on our way back from Charlotte."
“You're not my damned keeper. You're a freeloader, damn it. Get off my back."
“Kiss my ass,” she spit back and fled to the kitchen.
He followed, took her in his arms and pressed her head to his shoulder. “I should have left you a note. It just didn't occur to me."
“I'll warm up the mashed potatoes and snap beans, but there's nothing I can do about the chicken."
“I actually do like it cold,” Tim insisted.
While Sandra rescued the evening meal Tim moved the boxes of computer equipment and the documents acquired from Silas Coan to the study. While eating, he told Sandra about his meeting with Coan, leaving out the part about cash assets, stocks and bonds.
“Was there any cash?"
“Yeah—enough to live on for a while."
“How much?"
“You're not my wife, Sandy. I like you, and I'm doing what I can to help you, but I didn't take you to raise."
We'll see, she thought to herself as she bit off a large bite of chicken breast. Umm. He's right. Cold fried chicken is delicious.
“I'm beat, Sandy. I'm going to soak in the Whirl Pool for a while. I'll do the dishes later."
“I'll do them,” she pur
red.
While the tub was filling with hot water, Tim laid out on the bed the clothes he would put on after his bath. He followed that by stripping and tossing the soiled clothes in the hamper. He eased into the hot, churning water, bathed, and then laid back into one of the tub's carefully designed cradles. The pulsating jets of water massaged his muscles. He could actually feel them relax. The hum of the motor was soothing. He drifted towards sleep.
He did not know how long she had been standing there, nude, long legs slightly parted, peach-sized breasts tipped with strawberry nipples. Words of protest stuck in his throat. It was too late to hide his erection with a washcloth. She straddled him, lowered her bottom, rolled on a condom held in her hand, and impaled herself. She grasped his wrists and forced his hands to her tempting breasts.
Oh, God, she thought. He's so small. She rolled her firm, rounded buttocks in tight little circles.
Hang on, he pleaded with himself. Don't explode yet. It's been so long.
He lost the internal struggle, as he always did with his former wife, but Sandra beat him to the punch with the primordial scream.
She collapsed, pressing her breasts against his chest.
Man, that was great of her to pretend, he thought.
How the hell did that happen? she wondered.
That night Sandra crawled into Tim's bed. He protested. “That's my side of the bed. You have to sleep on the left.”
Chapter Five
Tim buttered both pieces of toast, took a bite, said “Sandy,” swallowed, and continued, “I'm going to spend the day in my study—probably the rest of the week."
“Your study?"
“That came out rather smoothly, didn't it?” Tim smiled. “It is technically my study now, but I want to do some things to personalize it."
“You really like that room, don't you? You brighten up like a lightening bug every time you go into it."
“Spooky, isn't it? I know Uncle Pete built it according to his own tastes, but it feels like home to me."
“I think I'll spend the day going through that other woman's clothes—see what I can wear and get rid of the rest."
“Sounds like a good idea. If you have time, how about getting Uncle Pete's things together—my compliments to the chef, these fried eggs are delicious—get Uncle Pete's things together, maybe in a spare room. I can't wear anything of his."
* * * *
Before starting the day's task, Sandra found herself in the library. I love this room as much as Tim loves his study, she thought. I wonder why.
Yesterday she had found the stereo components, but also discovered that the only CD's and tapes Uncle Pete had were classics. Today she decided to see what classical music sounds like, and selected the CD on top of the stack. She settled in the recliner, book in hand, listening to the soft strains of Bach.
When Godfrey Cass returned from Mrs. Osgood's party at midnight, he was not much surprised to learn that Dunsey had not come home. Perhaps he had not sold Wildfire, and was waiting for another chance—perhaps, on that foggy afternoon, he had preferred housing himself at the Red Lion at Batherley for the night, if the run had kept him in that neighborhood; for he was not likely to feel much concern about leaving his brother in suspense. Godfrey's mind was too full of Nancy Lammeter's looks and behaviour, too full of the exasperation against himself and his lot, which the sight of her always produced in him, for him to give much thought to Wildfire, or to the probabilities of Dunstan's conduct.
The next morning the whole village was excited by the story of the robbery, and Godfrey, like every one else, was occupied in gathering and discussing news about it, and in visiting the Stone-pits.
* * * *
Tim stood for a moment just inside the doorway of the study, breathing in the strength the room afforded him. Although it was of his own doing, the pile of boxes in the center of the study disturbed him. He resolved to get everything in its place before the day's end. He moved to the desk, produced a black ballpoint pen and yellow legal pad, and carefully compiled his game plan.
To Do List
+ Clean out desk.
+ Set up computer.
+ Clean out file cabinets.
+ Arrange documents from lawyer.
+ Learn to use computer.
+ Note contents of bookshelves.
+ Note content of cabinets.
+ Have telephone line (lines?) installed.
+ Start subscription to Charlotte Observer.
+ Check on mail delivery.
+ Work out agreement with Bobby.
+ Sandy?
+ Study document contents.
Tim reviewed his notes. That'll do for now, he thought. He pulled open the center desk drawer and moved the contents to the desktop. He shook his head and muttered, “Need a box."
He carefully began unpacking the boxes of computer equipment, placing the components on the bare study table, crushing packing material into an emptied carton and saving the remaining boxes for storage.
The sound of the doorbell startled him. It was more of a chime than a ringing or buzzing alert. It took him a few seconds to identify the sound, and when he entered the hallway, Sandra was emerging from the library.
“I'll get it,” she said.
He followed. His curiosity about their first visitor made him unwilling to let Sandra be the first to know.
Bobby Elliott, his bulk no longer frightening, removed his cap when Sandra opened the door.
“Clean house,” Bobby said expressionless.
Bobby had spoken to Sandra, but Tim, not sure if Bobby was asking a question or making a statement, replied, “Come on in Bobby. I need to talk with you."
Bobby followed Tim's gesture and trailed him to the study. Sandra, uninvited, followed also.
When they were seated, Tim briefly considered telling Sandra that her presence was not needed, but quickly dismissed the impulse.
“Bobby, it looks like I may stay in Dot after all. I can't say for sure, but that is the direction I am leaning towards right now."
Bobby replied only with his stony face, eyes locked on Tim's eyes.
“What were your responsibilities when you worked for Uncle Pete?"
“Clean house. Wash clothes. Car. Truck. Cook sometimes. Fix things. Errands."
“Sort of a handyman."
With a single nod of his head, Bobby agreed.
“You don't like me much, do you Bobby?"
“Don't know yet. Like Mrs."
Tim laughed. “Fair enough.” He fished a package of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “Cigarette?” he asked extending the pack towards Bobby.
“Don't smoke."
“Mind if Sandy and I do?"
Bobby answered with a shrug of his shoulders.
Exhaling the smoke from the first drag on the unfiltered cigarette through his nose, Tim continued. “What kind of schedule did you follow?"
“Clean house Tuesday, Friday. Yard Monday, Wednesday. Thursday miscellaneous."
Bobby's use of the word “miscellaneous” seemed out of character to Tim. “And for your work Uncle Tim let you live in a tenant house and paid you $500 a week?"
“$500 month,” Bobby corrected.
“Would you like to continue to work for me, doing pretty much the same thing?"
“Yes."
“I would like that too. I especially need your knowledge of the farm. I don't like what Uncle Pete was paying you though."
“Can't work for less."
Tim laughed again. “I don't see how you can live on $500 a month, even if you don't have to pay rent. I was thinking about $500 a week. That would be $26,000 a year, plus the house, of course."
Sandra's eyebrows raised involuntarily.
“Don't need that much,” Bobby deadpanned.
Ignoring Bobby's comment, Tim said, “I don't like the looks of the shack you're living in, even if it does look better inside. Mr. Coan told me there is a total of twelve tenant houses. Are any of them in better condition than yours
?"
“Yes."
“Then I want you to move immediately into the best one."
“No."
“What?"
“Born in house. Mamma, daddy die in house."
Tim was silent for a moment. “Can the house be fixed up, Bobby?"
“Yes. Need roof, siding, furnace, paint. Wiring bad."
“How about air conditioning, insulation, carpeting?"
“Cost too much."
“How much?"
“Don't know."
“Do you know a contractor who can do the work?"
“Brother."
“Your brother is a contractor?”
“Carpenter. Good. Drinks too much. Lost job. Good man."
“So you think you and your brother can do a good job remodeling the house?"
“Yes. How much you pay?"
“I don't know much about this sort of thing. I trust you. Let's try not to go over $50,000."
Sandra's eyebrows went up again.
“Not cost that much,” Bobby said as he stood up.
“How about your furniture?” Sandra asked.
“Old."
“Thanks, Sandy. I didn't think of that. I want you to get new furniture too,” Tim said.
“Is there any furniture stored in the barn you could use?” Sandra asked.
“Too nice for Bobby,” was the reply.
“We're not going to use it. If it's in good condition it's a shame to let it just sit there."
Bobby returned to his one nod reply. “Clean now,” he said. He turned towards the door as Tim stood up, then turned back and extended his hand to Tim. “Like,” was his final comment.
When Bobby closed the door behind him, Tim turned to Sandra and said, “I thought you were going to sort clothes today."
“I'm pouting,” she pretended through puckered lips. “You barely know Bobby, but you just committed over $75,000 to him. You haven't offered me anything."
“I barely know you either, and besides, I need Bobby.” The implication clearly was that he didn't need her. “I knew that Bobby wanted to continue working here. Remember the night we met him he mentioned twice that Mr. Coan had told him he would have to move out when I arrived?"
Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors Page 6