HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “I said me a prayer for your brother, and for you, Miss Sydney. Sometimes tryin’ to figure things out makes me want to just take off and scream real loud. Did I tell you ‘bout the screamin’ tree?”

  I shook my head as I laughed. “No, you sure didn’t.”

  “Well, I used to spend me some time out there when I was little. Now, I just goes out there once in a blue moon. She’s a big tree north of town, by the river. She’s old and mighty big and has branches reachin’ for the sky.” He hesitated and reached upward with both arms.

  “One of her big bottom roots come up out of the ground and makes for a real nice chair. So, you can sit on that there root and scream all you want, and nobody hears ya, ‘cause it’s north of town. You go screamin’ in town and folks think you’s crazy, so it ain’t a good idea. But screamin’ makes me feel good sometimes, so I go’s to my tree. It makes me a pretty good thinkin’ tree too,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure if I had ever screamed for nothing more than the sake of screaming. Something about it sounded fun. One day maybe I’d go to Junior’s screaming tree and let out a lifetime of frustrations and anger.

  “I’d like to see it sometime. I probably could use a good scream,” I said.

  “Well, as my momma always says.” He hesitated and stood from his seat.

  “There’s no better time than right now. She says, don’t talk about it, be about it,” he said.

  “I don’t really have anything to scream about,” I said.

  “You can always scream about what you’s happy about,” Junior said.

  “Well, in that case, let’s go.’

  Because I’m about as happy as I’ve ever been.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  SYDNEY

  The screaming tree proved to be therapeutic. My yelling about the good things seemed like so much fun, I decided to scream about the bad things as well. After a few short bursts about my imprisoned brother, my parent’s death, and my non-existent extended family, I was exhausted. After returning home I felt cleansed, relieved, and far less frustrated. Having a friend in general is always nice, but having one as genuine as Junior was a totally different type of blessing. For some reason, the majority of my friends since childhood had been male. I felt more comfortable with boys, and it never seemed I was in a competition with them for anything. With women, it was always a struggle for me. I always dismissed my reluctance to befriend women to lacking a father in my life and growing up with a brother as a best friend. Whatever the cause, I naturally migrated toward men for friendship and subconsciously avoided women.

  After I sketched the final touches on the chalkboard, I leaned back and admired my work.

  Not bad.

  I stood, took a few steps back, and looked at the design for symmetry. Everything seemed pretty well placed. Even as a little girl, drawing and sketching had been an outlet for me. It seemed to provide a means of escaping reality back then, and now provided tremendous self-satisfaction. Although I hadn’t done it for years, I purchased an old wood framed window from a local antique store, painted the frame, and painted the glass with chalkboard paint. After it dried, I used colored chalk and sketched a design on the board. Now I could hang my first piece of art on the walls proudly, knowing it was created with my hands and my mind. I blinked my eyes and took another step backward.

  Happiness

  is a friend

  who doesn’t judge

  Each portion of script was encompassed in a banner, separated by various flowers and a leafy arrangement. The top banner was curved upward into the shape of a smile. It was perfect. I turned to walk to the utility room to get a screwdriver from the tools Toad had left, and was immediately startled by the doorbell. I hadn’t heard a motorcycle, and from what I understood, Toad was going to Austin. I glanced down at my chalk covered sweats, grinned, and wiped my hands on my tee shirt. I quietly tiptoed to the door and pulled it open.

  A woman holding a large cardboard box stood on the porch. Dressed in a vibrant blue dress, blue hat, and smiling from ear to ear, she spoke. “You must be Sydney. I’m Junior’s momma, Shirley.”

  I grinned and opened the door. “Come in.”

  “Thank you, Baby. This darned weather can’t decide whether to rain or just drizzle. Now grab this box if you can, it’s killing my arms. I’ve got bad elbows from carrying all my babies around the house,” she said as she extended her arms.

  I reached out and took the box from her hands. The top was covered with cloth, so I wasn’t able to see inside, but I assumed it was food of some sort. One easily identifiable smell was that of apple pie, one of my all-time favorites. As I moved aside, she stepped into the house and quickly took a look around the room.

  She raised both hands to her mouth and screeched. “Oh Lord have mercy, you get robbed, Baby?”

  “No, Ma’am,” I said with a laugh. “I just moved in. Well, kind of.”

  “Is this all of your belongings?” she asked as she motioned around the empty house.

  I nodded my head. “Yes, Ma’am, this is it. I’m grateful for what I do have, a roof over my head, and a bed to sleep in.”

  “Well bless your little heart. I do like your cute little table,” she said as she pointed to the table Toad had left.

  “Thank you. It’s not mine, the landlord left it,” I said.

  She nodded her head toward the table. “Now put that box down on that table before it stretches your little arms out.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said as I walked toward the table.

  As I carefully placed the box on the table, she walked over and pulled a chair away from the table. After wiping the seat with her hand and inspecting her fingers for dust, she sat on the chair and grinned.

  “Now let’s have us a seat, shall we? Like I said when I come in the door, my name’s Shirley, but my friends will just call me Bee,” she said.

  “And I’m Sydney. Nobody calls me anything but that,” I said.

  She smiled, removed the small towels from the box, folded them, and placed them on the table beside the box. One by one, she lifted the items from the box, placing them on the table carefully. As she did, she explained what they were.

  “This is one of my apple pies. I won the spring contest down at the river with that exact pie. 1st place if I do say so myself. And this is sand hill plum jelly. Junior picked the plums, and I made it fresh last spring. And this here’s a jar of my pickled eggs. They’re good for a snack or to eat with a sandwich, but you need to be mighty careful, Sydney. They’ll make you pass gas.” She paused and held the jar in the air.

  I nodded my head and grinned.

  “This is a jar of dill pickles, and this is a jar of sweet pickles. I don’t mark the lids, but you can tell the difference because the dill pickles has a little red hot pepper inside, see it there?” she asked as she pointed to a very small red pepper in the side of the jar.

  I nodded my head and grinned. “Yes, ma’am, I see it.”

  She pulled a Tupperware container from the box and placed it beside the pie. “This is my macaroni and cheese casserole. Kids cut all the corners out of it as quick as I took it out of the oven, so I couldn’t get you a corner piece, but the middle’s just as good. Now, Baby, you have to listen to me…”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Don’t you dare take a bite of this casserole if it’s cold. Promise me that,” she said.

  I giggled. “I promise.”

  “And when you heats this up, you can’t do it in one of them microwaves; it’ll ruin it. You’ve got to heat it in the oven at 350 degrees. Now be sure and pre-heat your oven, and about ten or twelve minutes is plenty. Now don’t dare heat it in my Tupperware, put it in a casserole dish or a metal cake pan. It’s the only way to get it back to right. Understand?” she asked.

  I nodded my head eagerly. “Yes ma’am.”

  “Oh Lordy, you don’t have you any dishes, do you?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I have dishes and silverware. I’m just a little
short on furniture,” I said.

  As she carefully placed each item back in the box, she began to speak. “Now Junior tells me your momma died when you was a baby. And your daddy too. I’m downright sorry that happened, Baby. I know I can’t ever replace your momma, but I can sure be here for you when you need me. A little girl needs to have her a momma to talk to. When you grow up, you’ll understand. Now how old are you, Baby? About eighteen?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not eighteen, that’s funny. I’m uhhm, I’m thirty. Well, I’ll be thirty on October 1st. And yes, my parents both passed when I was young.”

  “Well, just because you’re a grown woman don’t mean you can’t use a little lovin’. Like I said, if you ever need me you just give me a call or come on by. My phone number is in the bottom of the box. I wrote it down with my recipe for the casserole. Now I’ve got to get out of this hard little chair. My hind end is a killin’ me,” she said as she stood from the chair.

  I grinned and stood from my chair. “I appreciate all of the food, and just I love apple pie. From what Junior said, I’ll love it all. As soon as I’m finished with them, I’ll bring all your dishes back to you.”

  “Whenever you’re done. Oh my, now did you make that? That’s cute,” she said as she pointed to the chalkboard leaning against the wall.

  “Yes, ma’am, I just finished it,” I said as I tilted my head toward the wall.

  “Happiness is a friend who doesn’t judge. Oh, Baby, that’s precious. Happiness is a friend who doesn’t judge, amen to that,” she said as she raised her hand to her mouth.

  “I like it. I made it after Junior took me to his secret tree,” I said.

  “When he was a little boy, well now let me tell you, Junior was never little but when he was a boy, if I couldn’t find him I always knew where he’d be. Out at that darned tree sittin’ and thinkin’. Junior’s a thinker for sure. And Junior sure don’t judge. No, Baby, he sure don’t. I raised him different than that. I can tell you had good upbringing, you’re respectful and polite, and you don’t judge either. Cute little white girl bein’ friends with Junior. We don’t see that too much, especially in this small little town. Junior’s boss is a blessing too,” she said as she clasped her hands together.

  “He saved me from the mess I was in, that’s for sure. He put me up in this house, gave me a job, and asked for nothing in return.”

  “I love what that man has done for Junior, I just don’t like his name. Toad. Now you know a toad is the warted frog, the one that’ll put warts on your fingers if you touch him. You know that don’t ya?’ she asked.

  I grinned and nodded my head even though I knew it wasn’t necessarily true. “It’s short for his last name. Todelli, I think.”

  “Well, I knew it was something like that. But yes, he’s a good man. He’s proof you can’t judge. Townfolks call all those boys names; the ones on the motorbikes. Ain’t never been nothin’ but friendly to me. This little old town is like a step back in time. I guess it’s both good and bad. Now I better get to gettin’, I’ve got some errands to run,” she said as she turned toward the door.

  “Thank you again,” I said as she turned around.

  “Don’t even mention it, Baby, and you let me know what you think about the pie,” she said as I opened the door.

  I grinned as she stepped onto the porch. “I sure will. Bye, Bee.”

  She raised her hand and waved as she cautiously stepped off the porch. I watched as she walked out to the street and got into her car. After she pulled away, I closed the door and turned toward the table. The smell of apple pie filled the house. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, wishing I was at the old tree again.

  To scream about the good things.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  TOAD

  The ride out of Wichita was a reminder of what being a biker was all about. Although it wasn’t raining when we left, Oklahoma produced a horrendous thunderstorm. Now riding through one of the hardest rainstorms I had ever seen, the drops felt like needles pressing into my skin. Riding without a helmet might not be the most sensible thing a man could do, but for me it was another way for me to thumb my nose at society, rules and regulations. As Slice, Otis, Biscuit and I cut a path through the wet stretch of highway I could see a hint of sunshine off in the distance.

  Regardless of the ninety degree summer temperatures, the fact I was soaked from head to toe and not wearing any more than a tee shirt, my cut, jeans, and boots left me feeling uncomfortable. I began thinking of the day I met Sydney, her wrinkled blouse, and how cute she looked otherwise. Lost in thoughts of her kind nature, good attitude, and smart mouth, the next thirty miles passed in what seemed like a matter of minutes.

  Finally, sunshine.

  Slice released his left grip and pointed at his gas tank. I nodded my head and pointed down at my gas tank. Biscuit, riding to my left, looked down at his fuel gauge and grinned. As the warmth of the summer sun began to suck the moisture from the highway, we took the next exit and pulled into a gas station.

  “Glad that shit’s over. Hell of a storm,” Slice said as he pumped gas into his tank and looked off to the north.

  “Raindrops felt like fucking razors,” I said.

  “Try riding this motherfucker with no windshield and fucking ape hangers,” Slice grunted. “the only thing to stop that shit is my face.”

  My motorcycle was equipped with a fairing, windshield, cruise control, and a CD player. The rain, although not eliminated, was diverted by the small windshield. My head, clearly above the windshield, caught road debris, rain, and bugs no differently than anyone else’s, but it was fractionally less direct.

  “Not interested. I’ll keep this bagger,” I said.

  “Fucking raining like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock,” Biscuit chuckled. “I’m going inside, need to get some Red Bull in me, I’m dryin’ out.”

  Biscuit drank Red Bull energy drinks by the case. He kept a refrigerator in his home stocked with them, and drank roughly eight or ten a day. We all assumed they helped with his sharp wit and fast mouth, but we had no means of comparison because he was always drinking them. As Slice followed Biscuit inside the gas station, I turned toward Otis.

  As I took off my cut and hung it on the handlebars, I spoke over my shoulder. “I’m thinking when we get back to town I’m going to see if Sydney wants to go out. I’m tired of following her around wondering if she’ll say yes or no.”

  He scrunched his nose and narrowed his eyes. “Go out?”

  “Mmmmhmmm,” I said as I pulled off my wet tee shirt.

  “Like out? You’re going to go on a fucking date?” he said.

  As I leaned over and unlatched my saddlebag, I responded. “I can’t tell you the last time I took a chick somewhere. Maybe I’ll see if she wants to go eat or something.”

  Otis crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “A date? That’s funny as fuck, brother.”

  “Now I’m funny as fuck. Thanks, O,” I said as I pulled a clean tee shirt from the saddlebag.

  “Nothing wrong with it, hell I hope everything works out. You’ve been talking about her for a month and a half. It’s just funny, seems like just the other day you were Saran Wrapping Sloan into a ball and butt fucking her and now you want to ask little Miss Innocent on a fucking date,” he said.

  “Who’s going on a date?” Biscuit grunted as he took a sip from his can of Red Bull.

  Oh Jesus, here we go…

  Otis continued to gaze in my direction, raised his eyebrows and waited.

  I pulled the tee shirt over my head and grabbed my cut from the handlebars. As I slipped my arms through the cut, I responded. “I was telling Brother Otis I was going to ask Sydney out when we got back.”

  “The girl with the stinky twat from the bank? Well isn’t that cute,” Biscuit said sarcastically.

  “She doesn’t have a stinky twat,” I snapped back.

  “You smelled it? I’m just going off what she told us. She said if you were gonna ta
p that shit you needed a warm washrag and soap. Sounds like a stinky twat to me,” Biscuit said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “Sinners don’t fuck girls with rotten pussies. We fuck princesses,” Slice said with a laugh. “Who’s fucking a nasty bitch?”

  “Toad’s gonna fuck the girl from the bank with the stinky pussy. He’s gonna ask her on a date as soon as we get home,” Biscuit said as he finished the can of Red Bull.

  Axton knelt down and pulled his dipstick, checking his oil level. As he wiped the dipstick and pushed it back into the engine case, he peered over his shoulder. “Girl from the bank’s got a stinker does she? Hell, I saw her at your barbeque joint the other night; she looked like she was clean. She didn’t wait on me, so it’d be hard to say for sure, but I didn’t smell anything. Guess a man can never tell.”

  Biscuit hooked his thumbs into his front pockets and tilted his head toward Slice. “Her rotten twat ain’t the topic of this discussion, Slice. Topic’s this, Toad’s going to ask her on a fucking date. You ever seen Toad on a date?”

  Slice stood and crossed his arms. After studying Biscuit for a short moment, he turned to face me. “You going on a date with one of your employees? That’s probably not the best plan a man can come up with, but I’m pleased in your progress, Toad.”

  Biscuit laughed. “Stinky twat girl’s gonna be fuckin’ the boss.”

  Otis, as always, was the only one not commenting. Generally, Otis kept his mouth shut during situations like this. He didn’t want to encourage Biscuit, and as long as someone was speaking, Biscuit would continue. If no one else spoke, he’d persist as long as everyone would listen. Personally, I was done listening.

  “I’m going to piss,” I said.

  “If the next stop’s Wichita Falls, I better take a piss too,” Otis agreed.

  As we walked into the gas station, Otis didn’t say a word. I could always count on him to provide useful feedback on a matter I was willing to discuss, and maintain silence when I wasn’t willing to speak. Other than Axton, there wasn’t another member of the Sinners who was as solid and caring as Otis.