by J D Worth
“She’s gotta point. You three could pull off some country charm if you wear your wife beaters! Myrtle Beach is filled with ’em,” Payton states with a glimmer in her eye.
“Okay, I’m not sure about the ‘wife beater’ part—”
“That’s Southern redneck for you.” Payton whips out a smile, informing me, “The guys wear these white tank tops to show off their broad chests and thick arms. But mostly their tattoos.” She spreads her fingers over Cal’s beefy shoulder. “Like the one Cal is wearing.”
I scratch my head. “All right, I see your angle. Sex always sells.” Beaming towards Violet, I say, “Violet, here’s your chance to start your own design line. Make trendy female oriented accessories. You love belts and bags. Maybe add a few pieces of clothing with Mace’s bike logo. Set your booth up right next to Mace’s. You could use the flames on Darla as your inspiration. Imagine what that would look like on a Boho inspired dress.”
“Bohemian has gone mainstream, but the style has always fit with the Harley brand!” Violet bounces with joy at my suggestion.
“That’s what is so remarkable about you guys. You all work as one unit to help each member of this ‘crew.’ All of your talents are beneficial to Mace for an official business launch of his brand. The key is to really push Doc’s to the forefront of potential customers’ minds.” Appreciative smiles beam towards me. “Mace, Darla is vintage, and that’s your specialty. Highlight that angle when marketing. Make sure your signs match your logo. Your marketing needs to be as slick as your skills. Every one of the elements I spoke of will push a cohesive brand to the forefront.”
“Damn straight!” Payton pipes up. “Hell, we’ll even model Violet’s fashions.” Violet jumps up and struts her stuff as if she’s on the catwalk pretending to model. Jax slaps her ass. She falls over his lap in a fit of giggles.
“Mace, Doc’s is your own brand, which you created with your hard work.” I let linger, as his eyes burn into mine again. He nods for me to continue.
“If you prop up a booth or tent, you and Jax will be able to share your talents and answer questions potential clients may have. Post photos of finished restorations and start an online presence to gain followers and customers. You could probably saturate your brand for less than two grand or manage a bare-bones launch for around five hundred. If you collect one client from the rally all of your efforts will pay for the marketing alone, which is a deductible business expense. You have the booth to reuse for the next rally. Start handing out your logo T-shirts at these rallies, around Bell Peninsula, Sonny’s bar, at community colleges, and even the local high schools. I bet you could come up with ten more places easily. Think about ways to get your brand out there for people to see. Everyone will be asking who’s Doc, and they’ll be seeking out your services soon enough.”
I may have silenced the room with my rambling, but talking business always soothes me. “That’s probably too much for me to suggest. Just because I’m immersed in the business world doesn’t mean I know a damn thing about running a business.” Or perhaps that’s too much money for Mace to come up with when money is tight here. Even though I’ve seen Mace with a wad of cash, much more than a small town mechanic should make, his band of bills didn’t add up to thousands.
“That’s brilliant, Darlin’!” Jax’s eyes light up as he gushes at me.
“That’s why you’re majoring in business and following through with Harvard Business School,” Cal reasons, impressed with my suggestions. He rubs his neck while ducking down and meeting my eyes with a proud smile of his own.
I don’t mention this is a simple marketing plan for a launch of a new brand. I aced a project assignment like this in one of my business classes last fall. They’re stunned that I laid out a business platform for an actual bike rally.
“I head down on the weekends. Princess, do you think you could make a few bike rallies?” Mace asks, boring his eyes into me as waves of passion roll off him. “I want you there too. You’re part of our crew now.”
Staggering a deep breath, I reply, “In the past, I’ve volunteered over my breaks. I won’t be able to remain in the dorms. My stepmother wants me to stay at Lilith’s place, so I could sign up for another community volunteer service.” My heart flutters like an emerging butterfly testing her new wings. “Cal’s right, I’m an adult. I can stay here if I wish for my breaks. All that matters is that I fit in some volunteer time.”
Lilith never believed I should socialize with my own age group. Not when I could use that time to impress clientele with my knowledge. Outside interests drain our focus and pull us away from our Aster goals, unless I was spending time with the approved pretty boys and making constructive future business contacts. If she found out my real intentions of returning here, she’d put a stop to them.
I suggest to Cal, “Find houses that need volunteer work. There is potential to make this work.”
“Now we’re talking, Audrey! I already know of houses that need volunteer rehab,” Cal offers. A thrill runs through me. I have an opportunity to return and see everyone again.
Violet leaps off Jax’s lap and tackles me with a hug. “I knew it! I knew there would be a way. These few weeks could never be enough.” I laugh as she sits in my lap, hugging me.
“My Harvard calendar gives me a week at Thanksgiving. There’s a five-week break between the two semesters and another week in late March. There are also three-day weekends, and the first is Columbus Day. There’s no way I could get away for Labor Day. Classes start the day after, and freshmen are required in the dorms over the weekend for orientation.”
“Audrey, you don’t spend the holidays with your family?” Violet asks. Her arm remains around my shoulder as she snuggles between Mace and me.
“Not since my mother passed, I guess I haven’t. She died two weeks before Christmas, and the first one was a blur I can’t even recall.” I notice the puzzled glances shared around the room at my confession.
After my mother died, our idyllic Christmases at Chatsworth Manor ceased to exist. We drank hot cocoa around the Christmas tree while opening meaningful gifts to one another. Sentimental holidays never existed at my father’s place, nor Lilith’s mansion. Now holidays would mean enduring my grandmother’s painful scrutiny over stuffy dinner affairs. My father would ignore me like always while Georgina continued her hostile makeover of me. Impersonal gifts appear like magic in my room at the appropriate time. The holiday is empty and impersonal at best.
That’s why I hightailed it away from them once my mother died. When I was on a volunteer site, I was doing something worthwhile with my time, providing a family with a home, where they’d appreciate their holidays for years to come.
“This Thanksgiving you can plan to spend the day with my folks! Our house may be tiny, but our backyard is huge. All we need to do is add another long table. There’s enough room for everyone to join us,” Violet says, gaining positive feedback from our friends. I’m astonished they’d do this for me.
“It’s only proper of our Southern hospitality. Right, Woman?” Jax speaks up, adding a lazy smile across his face. “I know my momma would give up cooking in a second to enjoy Boyce’s spread.”
“Same here with my pop, I’m a bit tired of those fake mashed potatoes. We’ve had our hands full with Aiden, so we had to take shortcuts the last few years to get supper on the table. Mace is usually with us, so you got four more, Violet,” Cal promises. I’m not surprised Mace spends Thanksgiving dinner with Cal’s family, probably Christmas too. Mace’s eyes are burning into mine. A plausible future plays out for the two of us.
“You can count me in if Candace goes to her boyfriend’s this year. If not, you got the both of us,” Payton adds.
“We could do the same for Christmas!” Violet says, hugging me again. They want me here no matter what. My heart swells with the secret possibilities. Lilith can’t fucking stop me now. A smile starts small and grows wide on my lips.
“Told you, Pr
incess, you’d have a reason to come back.” Mace drops a sexy smile upon his lips as he whispers in my ear, “I promise I’ll toss you over my shoulder like a damn Neanderthal if I have to drag you back myself. I’ll give you plenty of reason to never leave my bed.”
18
“Here we are. The Harley is supposed to be in their old barn at the back of their property.” Mace pulls up to a rundown shack where an older couple relax back on their porch, rocking in chairs. The original house structure is hard to make out after so many poor patch jobs over the years. We’ve been driving all morning to reach this specific property. We’re deep in the heart of country land, all in hopes of finding just the right bike for Jax.
Incited by our arrival, a loose pack of hound dogs run wild, howling and barking around the yard. Random collections of old junk cars, piles of rusted metal farm equipment, furniture, and other various household items extend into the woods on their property.
“Is this a junk shop or flea market?” I inquire. Mace shakes his head no.
“Princess, this is back country. These folks never had the money to haul anything away. Trash accumulates over the years.”
“Oh.” The amount of scattered clutter overwhelms me.
“Stay in the Jeep till I say so.” He pops his head out, yelling, “Are your hounds friendly?”
“They’re right fine!” the old man calls back. Mace gives me the go ahead to get out. I push open the door and seven anxious, pawing dogs surround me. Panicked, I slam the door shut. Mace shoos the dogs away. They return in a tight pack, barking louder than before. The old man fires a shotgun into the air. Jumping in my seat, I almost whack my head against the passenger window. I slam my hand across my pounding chest as he blasts off another thundering round. The old man shouts at the dogs, and they scatter into the thick woods.
Mace helps me out of the Jeep, remarking, “Get used to the shotguns. We’re all armed down here.”
“So are New Yorkers,” I lament. He squints at me. I don’t dwell on the past, not wishing to rehash harrowing details when I suffer enough. The close shotgun blasts will bring back the nightmares tonight, and I’ll have to fight my demons off once again. This is my dark secret and the only other person who knows is the one with the loaded weapon, gunning for me. I reach up and ease the ache of my shoulder. The old white scar line is now popping against my tanned skin.
Mace swings his arm around my waist as we approach the porch. “Sir, the name’s Mace Carter, and this here is Audrey Wakefield. You know a Delmar from Oak Ridge? Well, he done told me you might have a motorcycle you’d be willin’ to part with, and I’ve got plenty ah cash.” Mace flashes his wallet full of cash as the old man’s weary eyes take him in. Several long pauses later, the old man returns a head gesture for Mace to continue. The entire time his shotgun remains in his lap and my eyes glued to his weapon. I dig my fingers into my scar as my skin jitters with a fresh bout of fright.
“Yep, Delmar’s our kin. He’s Ernest Deacon and Billy Jean’s son. You know ’em?”
“Only in passin’, sir,” Mace replies in a slow drawl. I marvel how much his Southern accent has grown in strength. The old man’s accent is much thicker than Cal’s who grew up in the western part of North Carolina. I assume the accent gets stronger the further west and south you go from here.
More than anything, Mace seems to be showing respect. I know his mother is from North Carolina, yet I have no idea where his father is from considering he’s a card player.
“I’m Elmer, and this here is Vera.” The weathered old man hitches his thumb over to his austere looking wife.
Vera says, “I’ll get tea for you young’uns.” Mace sends an appreciative nod her way as she disappears inside the house. If I had not heard Cal’s pronunciation of “young’uns” before, I couldn’t be able to discern the word with her thick country accent. No wonder the crew playfully teases Cal about coming from the country and being a hillbilly.
“Young fella, come ’round back, and I’ll show ya. Don’t reckon’ it’s worth much. Ain’t got no use for none, so don’t expect a spit and shiner.” Elmer takes his time getting up from his rocking chair and leans his gun against the peeling paint of the clapboard exterior. He makes his way down the rickety old stairs patched from many different types of wood throughout the years.
Mace says, “Stay here and have some tea. It’s disrespectful if you refuse. Okay?” I smile, letting him know I’m fine. He kisses me on the head before following Elmer out back.
Pitiful, desperate cries draw me onto the porch to a cardboard box. I gaze down at two scrawny little kittens trying to climb out. Kneeling down, I run my hand over their fluffy longhaired fur. Vera returns with two mason jars filled to the top, placing the cloudy tea mixture on the side table constructed of old plywood and a plastic crate.
“Poor little things. Their momma died last night. We think one of ’em hounds got her. Done tore her neck out.”
“What will happen to the kittens?” I ask, eyeing the tiny orphans.
“Girl, where you from?” Her suspicious eyes diminish to slits as she gives me the once over. Her mouth forms a tight, unwelcoming line.
“I’m from New York City, and Mace is from Haven on the coast. I’m staying in a seaside cottage there.”
She squints at me, leaning forward in her rocker. “Ain’t never heard of no Haven before.”
“It’s a small town on Bell Peninsula,” I share. She pushes back in the rocker, swatting her hand at me as she quickens her rocking motions.
“Never been. We’ve got no proper car for ten years. Ain’t never been to the coast either. This here is right fine by us. We got kin all ’round these parts. People here are salt of the earth. They carry us where we gotta be.”
Unsure of how to respond to her brash personality, I take a gracious sip of the bitter tea before setting the jar back down. “Thank you for the tea.” I nod towards the kittens, asking, “May I?” She replies with a curt head jerk. I scoop up the gray and black tiger kitten, and the other one meows loud and frantic, so I cuddle both. They’re small enough to fit into my cupped hands as I hold them to my chest, soothing them.
“Barn cats aren’t for cuddlin’. Bless your heart, girl, you’re gonna need it.” Vera gives me a dubious look, eyeing my fine linen sundress, tracing the modern embroidered flowers. She brushes off crumbs from her old stained, threadbare frock. “Your kin mighty high, are they?” I’m unsure what she means, so I offer a polite smile instead. Mace steers a rusted motorcycle around heaps of junk piles while the old man is still telling stories about Delmar’s long family tree.
Marveling their softness, I nuzzle the kittens. “I’ve never had a pet before.” Vera’s face consorts into a harsh scowl.
“Those animals ain’t no pets, girl.” Her strident voice rips across the yard. Mace’s head whips up, meeting my eyes.
“Oh, sorry.” I fight off another grimace, not wanting to offend her in any way. I believe my presence alone has set her off. Haven is out of my element, yet this place is out of my stratosphere.
“I reckon ’em kittens been eating on their own a few days now. They’ll make it if God’s willing, and they’re strong enough. If not, nature will take care of ’em like their momma.” A horrified expression settles on my face as the bleak reality of the Southern rural way of life settles over me. After my own mother died, I was like these kittens, thrown to the wolves of Wall Street where I had to survive on my own. Mace drops his chin, nodding towards the kittens. I’m embracing the tiny creatures with everything thing I have, unaware of my protective reaction until he points my behavior out. My sorrowful eyes plead with him.
Mace asks, “Would you sell ’em? You wouldn’t have to worry none, and my woman will take care of ’em plenty good.”
“For ’em barn cats?” She blows out a breath of disbelief.
“How ’bout fifty bucks?” Mace offers.
Vera eyes his nice Jeep. “A hundred.” Holding my
breath, I whip my head back at her.
Mace sends a smile my way. “You got it.” Vera gives his a reluctant nod.
“Thank you. May I take this box?” I ask. She nods again with a hum as I place both kittens in the old box. I rush to join Mace before she changes her mind. Mace anchors down the old bike to his trailer while I maneuver the kittens onto my lap, securing my seat belt.
The stack of cash Mace hands to Elmer surprises him. “Now, young fella, ya ain’t pulling my leg, are ya?” The old man holds the money up to the sun, checking the authenticity of the cash.
“Fair market value, plus a hundred for the kittens. Much appreciated, sir.”
“If that don’t beat all! Thank ya, son.” Elmer pats him on the shoulder, wearing a crooked, toothless smile.
My rocketing heartbeat calms once we pull away, knowing the kittens will at least have a chance for survival. “Mace, you didn’t have to do that with the kittens, and I’ll pay you back. What are your plans because I can’t have any pets when I go off to school?”