by Jw Grodt
“Hold on, fellas.”
Tony answered the phone while Brad’s guts churned. Finally, he heard the clunk of the phone receiver returning to the cradle.
“Okay, guys. Let’s see. That will be forty-nine fifty with tax.”
Brad waited for Jared to ask, but he seemed to have forgotten about whatever scoop Tony had. Brad wondered if he should ask or not. Tony swiped the credit card and placed the receipt on the counter for Brad to sign.
“Have a little too much to drink last night?” Tony asked.
Brad looked up at him. “Huh?”
“Your hand. It’s shaking like you’re a little hung over,” Tony replied with a big grin.
“Oh yeah, right.” Brad frowned and gave a weak chuckle. He slapped the pen down and grabbed the receipt as Jared took the battery. As they walked from the store to the car, he said, “Son, could you drive? I don’t feel so good.” Jared took the keys and drove towards Kelsey’s while Brad turned the radio dial, chasing the news.
They drove past the high school and Brad tried not to look in the direction of the path. He all at once retched and began to cough.
“You okay, Dad?”
“Yeah, coffee on an empty stomach,” he replied as he cleared his throat.
“Maybe you did have too much drink last night?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass, boy.”
Jared laughed, as if to say “You can’t boss me anymore.” Brad wondered how long his nervous state would last. He was already exhausted from the tension.
They pulled in beside Jared’s car and Brad pulled the battery from the trunk of the Lincoln. Fifteen minutes later Jared got in and started the engine, which fired up with a surge of renewed energy.
“Thanks, Dad. See you tonight,” Jared said as he put the car in gear. Brad waved as he drove off and then headed for the office. He turned up the radio once more and listened intently, scanning various stations at intervals. By the time he reached the office, he was beginning to feel slightly more confident that maybe his fall from grace would never be reported. Whatever Tony was going to tell them wasn’t what he had feared.
“Good morning, Maggie. Anything need my attention here?” He listened to his own voice, trying to determine whether it had its normal ring.
“Good morning, Bradley. Everything is under control. Let me get you some coffee.”
“Here, Maggie. Just fill my travel mug. I need to make my rounds.” She took the mug he had brought in from the car and went to the coffeemaker.
“Everything okay?” she called to him over her shoulder as she picked up the carafe from the warmer.
Startled by her query, he snapped back. “What do you mean by that?”
She turned to him and braced her shoulders, giving him an inquisitive look. “I just wondered if you got your son’s car going? You said in your text—”
“Oh, ah yes. Yes we did,” Brad replied, softening his tone somewhat.
He took the mug from her and promptly left the office, switching over to his pick-up. Once more, he tuned the radio to local news. For the balance of the day, he constantly monitored his voice and his demeanor, trying to hide his agitation and maintain a casual tone. Somehow he was paranoid that he was failing at his attempts. He thought he caught a strange look from Stan at one point. When six o’clock rolled around he was relieved to return to his office. He took his time getting there so that Maggie would already be gone when he arrived. When he arrived he went straight into his office and slumped into his leather chair, putting his head down on the desk. He was ragged out, spent. When he finally exhaled, his warm breath blowing back in his face, the papers on his desk wafting a bit from the breeze, it felt like it was the first time he had done so that day. His entire body ached from hours of tension. He told himself that he was safer with every passing minute. He just needed to relax and play it cool. It would all be ok. Perhaps a week of listening to the news and if he heard nothing he would likely be safe. He would go to Kelsey’s, watch football, and act normal. It would all fade to a distant memory, like the fog of a bad dream one could not exactly recall upon waking. It was all a matter of time.
CHAPTER FIVE
The holiday season was fast approaching and Brad was not in his usual festive mood; he was still unable to shake from his mind what he had done. Nor could he shake the fear that one day he would be caught. In addition, other disturbing thoughts began to creep into his mind, usually at night and after he had been drinking—which was more frequent now, almost every work night on top of weekends. He began dreaming about her, but not as it happened: a brutal, heinous act. It was as if she were his sex slave, compelled and desirous of doing anything for him. He would vividly see her body and sometimes even ejaculate in his sleep. Then he began masturbating at night, when she would fill his mind. He would be upset with himself afterward, but would do it again when she next infiltrated his senses. It was getting so frequent that he thought he would lose his mind. He even seriously wondered if he should see a shrink. He would have to confide what he had done, however, and that kept himfrom pursuing that idea. He hoped it was just a phase and it would pass. Maybe he should try to meet a woman for a serious relationship.
Jared wanted to have the full-blown, traditional Thanksgiving meal as was their custom, but Brad’s heart wasn’t in it. He had not felt this way since the year Julie died. They managed to have the traditional dinner with all the trimmings and Brad faked it as best he could. Jared brought Janie and Brad invited Maggie, not as a date, but because she had often been their guest for Thanksgiving, even when Julie was alive. Maggie had been divorced before she came to work with the Wallace Company and, if Brad knew she would be in town, she was usually invited.
Brad still harbored some paranoia that any day there would be a knock at the door and, when he opened it, there would stand two or more police officers ready to read him his rights, slap on the cuffs and drag him off to Shamesville. In prison he would probably die at the hands of some other prisoner whose daughter, sister or wife had been raped or abused by someone.
Thanksgiving came and went with no surprises and then the Christmas and New Year’s holidays followed. He still jumped every time there was an unexpected knock on the door. As the old year gave way, Brad slowly relaxed—but the more he relaxed, the more he thought of her.
The New Year 2014 debuted with a frigid winter, easing into a pleasant and welcome springtime. The cherry blossoms around the tidal basin were always a welcome sight in the nation’s capital. It wasn’t long before the warm rays of the sun turned everything green and lush. The humid summer days lazed by once more and Brad came around full circle, to football season and pleasantly cool breezes fanning brightly colored leaves. A year had passed quickly. Every week brought Monday Night Football and the memory Brad couldn’t shake. If it weren’t for the dreams and the lust he still carried deep inside him, maybe he could forget the incident.
September 16th, the anniversary, was a day of guilt and agitation. The memory was all the more vivid and unrelenting. He swore he wouldn’t go to Kelsey’s, but it was futile. He drank until Kelsey said “Brad, old friend, you’re done for the night. You’ve had one too many already.”
“Just one more, Kelso. I need to forget.”
“Sorry pal, not tonight. You want to drink more, do it at home. What the hell do you have to forget, anyway?”
Brad tried to sound glib. “Oh, just the trials and tribulations of life, my friend. C’mon, just one more for the road?”
Kelsey grabbed his keys from the bar and called him a cab. One of the waitresses, at Kelsey’s instruction, helped him out. As they approached the cab, Brad reached back and squeezed one of her ass cheeks. “Mr. Wallace!” She pushed him away and he fell into the cab.
“Here are your keys, creep!” She stuffed them into his jacket pocket and stomped back inside.
“Never mind, old friend. I think I’ll
walk,” he told the cabbie in a slurred voice.
He climbed out of the cab, swaying as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. After tossing the cabbie a ten, he slammed the door and started down the street—in the same direction he had traveled one year before.
As he took the path through the woods he stumbled and fell twice. He stopped at the wood line and looked toward the back deck of the house. The drapes behind the sliding glass doors were open and light from inside illuminated the deck. He weaved toward the staircase. Just like in the movies. I am returning to the scene of the crime. He stifled some combination of a laugh and a cough. He walked up the steps on hands and feet so as not to fall. “I want to see you again,” he whispered. About halfway up he stopped. I can’t do this. It’s a mistake…too risky. But he couldn’t talk himself out of it; he was longing to look at her again. He couldn’t help but remember how gorgeous her body was and how good it felt to do her. When he got to the top of the deck, he looked in and saw the furniture was different and an old woman sat in a chair with her back to him, reading a book. He crept back down from the balcony and continued on toward home.
That bitch moved, damn her! His anger surprised him. He had only wanted to see her body again. That was all. He stumbled home, cursing under his breath all the way. Once he was settled in at his place he drank more until he passed out on the couch. The next morning, when he sobered up, he recalled what he had done and was at once relieved she had relocated. He had dodged a bullet.
Another seven months and it was spring again. Still, Brad couldn’t find a single word about the ‘incident’. He could only assume it had never been reported to the police and he was in the clear—he was quite pleased with that thought. He had prayed hard for forgiveness; nonetheless, he felt certain that God would make him answer for his crime. Would he be forgiven and spend eternity in Heaven, or would he be sent to Hell? Why is God letting me get away with it? Maybe God understands it was an accident? Maybe I haven’t sinned in God’s eyes, because he created these feelings within me. Early man took women by force, right? I wonder if she was faking when she fainted? Maybe she really liked it?
Whatever God’s master plan was, it was a mystery. Brad hoped nothing would happen to Jared. Gosh, I never even knew her name. He remonstrated with himself. It was a revolting, despicable act. He hoped she had moved out of the area entirely. By the sober light of day, he vowed to find a way to redeem himself. By night, however, he reveled in carnal thoughts about her pink nipples and soft flesh.
Brad immersed himself in work. One muggy, late-June day he walked into his office.
“Maggie, do you have a minute?” She followed him into his office.
“Maggie, didn’t you tell me that you went to Myrtle Beach for vacation one year?”
“Yes, I did.”
“How was it?”
A smile came across her face and she told him all about it, including where she stayed. “Are you thinking of taking a vacation?”
“Actually I was. I haven’t had one since…well, since before Julie passed.”
“Bradley, I think that is a really good idea.”
“Maggie, will you ever stop calling me Bradley? It makes me feel like I’m with my mother and you sure don’t look like my mother.”
“No.”
Brad shook his head and laughed.
“I’d be happy to book your stay if you tell me what dates you’d like.”
“I think I could go week after next. Think you and Stan can handle things while I’m gone?”
She gave him a crooked smile. “Oh, I’m sure we can. We’ve done it before— oh, I’m sorry!” Maggie blushed and her eyes welled up.
“It’s okay, Maggie. Don’t be sorry.” With that he got up quickly and hugged her. Brad found himself enjoying her body against his and wondering what she would be like in bed. He held on to her, lingering longer than was prudent. When she pulled away, Brad cleared his throat. “Let me call Jared and see if he can go, then.”
Brad picked up the desk phone and called Jared’s cell. His son wasn’t able to take the time off. After he hung up, he told Maggie to book the hotel for one.
“Unless you’d like to go?” he added.
Again she produced that crooked smile. “I have to stay and run the business, remember?” She returned to her desk.
Brad wondered if she sensed he was trying to make her. Maggie wasn’t stupid. He also knew it wasn’t going to happen. She had become very skillful at dodging hints about going out with him.
Once Maggie confirmed his room, he called the airstrip where he had once worked and reserved a plane. The new owner who had taken over after Shope’s death didn’t seem to want to continue the old arrangement, so Brad paid the customary rate plus fuel to rent a plane for his trip. Day done—now he could head for Kelsey’s.
He told Johnny of his planned trip to Myrtle Beach. “You know, Johnny, I’m actually looking forward to it.” He took a slug of his beer.
“Jared going with you?”
“No, he can’t take the time from work.”
Brad couldn’t remember the last time he took a vacation alone; he hoped that it would help put things in perspective.
“You don’t mean you’re going alone, do you?” Johnny asked.
“Yep, sure do. I think some surf fishing, lounging around on the beach checkin’ out the babes in their bikinis, and eating in some nice restaurants away from the routine will be quite relaxing. Hell, I might even meet a woman.”
Johnny burst into laughter. “You know those G-U-Ds never work out,”
“What the hell is a G-U-D?”
“Geography Un-Desirable.”
“No, man. I’m just talking about a ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’. I don’t know how I could bring home a woman with Jared living there. I have to get laid elsewhere.”
“How long is Jared going to live with you? Hell, I was on my own at eighteen.”
“Julie and I encouraged him to stay with us as long as he wanted. It helps him save up a little nest egg before he finds out just how expensive life really is. Besides, I think he feels he needs to look after me. But, I’m in damn good shape.” Brad patted his stomach. “No beer belly on me, unlike some guys I know.” He smacked Johnny’s round belly. Johnny pushed his hand away and changed the subject.
“Do you do a lot of things together?”
“No, not really. Jared goes out almost every night and so we rarely even have dinner together. I think he dates a lot, but the only girl I know of is Janie and he hasn’t mentioned her at all lately.”
After one more round and some further chiding between friends, Brad headed for home. He thought of Maggie and the way her body had felt earlier that day—but somehow, the body he envisioned didn’t belong to her.
* * *
On the seventh of July Brad drove to the airport, filed his flight plan and took off for Myrtle Beach. It was a perfect day to fly, with only scattered, puffy clouds and a slight tailwind. The constant drone of the engine lulled him into a dream state and he began to fantasize. She drifted into his mind. He relived the entire scene once more, his guilt overridden by craven lust. He was on top of her again, forcing himself in and out of her. He could smell the sweet fragrance of her freshly showered skin. He became erect. He considered masturbating right there in midair. Then, whether due to guilt or simple impracticality he wasn’t sure, he turned on the radio instead. He began to sing along with the music.
Finally, the airstrip was in sight. He landed and taxied over to the refueling area to top off his wing tanks. After parking the plane he went into the office and rented a car, a red Pontiac Solstice convertible. He threw his bags in the trunk, dropped the top and sped away in the general direction of the beach. In no time he had checked into his hotel, sent his bags to his room and located a comfortable barstool in the hotel lounge.
The swimsui
t-clad day crowd was thinning and a worker was sweeping up the sand from the floor. Folks dressed in evening garb began replacing bathers. When he cozied up to the long, polished bar, a late-twenties woman in Polynesian attire greeted him with a coaster and an inviting smile. Her floral dress was cut low and off one shoulder. She wore a white flower in her sandy blonde hair. “Hi, I’m Bunny” her nametag announced.
“What’ll you have, Mister?”
“How about a tall cold draft…Bunny?” He nodded toward a tap with his favorite brand.
“Yes sir, right away.”
“Just arrive, sir?” she inquired as she placed the mug on the cardboard coaster.
He took a long quaff. “Yes, and thank you. I was thirsty.”
“So I see. Where you from?”
“Washington DC area—just landed at the airstrip.”
“Oh, you’re a pilot?” She leaned on the bar.
“Huh?” he said with a puzzled expression.
“Because you said airstrip, instead of airport.”
Brad picked up his mug, tipped it toward her and nodded. He drank it down and asked for another.
“I always wanted to learn to fly,” she said as she returned with a second frosted schooner of beer.
“You should. It’s a lot of fun and it makes short hops like the one I just took very quick.”
“Well, there’s just no budget for it. I’m a single parent and don’t have the spare time or money. Maybe someday.”
He sensed an opportunity. “I’d be happy to give you a couple lessons to see if you really like it.”
Bunny quickly demurred. Clearly she was used to such offers. “I appreciate the thought, but no thanks.”
“My little plane doesn’t have auto pilot, so I doubt you could be indoctrinated into the mile high club without killing both of us,” Brad reminded her, taking another sip of his drink.
“I know, you’re just a nice guy who wants to lend a helping hand.” She smiled but her sarcasm was unmistakable.