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The Club: Part I
By
Keith M. Rodgers
“ … and then Ol’ Spoony walks in and says ‘Ms. Philabaum! When I told you to give Johnson a job, that’s not the ‘job’ I meant!” The throng of young men gathered let out a variety of catcalls. “You could’ve heard a pin drop!” Marty finished up to the raucous cheers of his younger mates.
“Ahem!” Mr. Witherspoon cleared his throat announcing himself. The chatter in the room came to an abrupt end as the crowd quickly dispersed. “Mr. Robinson,” he said coldly, “Could I see you in my office. Now!”
“Yes, Mr. Witherspoon.” Marty Robinson got up from his desk in the mail room. His knees creaked and his back groaned from years of running up and down stairs. Speckles of grey were starting to sprout in what was jet black hair. He wore his favorite old, ratty, black sweater as protection for his arthritic shoulder against the harsh cold of the air-conditioner. He followed Mr. Witherspoon to the elevator. Mr. Witherspoon; a large man, well over six foot, but not of a particularly athletic build. He was built more for sitting behind a desk, in his grey pinstripe three piece suits, his silver hair slicked back harkened to an earlier time. He had a grave air of oppression as he stood to the rear of the elevator pretending to look over the papers in a file he had just retrieved.
Martin (Marty) Robinson, knowing the whereabouts of Mr. Witherspoon’s office jabbed at the “10” button with his stubby fingers. He could hear Mr. Witherspoon rustling papers behind him. If the knot in Marty’s stomach wasn’t bad enough it sank even further with the first jolt of the elevator. The whirring sound of machinery only added to the tension between its two passengers.
“Mr. Witherspoon. If this is about …” Mr. Witherspoon cut him off with a wave of his hand, fully intending to make him wait until in the private confines of his office. The elevator continued on its quiet journey until the eighth floor when it seemed that all of the elevator’s massive machinery could no longer pull the weight of the tension as it jerked to a stop. The doors slid open to reveal Ms. Philabaum. Marty averted his eyes, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t get on, that she would give them their privacy and take the next elevator. Ms. Philabaum looked both occupants in the eye and read the tension increasing in the air; his heart sank back to the mailroom.
“Tenth floor.” She ordered Marty. Ms. Philabaum had once been in the mailroom under Marty when she had first hired into the firm. She had the looks of a young starlet then, now her looks less that of a young starlet and more of an aged character actress; He couldn’t help but think that there was nothing more pitiful than an ex-ho. She had her own office on the eighth floor and presided over the legal secretaries, while he toiled in obscurity in the cold recesses of the basement.
The doors slid closed with a resounding thud that likened unto a tomb. The machinery of the elevator whirred with all its might as it tried to lift the tension two more stories. Marty secretly prayed that it would give way and plunge them all to their deaths before it reached its destination, wondering if Ms. Philabaum would go for Mr. Witherspoon’s pants before they hit the ground.
Marty’s prayers went unanswered as the elevator finally chugged to a stop. The door of the elevator slid open. Ms. Philabaum exited first; Marty waited for Mr. Witherspoon and followed him to his office. Mr. Witherspoon shared the tenth floor and a secretary with another Vice President. Ms. Philabaum, with her nose stuck in the air, waited patiently with the secretary as grim Marty followed Mr. Witherspoon to his office.
Marty waited in front of Mr. Witherspoon’s desk as he had done in the military. Mr. Witherspoon’s office was very pristine and austere, soft classical music played in the background, done in expensive leathers and fine wood grains and smelled of rosewood. Along with his leather ink blotter with silver pin & pencil set he had a big name plate on his desk and a silver paperweight that read ‘The Spoon Stops Here!’ Spoony himself sat in a hi-backed leather buttoned chair. All of this was framed by a full length window draped in white that served to add an air of divinity. It was like seeing St. Peter to make an appointment to see God.
“Mr. Robinson,” Spoony began, “How long have you worked for this organization?
“A long time.”
“How long?”
“Almost twenty years.”
“How long have you served in the position of ‘Head of Mailroom’?” He said in a disparaging tone.
“Over fifteen years, Sir.”
“In all your time here have you ever heard of anyone spending fifteen years as ‘Head of Mailroom’? He looked down his nose a Marty.
“No, Sir.”
“From now on I suggest that you spend less time degrading people who have advanced past your station and that have shown initiative and concern with their future with this company and pay more attention to your own career.”
“Yes, Sir. It’s just that she was given one of the new guys a rough time and I was just trying to take some of the steam out of …” Mr. Witherspoon cut him off again with that familiar wave of his had.
“I don’t want to hear it. If she gives somebody a hard time, that’s between her and them. The new guys are going to have to learn how to deal with her, and other people that give them a hard time, on their own. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir. It’s just that they can’t do their job efficiently if they’re scared all of…”
“Do you understand me?” It was a question that wasn’t up for debate.
“Mr. Robinson, in your duties does it say ‘starter of rumors’, or ‘caster of disparaging remarks’?”
“No.”
“Mr. Robinson, in your time with this company I have come to know you as a respectable and responsible person I find your behavior in this matter deplorable! How would you like it if someone where spreading rumors and innuendos about you to your subordinates in mass for the entertainment of others?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“No, you wouldn’t! And I wouldn’t expect you to either. I’m sure you could see how that would undermine your authority and the ability to do your job, and thus adversely affect the company. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes.”
“Can you assure me that when you return to your duty station you will perform your duties to your usual standard? Or can I expect similar disgraceful displays of insubordination?”
“Yes, Sir; I can assure you that I will perform my duties as usual; and no Sir; you can rest assured I will not repeat this act.” It’s an old trick; ask both a yes and no question. Marty handled it with ease.
“In the end, Mr. Robinson, a company, ‘this company’ is about people, and we must protect their rights, mustn’t we, Mr. Robinson?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What would you have me do then if I did catch someone doing something similar to someone such as yourself, Mr. Robinson?”
“Excuse me, Sir?”
“Punishment, Mr. Robinson. Certainly, we can’t consider the matter closed until we’ve come to an arrangement as to punishment, now can we?
“Punishment?”
“Yes, punishment, Mr. Robinson: Punitive action. Should this incident get around it has to be on record that I, as an executive of this Company, took action on behalf of the offended. Otherwise, it would seem that I turned a blind-eye to a sexist offense, and thereby contributed to fostering a sexist attitude in this institution.” Spoony sat back in his chair and folded his fingers. “We couldn’t have that now could we, Mr. Robinson?”
“No, Sir. I suppose we couldn’t have that. We must protect the company at all cost, mustn’t we?” Mr. Witherspoon raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t meant to sound so sarcastic.
“The punishment, Mr. Robinson.”
“Sir,” Marty stuck out his chest as if proudly facing the firing squad and in his finest military voice mocked, “I recommend a formal letter of reprimand be placed in my personal record.” Witherspoon tented his folded fingers in front of his face, drumming them on each other apprehensively before pronouncing judgment.
“Mr. Robinson, we shall consider this a verbal reprimand. If, in the future, I or any other agent of this company tells me, or witness you spread anything other than the Christian religion abroad a formal letter of reprimand shall be placed in your file. Future incidence shall also be punished by probation, suspension and further disciplinary action. Are we clear, Mr. Robinson?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You may return to your duties, Mr. Robinson.” Mr. Witherspoon sat up in his chair and opened his file on his desk. Marty turned on his heels in an official about face. In the moment before closed the doors he thought he saw a smile on Spoony’s face.
*
Marty contemplated the insanity associated with dedicating one’s life to the service of a company that would turn a blind-eye to the immorality of someone “sleeping” their way to the top, yet being judicious in it swift delivery of punishment of another’s “creative” training tactics on his somber ride back to the cold recess of the Mail Room. The atmosphere was noticeable different here than in the rest of the building: the lights were dimmer, there was no fresh berber carpeting here, as-a-matter-of-fact, there was no carpet at all. No, not even the placating tones of elevator music. The only music here was the continuous throbbing of Julius’ rap music.
Julius, a young kid just out of high school, his white wife-beater undershirt in stark contrast to his dark skin, was stacking empty sacks on pallets with Roberto.
“… and you wouldn’t believe what this dude does next. I’m at her place sitting on the couch right, and dude comes over and sits between us!” Roberto was telling Julius his latest ‘Baby-mama-drama.
“Oh, no he didn’t!” Julius mocked.
“I mean, we ain’t all huddled up or nothing, but come on! I didn’t come all the way over there to sit next to some dude!”
“So what’d you do?”
“Well, I did what any man would do; I got up and was ready to fire on ol’ boy.”
“Uh-oh! Roberto was ready to throw down!”
“Yeah, man!” I ain’t no punk!”
“Whoa, hold on there.” Marty interrupted. “You need to slow your roll partner before somebody gets hurt.” He had heard Roberto’s story as he approached.
“Yeah, somebody’s going to get hurt, this dude, if he don’t back off.”
“Yeah, Roberto’s going to mess him up!” Julius egged him on.
“Wait, there’s more going on here than you know, just slow down and think for a minute.
“What do you mean, Marty?”
“Well, let me see if I got this right first. This girl invited you over, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She knew you were coming, right?”
“Right.”
“Then, this guy comes over, right?”
“Right. I was about to mess him up, too.”
“Right, and she didn’t ask him to leave?
“Uh … no.” Roberto answered hesitantly.
“She didn’t ask you to leave?”
“Why would she ask me to leave, she invited me?”
“It’s just that you were there first, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Had she not wanted any trouble she shouldn’t have let him in, or she should’ve asked you to leave. One or the other would’ve prevented any trouble. What she really did was pit you two against each other, like two pit-bulls in a dogfight, for her own entertainment, and you two are so busy thumping your own chest you couldn’t see it. You shouldn’t be mad at him he’s a pawn, like you. Who you should be mad at is your girl for playing you.”
“Man, Marty,” Julius added dejectedly, “that’s what I hate about you – always ruining the good stuff. This dude is trying to push up on his girl, he should lay him out!”
“What you don’t understand ‘young blood’ is that manhood is a commodity to be bought and sold; you can’t be the big man until you have the big money – that’s why men collect “toys”. The one with the most toys wins.
“These two would kill each other over manhood, and while one is dead and the other in prison, she’ll move on to the next guy. As a matter of fact, if you two can work while we talk I’ll tell you a little story to illustrate my point.”
Both Roberto and Julius nodded and continued working.
“There was a certain man, we’ll call him ‘Bob’ because there are a lot of ‘Bob’s’ in the world and you can spell it the same forward as well as backward; and this guy certainly was backward. I mean, he didn’t know if he was coming or going. ‘Bob’ was married to a very nice lady; we’ll call her ‘Mary’ because all women who are married are ‘Mary(ed)’ in one way or another. Well, Bob was your average, hard working guy like the rest of us, and Mary was your average homemaker. Now Bob worked afternoons at the warehouse. Mary worked at a busy Insurance Company during the day, so it was Bob’s responsibility to get their two kids to the babysitters before he went to work.
Now, the babysitter was this cute little teenager named Tia who lived down the block. The problem was that Mary hated her; not because she was young and beautiful, but because she was related to Bob’s old girlfriend, we’ll call her Renee. Well, Renee used Tia to keep tabs on Bob, that way she would know when Bob and his wife were having trouble and when Bob would be at home without his wife and all of that.
Well, one day Bob was dropping off the kids and Tia wasn’t home from school yet. Bob was just getting ready to leave when sure enough, if Renee didn’t come sashaying up. She was wearing some tight fitting jeans and a blouse that was about to bust and she was just a’ smiling and a giggling like a she did when they were in High School.
“That’s alright.” Renee said. “I have a key. We can just wait inside.”
Now I …, I mean ‘Bob’ wasn’t totally stupid. He knew better than to go in their by himself, even with the kids, but what else was there to do? He had to go to work, didn’t he? He couldn’t take the children, could he? So, against his better judgment he went in, telling himself he’ll just stay in the living room and stay with the children and just till Tia gets there.
Well, no sooner did the kids get inside did they want to go play in the neighbors backyard with the kids next door.
“No, I think you should stay in until Tia gets home, and then you can go out and play.” Bob tried to stall.
“Why don’t you let the kids go on out, Bob? We can watch them from here?” Renee said in front of the children.
“Yeah, Dad, can we?” The children pleaded as Renee knew they would, making themselves unwitting accomplices to Renee’s scheme.
“Well, er.” Bob had to think fast. “Do you mind watching them till Tia gets home then?” If she said yes that would let Bob out of the pan and the fire as well. “You said Tia should be home soon, right?” Bob was fast, but Renee was faster.
“Yes, but I might not be here when she gets here. I just popped in to visit my sister, Yvonne, Tia’s mom, and since she’s not home I might not stay long.”
Now, Bob could’ve taken the kids home and watched them himself until Tia came home, or he could’ve taken them over to the neighbors where the other kids where playing and ask them to watch them until Tia arrived to take over, but he didn’t. And do you know why he didn’t.” Roberto shook his head, but Julius nodded. “What do you think, Julius?”
“Because, he really wanted to boot those kids out the house and close the door and lock Tia out, too! He wanted to be knocking some serious boot! I know I would.”
“Well, yes, you’re right. His manhood took over and told him he could resist her, he only loved his wife and all of that, but what he was really doing was lying to himself to put himself in a position where he could blame it on his manhood – ‘a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Ain’t that right, Roberto? Ain’t that where you were? Doing what ‘any man would do?’ ‘what a man’s gotta do?” Roberto and Julius looked at each other blankly.
“Bob could deny the kids no longer and sent them out to play. They screamed for joy not knowing they had committed treason against their mother and left their father in the hands of the enemy. Renee went in the kitchen to get Bob some water. She returned with a tall glass of ice cold water that she knew he was going to need. The ice clinked in the glass as she stirred it with her finger. She handed Bob the glass and sucked the cold wetness off her finger, not before letting it drip down the front of her over stuffed blouse.
Believe it or not, Bob suddenly found himself very thirsty, and the fact that Renee had pulled the finger she was still sucking on out of it only made him thirstier. As cold and refreshing as the water was Bob found it getting warmer by the second, and if Renee had it her way it would soon be getting hot, very hot indeed!
“Ah”, Bob said as he drained the glass, “That hit the spot, could I possibly have some more?” It was a pitiful attempt at stalling but Renee was ready.
“Why don’t you come in the kitchen and we can both have some?” The invitation sounded innocent enough at the moment, but he soon realized the mistake he had made. He followed Renee into the kitchen not realizing how small the kitchen was. Renee poured him some water out of the tap and when Renee turned to get the ice cubes out of the refrigerator Bob found himself face-to-face with Renee. Her nipples were touching his chest. He looked down into her brown eyes and pursed lips; her perfume was the sweet nectar of the gods. The shimmer of her silky low slung blouse served to frame her expose cleavage in a sparkling pool of dark wine, as her dangling pearl drop necklace pointed toward bliss. Bob’s feelings for her that had been buried since high school started to surface in a place that rubbed against her denim jeans. Renee leaned into Bob, her lips beaconing for a kiss. Bob didn’t move away.
“Hello, Auntie? Are you here?” Tia’s voice broke the spell. Bob removed the hand that he realized was around Renee’s waist.
“Excuse me; I’d better get to work now.” I …, er, Bob, made a hasty exit from the kitchen and blew by Tia without looking her in the face. “Mary, my wife, er, will pick up the kids later, and I’ll pay you Friday, bye.” Bob was in his car, driving away when he let out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. He was in a desperate situation. How could such an innocent thing go so wrong, so fast? How could he keep it from happening again? Should he tell Mary?
“No!” Both Roberto and Julius agreed in unison.
“Well, he had to do something. What do you think ol’ Bob did?”
“Hit it and get it over with.” Julius said.
“Just avoid her.” Roberto said, shaking his head at Julius.
“Wrong on both counts;” Marty countered, “true, we can remove temptation by yielding to it, but in this case it would just make matters worse and further complicate things. Simple avoidance isn’t the answer either, that would be like the deer trying to avoid the hunter: sooner-or-later she’s going to corner him. Let me ask you this: What would be the worse thing to do?”
“Tell his wife.” Julius answered before Marty could finish answering the question. “Then, he wouldn’t get any from either honey.” Roberto shook his head in dismay.
“The worst thing he could do is let it fester. Sit, and do nothing, let it happen to him again, and again.” Roberto answered proudly, thinking he could figure out where Marty was going with this.
“It would seem so,” Marty acknowledged the intelligence in Roberto choice before correcting him, “but our boy Bob found something much worse: He got another woman involved.”
“Wha’?” Roberto gasped.
“Dude!” Julius was unsurprisingly elated. “That’s what I’m talking about! A threesome, some manage a trios action!”
“Yeah, he got another woman involved. When he got to work he told one of his female co-workers whom he considered his friend. We’ll call her Ann because he ‘added’ her in. Now, Ann was his friend, at work they sat together during breaks and lunches, she laughed at all his jokes and overall seemed very jovial and sincerely friendly. It never occurred to him that she might be overly friendly. Now, Ann was a typical farmer’s daughter; she was in her mid twenties and from a rural community, the kind that college campuses are full of. She had the kind of secure family background that helped mask her low self-esteem and made her vulnerable to any attention from the opposite sex. She had a round face, with curly hair that was too brown to be blonde.
“Well, our friend Bob told Ann what happened: That was his first mistake. Then he compounded his mistake by asking for her help. This was his plan: He would say that there was a problem with his car and Ann would give him a ride; which Ann was just too happy to do. It was no problem for her because her apartment was within walking distance and it was on her way to work. But here’s the problem with Bob’s plan; Now, not only was he letting another woman into his house, he would also be alone with Ann before and after work, and he had confided in another woman things he hadn’t told his wife and he had enlisted her help to keep secrets from his wife, and to compound things he was now indebted to this woman. Sounds bad doesn’t it, but wait, there’s more.”
*
“So, the next day Anna showed up earlier than expected and Bob wasn’t finished getting dressed so he yells down for the kids to let her in. Well, unbeknownst to him she lets the kids out to play, leaving them alone in the house. When Bob stepped out of his bedroom he was still buttoning his shirt when he saw Ann at the top of the stairs.”
“Is everything O.K?” He asked.
“Yeah, I was just looking around. I haven’t been in a kid’s room since I moved out of my parent’s house and I was just getting nostalgic.” She improvised.
“Well, that’s the kid’s room over there and my room is at this end.” Bob said as he stuck his hand in his pants. “Me and my wife’s room.”
“May I see?” It sounded innocent enough but Bob hesitated.
“No, I didn’t make the bed and it’s kind of messy.” He took his hands out of his pants and closed the door behind him.
“Oh, I don’t mind. I was just wondering about the size of it.” She said as she pushed past Bob in the small hallway. “The bedroom, that is.”
“Wow,” she said upon entering, feigning surprise, “it’s much bigger than I thought. And this bed, it’s huge.” She tested the bed, a king size waterbed with firm sides. “I’ve never seen one so big! A waterbed that is.” She climbed in and sprawled seductively across the satin sheets. “Ooh, it’s so warm! Is it always like this?” She rubbed her hands over blood red sheets. “Ooh, I love it! I could stay in here forever.” A quick flutter of the eyes gave her away.
“Alright; you’ve seen it, you love it. Now can we go to work?” Bob said from through the doorway.
“Okay.” Ann climbed out of the bed and squeezed past him again with a playful smile on her face. “Do you know what you need now? A giant mirror on the ceiling.” Poor Bob didn’t see the long hairs she left behind, but you can rest assured that Mary would see them.
Bob dropped the kids off at Tia’s; he was just leaving as Renee drove up. He waved politely and jumped in the car with Ann without speaking to her.
“That’s her.” He told Ann as he closed the door of Ann’s bright red Chevy Monte Carlo, the Dale Earnhardt Jr. edition, complete with racing decals. It had black leather seats with a floor mounted shift with the limo tinted windows and rumbled when she fired it up. If Bob didn’t know better he’d of sworn it was a chick magnet.
“This is nice.” Bob complimented Ann on her selection. Ann jammed on the accelerator, throwing Bob back into the seat as the tires squealed down the street.
“Eat my dust, Bitch.” Bob saw her look back in her rearview mirror at Renee and for the first time he wondered just what he had gotten him into.
“You haven’t seen the last of me.” Renee said under her breath as she watched Bob speed away.
“Now, our boy Bob, had managed to elude Renee, and hopefully put her off the trail. But now he had a more serious problem. Now he was beholden to another woman for coming to his rescue, and she wasn’t about to let him forget it.
*
“Now, this went on for a couple of weeks or so; Ann picking up Bob, them leaving together just as Renee would arrive, and Ann burning rubber and telling Renee to eat her dust. Ann had been in an especially good mood the last few weeks; playing peek-a-boo behind the machinery and sneaking up on Bob and scaring the crap out of him. On one occasion Bob overheard part of a conversation between Ann and her friend Kathy at work. They were talking about office romances and “stealing” a man. It went something like this:
“Office romances never work.” Kathy said. “Haven’t you heard the expression ‘don’t shit where you eat?”
“I don’t care.” Ann answered. “I’m tired of sleeping alone, and hearing about everyone else having great sex. I want some happiness too, damn it!”
“I understand, I’m tired of hearing about it, too. Why do you think I don’t watch television anymore? All I’m saying is that if you have problems with someone you live with and you work with them too, your problems follow you everywhere. You’ll never be able to get away from him or your problems.”
“Love is where you find it.” Ann countered. “You can’t help who you fall in love with. You just love that person, whether it’s right or wrong. To hell with her if she can’t keep her man. That’s not my problem.”
“Yet.” Kathy added.
‘The conversation stopped Bob in his tracks. It would be vain of him to assume that they were talking about him, wouldn’t it? Yet, the thoughts of Ann being in love with someone else made him feel a little twinge of jealousy. What to do, what to do. On the way home that night Ann asked Bob for a favor.
“Bob?” Ann asked as her Monte Carlo rumbled out of the parking lot. “Before I drop you off would you do me a favor?”
“Sure.” Bob answered before even hearing what it was. “What do you need?”
“I have this trunk I need to move and it’s too heavy for me to lift buy myself. Would you give me a hand with it? It shouldn’t take long.”
“Sure, no problem.” The trap was set; all she had to do was wait to spring it.
Ann’s apartment was in one of those apartment complexes where every building looked exactly alike. It had a castle motif and all the streets were named after Arthurian legends; Arthur’s way, Merlin Ave, Lancelot blvd. etc. Ann’s apartment was on Guinevere Blvd. Her apartment overlooked a little pond that had a water fountain in the middle. It lit up in different colors at night, and every hour on the hour it would shoot up and rotate, spraying colored water high in the air.
It was past mid-night, the witching hour, when they got to Ann’s third story apartment on Guinevere Blvd. The fountain in the middle of the pond shot up streams of colored water that played in the moon light. Bob followed Ann up the stairs that led to her apartment. Ann stopped suddenly on the first flight of stairs and turned to look over her shoulder.
“It’s all the way at the top”, she said in pretense, of course a third story apartment would be on the top of a three story building, she wanted to make sure that her tight-fitting stone wash jeans were right in his face, but Bob was oblivious to that. She stopped suddenly again on the second flight to make sure Bob was watching, he was.
“We’re almost there.” She smiled. Of course they were, it was only three flights, and how much further could it possibly be? She stopped again, this time Bob almost ran his head into her rear.
“Last flight, I promise.” She giggled.
She shook her keys in her hands nervously; they dropped to the floor with a loud jingle. Bob retrieved them for her, wondering why women have to have so many baubles on their key chain. She was almost shaking as she turned the key into the lock, but Bob was oblivious to that. The door gave way to a cool breeze from the balcony. Ann’s apartment was nicely furnished with a three piece living room set in a country motif, and a hardwood dinette set with the little tie down pillows on the seats. The light in the kitchen was the only illumination. It gave off just enough light to keep from tripping. The soft light made the apartment seem somehow more romantic, but he was oblivious to that.
“I have something I want to show you.” Ann said as she kicked off her shoes and ran barefoot through her living room. She reached over the couch and turned towards Bob who was just closing the door. “I want to show you my pussy.”
“Whoa, girl.” Bob gasped, but didn’t back away. From behind her back Ann produce an orange tabby with white paws.
“Whew.” Bob let out a breath.
“Isn’t my pussy pretty? Don’t you want to play with my pussy? Don’t you want to pet my pussy?” She held it up to her cheek and kissed her cat. She walked as seductively as possible toward Bob, but he was oblivious to that.
“Ahem.” Bob cleared his throat as he fingered the kitten’s fur. He was starting to get [size=3]nervous. “What’s your cat’s name?” He tried to change the subject, but merely managed to fall deeper into her trap.
“Her name is Puss ‘n boots.” She smiled. “Puss for short.”
“My roommate in college had a cat, too.” Bob was feeling comfortable enough with the sexual innuendo to contribute. “We told him it wasn’t ‘manly’ to have a cat. He said every guy should have a little pussy lying around.” Ann laughed, not too loud, and not too long, but she was pleased with herself. That was the first sign of him giving himself over, but he was oblivious to that.
“What do you need help with, Ann?” I, … er, … Bob was afraid to ask.
“Oh, the trunk in my bedroom.” Ann ran to put Puss back on the couch, tossing her long, dishwater blonde hair over her shoulders. Bob allowed Ann to lead him by the hand into the bedroom.
Ann’s bedroom was awash in soft pinks and pastels and smelled of sweet perfumes. She had a three pieces bedroom set; an oak dresser and a chest-of-drawers and brass bed with pink satin sheets. She had dolls and stuffed animals in every nook and cranny. It was girly to say the least. Ann led Bob to her walk-in closet. She had a large hope chest with a cushioned cover.
“Is this it?” Bob asked.
“Yes, I’d like to move it to the foot of my bed so I can sit on it while I get dressed in the morning.” The space in the closet was rather small, forcing the two of them in close proximity. Her perfume made his head swim and his imagination run wild.
“I’ll take the other end, and you can get this one.” Ann said as she climbed over the top, flashing her tight stone wash jeans in his face again.
“What’s in it?” Bob asked. “It looks heavy.”
“It’s my hope chest.” She answered. “It’s filled with my ‘unmentionables’. I could show you, but then you’d have to marry me, or my Dad would have to kill you.” Bob chuckled but Ann didn’t, giving him the feeling that she was serious, at least the part about her father anyway. Bob lifted his end first, it wasn’t all that heavy. He could’ve probably managed it all by himself. In fact, she probably could’ve managed it by herself in less time than it took to climb the stairs, but he was oblivious to that, too. Ann lifter her end, she grunted like it was heavy for her. Bob had seen her lift heavier things at work, but he was oblivious to that. They negotiate the narrow door way with little problem, and set the hope chest down at the foot of her bed. Bob could see imprints in the carpet where “something” used to be, something almost the exact size of the hope chest. He set it back exactly in its grooves.
“Is that it?” He asked.
“Yes, I believe that’ll do it.”
“Well, I’d better be getting home now, if you don’t mind.”
“Would you like a beer first?”
“Naw, I’d better be getting home, I have to check on the children.” For some reason he didn’t mention his wife.
“Just one? A sip? We’ll only be a minute. We can even take it out on the balcony.”
“Well, okay. Just a sip.”
“Okay, you head out for the balcony and I’ll grab the beer.” Bob walked out of the bed room and into the living room. He stopped at the couch and sat next to the cat. He picked Puss up and petted her while she purred in his lap. Ann came in the room soon after, holding two beers. She had changed clothes, now she was wearing a white - laced, camisole that plunged almost to her navel and was slit dangerously high on the sides. The sight of her nearly took Bob’s breath away, he wasn’t oblivious to that.
“I think I’d better go.” He said, feeling his nature rise.
“Don’t go yet. I opened a beer for you. I’ll never be able to drink both of these tonight.” She lied; she’d drunk more than that before breakfast on more than one occasion. “If you don’t drink it now it’ll go flat and it’ll be wasted. You wouldn’t want that would you?” She handed the beer to Bob. The dew ran off the bottle and was ice cold in his hands. Ann walked out to the balcony where the moonlight could play off her silk clothing and reveal things to Bob’s eyes that she didn’t want to leave to his imagination. Bob took a swig of his beer, the little ice chips that floated in his beer helped to slack the thirst that Ann had created.
“Come, join me on the balcony, it’s so nice out here. I love it.” Bob new he was safer on the couch with Puss. He took another swig of his ice cold beer and felt his inhibitions start to give way. On the balcony the moonlight made her camisole practically see through. The droning of the water fountain was being drowned out by the blood pounding in his head; the spray of the water was replaced by the wafting aroma of her sweet perfume. Ann leaned into him as he looked down at her big brown eyes. He put his hands gently on her shoulders and said:
“Ann, I can’t. As long as Mary’s alive, I can’t.” He regretted it from the moment he said it. “I’d better go; I’ll take your beer with me so it won’t go to waste.”
“I understand.” Ann said as she stood there on the balcony with moonlight dripping in her eyes.
“I’ll… I’ll drive myself to work tomorrow… from now on. I think Renee has forgotten about me.” Bob said as he hurried out the door.
“I understand completely.”
Bob ran down the three flights of stairs. Ann’s response had unnerved him. There was something about the way she had said ‘I understand completely’ that made a shiver run up and down his spine.
“Why did I phrase it like that? ‘As long as Mary’s alive’.” He asked himself, taking a swig from the beer he was holding as he walked home. “It was like something out of a bad movie; ‘as long as Mary is alive’, was it a Freudian slip’.” He asked himself. “Do I really want Mary Dead and haven’t admitted it to myself yet?” Bob played kick-the-can with himself all the way home. When he finally arrived at home he fell into his lazy-boy recliner that Mary had bought for him last father’s day.
“Bob? Is that you?” He heard Mary’s voice call from upstairs.
“Yes Dear. Go back to sleep.”
“Kind of late aren’t you?”
“Just a little overtime, Baby, nothing to worry about.” Silence: Bob listened intently for a long time, but nothing. Soon he could here the soft sighs of Mary’s heavy breathing. Bob went into the kitchen when he realized he had an empty beer bottle still in his hand.
Bob woke with a start when he heard the sound of a sharp blade being pulled from the butcher block. He nearly broke his neck trying to get out of his recliner with the footrest extended. To his surprise, and relief, Mary emerged from the kitchen.
“Are you alright, dear?” Her terrycloth robe was open, exposing her flannel gown, she had a coffee mug in one hand, a butcher knife in the other and a cigarette dangling from her lip. Her big, pink curlers matched her fluffy pink house shoes that she had crushed the heels on.
“Uh… yeah, Babe.” Bob picked himself up and sat back in his recliner and kicked the footrest down on. “I, uh, was just having a bad dream, that’s all.”
“Must’ve been some dream, I heard you moaning all the way upstairs.”
“Why didn’t you wake me and tell me to come up to bed?”
“Are you kidding? With all that noise you were making I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep and you know: a sister needs her sleep. Besides, with all the overtime you’ve been working lately I figured I’d just let you sleep as much as possible before the boys got up for school.”
Bob’s gut churned, he didn’t know how Mary did it but, somehow she would always pick the perfect time to do something nice for him that made him feel the worst.
“What, er, uh, are you doing with the knife?” Bob said, wondering how much he had said in his sleep.
“Oh, this?” Mary held up the butcher knife menacingly. “I was just slicing up some sausages for the boy’s breakfast. I haven’t fixed them a good breakfast in a while, and I don’t want them thinking their mother is a total slug.” The knot in Bob’s stomach tightened.
*
“Yeah-ello. Whoizit?” Bob stirred from his sleep induced haze on the couch to answer the phone.
“I missed her by inches Baby.” A woman’s voice said.
“Missed who? Who is this?” Bob asked falling off the couch.
“Don’t worry Baby, I’ll get her next time.”
“Get who? Who is this?” The line went dead. “Ann? “Ann? Is that you? What did you do?” Bob screamed into the handset to no avail. “Aww … Shi--.” Bob's experlative was cut short when the phone began to ring again. “Hello, hello? Ann, is that you?” He asked recklessly.
“Is this Mr. Bob Smith?” The voice on the other end asked in an official monotone.
“Yes, this is Bob Smith.”
“Mr. Smith, my name is Officer Jones.”
“Yes, Officer Jones. What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Smith, there seems to have been an accident involving your wife.”
“What kind of accident?” Wild imaginations began running through his mind as he remembered the previous phone call.
“Your wife, Mary was involved in a hit and run auto accident at the Shopping Center today, Sir.”
“A Hit-and-run? Bob’s voice jumped an octave or two as it always did when he got excited.
“Yes, Sir.” Officer Jones droned on. “You should come down the City General immediately, Sir.” [/size]
“City General? Is she hurt? Is she alright? How bad is she? Was it? What about the kids? Where are my children? Where they involved in the accident?”
“Your wife and children are fine, Sir. Just a little shaken up is all. Still, you should get down here to City General as fast as you can, Sir.” The Officer droned on.
“Yes, yes. Of course, give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll be right down.
Bob splashed some water on his face and grabbed a fresh change of clothes. All sorts of scenarios ran through his mind. Bob ran through a busy intersection while trying to read between the lines of what Officer Jones’ said. He said that they were alright, he didn’t say how alright. The Officer never answered Bob’s question about whether or not they were hurt Bob, thought as he swerved to pass a slow driver. He had only said they were “just a little shaken up”. How shaken up is “just a little shaken up”? Is that shaken up like a martini, or like a smoothie? Bob flitted from side-to-side as his car darted in and out of traffic.
It was a wild ride to City General. Bob screeched to a stop in the Emergency Room Parking lot, taking up two spaces. He didn’t bother to straighten it out, either. He slammed the car in park and jumped out, almost running into a car whose driver was pissed that Bob had taken up the last two parking spots. Bob put the brakes on the conversation with the palm of his hand and dashed for the emergency room. Bob ran in and announced he had arrived by shouting “Where are my wife and kids?”
“Who are you?” The nurse asked safely behind her plexi-glass shield.
“I’m Bob Smith. I was told my wife and kids were involved in a hit and run?”
“Right this way, Mr. Smith.” The Nurse buzzed him through. Our boy Bob was wild eyed with grief as the nurse led him to the room where his wife was.
*
“Well, look at that will you?” Marty said to Julius and Roberto. “It’s five O’clock: quitting time.”
“You can’t stop know!” Both Roberto and Julius screamed. “It’s just getting good.”
“But it’s time to go home. Don’t you boys want to go home?”
“Look man,” Julius said, taking the lead, “I’m ‘The Man’ at my house. I get home when I’m good and ready to get home, and my girl better be glad I came home. As for Roberto; we know he doesn’t have a girl. If he did she’d probably be sitting up with some other dude anyway.” Julius laughed at his own cleverness.
“Well, Okay,” Marty acquiesced, “I’ll try to make it quick:
“Are you alright?” Bob asked as he was ushered into the room. A nurse was bandaging Mary’s ankle and Officer Jones was in the room.
“Calm down, Sir.” Officer Jones, a large stiff man with a strong jaw line and an equally prominent pompous attitude said in his official voice, “Like I said; she’s fine, a slight sprain of the ankle, other than that she’s fine, just a little shaken up.”
“Sprain of the ankle? What happened? And where are the boys?”
“Well, its Saturday,” Mary began, “I had to go to the Super Market and I knew it was going to be crowded so I dropped them off at my Mother’s while I went grocery shopping.” Mary sighed, “After I checked out I was walking through the parking lot and …,” she hesitated, “I was walking between the parked cars – I know, I know: if you’ve told me once you’ve told me a thousand times: don’t walk between the parked cars, pay attention in the parking lot because that’s where all the cars are – I know, I know. I came out from between two mini-vans, I stopped to look in the blue one because it had that
‘Baby-on-board’ sticker like we used to have, and wham!!
“I never even saw the car.”
“Mary?!” Bob gasped. “You could’ve been killed.” Bob took his wife in his arms, realizing how close he had come to being a widower. “Well, how did you sprain your ankle?”
“It happened so fast,” she sighed, it took the cart right out of my hand and knocked me into the blue mini-van. I must have twisted my ankle when I fell.”
Bob was speechless; he stood with his mouth agape. He tightened his embrace as Mary began to sob. At that moment he realized that Freudian slip or not, he did not want Mary dead, not by any stretch of the imagination.
“Bob?” Mary said from somewhere deep in his arms. “If I hadn’t stopped to look in that mini-van…,”
“Shhh.” Bob dare not let her finish. “It’s a good thing you’re nosey.” They held onto each other tighter than they had in years.
“Like I said,” Officer Jones interrupted their moment, “She’s alright, just a little shaken up.”
‘If I hear that one more time.’
*
“Well, that’s all well-and-good, but what’s that got to do with Rob’s situation?” with ‘what a man’s gotta do and all that?” Julius asked.
“Well, I’m glad you asked. It shows you were paying attention. Right now I would say ‘not much’ if our story was over, but it doesn’t end there. You see, our boy Bob got himself into this mess in the first place so, it was up to him to ‘do what a man’s gotta do and get himself out of it.” Marty answered.
“So after Bob loaded Mary in their small SUV and picked up the kids. He took Mary and the kids home and got everyone settled before setting out to ‘do what a man’s gotta do’.
“Alright, Babe,” Bob said softly as he eased Mary into the bed. “I got the kids fed and gave them their baths and put them to bed. I’m going to run down to the twenty-four hour pharmacist and get these prescriptions for pain killers filled and I’ll be back shortly, okay?”
“Bob, don’t leave me.” She pleaded. “After today I don’t want us to ever be apart anymore than we absolutely have to.”
“You say that now,” Bob chided, “but when the pain medicine they gave you at the hospital wears off your going to want these pills and fast, and by the time those wear off you’re going to be so sick of me that you’re not going to want to see me for a very long time.”
“I doubt that.”
“Shhh, now,” Bob put a finger to his lips, “you rest, and I’ll be back so fast you won’t even know I’m gone.” Mary closed her eyes as Bob backed out the door and closed it softly behind him.
Bob was going to the pharmacy alright, but that wasn’t going to be the only stop he was going to make. After getting Mary’s prescriptions filled our boy Bob made a slight detour by Ann’s apartment. At first, he wasn’t sure he had the right apartment building because he didn’t see Ann’s Monte Carlo, then he spotted a red car over behind the dumpster. Bob wondered why she had parked over there. She usually parked sideways in front of the building, taking up two spaces. Upon further investigation he found the answer: the passenger side of her car had been crushed. It looked like she had been pushed into the wall at Darlington.
It was all coming together in his mind as he climbed the all-to-familiar stairs to Ann’s apartment: Ann had taken him literally when he said “as long as Mary is alive” and had taken it as a hint to kill Mary so they could be together. Bob knocked on the door, not knowing if he should kill her before she uttered a word, or gave her a chance to explain.
“Who is it?” Bob heard her ask.
‘How could she be so cheerful?’ Bob thought to himself as he heard her bound gleefully toward the door. “Who do you think it is?”
“Bob? Is that you?” She said as she opening the door. Bob noticed the lacy camisole she had on beneath her bath robe.
“You almost kill my wife and expect me to come in a make love to you?” Bob was appalled as he burst through the doorway.
“No!” She cried as she backed away from his sudden advance. “I didn’t …”
“Don’t give me that.” Bob interrupted. “I saw the car before I came up.”
“I was in a car accident earlier.” Ann protested, but Bob wasn’t hearing it.
“I know you were. You almost killed Mary.”
“Mary was in a car accident, too?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know, the police have your car on the security camera.” Bob bluffed.
“It wasn’t me, I was in an accident on the way to work yesterday. I just got out of the Emergency room a little while ago. I just got out of the bathtub and was playing with Puss on the couch when you rang.”
“Then why are you hiding your car behind the dumpster?” He thought he caught her with that one.
“I love that car, I hate seeing it like that. So, I parked over behind the dumpster so I wouldn’t have to see it until I could get it fixed, that’s why.” Ann was growing upset over this inquisition and Bob’s lack of concern.
“Ann, didn’t you call me right after the attack on Mary and tell me you’d almost gotten her? That you would get her next time?”
“No! I told you where I was and what happened, and I’m fine – thanks for asking. The only person I called was Gene, in timekeeping, to tell him I wouldn’t be in today because I was in a car accident. You can call and check if you want too, but I haven’t been anywhere near your precious ‘Mary’ unless we where at the same hospital. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to someone who really cares about me.” She picked up Puss and stroked her.
Bob was taken aback by the sincerity of her argument. He had fully expected to catch Ann red-handed and possibly turn her over to the policy. When he had found the car he was positive it was her, now he wasn’t so sure. As he walked down the last flight of steps he could help but wonder: ‘If not Anna, then who?”
*
Bob was still mulling over the question ‘If not Ann, then who?’ when he got home. He had his arms loaded with Mary’s prescription medication and a few other odds-and-ends as he walked up to the door. Bob jingled the keys precariously as he tried to manage the load when he noticed the door was already open.
“What the …?” Bob muttered under his breath.
Bob pushed the door; it glided silently on its hinges. Before Bob could put the put his bags down he was struck in the head with a titanium driver that made a resounding ‘ping’ sound as it recoiled off his noggin. Pills, batteries, and analgesic balm went flying everywhere, clattering noisily to the floor. Before he could recover he was struck in the head again.
Bob’s attacker was on him again, driving the shaft of the golf club into his stomach. Bob doubled over and fell to his knees, another blow to the left temple sent him reeling. He laid there sprawled at the bottom of the stairway trying to fight through the haze that clouded his brain and fend off repeated blows from his assailant.
“You lousy, no-good, low-down, good-for-nothing son-of-a-bitch!” The shaft of the club found his gut again. “You think you can drive off with that skank and get away with it?” At first Bob thought it was Mary, but it wasn’t her voice. “You think she’s better than me?” The club rang true as it glanced off the side of his skull. Bob covered his head only to have the shaft rammed into his ribs. Bob laid there at the bottom of the stairs, thoroughly beaten and writhing in agony. When the hail of blows subsided. The sound of the driver bouncing off his head still ringing in his ears as the image of his attacker swam into view. Rita stood over him huffing and puffing, yet poised to strike again.
“You thought you could get away from me that easy? No one dumps me: not in high school, not now, not ever!”
“Rita?” Bob asked through the pain.
“You thought you were slick, didn’t you? But I showed you who was slick, didn’t I?” Rita gave him another jab to the ribs. “You under estimated me; and it almost cost you your family, and your wife! It almost cost you everything!” She hit him again.
“Do you see what happens when you toy with my affections? Do you see, now?” Rita rained another blow on his head. “It was a simple matter to fake an attempt on your wife, after all, Tia knows everything: She knows when she shops, where she shops and who she shops with. It was simple to make you believe that your little friend did it: ‘I missed her, Baby; but I’ll get her next time’.” Rita mimicked Ann’s voice. “It almost cost you your wife, and now…” Rita pulled a gun from out of nowhere, “now it’s going to cost you your life.”
Bob could see the hammer pull back; he closed his eyes bracing himself for what he was sure would be the last sound he would ever hear. The sound was as loud and as deafening as he had imagined it would be, but was minus the pain. He waited there, balled up in the fetal position at the bottom of the stairs, waited for the burning sensation that he knew would follow the guns report. He waited, and waited some more. ‘Am I dead? I don’t feel dead, unless this is what being dead is like.’ He opened his eyes.
To his surprise Rita was standing over him. She swayed to the left, then to the right, and finally, as her eyes rolled back into her head, she fell faced down with her head in his groin sending one last shockwave of pain up his spine.
Bob looked around to see Mary standing at the top of the stairs with a smoking gun of her own in her hand.
“Bob!” She shouted. “Tell that Bitch to keep quiet! After all you know: a sister needs her sleep.”
“Oh, that’s some bull!” Julius shouted.
“Why do you say that?”
“What’s that got to do with Roberto’s problem?”
“The attempt on Mary’s life, Ann’s car accident and even poor Rita could’ve been avoided if Bob would’ve just sucked it up, manned up and just did ‘what-a-man’s-gotta-do’ and put Rita in her place from jump-street, and told his wife what’s-what. Sometimes,” Bob exhaled, “what-a-man’s-gotta-do it the hard thing. It may not be the popular thing, but it’s the right thing. He has to look inside and see himself and his responsibility clearly and do what needs to be done for all those concerned in the long run: That my friend is ‘what-a-man-has-to-do. The morale of this story is :It's better to have loved and lost than to have lived with that bitch forever.”
“Come on, Rob. Let’s blow this joint.” Julius walked off in a huff, grumbling something about wasting his time on this stuff. Rob followed behind him, but not so closely, before he left he turned to look at Marty Robinson one last time and nodded his head. Then, Marty knew he’d be okay.
Marty leaned heavily on his left side as he slid out of his ratty old sweater. He was just getting ready to hang it on its usual hook when he realized he wasn’t alone.
“Ahem.” Marty whirled around to be greeted by the stern visage of Mr. Witherspoon who was hovering around the open door.
“Spoon… er, Mr. Witherspoon” Marty corrected himself. “I …, ah, didn’t see you there. How …, ahm, long have you been there, Sir?”
“Long enough.” Spoony replied. His words gained weight in the silence that followed.
“Can I help you, Sir?” Marty asked, breaking the weighty silence.
“Mr. Robinson,” Spoony began, “didn’t you and I have a conversation earlier today about telling stories on company time?”
“Wha …?” Marty looked around blankly, “Oh! You mean the story I was just telling Rob and Julius?”
“Yes, I mean the story you were ‘just’ telling.”
“Oh, that was nothing, Sir. I find it helps pass the time while doing mundane chores if I tell the fellas some little story every once in a while. Sometimes it can help clear their minds of their personal problems and even teach them a thing or two. You yourself said that the company has to ‘be about people,’ didn’t you? Spoony raised an eyebrow. Marty had him by his own words. That when Spoony noticed the cut on Marty’s arm that looked like he’d been in a knife fight. Their eyes met, in an instant they realized that they understood. Silently, Marty reached across the desk for his tatted leather coat and put it on.
“Isn’t your wife’s name Mary? Spoony asked, putting two-and-two together.
“No,” Marty said, his eyes meeting Spoony’s, “it’s Marie.”
“Didn’t there used to work down here with a girl named Anna?”
“No,” Marty answered, “her name was Jo Ann.” Marty knew what he was hinting at.
“Didn’t she drive a yellow Monte Carlo?”
“Trans Am, one of the last model years. That was a long time ago, Sir. How do you remember that?”
“It’s a small company, and small companies are like small towns; everybody knows everybody and everybody know everything.”
“I’m sure they do. If you don’t need anything Sir, I think I’ll be getting home to my wife, … Marie, if you don’t mind?” Marty started to push past him.
“Ah, … just a minute, Marty. We still have this problem of you telling these ‘stories’ on company time to deal with.
“What about them, they’re harmless.”
“Well, I was upstairs think about your punishment and I was thinking that it wasn’t quite fair, fair you I mean.’
“I thought we were going to consider the matter closed, Sir?”
“Well, yes Marty, but you see a punishment, you see Marty, should be both punitive and corrective. We took care of the punitive part in my office.”
“Yes, and…”
“And I believe it would be best for all parties, and the company, ‘and the people that comprise the company’ if we gave you a more creative outlet for your stories than just telling them to co-workers.” It was Marty’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“What do you have in mind, Sir?”
“Some friends and I get together every now-and-then and swap stories. I think it would benefit you to be in a creative atmosphere that encouraged your natural God-given talent in the appropriate setting, if you’re interested?”
“Me?” Marty asked quizzically, “at a get-together with you and your friends?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Do you think I’ll fit in?”
“Can you tell a decent story?”
“Well, yeah …, about what though?”
“Whatever, give it a shot, what do you have to lose?”
“Well, okay. Since you put it that way,” Marty gave a shrug of his shoulders, “what have I got to lose?”
“Good, I’ll let you know the next time we’re getting together. It’s at this little place we like to call “The Club”.
To be continued…
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Riding The Witch II: Dancing With The Devil
