Written by Mercedes Keyes
Interracial drama series
[Overall Drama Rated – R]
Episode One – Rated PG

To read further – http://amberswann.com/

Chapter One

“That’s it! I’m calling the police. It’s 2:00 in the dag-blasted morning! Hmph, and they have the nerve to say “there goes the neighborhood‘ when we move in. Em-em”¦no, no, no! I did not move out of Chicago to this lil’ bitty town, for some joe-jock to move in and start this mess,” Sylvia Payne announced to no one in particular. Rolling over, she reached for the switch to her bedside lamp and clicked it on. “I’mo take care of this right now!” she added, grabbing the cordless phone which sat on her beside table. She pressed the talk button and proceeded to dial the Camp Daniel police.

“Oh, no way!” she exclaimed, sitting up in bed as the automated answering service announced, “The officers on duty are currently on patrol. Please leave your name, number, and a message stating the nature of your call, and your call will be returned within the hour. If this is an emergency, please dial 911. Thank you, and have a nice day”. She sighed long and deep, shaking her head as she stared at the cordless, as if it were somehow responsible for the set up of the Camp Daniels police department. Tired of hearing the busy signal, she clicked the talk button to turn it off, then clicked it again to redial the number and follow their instructions. That done, she waited.

“I cannot believe this! That’s what I get for moving into this lil’ one-horse town; population three cows, two roosters and pigs””including the one that just moved across the road,” she muttered angrily, climbing out of bed and going into her bathroom to use it, now that she’d been forced from a good sleep. Sitting on the toilet, Sylvia could hear music playing and cars going in and out of the driveway. Obviously there were quite the number of people, to hear as much as she was with her bathroom window cracked open. A concert of voices, music, laughter, loud mouths, and revving vehicles tearing back and forth in front of her residence, broke the peaceful setting she’d become accustomed to.

She sat disgusted, with elbow on knee, chin on hand, wrapped toilet paper around the other ready to wipe, and of course, with perfect timing, the phone started ringing. “Oh, no! Here I come! Wait”¦I’m coming! I’m coming!” she called, while trying to do a quick wipe, grabbing her underwear to pull back up as she ran to the sink. “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay!” she cried out rapidly as if the caller could hear, stopping to rinse her hands at the sink. “Don’t hang up””don’t hang up!” She dashed around the corner and answered after the sixth ring.

“Hello!”

“Camp Daniels police”¦you call?”

“Yes, I did. Do you know what’s going on across the road from me right now?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t.”

“A party loud enough to wake the dead! They’ll be missing tomorrow. Wandering around lost because their rest-in-peace has been interrupted by the new ding-a-ling across the road. Can you hear that? Hold on a minute,” she ordered, running back into her bathroom to hold the phone to the window so the loud music could filter through. “Hear that? I don’t think that’s necessary at 2:00 in the morning””do you? Would you please cruise this way and explain that even though this is a small town of no more than 453 citizens, one of them cannot sleep thanks to their inconsideration? Yes, I know that there is only the two of us within immediate reach of one another on this road, but that doesn’t mean to party at volume level ten until the sun comes up!”

“No problem, Ms. Payne. I’ll see to it immediately.”

Sylvie hesitated to thank the officer because she distinctly heard the emphasis placed on Payne in her name. “Thank you very much,” she finally responded, clicking the phone off. “He probably at the dag-blasted party!” she grumbled, sitting on the side of her bed. Looking around her room, she didn’t think she would be able to get back to sleep. Her choices were to click on the television so that it could bore her back to sleep, or she could take revenge on one of her children and call, waking them up at this hour. After all, they’d done it enough to her before one of them married and had babies. That still ticked her off, since she was only thirty-eight years old””too young to be a grandmother. But then, no one told her to fool around and get pregnant at eighteen by her now deceased husband.

Here she was mother of a daughter and son”¦both adults, the youngest eighteen. The elder, twenty, was married with two sons, the baby eleven months old, the older three. Her daughter hadn’t done any better, but at least she loved and married the young man who knocked her up. And yes, he loved her as well; after all, they were still hanging in there. Just as she had hung in there with her husband, even though she knew after ten years of struggle with him, she had married the wrong man. That was her bed. She made it, and sleep in it she did. Then after nineteen long years, he went and got himself killed.

Just when she’d come to terms with her life, accepting that he would always be. Being married so young was a struggle she endured because she didn’t believe in divorce. Coming from a broken home, she swore she would never subject her children to it, no matter what. So she’d paid the price for such a bold, strong declaration. She’d endured his drinking and the many, many fights. His cheating. His verbal abuse. Some illegal activities as well and their constant moving, following him in the military at first and then when he was discharged, they’d moved back to Chicago. To have several more years of pure hell with him, and then for some strange reason in the last three years, he’d come around.

More and more he began showing signs of appreciation, especially when he realized that he’d killed the initial love she once had for him. After she won the battle with her weight. When she started focusing her interest in things she’d always wanted to do. When she stopped asking where he was going and when he’d be back. When she made it a point to once again style her hair, whether she was going out or not. When she applied makeup, going out or not. When she threw out all the old, overly-large nightshirts and began buying sleek, shimmering soft, feminine lingerie”¦not for him, but herself. When she began buying perfumes and colognes that represented what she felt about herself. When her carriage changed from, who cares”¦to I care and this is my value. When he came home to see her leaving, wearing a short, black leather jacket, tight black jeans, a clinging red sweater and red lipstick and shades, he began to change”¦appreciate. When he began to grow older and heavier from drinking, she grew slim, regal, alluring and desirable.

Then he realized that for all that he’d done to bring her down, she had risen. Despite it all, he knew she’d never cheated”¦though there had been opportunity. She didn’t drink or frequent bars. Didn’t smoke. No drugs. His home had always been clean, his children raised strict and disciplined, both high school graduates and college bound. She carried herself with dignity and self-respect. She’d fought for it, and after all the hell”¦had earned it and then some. He came to that realization and then did everything in his power to show it”¦his appreciation. After all of that, she’d finally begun to respond to him again when he touched her, only for him to leave home one day and never come back.

Sylvie sighed.

She rose, reaching for the remote she slept with, a habit carried over from the days of having a husband who needed the TV on and the remote in reach, so they had slept with it. Now she did”¦alone. She pressed the power button and the TV came to life. She padded barefoot from her bedroom to the kitchen, scanning her home as she did. She was proud of it. She’d found it over the internet; had driven from Chicago to the real estate office for her appointment. Cassie, her agent, drove her to the house and one look inside, she knew she was home. Coming from a large city would be quite the culture shock, but she would adjust. Her kids lived in La Crosse and now she was just forty-five minutes from them, as opposed to the four and a half hours she used to be. She’d paid cash for the house. Her husband had seen to her every need should he ever leave her in death, and so the insurance had rescued her.

She was a writer, had always loved writing since school, where it all first began with poetry. She kept much of that, because at the time she hadn’t known what she knew now, that she wanted to be an artist of literature. Deciding to purchase the property had been what she needed to regroup, cleanse and start anew now that she was single again. Too many of her husbands friends were eager to see about her, in ways she’d just as soon not encourage. She wanted and needed isolation to find herself. Adjust and grow up. Even now she was still growing up, seeing to all of those things about herself she’d neglected while falling in love too young, getting pregnant and then married. She needed time alone to raise herself. A man in her face was not part of that plan. They were in plenty supply and she wasn’t in a hurry to get another one. She had one for almost twenty years; now that that was over, she needed time to explore all the possibilities that lay before her that she was free to explore.

No Men Allowed!

She stood at the sink feeling good, because she knew she looked good in her short, satin, hot pink, skimpy thing with spaghetti straps and matching panties. It wasn’t necessary for a man to see her because her primary goal was feeling good about herself; she didn’t need a man present for that. With the water running over her fingers, she tested the temperature, until it was as cool as she liked drinking it from the tap. Glass in hand, she walked back through the dining room, past the fireplace and her big front double doors to the wide picture window in her living room. She could already see the flashing, circulating lights from the police cruiser. She stood drinking her water and smiled. The volume of the strong bass music died down. The people quieted. She was satisfied. Walking back through her open, laid-out home, she went to the sink, rinsed her glass, turning it upside down in the sink and went back to bed. Content with the return of peace.

* * *

Chapter Two

It was a beautiful fall day, so she decided to walk to the post office. She only lived a ten minute stroll outside of the small town that sported one small market, a telephone company, a tiny bank, a farmer’s co-op, two churches, two gas stations/convenient stores, three restaurants, a Subway fast food shop, and four bars. Among the 453 citizens, a Mexican family of five, a Black family of four and then herself, the fifth Black citizen could be counted. There was farm land aplenty. Long roads with nothing to see but herds of cows. Some farms had cows, sheep and goats. Others had Emu, a big ostrich-like bird which was delicious to eat.

Stepping out of her kitchen door and onto her small porch landing, she walked down the stairs slowly, all the time inspecting her surroundings for something out of place. Coming out from between the house and garage, she looked across the road at her new neighbor’s place. “I should have bought that house,” she said to herself aloud, placing her manuscript to be mailed under her left arm. The bright shining sun prompted her to put on her shades, as she stepped onto the asphalt driveway. Across the road where her sights were trained, she inspected the scene and found it undesirable. There were three trucks, one of them had a trailer with two motorcycles sitting on top, four cars, two vans, and two SUV’s littering the drive and yard. Beer and soda cans littered the area and from what she could see, the front door was wide open for the world to just come on in. “Hmph!” she huffed walking by and made the L-sign to her forehead as she commented about the resident within, “Loser.” Then proceeded with her walk.

“Mornin’, Sylvie. Submittin’ another one I see,” the one and only lobby postal worker greeted. A man of middle age, attractive and married.

“Mornin’, Frank. Yep, gonna keep on till I get a bite.”

“That’s good. Somebody’s gonna nibble sooner or later.”

“That’s what I figure. I’m determined.”

“That’s what it takes,” he agreed. “I hear there was some party out by your place last night. Had to call for a noise violation. That’s them city folks for you.”

“Ouch”¦I’m from the city!” Sylvie pointed out.

“So you are”¦sorry “bout that.”

“You know who they are? Man, I was just gone for the weekend and came back to neighbors. Oh, well, there goes the neighborhood!” Sylvie flashed her bright whites, laughing out at finally having a chance to use that one. Frank made a face, not sure how to react to that. “Yeah”¦well, I hear it’s some single fella,” he recovered to inform her.

“Single fella!”

“Yep.”

“Real young, or middle age?”

“I hear “bout your age.” Frank smiled and flexed his brows.“Sorry, I don’t think so,” she responded to that show, turning from the counter, hearing the door open. As she was leaving, a man stepped within holding the door open for her. She looked up””into the most handsome face she had ever seen. He looked like an Italian. Very dark, with short-cropped, extremely thick, black hair. Thick square, black eyebrows, over absolutely beautiful blue-gray eyes framed in long thick lashes. His face was a perfect long square shape, holding a strong square jaw that hadn’t been shaved that morning. He stood at least six feet, if not more. It was also very apparent that he worked out. He wore clothes that emphasized it.

Taking all of that in, she decided right then and there that she didn’t like him one bit. No man that looked that good was worth his weight in sand.

“Good morning,” he greeted politely.

Sylvie curled her lip and muttered, “Um, hm. Thank you.” Making a grand exit with her head held high, she expected to hear the door close behind her, but it didn’t. She knew he was still standing there looking at her, grinning no doubt. He had that look about him. Everything would be funny. Amusing. Well she wasn’t going to look to see if he were looking. She didn’t care if he was; made her no difference. She bit the inside of her lip, forcing herself not to look back to see if he were looking. She picked up her step, walking faster. Wishing she could stop herself from switching with just a little bit more shake than usual. She had to pick up some eggs, cream cheese, celery and onions. Maybe check to see if Maggie’s Market had any decent steaks.

Stepping into the ancient store with its old grayed wood floors, and ring-a-ling bell hanging over the door, she was once again greeted. The town was 98% white and all that she’d encountered was kindness and cordial greetings. The people actually waved at you when you passed. Be it, you were in a vehicle or walking, they waved when they passed. They didn’t know her from Eve but they waved. The first time it happened, she thought the person had mistaken her for an acquaintance, but it happened again and again until she realized they were actually greeting her neighborly. After living there for a year and a half, she could now fully relate with Mayberry. If you waved at people like that in Chicago, they’d think you were out to take them for something. Or that you had escaped from Cook County hospital’s top floor. It took her weeks to get use to waving at total strangers, but she wanted to be a part of this town. So wave she did, smiling as if she’d known the individual her whole life.

Browsing the aisles, she picked up what she came for, and more items than she’d intended. After having written non-stop for so long, the house needed a thorough cleaning. She picked up some Mr. Clean, other cleansers and some carpet freshener. As she walked slowly with loaded arms, she heard the store bell jingle. Another customer. Or a few more by the sounds of it. Girls in the group, because their infectious giggling and chatter carried easily to the isle she was in. Then she heard a deep voice among them. Deep with a soft confidence. Then giggling again. She stopped and made a face. She knew the sound of flirting from a mile away. Something instinctive told her to brace herself. As her presence joined the others in the store, the three young girls harnessed their nervous energy from vying for the attention of the hunk now looking her way. She pretended not to notice him, which wasn’t hard to do, since she was about to drop one or two of her items.

“Are you gonna make it?” Jill, the cashier, asked as Sylvie rushed to the small counter. She didn’t make it. Two items hit the floor, and of course, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dashing had to be the perfect gentlemen. “Here, let me help you,” he offered. Bending down before her, she swore she saw a grin. I was right! He’s a grinning, arrogant ham! she fumed in thought, but smiled and said, “Thank you, I always do that. Come for a few things and overload myself,” she finished as he stood placing the items on the counter in front of her. “No problem.” He looked her straight in the eyes and grinned, as if he knew what she was thinking. Now she really didn’t like him. The second smile she cut him was sarcastic and quick, turning away from him as Jill rang up her goods.

“How’s that book coming? Done yet?” Jill asked, politely making conversation as she always did, but this time it irritated Sylvia. She wanted to pay and go. She had that nagging feeling on the back of her neck that he was peering at her. Sizing her up. Checking her out. Categorizing her to determine her type. Jerk, she thought as her bill was totaled. “I just have to do a final sweep of the material to clean it up of the typos. Stuff like that,” she answered, flailing her hand to dismiss the topic. Jill bagged her groceries.

“You’re a writer?”

See! That’s why she wanted to get out of there. She knew that was going to happen. She just knew it. She didn’t want to give this man anything on her, or about her, but politeness was the core of her being. Faked or not. “Just trying to be. Haven’t succeeded in anything yet,” she answered and grabbed her bag, heading for the door, not waiting for more conversation. “See ya, Jill.” She was out. From her peripheral, she could see the three young girls watching her and him curiously. Not to worry, girls”¦have at him was her exiting thought.

House cleaned, she was showered and freshened up after a vigorous workout. Now she was ready to get back into her writing. She had a webpage to modify. Things to add, newly written poetry and some new graphics she’d found. She was trying to concentrate, but it was hard. Her eyes kept straying out the window and across the street to the neighbor. She hadn’t seen him yet, but she’d heard all the commotion from the vehicles leaving across the road. Men talking loud and jesting, yelling “all rights” and “we’ll call when we get back” and a few repeating to the host of the newly acquired home “You deserved it!” and “Congratulations!”.

“He deserved what?” she muttered, finally getting up to look through the vertical blinds at the window to the house. As she stared, she noticed the yard was now cleaned of all its debris. There was only one truck remaining in the driveway. One SUV now parked in the garage, and two motorcycles parked alongside the garage. “Man and his toys,” she spoke as she usually did””to herself. When you were alone, you were all you had to talk to. “All right, show yourself. Let me see now who I’mo have to deal with down the road.” She stood there looking and waiting, but still no show. His door was wide open again, with no appearance pending. “Pssh”¦like I got time to be standing here waiting to see some schmuck. I got things to do. Let me get back to this webpage. See, that’s why I moved here”¦didn’t want no distractions”¦now here I am”¦distracted. He better keep it down over there, too. I ain’t puttin’ up wit’ no partyin’ and all that. It happen again, he gone hear from me””not the police,” she muttered, huffing and fussing, heading back to her chair before her computer.

As soon as she sat down and pulled herself into position before her desk, she heard one of the motorcycles revving up to leave. She looked back at the window, hesitating, then pushed back quickly and charged to the window, catching only the smoke from his tail pipe as he took off. “Fool! Takin’ off on a motorcycle like that. Em-hm, he gone crack that head open. Probably ain’t got no helmet on, either. I’on care. Shoot”¦there he go distracting me again. I can see now this ain’t gone work,” she grumbled, sitting back before the computer and getting herself into position once again.

She didn’t know how long she sat staring at the screen with nothing happening. She’d slipped off into a daydream. Her mind bringing into view a grinning mouth, with a mustache covered lip and deep dimples carved into the cheeks. “Shoot, if it ain’t one, it’s the other! Okay, girlfriend, cut this mess out. You got stuff to do. Time to get busy,” she coached herself. Then finally with great force, she put her mind back on track and worked long and hard, periodically turning her head to loosen it up from the building tension of sitting for so long. She had a timer set on her computer that rang when she needed to get up and stretch, get some coffee or water, use the bathroom, and then upon returning, she’d check at the window to see if the neighbor had returned. She allowed herself that without recrimination. After all, she was human.

After finishing the last modifications to her website, which had taken hours to perfect to her inspection, she popped in her disk and began reading her novel for the last clean sweep. Time always flew when she became engrossed in her writing. Before she knew it, night had fallen. She glanced down into the corner of her monitor screen to see that it was 11:30. She’d done enough for the day. She realized that once again, she’d gone all evening without dinner. Now her stomach was growling. It was too late to eat, so she went and grabbed the celery she bought out of the refrigerator and broke off three stalks. Placing the rest back, she rinsed the three in hand and began crunching on them on the way to her room.

Bedtime”¦

* * *

Chapter Three

Morning”¦

Out jogging, she noticed that her neighbor had still not returned. He’d been gone all night. Well, that was none of her business. She took off down the road on her usual route. This was a much more preferred time of the year for it. The mornings were just cool enough to warm up in a good run. No bugs. Just crisp, sweet fall air blowing on her skin as her body heated up to a sweat. She was up to four miles every other morning. She could probably do more, but wasn’t ready to extend herself yet. Reaching the end of her jog out, which was two miles, she turned, crossing over the road to return home. Even the smell of cow manure didn’t offend her when the weather was like this. The leaves on the trees were changing in such glorious colors, and she was always dazzled by the array and variations on the trees. Coming around the last curve that brought her home into sight, she heard a distinct rumbling.

A vehicle in the distance, coming up behind her. It was still far away, but the sound of it carried on the early morning quiet. Pacing herself for the finish of her run, she took deep breaths as she approached the last few yards before her driveway. All of a sudden, the oncoming vehicle became distinctive as it neared. It was the sound of a motorcycle. The same time she turned into her driveway, the silver, burgundy and black Harley Davidson sped past her, turning into the driveway across the road. The driver stopping in profile to look over his left shoulder at her. He was wearing shades. No helmet. She stopped as well, now in her driveway, openly returning her own survey. He reached up and removed his shades. It was him! The guy from the post office. The hunk from the store. He was her new neighbor. Dread washed over Sylvia, like at no other time in her life. She didn’t want this.

He wasn’t moving, neither was she. She was stunned, surprised and a little frightened. “Good Morning, Sylvie. Or should I address you as Ms. Sylvia Payne?” he called out to her, then kicked down the stand on his bike and gracefully dismounted to walk in his smooth, confident way across the road to where she stood. She swallowed deep, feeling her breath catch in her chest. Taking a much-needed deep breath, she stood straighter, thrust her chin forward and asked, “How do you know my name?” He cocked his left eyebrow as if to say, surely you’re kidding, then followed the look with the actual words. “Surely you’re kidding? Small town like this has nothing better to do than fill in the newcomer with needed information.”

“Where exactly do I come into that?” she asked a little haughtily.

“Why, because you’re my neighbor, of course. A widow. From Chicago. Two grown children that live in La Crosse. The oldest, your daughter, is married and has two sons. Your son is living there with her, getting ready to go to college. You’ve lived here a little over a year. You come out only for necessities, and so it’s been said, you don’t seem to have an interest in men. Oh, and I almost forgot, you’re thirty-eight and a writer.”

Sylvia couldn’t help the astonished look that washed over her face. He grinned as she had expected, quite satisfied with his summation. She was speechless. A pugnacious look replaced the astonished one.

“Anything you want to know about me?” He grinned.

“No, there is not! Since you already know everything about me, there’s nothing for us to discuss, now is there? Excuse me,” she railed, turning away from him to march up her driveway. “My name’s Everett Styles! I live across the road”””

“I didn’t ask!”

“I’m single, too! Just moved here from California”””

“Good for you!” she fired back, now at her porch steps.

“Hey, this is not the way it’s done. Aren’t you suppose to welcome me to the neighborhood? With cookies”¦pie”¦beef stew?” Her kitchen door slammed shut. He stood grinning some more. “Mean””as””hell!” He snickered, shaking his head, turning back to cross the road to his place.

Sylvia was fuming. “How dare they! Just tell all of my business!” she raged, removing her clothes as she headed for her room. “They don’t know him from the man in the moon. I don’t know him from the man in the moon. But he knows all of my business”¦god”¦small town people”¦get””a””life!” Slinging her running bra to her bed and walking into the bathroom, she shed her underwear as she went to the shower to turn it on. “Everett Styles! Like I care what your name is. Just keep your butt on your side of the road and I’ll stay on mine! Stupid grin. I knew he was a grinner. Thinkin’ he all that and a bag a chips. Men like that get on my nerves. He ain’t nothin’ but a playa’! Playa’, playa’, playa’ written all over him. I ain’t got time for it””and don’t need it!” she carried on as she scrubbed her scalp, washing her hair.

“God”¦why did you move him next to me?” she whined in prayer. The huff now gone as worry set in. “If I’m being tested”¦I’m really not in the mood right now. Okay, okay”¦I’m overreacting. He’s probably being nice. After all, he’s a white guy. He probably doesn’t even like black women.” She shook her head, now grinning. “How you do flatter yourself, girlfriend. Now you know that man got women waiting on him to call. Here you are, gettin’ all worked up for nothing. Wishful thinkin’, huh?” She made a face with that outspoken truth. “No”¦no, no, no. My status stays. I think I need a puppy. Something to take care of and keep me busy, besides my writing, that is. I’ll have to check the paper and see what’s out there.” With that in mind, she stepped from the shower, taking the towel from the side hook where it hung to wrap it around her hair. She grabbed another to dry her body as she walked from the bath to her bedroom.

That’s when the worst thing she could have imagined happened. Two bats came flying at her out of nowhere. “Eeeeee”¦Oh god, ohhhh noooo!” her screaming never stopped as she ducked and ran, holding onto the towel for her body. She dashed out of her bedroom door, wrapping herself in it as she ran. Problem was, they came out behind her. Sylvia’s heart pounded with such force and fear, she was afraid of fainting. Her head throbbed with heat as she dashed for her kitchen door. The house was not big enough for her and two bats. They were one of her phobias. They were probably one of the more intense ones. They caused all sorts of crazy unreasonableness when it came to the level of fear she felt upon an encounter with one”¦here there were two. She dashed down her porch stairs, stopping at her garage door. Breathing hard, she stared at her closed kitchen screen door, whimpering in panic. Not at all sure of what to do next. She was naked, save for the two towels. Outside”¦with bats inside. She just stood there panting, then looked around.

“Ohhh, my god, what am I gonna do?” she whimpered, nibbling now on her thumb nail and holding the towel securely to her body. If only she could get to a phone. Her cell phone was in the house in her purse, or she’d call the police or fire department. She’d call somebody, but until those bats were out, she wasn’t going back into that house. She leaned her head back against the garage, miserable.

“What am I gonna do? You stupid bats! I hate you! Get the hell outta my house!” she yelled, as if they understood and would comply. “Okay, calm down”¦just”¦calm down. Umm, I’ll just run in, grab the cordless off the wall,” she talked to herself, trying to muster the nerve to attempt this, despite her fear. She walked up the steps slowly. Heart still hammering away. “I can do this. I know I can. I can do this. Just look inside first. If they’re not around, you just run in, grab the phone off the wall and run out.” She swallowed deep, took a deep breath, and opened the screen very carefully, looking in towards the ceiling for the flying creatures. She didn’t see one. She then looked to where the phone hung on the wall, gauging the distance between where she stood and where she had to go to grab it. Making sure her path to run in and back out was unobstructed. “I can do this. I know I can. Just take another deep breath, now blow it out and run for it.”

As she was about to, she looked up beside her to the top of her door. There was a bat hanging upside down staring down at her. “Eeeeee!” She spun in place out of the door, screaming again in panic. Ran down the porch steps, now bawling in fear. Plus, her foot was in pain. Her spin had caused her to pick up a splinter, which felt painful and deep. Once again, she stood by the garage crying, with one foot leaning up and throbbing. There was only one way out of this as far as she could see, and right now, pride be damned.

Naked or not, she was going across the street.

Now hobbling in shame, she stepped out from between her house and garage, looking down both directions of the road. Praying that she could make it across before a passing vehicle could catch her in such an undignified state of dress”¦or undress. She looked up across the street. “God I hate this”¦but I ain’t goin’ in that house,” she whimpered to herself. “Why the hell does this kinda mess always have to happen to me?” She’d stalled long enough. Any more, and she was asking for an audience to witness her disgrace. Giving each direction a quick check, she darted across her front lawn, favoring one foot all the way, going as fast as her state of being would allow. She made it across the road, then to his driveway, her eyes on his open door the entire time. She wasn’t about to head there; she didn’t want to be caught standing at his door wrapped in a towel, so she bypassed the front yard and headed straight for the back, out of sight of the road, and there…she would knock.

She stopped at his back deck, looking it over, wondering where the stairs were. She walked around it and noticed that it was enclosed. No way up from outside. You could only come onto the deck from inside of the house. “What kind of ding-a-ling would do this?” she questioned in her desperation. Well, she was not about to chance going back around to the front. “I can get through there,” she thought out loud, “there” being the bottom opening space between the last rail and the deck floor. Looking around on the ground for something to step up on, she found three, five gallon old paint buckets. She grabbed one, turned it bottom up, and stepped up on it to go in under the railing to the back deck. See, now actually, it wasn’t that is was a bad plan. It was just that she was dealing with an old porch deck. That being the case, and her present state of dress”¦well, it just didn’t make for a successful venture. Of course, this conclusion hadn’t been reached until she was arms, head, shoulders and boobs in under the rail””with just enough towel to keep her ample endowments from complete exposure. She really thought she had it though, when she was able to wiggle her ribs and waist up and in.

However”¦

Her rear end was another matter entirely, which she came to realize with startling clarity. “Oh no, no, no, no, no! Please, please”¦ emph”¦ emph”¦ emph…” she gasped and mewled, now with her arms extended, her hands flat to the deck trying in vain to wiggle her rear through. Then she heard the sliding glass door opening. Immediately she dropped down to the deck, trying to cover herself the best that she could. In her struggle, she’d lost some of her decency. Her back and sides were practically bare, as were her shoulders. Sylvia pulled on the ends of what there was to the towel, but it was stretched to the limit, barely covering the nipples of her breasts, and not much more.

This was how she was found, much to her humiliation and shame, by Everett Styles”¦who, with soda, radio and book, stepped out onto his deck to grab some sleep in his porch hammock on what promised to be a beautiful day. He loved this new location for his home. Peaceful, quiet and private”¦so he thought. “What the hell?” he muttered in clear disbelief, sure that his eyes must be playing tricks on him. Sylvia looked up and thought she would shatter into a million pieces of quivering humiliation. Her bottom lip came out, then began to quiver. Pitifully she cried, “I need help!” Everett’s mouth dropped open.

Shaking his head, he returned, “Well you got me convinced. What are you doing!” he shot back, walking to his deck table with its umbrella to empty his hands. She followed his movements and began crying. “I’m serious. Help me!”

“What the hell are you doing there like that?” He still could not believe this. “I mean, I just asked for a bowl of beef stew, or some cookies would have been fine. But this is a little much”¦don’t you think?” he asked sarcastically. Well that was more than she could stand. With her mouth wide open, she began bawling. Everett stood stunned, just staring at her. The towel on her head lay in a half tilt, with locks of wet hair escaping. Her face was tear-streaked and all she could do was bawl. Suddenly, the humor of it hit him.

“What were you trying to do?”

“B-b-bats in”¦in m-m-my house! They ch-chased me. Aaaagh”¦aaaagh! H-help me!” He couldn’t help it. He was human after all, and he just wasn’t equipped to deal with this scenario any better than he did. He did try”¦really tried. He bit into his bottom lip. Really hard”¦well that hurt. Then he tried his tongue”¦but damn, that spurt of laughter, it got out anyway. “D-d-don’t l-l-laugh at me,” she cried, now starting to hiccup. “Okay, I’m”¦I’m sorry, but”¦but”¦but it still doesn’t explain”¦I mean, you’re naked, practically, and laying there in my deck rail. Aaaw, come on, stop crying. Tell me what happened?”

“I told y-you. There”¦there are bats”¦bats in m-my house. I came out the”¦the shower and they ch-chased me. I was screaming and I-I ran out the d-door. I didn’t have”¦nowhere else to”¦to go-o-o-o-o.” She sniffed, hiccupped and then bawled some more. “I see now. Okay, okay”¦stop crying now. It’s gonna be okay. But you could have come to the front door,” he reasoned, trying to calm her. “I was scared somebody”¦somebody would see”¦see me,” she sobbed. “I am naked here, you know!”

“All right. I understand now. Well, come on in then. I’ll give you one of my shirts or something.”

“I can’t,” she pealed. Well here lay the brunt of completing her humiliation. She stared up at him through tear-washed eyes, the towel drooping to one side. He bit his lip really hard and looked out at the yard to stop another eruption. Then looked back at her after he felt he’d gotten himself under control. “Why not?” he asked simply. “I’m”¦I’m”¦I’m stu-u-u-ck!” He blew like a mighty geyser! An eruption of laughter so powerful, no man-made power could help him hold it in. His stomach, his belly vibrating with it, gripped him to weakness that made him drop to his knees, then into a sitting position that laid him back. “Oh god”¦make it stop”¦it hurts, oh it hurts. I can’t laugh anymore”¦oh please”¦ohhh”¦ohhh m’god!”

“It’s not funny! Get me outta here!” she yelled at him as he rolled on the deck. He tried to sit up and get his bearings, but the minute his tears cleared and he got another look at her, he lost it again. “You just”¦go to hell, Everett Styles!” she cried out, now mad again as he laughed at her. She started wiggling trying to back out, but found herself well wedged. Then she had to stop as she realized the more she wiggled, the more the towel got twisted, leaving her more and more exposed. She wailed again, just as he’d tried to get up, making him fall forward in painful hilarity. His stomach hurt so bad”¦he wanted to stop laughing, but he just couldn’t stop. He was drunk with it. “Will you stop laughing and get me out of this!”

“Okay”¦okay”¦okay really”¦I gotta stop laughing”¦I gotta stop”¦phew.” He blew. “I gotta stop.” He was tired. “Hell, I need a nap now. That was better than sex.” He blew out again, wiping his eyes. “I know what”¦I’ll jump over the side and pull you out,” he suggested, trying to stand.

“Nooo!” she screamed in a panic.

“What!” he yelled back, startled.

“You can’t do that!” she squealed, “I told you, I’m naked!”

“Oh, yeah. Got your little backside out”¦don’tcha?”

“If it was a little backside, I wouldn’t be stuck!”

“Well, what do you suggest I do?”

“I don’t know,” she whined, “I can’t believe this is happening to me. Stupid bats! I hate bats!”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I owe ’em one.”

“Get””me””outta””here!”

“How? Darlin”¦I didn’t wedge you in there. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know”¦what was that?” she started whining, then became alert as she heard a vehicle pull up in his driveway.

“I think that’s UPS. I’ve been waiting on a package,” he offered, looking through his sliding doors towards his front door.

“Go, go, go! Meet him. Don’t let him walk back here! Hurry!” she yelled, panicking.

“God, you’re bossy! Okay! I’ll be right back.” He left, chuckling some more.

Sylvia’s head dropped to her folded arms. Her stomach was getting sore. Her legs and toes were starting to tingle, growing numb, and she was sure she was going to be sick. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there. She was too tired. Uncomfortable. Cried out and downright drained. All of a sudden she heard the start up of a chainsaw. “Oh Jesus,” she muttered, with no other reaction or movement. He stepped back onto the deck, revving the saw. Slowly, she propped her head up on one hand to look up at him. “What do you think you’re going to do with that?” she asked softly.

“What’d you say? I can’t hear you, the chainsaw’s too loud!” He was grinning and enjoying every moment of it. “I picked this baby out at the hardware store in Tomah. I said the first thing I’m gonna buy me when I get here is a chainsaw. Cutting down trees, splitting logs…man’s work! Never thought I’d be using it for the first time like this…but wood’s wood. An’ I can’t wait…thank you!” It was plain to see that she was not at all amused about this, nor did she share in his enthusiasm that she’d given him a good excuse to finally get a chance to play with his new toy. All she knew was that she’d get him back for this. She didn’t know how. Not now, she didn’t, but she would. As soon as her shame from this horrid morning was over, she would calculate some devious plan that would mete out the perfect revenge. She didn’t consider that she put herself in this situation. All she knew was that she would get him for enjoying this to the degree he was taking it.

“Better cover yourself up. Here, let me help you.” He stepped close, pulling the towel from her head. She hadn’t moved a muscle. She just lay there with her cheek cupped in her hand as her head towel was dropped over her upper body and head to shield it from the flying sawdust.

“I’ll have you out in a minute.”

“Bastard.”

She didn’t care that she was acting ungrateful. He was still chuckling. Laughing. He thought the noise from the chainsaw was drowning it out, but she heard ’em. Every snicker he made. She felt the board give to her right and still she didn’t move. Then next he cut it to the left of her. The relief of pressure as that board gave way, made her sigh. A small portion of the towel lifted in front of her face. He peeked in. “You okay? You’re free to climb on board now.” Her eyes rolled up to look at him. He grinned that infuriating grin. A deep sigh escaped her.

“Thank you,” she said finally, softly.

“Anytime.” He chewed his lip. “Need some help?” He chewed it again.

“You laugh at me again and I will pop you with that board,” she threatened.

He cleared his throat. “Now, see. What kind of appreciation is that? I’m trying to help you out.”

She smiled a sarcastic smile. “And I thank you. Now, will you please go inside so that I can pull myself up without further embarrassment? I think I’ve entertained you enough this morning.”

He dropped the towel. “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” she grumbled from beneath the towel. After hearing his door slide open and close, she pulled back a portion of the towel and peeked out to see if the coast was clear. Then quickly scrambled up, with her legs feeling heavy as they tingled. She couldn’t stand up right away, so she tried to fix the towel around her. After a moment, she finally stood.

Standing at his sliding door, she saw him there as she slid it aside to come in. He held out one of his white shirts in what he’d like to think as a peace offering. She stood still, glaring at him. “Ah, come on. Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t do anything.” Truth be told, he hadn’t done anything, but found her predicament amusing. Sighing, she took the shirt.

“Thank you. Where’s your bathroom?”

“Right down that hall to the left. I’ll be right back. I’m off to slay your dragons, fair damsel.” She watched him pick up a fishing net and a boat paddle and he was off. She turned away and headed for his bathroom. “Sssss”¦ouch!” She’d forgotten about the splinter in her foot. She limped in, dropped both towels after closing the door, and put his shirt on. After buttoning it up and rolling up the sleeves, she hesitated a moment as a strange feeling came over her wearing his shirt. Swallowing and shaking the feeling, she sat on the toilet to pick the splinter out.

“Holy mackerel, look at the size of that thing! Oh man”¦it’s gonna hurt.”

She stood to rummage through his medicine cabinet, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair hung flat and to her shoulders, just about dry. She had no make up on, and stood realizing she was as purely presented as she could be. “Oh well. What you see is what you get Mr. Styles,” this was muttered, opening the cabinet to look for something to dig the splinter out and clean the area. His cabinet was just about bare.

Stocked by a typical male, with hardly any medicines. No pain killers. No alcohol. Nothing that she could use. She closed it to look into one of the drawers of the sink vanity. Just some shaving stuff and condoms. Lots of condoms. “What a surprise!” Then bent over and looked under the sink. Bare. She opened the bathroom door and looked out. “You back yet?” she called out. There was no response. She turned back, picked up her towels and limped out of the bathroom looking around. “Well at least he’s clean,” she said aloud, talking to herself as she snooped into the room across from the bathroom. It was apparently his room. A fully furnished bedroom, but he still had packed boxes stacked in the corner of it. His bed was made though. As a matter of fact, come to think of it, he hadn’t slept in it. He’d just come back from somewhere this morning. She turned away from there and looked down the hall. There were two doors at the end of the hallway. She limped in that direction, around boxes stacked against the wall, yet to be unpacked. The room on the left was unfurnished and loaded with packed boxes. “Man, he’s got a lot of stuff for a single man.” She turned from there and went to the room on the right.

Opening the door, she was shocked to see a brightly lit painting room. He was an artist. There were unfinished pieces propped against the wall all around the room. Three easels stood with covered canvases. Against one wall, there were many paintings, four rows across, each row five to six paintings deep. She went to the first row and starting looking through them. With each row, her look became more and more sarcastic. “What a surprise! A nekkid woman on every one.” They were either stretched out on the beach, belly down, rear up”¦draped across a chaise lounge. Tangled in satin sheets on a bed. Lying in a field of flowers. Kneeling in a shallow tub bathing and looking over their shoulders back at him, posing seductively. What became clear as she viewed them, and she had to admit, they were all tastefully done. Very clean, smooth and precise. They were of photograph quality. As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, she could swear she’d seen a couple somewhere before. Then she lifted one of the covers on a perched canvas.

“Oh my god”¦he’s a book cover artist.” The one he was working on now, was breathtaking. “Wow,” she exclaimed, impressed. The work displayed before her”¦opened a small window to his eye for capturing the beauty of a man and woman. He was brilliant. Gifted and keen. She was impressed. She hated sappy romance novels and the covers they sometimes displayed, but this one, made you long to be the woman wrapped in that man’s arms that way. Tenderly. Everett had somehow transferred to this still life a look on this man’s face, the very one all women wanted from the man they loved. To be treasured, cherished, held in an embrace that came from the depths of his soul. Her eyes watered. All of a sudden, she was lonely. All of a sudden, she longed for what her eyes beheld. She dropped the cover and looked up. He was standing in the doorway staring at her. She stared back at him.

“I’m sorry but”¦I’m nosey,” she admitted softly.

“Most women are,” he returned just as softly. Not at all offended at seeing her there. Neither was she offended by his comment.

“Your work is beautiful,” she offered honestly.

“So are you,” he replied.

She swallowed. “Not as beautiful as some of the women in these portraits you’ve painted,” she returned humbly.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I have a good eye for it, and lady, you are beautiful.”

She looked down bashfully, then sighed looking up. “I’m not a mean person”¦I just”¦” She was speechless as to what else to say. Then to her horror, tears came to her eyes. She was all of a sudden vulnerable and scared. She looked down again. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so rude to you. Thank you for helping me.” She looked up again.

“Apology accepted, and you’re welcome. Anytime. Ummm, by the way”¦they’re gone. It took me a bit to catch the little critters, but your house is bat free once again.”

“Well, I guess I better go then,” she returned, limping around his easel.

“Why are you limping?” he asked concerned.

“I picked up a splinter on my porch in my mad dash to safety,” she answered, smiling as she walked up to him in the doorway. “That’s kinda why I was snooping. I was looking for something to remove it with.” He stood staring down at her, making her feel self-conscience. She reached up, pulling her hair back from her cheek, placing a small portion behind her ear.

“Let me do a portrait of you?”

She gazed up at him, stunned. “What?”

He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “You heard.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never done a black woman before. I’d like to start with you. In the nude, with my shirt on. I’d unbutton it down to there.” He touched “there”, startling her heart. “Then have you sit on the window seat over there.” He nodded across the room, where, sure enough, there was one. She hadn’t noticed it, with looking at all the paintings. “I’d have you sit in it, leaning your left shoulder against the wall. Your bare legs stretched out beside you. Your right knee bent forward. Your wide hips bared to me, the shirt falling off your shoulder, teasing, taunting me with just enough cleavage showing to drive any man with a longing to see the rest of you.”

He was mesmerizing. His good looks. His hypnotic blue-gray eyes. His deep soothing voice. All made and used by him, to cast a spell. She smiled gently. Now she knew more than ever, she had to stay away from him. She gazed a moment more. He was definitely made up of the kind of stuff appealing to women, but there was a legitimate reason this man had a drawer full of condoms.

“I suppose I should be flattered,” she finally returned. “I’d just as soon pass on it, however.” She broke the rapt gaze between them and turned away. “I better go.”

“Wait”¦what about that splinter. Let me help you get that out.”

“I only have to make it across the road. I’m sure I’ll survive. I’ll have someone come repair your deck,” she informed him, walking back down the hall. “After I clean your shirt, I’ll get it back to you as well.” She was turning into his living room and heading for the front door. He followed.

“Hey,” he called. She stopped at the door looking back. “How about we have lunch or dinner sometime?”

“No, thank you.” She smiled one last time at him, then turned to look out his screen door. The coast was clear.

“Well, see ya, neighbor,” she said, right before she made her exit. Then stopped in the middle of his yard, looking back at him she called, “Welcome to the neighborhood.” Resuming her direction as Everett stood in the door, watching her hobble across his yard, then across the road to her drive. His eyes followed her all the way until she stepped into her door.

“Shawn my boy…I think you’re going to have to pull out all the stops for this one. I think you are.”

End of Episode One…

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M. Keyes