You have to be away for some years from your hometown before experiencing a real homecoming, and Charlie Nicholson did just that.
He'd left town after stumbling his way through high school – remembered as the gangly kid with glasses, a sunken chest and big feet. – and now eighteen years later he returned to Scudway Crossing, a community of some 50,000 people on the fork of York River.
Charlie hadn't expected bands to be playing and flags flying to celebrate his homecoming or Kelly Roberts in her dress two sizes too small swinging her hips inviting him to enter – not that she'd ever thought of having sex with him in a million years. Correction – make that two million, sighed Charlie, happy to be greeted by the flag flying over the Post Office. Well, that was something.
Fifty thousand people? The sign at the entrance to the town proclaimed 'Scudway Crossing City, Population 186,278. Mayor Thomas B. Johnston'.
Tommy-John, mayor? Well, Tommy's father built and owned the mall, completed during their last year at high school – the biggest single development in the town since WW2, with 33 stores and a supermarket. Everyone had predicted it would go bust within two years but it had defied the doomsayers.
Charlie spotted a sign pointing to the direction of Johnston Mall – 108 stores, two supermarkets, two department stores, skating rink, eight-theatre movie complex and conference centre. Oh my.
Then he spotted a fat-ass woman pushing an infant in a pram with another holding on to her dress and bawling. He parked and strode after that woman.
"Kelly – Kelly Roberts?"
"Yes, but Kelly Knapman now, I haven't worked at the brothel for seven years. I'm married and have seven children. You'll have to get your pleasure somewhere else."
"Kelly – it's me, Charlie Nicholson."
Her mouth dropped on to the push bar of her stroller.
"Ohmigod – is it really you? Just look at that body. Oh, I need to sit down."
"So you married Nappy Man?"
"Yes, but no-one calls him that these days, he's vice-president of the River Country Bank."
"But he was useless at math at school."
"Yeah, but look at me – I was a virgin till I was 19 and yet five years later I was the most acclaimed prostitute in the history of Scudway Crossing. Some of us are just late developers."
Kelly pulled out a purple hued breast with a nipple the size of the mouth of a beer bottle and the little fellow she'd pulled out of the stroller made contact with it with a spine-tingling slurping sound.
"What happened to you Nicky-Dickey? When you left town you were a nobody."
"I went to work for my Uncle Ralph in advertising. After eight years he died, no-one stepped forward to take over the business so Auntie May said it had to be me. I stoked it up; she died and left everything to me. I've just sold out, so I thought I would come to see how my old colleagues are getting on."
"I'm glad you said colleagues – you had very few friends. Two from memory: Tommy-John is under siege, holding on by his shirt-tails; your sweet Caroline bought me out and is now madam of the failing brothel."
Ah, Caroline, a buck-tooth leggy kid, all bones and a sweet smile, thought Charlie. Her only friends at school were Tommy and him, and the only friends Tommy had were Caroline and him and there was a Melody something hovering.
The baby finished, burped and was put back in the stroller.
While Kelly was putting herself back into her monster bra she said: "Nice meeting you, Charlie. My, you have turned out to be such a dreamboat. If we should meet one dark night just take me, I won't mind. You won't need a rubber because I not worried about becoming pregnant – having babies is the only thing I do these days."
"I'll keep that in mind, Kelly. Can I drop you and the kids off somewhere?"
"No thank you – I'd only give you a bad reputation. Please go."
Charlie went to City Hall and asked to see Mayor Johnston.
"He's seeing nobody, he's suffering severe depression," asserted the thin-faced granny behind the counter.
"Bullshit," Charlie laughed, vaulted the counter and barged into the office of the Mayor.
Tommy's trousers were around his ankles and he was pumping into a trim blonde.
"Well, fuck me," marvelled Tommy – I do believe it's Charlie – recognised that nose and watery blue eyes anywhere. You've risen up, filled out nicely and handsome to boot; someone's been feeding you well. You'll excuse me while I finish, won't you?"
"Sure thing, buddy. Who is she?"
"I'm Liz, manager of Treasury, and what the fuck are you doing watching this obscene display of mayoral stress-shedding?"
"You've got a nice ass, Liz."
That changed her attitude abruptly, and she said sweetly, "Well thank you, stranger. Any time you'd like it on your lap it's yours.
"Oooh, oooh – cumming ready or not," she called, and wailed and groaned.
Tommy wiped himself with a towel which he handed on to Liz and said he was under immense pressure, so once again had failed to shoot his load.
"Buddy, you and I need to talk," said Charlie soothingly. "I'm booked in at the Commercial Hotel. Come and have dinner with me tonight. I'd like to find if I can help you."
"What room?" Liz.
"I'm not telling you – I don't fuck the mayor's girl friend."
They all laughed.
Charlie went to the Commercial and signed for his room. He requested the premium suite and scored it. He bounced on the huge bed and the day manager who'd carried Charlie's bags up the two flights of stairs as the elevator was being serviced, asked if he like company on the bed.
"No thank you, I haven't learned to diversify," Charlie said politely. The guy walked out not at all offended.
Deciding he didn't need to masturbate or to shave his face for that matter, Charlie completed his real objective of coming to town and went to his parent's small retirement unit.
Each year he sent them away on holiday and they'd always returned home via his city on the coast to say thank you and stay with him a few days. His mom Iris was always upset when finding Charlie had a new wife; neither Charlie nor his father had the heart to tell her most of those women were not married and those who were had not married Charlie; that was because Iris was prim and sanctimoniously positioned high in her church.
His parents greeted him excitedly and fed him weak coffee and bran biscuits and Iris asked if his wife had accompanied him – "What was her name, there have been so many?"
"Um, she ran away with a priest," lied Charlie, unwisely, provoking Iris to scream "Ohmigod" and had them linking hands while she prayed for absolution for the poor priest whom she declared had been unable to help being beset by depravity. "Thank goodness we Methodists hold the high moral ground," she said – both men unable to determine whether that was part of her prayer or a self-righteous post-prayer declaration.
