Saturday Afternoon
"I hope you can talk sense into her, Wilder," said Sheriff Jimmy Taylor as he drove north out of town. "I know this is an imposition for you, but you knew her family. I gotta move her today. Got a court order, you know."
"I know Jimmy. I'm a lawyer, remember. I know what a court order is. You explained the situation to me, and I'll do my best." Over the longest fucking lunch of his life, the fat lawman had set himself down and asked for his help with the slowest story of all time.
"Hey man, don't call me Jimmy anymore, would ya? I'm the sheriff now, Wilder. You're not the only one who's come up in the world." Jimmy was a few years younger than Wilder, but they grew up in this same small town. Both played on the famed high school football team. Jimmy was a bully in high school, but he never tried any shit with Wilder, who just assumed he was smarter than he looked, or generally acted.
"OK, Sheriff,' Jimmy said, punctuating the word with all the sarcasm he could muster.
Wilder Betterman had practiced law in this county for more than 20 years. One of his first cases was that of Frank Neville, a small time grifter who tried to con old folks out of their life savings with an investment scheme. There wasn't much Wilder could do as the guy got drunk and bragged about his caper to all his friends at a local bar. The case was more shut than open.
Years later, Neville's wife got caught selling drugs and Wilder tried to represent her, too. However, she was too stubborn and too crazy to take any advice at all and was also convicted. That left a little girl on her own, so Wilder helped get her into a decent foster home. It was about all he could do at the time.
Now, that little girl was a 23-year-old woman living in a broken-down RV out on a plot of land she did not own. Her new husband had been recently arrested on federal charges of drug smuggling fentanyl halfway across the country and was not coming back anytime soon. To make matters worse, the owner of the land she was squatting on wanted her gone.
Everyone knew Crystal Neville. She grew up well. The best possible outcome of her parents. She was, to put it mildly, beautiful and the golden girl in high school. Even Wilder noticed her.
While maybe not the best student, she was popular. Crystal starred as a cheerleader and all-state soccer star and went off to college fully expected to conquer the world. However, something went terribly wrong, which explained the RV she refused to vacate.
"Is she sick or crazy?" Wilder asked. "Her mother was a complete nut job.'
"Ain't nothing wrong with that girl. Fine a piece as you've ever seen; I'll tell you that. Gorgeous face and a fuckin rockin body. She could work if she wanted to. Landsdale offered her a job, you know, but she turned him down."
"How surprising. Was the job offer for the position of stripper or whore?" Bill Landsdale ran a gentleman's club on Airport Road. He and Wilder had slammed into each other legally on a number of occasions. It was no great surprise that vulture was picking on the remains of Crystal's life.
"Stripper, I think, but he wants her just like everybody else. He offered her the moon, but she won't have no part of him. Picky little thing."
"How peculiarly discriminating." He was giving her points for courage if she would rather live in a rundown RV on the edge of nowhere than sleep with a fat 60-year-old lecher in the lap of luxury.
They passed a ramshackle roadside stand with an obviously-homemade but artistically-drawn sign. It read 'Hot Girl Fruit Stand.'
Just after the stand, they turned left onto what might be called a dirt road if it was twice as wide and less overgrown. In a few miles, they came to a dead end at a grove of apple trees holding what Wilder guessed was a 20-foot Winnebago of a 1970s vintage. There was a carefully tended and rather large garden in the field on the other side of the road.
Sitting under a faded camping canopy was a breathtaking brunette. He first noticed the long, tanned legs stretching out from an old lawn chair. Her bare feet were propped up on a massive tree stump that seemed to serve as a combined ottoman and coffee table.
Crystal was wearing cutoff jean shorts and an over-stressed white halter top. The exposed skin of her body was deeply tanned and damp from perspiration. She wore no makeup on that defiant face. Who did she remind him of? Raquel Welch in '100 Rifles? Maybe.
She turned her head to them as Jimmy parked a few yards away, and the dust floated by missing her all together. The weather gods knew not to mess with that special brand of female perfection. Jesus, what a woman.
They got out of the car, Jimmy waving the court order. "Crystal, honey, this time you gotta go. This paper says you don't have a choice."
She didn't say a word. Just looked away.
"Crystal?" he shouted.
"Shut up Sheriff; my daughter is taking a nap. You'll wake her with that loud mouth of yours."
"Crystal." Quieter.
"No."
"Your gonna make me handcuff and arrest you for squattin and stealin? You want your daughter in Child Protective Services? You're lucky she ain't there already, you livin out here like a gypsy and all."
"Girl's gotta make a living, Sheriff. Got a baby to feed. Nobody's been using this land for years. Everything's going fallow." Every time she addressed the lawman it was with sarcasm. Wilder liked her spirit.
"The owner has been very lenient with you, but it's time to go."
"Where'm I gonna go, Sheriff?"
Wilder stepped forward. "Maybe that's were I can help, Crystal." She slowly turned her angry blue eyes and gave him a long look. Up and down.
"Yeah, lots of men are willing to help a girl down on her luck. Such kind hearts they have," she said, dripping with sarcasm. "And all they want me to do is be their whore, ain't that right, Sheriff." She glanced at Jimmy and that made Wilder glance that way, too. Jimmy was blushing. Shit, did he try to bed her, too? Jesus. No wonder she was reluctant to leave. She turned back to the lawyer.
"And just what can the Honorable Wilder Betterman, Esquire, do to help me, I wonder."
"Well first, as a lawyer, I would advise you to gracefully vacate this property, so a law enforcement officer that you obviously hold in contempt won't be able to bodily accost you with legal sanction."
"Why are you even here," she asked. "Is this your property? Do you own it like everything else in this fucking town?" Actually, he didn't own everything, just an Italian restaurant, motel, grocery store franchise and a flower shop he bought for his mother. He also owned a BMW dealership, an insurance company, and of course, his law practice. But that's it. You could say that he was reasonably wealthy.
"I do not as I am sure you know. But to answer your direct question, I am here to offer you a position working in a flower shop. I assume you like being around plants, and I admire your entrepreneurial spirit. I will provide temporary housing for you and your daughter and help you get on your feet."
He did not know he was going to say all that, but he wanted so desperately to help this stunning young woman, and that got her attention. She sat up and looked at him like she was waiting for more. However, Wilder had been a lawyer a long time and knew when to shut up a listen.
"Doesn't your mother run that shop?" she asked with a wary look.
"Yes, but her assistant recently moved away. If you do well, as I am sure you will, you can take over the shop in a year when my mother retires. That would mean a promotion and raise."
"And just why would you do all that?" The wary look persisted now with a touch of skepticism.
Wilder looked at the other dilapidated lawn chair under that canopy. He wondered for a moment if it would hold his weight and decided to chance it. He glanced at Jimmy, who was obviously getting restless.
"Crystal, may I sit." She nodded. "Sheriff, please be patient. This will only take a minute or two, I hope." He turned back to the beauty in the lawn chair.
"You probably see me as the guy who botched your parent's legal cases, and I wouldn't blame you for that. However, what you may not know is that I have spent most of the last 15 years investing in this county and its people. I tend to hire people who need help. I treat them well, train them well and give them the authority to run my businesses. It's a strange business model, I grant you. Yet, I've learned that if you invest in the right people, they will not let you down."
She sighed. "What makes you think I won't fuck this chance up like everything else in my fucking life?" She looked so tired at that moment.
"First, I make all my best decisions in the afternoon. Secondly, I don't know why I believe in you. I just do. You will need to trust me on this. You can run a flower shop. You can get your life together, and you can raise that little girl." Crystal looked at Wilder for a long time in silence.
"That's just too kind," she finally said in a softer voice. "It has not been my experience that men do kind things for women for nothing."
"That's because you have yet to met my mother. See, we are not that different. Let me tell you a story. My father was also a less than honorable man who abandoned us when I was just a boy. I was fortunate to have a wonderful mother. She worked damn hard to raise me and put me through school. Once I began to build my businesses, she encouraged me to give back, to help people get ahead. That's what this is."
She sat and looked at Wilder for maybe two minutes in silence. He guessed she was trying to gauge whether she could trust him.
"I don't know, Mr. Betterman. Where will I go? Where will I live?"
