It has been five years since my divorce—an easy one for me, as it was my former wife Margie who ran off with her older sister’s husband, and I stayed blissfully single and roaming a bit for those years, too. I badly missed one of my earliest playmates from the day I had learned of my unfaithful wife from her own niece!
That cute niece, almost 18 at the time, and I (26, then) had a week of wild sex, for my wife’s sister had taken off after them with fire in her eyes, despite her attorney’s advice, to find and—I don’t know what she intended, really, for she never found ‘em, and I for one didn’t give a damn.
As I said, Bennie and I had an almost idyllic week, keeping close to my house, me not wanting any interference, she not caring as long as she was "comforting" me. I think she grew up a lot that week.
Anyway, Bennie’s mother finally came home and called me, wanting to commiserate and, as an afterthought, wanting to know where her daughter Benicia might be. Not that she seemed to care very much, Bennie having turned 18 just before she came home. I know she had no reaction when I told her that Bennie had spent most of the days with me, going home at night. Luckily, Bennie and I had done some cleaning—in the daytime—Marsha’s house didn’t look too horrible. She had no comment on that, either, but as soon as Bennie graduated from high school that Spring, they moved away, separately, and I didn’t know where Bennie had gone. Marsha—I cared?
So, I was going through life with the feeling that I was missing something, and trying to make up for it by being a workaholic and making out very occasionally with some of the girls with whom my work threw me in contact. I was traveling a good deal, and I met a good many nice—and occasionally really weird—girls and young women, some business types, some students, some—and I swear those meetings never developed into anything serious—housewives who came on kinda strong in some bar or other. Maybe I began to understand my former b-i-l and my ex-wife a little better. She’d probably gotten bored with me and they’d met in a bar and made their plans?
Well, as I say, I was traveling for my job, and I came to a small town in the mid-West, where some client had wanted to meet me. There was no close-by airport, save for a cow pasture about three miles out, so I had rented car and driven some ninety miles rather than risk my life on a kangaroo airline. I had to find a motel, and the only one seemed to be the hot pillow type—I could figure no other reason for it’s being where it was, the town was too small to support more than the one almost starter industry, from which my client had called for me. However, there were seven cars in the lot, for fifteen rooms, so it wasn’t doing too badly. I wondered what there was....
Well, the idiot client had gone out of town—I cannot figure why, he’d made the appointment—and I was stuck there overnight. Asking at the desk of the motel, I discovered that there was a "good restaurant"—by whose standards, I wondered—and I went there for supper. I sat up front in a booth, the back was really busy. I was generally pissed off and tired, but I brightened up a lot when I got a good look at the waitress.
"May I take your order, sir?" she asked, in a voice a good bit more mature than I remembered. She was still familiar.
"Why, you sure can, miss." I answered. Then it hit me.
"Bennie?" I whispered. I thought she would fall right out, but I saw her muscles tense in her effort to stand still, although she did blush very slightly. "My God! It’s...Fred?" She whispered, too. "Is it really you?"
"Is the man bothering you, Ginny?" asked a deep voice, and a hulk loomed up behind Bennie.
"No...no, not at all. I’ve known him for years, Jimmy Bob. It’s O K, really. This is my cousin...Gene." Her hesitation was very slight.
"O K, but you just don’t get funny with Ginny, Gene...call me if you need me, Ginny." He looked at me with deep suspicion, and slowly walked away to the counter, looking back at me with a scowl once or twice.
"Who...is that?" I asked, keeping my voice down.
"That?" She was murmuring, too. "Jimmy Bob? He’s the owner, thinks he owns me because I work here, Fr...Gene. Pay him no mind. He won’t hurt you, he’s just...worried. He thinks every man that comes in here is a...snoop, maybe." She laughed softly. "I don’t think you’re a Fed...are you?"
"Never, Bennie, but what’s with this ‘Ginny?’" "Oh, that’s been my name since Mother killed herself. I go by ‘Geneva Harlan’ these days."
"Married?"
"No, Fred. You?"
"No. I’m...sorry about your mother."
"Don’t sweat it. She was never ‘right’ after Dad ran off with Aunt Margie—Oh, I saw those two about six months ago, passing through. I hate to tell you that Margie still looks good, but Dad...Jesus, you’d think he’d been drinking hard all that time—maybe he has—or Margie’s giving him a lot of hell. They didn’t know me. Anyway...how’s with you?"
"Pretty good...lonely for these last five years, though, Bennie. You sure still look good!"
"You know...shit, he’s comin’..." her voice shook. "You better give me your order, Gene! I’ll see you after work."
"You a transient? You steady here, then?"
"I’ve been here almost eight months now, and I’m..." she raised her voice, "...figuring on staying for quite a while longer. Let me take your order. Can’t waste any more time."
Well, there was obviously something wrong, but I played it by ear and perused the menu. It did not look bad. Maybe I could work something out with "Ginny."
"What did you want to eat, Gene?" she asked hastily, pencil and notepad poised, as the hulk came walking down the aisle. I noticed that she still wasn’t using my right name.
"Right, let me have the Salisbury steak, gravy, mashed; how’re the green beans, french or cut?" I as hastily answered.
"Frenched, but the broccoli, b’lieve it, is better, it’s fresh, and the cook’s pretty good with veggies."
"O K. I’ll go with that, then. I’ll wait to order dessert later, O K?"
"Right. Gottit." She dropped back to a mutter as she was turning away to forestall the hulk.
"Off at eight, parking lot, motel." Luckily I heard her and did not show any reaction. I laid my hand casually on the table rim, showing four fingers, my room number. She nodded. "O K, Gene. It won’t take long."
The hulk seemed to be placated, and he returned to his watch over me from behind the counter. There were other customers in this "best restaurant in town." Shit, it was the only place I’d seen. I wished he’d watch them, too. Eventually, he got busy at the register.
The meal was amazingly good, and the broccoli was as good as I’ve eaten anywhere. I suppose I was all hyped up by the thought of seeing Bennie close up again and I did begin to wonder what she’d been doing for those five years or so. Obviously, she had been moving around a good deal, and how she had come to this podunk of a town I’d have to find out from her—if I really saw her again.
I was only a little bit surprised when she did show up in the motel parking lot driving a beat-up Chevy, unaccompanied as far as I could tell. I had the awful thought that the man mountain might follow her, or be in the car with her! She parked several doors down and walked slowly up to me.
"Hi," she said, as I held the door for her, and I could tell she was tired. Her eyes had shadows underneath, and I felt really sorry for this cute woman, figuring she had gone through a lot in five and a bit years.
"Bennie...can I call you that, now?...I can see you’re beat. Do you want to hit the sack alone in your room?"
"No! Fred...things are not as cool as I might have said they were at the restaurant. I’ve really got to get out of town, tonight, right now! I’m going to my room to pack—there’s not that much—and I’m gonna drive as far as I can away from here."
"Good God, Bennie, what’s happening?" "Well...Jimmy Bob’s a real bastard—like you couldn’t figure that out—and he’s into drugs in a big way—he’s the major distributor in this part of the state—tonight he’s got a big shipment coming in. He’s caught on to the fact that I know he’s into drugs in a big way, and I’m positive he’s gonna take care of me tonight, before that shipment comes in. He’s got a few of his ‘boys’ in to ‘help’ and one of ‘em’s a killer, for sure!"
"Judas Priest! Then you want to get away from here real quick? And safely?"
"Yes, please God, I’ll make it out of here with a head on my shoulders!"
"That kind of ‘taking care,’ eh?" I asked, as I quickly folded my clothing, grabbed my shaving stuff and portfolio and put them in my big bag. It was a task I could do in my sleep, hurriedly. I pulled the portfolio back out at the last moment.
"Fred, you stay the hell out of this. This is my trouble, not yours!"
"No, it is not just yours. I’ve been missing you like hell for five years or more, you crazy girl, and we’re going to get the hell out of here together. Look, I have plenty of cash, several good credit cards, and we can make the next city before dawn, I think, no worry." I sneaked a quick look out the window. A car was pulling slowly into the lot.
"Stay away from your room, your car! Forget your clothes, your stuff. We’ll get more in St Louis. There’s a big black car pulling into the lot right now, and there’s three guys gettin’ out. We gotta get you into my car, hidden and drive out of here!"
"Thanks—you damn’ fool, you!" She puckered at me, then ducked back from the window as the car’s headlights swung across.
