The Walon

She battled with Bobby Dean, this fiery, hot-tempered, woman. But he didn't understand the severity of the ramifications. If Jamison, her lean and lithe son, didn't make a professional basketball team, his future was doomed. To get that opportunity he needed to play college ball. Never the academic genius, though he maintained a solid 2.0 average, never one to be interested in working on cars or carpentry, or even chasing girls and drinking, or video games, none of the things any of the teenagers in the neighborhood did, Jamison was good at one thing, basketball. The strategy and talent it took to balance and position man and ball, aim, strength, and speed and then utilize them all, at this her son was gifted. Now, while he was in his youth, he had to hone that gift and Bobby Dean was just the man to help him, to guide him, into his steed and on to his future.

Slight of build and small of stature, Emma Lou worked hard. A waitress at Waffle House for nearly 25 years, she'd been working the night before Jamison was born, the same night his father left. She wasn't ashamed of the work, it was upright, she signed a check and paid taxes; it even made her proud, but she wanted something better for her boy. She'd met Bobby Dean on her job, watching as an array of men, some gentleman, some not, shared breakfast with him and debated sports, politics, and religion. She'd watched and smiled as an assortment of women of all shapes, sizes, and ages had flirted, cajoled, and scolded him and always seemed to promise him something beyond that table. On occasion his wife and/or his son joined him or Reverend Jesse, those occasions were always more solemn and subdued than the others and she'd learned to watch his expression to know whether to approach the table to offer coffee, take the order, or just ask how he was doing.

He preferred the center booth, against the main windows, right under the "open" sign. For at least a decade now, he'd been a fixture at the particular Waffle House. Twice a week, more if he was really working hard, Bobby Dean had sat at her booth and Emma Lou had pulled the pencil from the bun on the back of her head and taken his order, even though she knew it by heart, "two eggs, sunny-side up, raisin toast, real butter please Emmy, and a side of bacon...done!" He'd shoot at her with a fisted pointing motion and a wink when she brought his order, and often quaff to whoever accompanied him, "that Emmy Lou, she knows how Bobby Dean likes breakfast." He normally had Diet Coke or a black coffee to wash it down, with enough quantities of water in between to sink a battleship.

Both blonde and both light-eyed, a certain friendship and a vast respect had developed between the two over the years, and on his next visit she would take the time, crowd or not to sit with her old friend and talk to him. Their friendship had went beyond Waffle House twice a year, to traditions he had started. He'd shown up at a school carnival where she was selling homemade candy to buy new playground equipment. He'd took over the booth, donned her apron, and encouraged a man he was with, a Mr. Harry Hughes, to dance with her, and accompany her around to play the games and enjoy the music. When they'd returned, it had only been an hour or so, the candy was gone and $ 220.00, the value of the candy plus the booth rent had been left in her envelope under her apron. She'd cried at his sentiment and generousness and known she'd made a real friend. Mr. Hughes had followed her home and kissed her goodnight at the door, and they'd continued to see each other whenever he, a school supply salesman, had came through town. He'd loved Jamison, and when he'd seen the muted dark skin, the slightly nappy hair, he'd embraced him and then held him, his arms pushing the boy back by the head, to a distance, sparing with him, a real father. Harry Hughes had died in a tragic automobile accident, when his daughter drove all the way from East Tennessee to Monticello to tell her, she'd left with her a legal document that said in ten years she could collect an insurance policy Harry had made out to her. She realized then that Harry loved her but she didn't love him. Her focus was Jamison. She reserved the policy for the school. She always remembered him, and she always worked the school carnival. . And Bobby Dean always showed up and always bought her supply of homemade candy. Christmas time always found Christmas left on the table with a gift certificate from a local boutique. He knew she had a hard time but he didn't push it. He didn't know it was her only gift of substance. She always used the money from the festival to buy Jamison's Christmas.

Almost in a willful gesture, Bobby Dean darkened the door of the Waffle House. His blond hair was dusted with gray, and lines had developed a bit around those sparkling blue eyes, she had to chuckle beneath her pursed lips. He changed very little, but then again, neither did she. "What'll it be this morning, Bobby Dean?" Her pencil was writing as she spoke. He didn't surprise her. "Will anyone be joining you?" She smiled.

"Yeah, watch for a plump, blondish/brown haired woman with an out of state license, you'll recognize her," as if the place were so crowded the woman might miss him. "You got it, Bobby," Emmy Lou smiled. His private life was none of her business, she knew whatever he did there was a good reason, that saddened her a bit. If he wanted to talk about it he would. But she wondered if she'd get to have that conversation.

"Hey Emma Lou,"she waved as the woman, now approaching middle-age herself and hardly possessing the youth Bobby implied flounced in, a flurry of movement and laughter, signature perfume in the air, fingernails flashing red, calling out to her in an instant. Emma Lou recognized her and waved back, and Bobby embraced the woman and guided her into the booth quickly. Emma Lou noted the way the woman caressed Bobby Dean's forearms and hands, and it made her remember her own passions.

A frequent visitor to their town and a friend of Bobby's, she liked this woman, and often thought of her driving alone on the black stretching highways lined with pine trees and wondered how she stood driving such distances. Her breakfast would be lighter than Bobby's and she would drink only the black coffee and neither of them would eat. They would talk and laugh and touch fingers and talk and laugh some more, and when Emma Lou came by, they would include her. She could have her conversation with this woman present. "Ingrid," Emma recalled her name, Ingrid would understand too and would not mind her intrusion, in fact she'd welcome it.

"Do ya'll mind if I join you a minute?" That was all it took, Ingrid slid over and patted the seat by her. "What's up," Bobby Dean quipped, "trying to get in on the action?" His blue eyes sparkled and both women made sounds of exasperation. The laughter, again, erupted, this time enveloping all three. The fast order cook frowned in their direction and Ingrid stuck her tongue out at him. "Bobby Dean, I need your help." "It's my Jamison." She explained how he spent last year off of the basketball team, which Bobby Dean knew, because the new coach at the high school hadn't approved his eligibility due to poor grades. Jamison had missed two weeks of school due to a ruptured appendix and barely made the grade to graduate. None of the recruiting coaches had seen him. Not one. "Can you get him a walk on opportunity?' Emma Lou's smile faded as she saw Bobby Dean and Ingrid exchange a serious concerned look. "Emmy Lou, the university doesn't accept walk-ons at all, conference policy for a school of that size." "If something happened to a player, perhaps." She dropped her head, "don't give up, Emmy Lou, let me think, maybe I know someone who can help, but he'd have to leave home." Her smile came back and the three laughed again. Ingrid said she worked at a small college in the mountains and perhaps she'd know someone too. Oddly, Emma Lou felt confident that these two would help her.

She watched as they went to the parking lot, leaning toward each other but not touching, a veiled intimacy, and she was surprised by her own thoughts, best not to voice those, but she liked this pair. Together they appeared confident and secure and as if they could take on the world and they could. Emma didn't doubt it.

It had all began innocently enough. Ingrid had traveled south from her teaching job at a small college near Baltimore and took classes toward her Ph.D. at Monticello. In her mid-thirties, a marriage had disintegrated before her eyes and she was picking up the pieces that were left. Charred and burned, she was surprised any were salvageable. One requirement of picking up those pieces was money and beyond taking classes herself, she was working as an academic liaison and public relations officer for athletics at Monticello.

A player in trouble had brought Bobby Dean to her door. Other things had brought him to her bed but, neither regretted either union. He'd been surprised to find her there, not on the inside of her desk, but kneeling, spreading newspaper pictures of the team on the floor, intently scanning for errors. Legs bent, ass plump & precariously balanced where she was poised knees bend, he thought she might land face down on the papers, but when she swiveled to look at him, hearing his knock, he realized she was safe. "Well, the infamous Bobby Dean," she smiled. "I'm Ingrid Crawford," she didn't extend her hand but went on as if she had known him for more than a half-minute, "did you see the Morning Edition?" "I don't think we should let them shoot Smallwood from that angle anymore, whattaya think?" Bobby laughed. "No, he's a point guard and small but they shouldn't show him stretching his neck" "Makes it look like he has a ripe jugular!" They both laughed and she stood, straightened her hemline, and then crossed to the coffee pot. He felt an uneasiness, his cock rising.. Precisely as usual, right when he shouldn't.

Ingrid Crawford was everything Anne Dean was not, plump but shapely and he had noticed every bit of what she called "fat," and he called "voluptuousness." Her shoes were off, which he was to find was normally the case, toenails glistening with a light pink shimmer. The legs that were surprisingly muscular and tanned from years of tennis and walking and a spirit that refused to heed those who abhor the sun. The dress was paper thin and worn with out a slip, serving a dual purpose, to entice and to remain cool, the small shadow at the top of those legs that indicated something he had long laid aside, the curve of the waist to full breasts that matched the curve and that she did nothing to hide, the deep cleavage the v-neck revealed. A soft jaw-line, plump, round face and lips that smiled more than they frowned, and eyes that sparkled. Her hair framed her face and was a dyed, dusky blond. He liked that. He knew what it meant, she was not hiding a thing just letting the gray be enhanced by the various shades. She wore little make-up. He focused in on those eyes, were they green or gold or brown? He hoped the focus would dissuade the pressure building in his loins and the buzzing sound that always created n his brain.

She spoke. "What can we do for this young man who can score a foul but cannot pass math?' He laughed again, realizing she had deliberately broke the thoughts of the moment and brought him back to reality. Thus began a friendship that had now endured more years than Bobby or Ingrid wanted to count. "A little less than lovers, a little more than friends, clinging to each other until the very end," so the song goes and they lived every line and if one or the other wanted anything more it had not yet been spoken.

Three days after their initial meeting, Bobby was driving his old pick-up out by the flea market at the Drive-In. It was early morning. Ingrid was washing her car, a blue sports job, at the carwash across the street. Khaki shorts, black tank-top, and all that tan. She was wonderful. He walked over and offered to finish the job. Car rinsed, he'd held the door open for her to get into the drives seat, and when she brushed past him he had caught her. Running his hand along her arm he asked if he could kiss her. She laughed and kissed him first, softly at first, then hard, and then her tongue forced his lips apart and sought his. She giggled and told him "stop now" or there would be "no stopping." So he kissed again.

They drove the three blocks to his office in her car. There was no hesitation and no problem. The team was gone with the Assistant Coach to an event in Mobile, and would not return until morning. Ann was with her lady friends shopping and hobnobbing in New Orleans. The office became chaos within seconds, doors were locked, draperies pulled, shafts of light filtering in, and clothing off. They were nuzzling each others necks before he reminded her that he was married and didn't ask if she was. If she heard him she didn't respond, but went to work licking and sucking the line that runs between his ear and his collar bone. Again, he asked if she could be quiet and he thought he heard her say "yes."

He was stunned when she lowered to her knees and opened his jeans. Ann hated the thought, hated the request, and the one time she had given him head he was made to feel as if he were somehow dirty and she cried and gagged and he made her stop. His cock was hard and against his navel, locking her thumb and first finger around the base with a bit of tightness, she pressed into his groin slightly, knowing to help him maintain. She smiled up at him once and then kissed the kissed the tip, as one who kisses and sucks an injured knuckle, then leaned away, allowing him to see the glistening moisture on her lips. He braced for her negative response and rejection but instead she licked those lips, and sucked his cock in full and hard and quivering. Her tongue found the ring where the crown meets the shaft and licked around it then down the underside, blanketing it with her tongue between licks. She sucked deeper and hotter and her mouth closed tightly around him. It seemed she forgotten he was there, concentrating on his cock as if she needed it to survive. When she let go with her mouth she replaced it quickly with both hands and stroked with the same rhythm she had sucked, hand over hand making it a fast tight blur. Her mouth sought and found his balls and took each one then both in. She found the soft spot behind them and licked and he felt himself jolt. Then she was there again, mouth enclosing him. He came in two spurts and he waited for her response. She swallowed and moaned and he was amazed and brought her back to her feet.

He sat in the winged-back leather chair and placed her, back to him, between his legs. Bobby tried to talk but she would have none of it, hushing him every time he tried. He weighed each breast, heavy and full, rounded with large pink-tipped nipples, areolas the size of Kennedy half-dollars. Her arms reached above her and behind to clasp his head in her hands. She moaned and opened her legs. His hands moved swiftly over her lower belly to her thighs. His cock was hard again and she could feel it. She stood, so rapidly that he thought she might be fleeing. He reached to touch her hip and pull her toward him, his other hand seeking her pussy, he could see the soft dark hair, but she knocked his hand away and wriggled from his grasp. Kneeling again, she was turned away from him, legs spread, ass arched, breasts dangling, nipples brushing the floor. Hesitating and kneeling behind her, he watched as she reached and opened her pussy to him, each slit opening, a large button like clit winking at him. He positioned her higher and pressed his cock in, she was tight and hot and soaking and he had surely died and was in heaven. She raised her head and moaned, rolling her ass back against him, allowing his fingers to wander. He heard a quiet pant and felt her pussy squeezing him, milking him, and then he was helping her, hands to her ass, both pushing and pulling and he could hear the sloshing sounds of their sex and it incited him to more. He knew she came twice, once alone, and he had smacked the cheeks of her ass to pull her back. When they finished together, her face was to the floor, those magnificent breasts pressed into the rug. She made no move to get up and race to wash him away, turning to him and holding him and stroking his back, his head, his ears, and his face.

They dosed and talked, of their childhoods, of their lives, of their likes and dislikes. He, with each attempt to tell her of Ann and her hang-ups, would find her hushing him, and then stroke his hair and change the subject. Finally she explained that she had no need to know of Ann only to know him. Ingrid explained that she needed him as her friend, as her lover, but did not want his lifestyle. Country clubs and decorating, and meetings and bridge, and titles and money held no allure. The only allure there was him. Whatever was wrong or right about his marriage was there before Ingrid hit town, so leave her out of that. He laughed and kissed her again, and they settled into another position, just once prior to leaving, and he was again amazed that the rhythm matched. This afternoon was much like that first one, the rhythm had not changed.

The next morning Bobby Dean and Ingrid arrived within minutes of each other, early, each carrying a folder with papers and pens. None of the whispered laughter salted their conversation. When Emma Lou approached, Ingrid handed her a business card with her employment information on it and on the back the name and number of the head coach at the school where she taught. "He's a great guy," Emma, "we went to college together." "A kid out of Florida came last week but was called to testify in court about a drug related crime, and there is extended family illness, so he is out for the season." "Last year we went to the National Championships and didn't quite make it." "The recruiting coach is out of Louisiana, he'll be thru day after tomorrow, going back from seeing his family, he'll stop by and watch Jamison play, he owes me, I think he is going to like what he sees." "Bobby and I went over Jamison's stats and the local newspapers last night." "Here is a copy of the college catalog and enrollment forms and I'll stay and go with Luke Bolen to observe him, then register him in his classes when I return home.""I've called about scholarships and there are two we can combine, that will leave about $ 500.00 per semester to be paid by you, think you can swing that?" Bobby Dean shot her a look and cleared his throat, saying nothing, Ingrid smiled, winked, and nodded. "I'll leave when they do and he can alternate riding with Luke and I, it'll make him feel like he is with parents." "Pack his favorite CD's and be sure you write his favorite meal recipes on a card, don't forget a nice outfit for church and team dinners." "The team has a safe home, house of a local dentist who acts as combination Daddy and RA, and has converted his home into thirteen rooms just at edge of campus complete with a housekeeper/cook and all the amenities of home."

It had came together quickly. These two people who so enjoyed each others company had devoted their rare time together to her son and his needs and neither of them seemed to mind. Emma Lou marveled. That had been the beginning and that was four years ago.

The bill for each semester arrived with zero balance and Emma never questioned.

Two years after his recruitment, he'd been let go by Appalico College and recruited by Monticello, a point guard to accompany high scorer Eric _________. To split the pair would be ridiculous. Monticello won the regional and national championships.

Tomorrow, Jamison Henry Perrier would graduate from Monticello College. They'd took the national championships two years running and stood the Conference on it's ear. Head basketball coach Bobby Dean would be seated within eye contact of him, and Emma Lou by his side, he'd secured space for her by asking Ann if she minded Emma Lou sitting with him. She'd understood and given Emma Lou her seat. Tucked into the crowd at Lewis Stadium were Ingrid Williams and Luke Bolen, Ingrid with a large hat to guard her from the sun, arm thru Luke's as if they were a couple, ever protecting Bobby Dean. When Jamison Henry Perrier walked across the platform they all stood and applauded.