The installments of Juicy Lucy's story: Don't Bother Me!; Juicy Lucy; Juicy Lucy's Barbecue; Juicy Lucy Gets Her Way; Juicy Lucy Heads South; Juicy Lucy Hosts a Party
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The flag outside stood almost straight out in the February North Wind that blew near Ste. Genevieve, Missouri. Two women in their early 50's dawdled over a day's end cup of coffee: both were chubby and had long grey hair that flowed far over their shoulders and down the back. Neither could be called lovely except in the most subjective way, and neither had been called that by a man in their lives. The truck stop dining room was empty of other customers in the lull between the over the road trucker supper rush and the midnight drunk's bedlam. A tired waitress warmed up their coffee and sauntered out of sight; a sullen cook in a dirty white cap and unshaven scowl glared at them briefly before disappearing.
"I swear, Lucy, that boy is gonna be the death of me," the dark complected woman with thick, dark, bushy eyebrows began after a long silence. "There was a time when the name of DeLafonte was worth something in this town. Now, I'm hoping the little shit won't get some poor little girl knocked up and make me take care of the little brats."
"Don't worry 'bout that, Henri," Lucy Lewis replied. "He ain't had a date for almost a year, and the local gals steer clear of him. Third rate bullies get no respect anywhere." She took a pull from her cracked mug and set it down in front of her. "He whines about his donkey dick getting no action, but the girls think he's too big an asshole. You got nothing ta worry about. Even the dumb girls is scared of him."
Henrietta DeLafonte swirled her coffee in her cup before taking a sip. "I guess. He only got dates in High School, when he was on the football team, but second string linemen who don't like the weight room too much and flunk outta soon get nowheres." It was 9:30PM, and a late running trucker with balding, long locks sat at the counter, his feet rocking frantically on his ankles waiting for service. "Lucy, didya ever have a boyfriend?"
A quick stab of pain passed Lucy's face. She looked out the window at the lights traveling I-55 for a few moments before responding quietly. "Yeah. Frankie. He knew what I liked, made me feel like a woman. But he was a piece o' shit, and I had to get rid of him. Coupla years ago. Couldn't even stay in the town anymore, just couldn't face the house I lived in any more, that's why I came down here to Ste. Gen. Had ta get away."
"Any kids?"
"Hell, no. Frankie came along too late for that. Nobody before that, nobody even close."
A loud snort was her reply. "Yer lucky. Francis DeLafonte sweet talked his way inta my pants, but he only married me when I got knocked up. Eighteen months later, and the bastard's beating me up 'cause the baby won't stop crying and I hadta clobber the creep with a tire iron. Got off on self defense, 'cause everybody else in town hated the bastard worse than me, and damned if the little brat turns out a wimpy copy of his daddy."
Lucy took a sip of her coffee and looked out the window at the flag rippling in the wind. "He don't do nothing to you, does he?"
Henri smiled sweetly. "I keep the little peckerwood on a short leash. 'Course, it's easy since he's been throwed out of every bar 50 miles round here. Don't let him drink at home, and beat the shit outta him ev'ry time he comes home drunk. He try to act big, but he's a goddam wimp." The trucker's impatience overcame him and he started smacking the counter and shouting to get service. "He ever give ya trouble?"
"Naw," Lucy said as the waitress came out to take the trucker's order. "I keep the big bastard moving all the time. Toss him a bone, a little overtime now and then ta keep him int'rested. Chew him out when he gets too friendly with a woman customer, don't want ta lose the business. He snarls sometimes, but he comes back for more."
His mother chuckled. "Miracle he keeps this job. You're good for him, Lucy. If you was younger, you could marry him."
They both laughed out loud and long enough that the trucker and the waitress stared at them in disbelief. The February wind flapped the flag; the trucks rumbled by on the Interstate, swaying in the breeze.
The next morning saw Lucy Lewis at the counter of her convenience store in Ste. Genevieve. She was stuck at the counter alone because the normally scheduled workers had both called in sick, and Billy Delafonte was working through a long list of tasks. Billy was taller than average: once bulging muscles in his arms and stomach had given way to fat, and his poorly shaven face testified to recurrent outbreaks of acne. His mother cut his hair short but unevenly, and his blue eyes looked on the verge of tears most of the time. His head bobbed as he approached the counter and spoke to his boss: "Miz Lewis, I'm done with sweepin' the floor. Can I go on break now?"
"Yeah, ten minutes, that's it. Then ya can restock shelves in the cooler." On his way out, the broom clattered in a corner and the cigarette was already in his mouth before he hit the door.
It was gloomy outside although the wind of the night before had let up. Traffic was light on the street outside the store, and a nondescript Ford pulled up to park just beyond Lucy's line of sight. She looked at the clock, trying to figure out when Billy was due back, when the door flung open and a masked man ran up to the counter holding a pistol. "Hands up, lady. Give me the money."
Her lower lip started to wobble uncontrollably, and her voice quavered as she answered him. "We've only got fifty in the drawer. Just like any other store like this."
He looked back over his shoulder, and waggled his weapon at her. "Okay, okay. You can open the safe, then."
"No, I cain't. I'll give ya what I got, but that's it."
"Hurry up, then" the figure growled and Lucy started to paw at the money in the drawer with trembling hands. He came up closer and shoved the barrel of the gun into her face, the barrel an inch from her mouth. "Hurry up, you stupid cow."
A blur came from the back, and hit the robber like a linebacker blindsiding a quarterback. The gun flew to the floor after clattering off the counter and the masked man sighed as the force of the tackle sent him directly into the doorpost, where he was knocked cold as his head contacted the metal a foot above the floor. Billy punched the prone figure a couple of times and kicked him in the groin before standing over him, glaring.
It took Lucy several moments before she could lift the phone and punch 911, while Billy loomed angrily over the figure. After summoning the cops, she called everyone else who worked at the store so they could take the rest of the morning shift. When she was finished giving her statement to the officer and the ambulance took the would-be felon away, she sat in her office drinking coffee to let the tension leave her body.