The Bridge Ch 08 Peace And Jimmy

The Bridge -- Chapter Eight -- Peace and Jimmy

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This work is copy written by the author.

This work is a slow burn, but will, at times, contain instances of pregnancy, motherhood, interracial sex, lesbianism, romance and affection, and a considerable amount of intrigue. There are also threats of violence and a fair amount of heroism and family love and fun.

Given the contents of this chapter, it's in the Lesbian Sex category, but has spent time in the Interracial Love category (where it potentially could have gone) and will probably move around as it progresses. Which it will do if enough people like it. There is interracial love and loving lesbian sex in this chapter, and it helps move the story along. In time, there will be many orgasms. But first, you've got to meet the players.

Peace and Jimmy

The first few weeks of January were chilly, averaging in the thirties and forties. By the time Valentine's Day approached, the temps were mostly in the fifties and doing nothing but getting warmer. So, the architect and builder agreed it was time to dig and pour the foundation for Bertha's house in the first week of March and to get construction started. The contractor thought he could have the project done well before Thanksgiving, with a target date sometime around Halloween. We were all thrilled. So, we held our own personal groundbreaking ceremony. Holly and Bertha and I all got hard hats, as did the kids. Each of the kids' hats had their name on them and mine said, "The Boss." Holly's said, "Mrs. Boss," and Bertha's said, "Homeowner." We each took our shovels out, and Lizzie showed up to take pictures and videos of our little ceremony.

January and February were also fraught with board meetings at Bridge House. The major topic was the building of the women's health center and the first of many fund raisers. It was to be held in the very large common room at Bridge House and attended by beneficiary families who had children born at Bridge, as well as other wealthy charitable types and, of course, Bridge House girls past and present. It was my gig to organize, but, of course, Holly did all the heavy lifting.

The affair, on March Second, was catered and there was a small three-piece band. Everyone mixed well and all my Bridge girls were there to pound the flesh and beg for money. We had set a goal of a million dollars but wound up with two point five. A rousing success. Holly and one of the board members, the owner of a local golf course, were already setting up the next fund raiser which would be a golf outing at his club. The First Annual Jane Amherst Golf Invitational would be held in May of this year before it got too ungodly hot.

Attendees of our first fundraiser were already signing up. Jane's sister attended the event and cried through the whole thing. She touched a lot of hearts. I cannot begin to tell you how many times she came up to me, hugged me, and thanked me for what I was doing. I let her know it was all us girls who were doing it.

We broke ground on March 11th, and I showed up with my "The Boss" hard hat. Everyone got a kick out of that. Board members showed up with their shovels and hard hats as well as local politicians and celebrities. We were well covered by the news media, and Lizzie was there to get both photos and video of the event. And contributions started flowing in. By the time we poured the foundation in April, we had collected eleven million in contributions, including my five. More than enough for the cost of construction and to keep the lights on and salaries paid for two years. We were hoping the money we collected for the golf event would see us through an additional year, or at least until the next few charitable events. If not, I always have a few bucks in the bank to help out during the slack times.

March and April brought Holly and me two goals; to get The First Annual Jane Amherst Golf Invitational scheduled, sponsored and advertised for the end of May, and to learn to play golf so we could attend and not look like a couple of smacked asses. Perry James, a Bridge House board member, was also majority owner and board chairman at a golf club outside of Honeybrook. He donated the use of the course and took care of logistics for the tournament. He told us it was the quickest he had ever set up a tournament.

Holly and I worked the phones and all our contacts and managed to find six sponsors and many attendees. One of the small local TV stations even agreed to televise us. It was a Pro-Am tournament and Perry brought in most of the talent. As the mother of George Barry, Jr. I worked George, Senior's Rolodex, and got some of his old cronies on board and they brought some local retired and active sports figures from baseball, football, basketball and hockey as well.

Throughout March and April and into May, Holly and I took lessons and played as much golf as we could. We even did a foursome with our mothers, who were avid golfers, and took tips and went to the driving range with our dads. Holly really took to the game and even got to like it. And she did pretty well. I was terrible, and I hated it. But, in for a penny, in for a pound. For me, it was strictly a means to an end, and that was to make as much money for the Center as possible. But one thing I can tell you. Even a non-golfer like me can appreciate the magnificence of a golf course. Especially one as beautiful as this one.

So, on Sunday, May 24th, 2054, The First Annual Jane Amherst Golf Invitational took place. Counting both the men and women who played, there were a grand total of eighty-eight players for our first year. Perry said that was great and that next year we might even double that. There were only twenty women who attended as players, and we all teed off at the back end of the lineup. Holly and I were in a foursome with our mothers, who were far superior golfers. But we learned a thing or two. Mostly, I learned that next year Holly should get herself a more athletic partner and I should run things from the Club House.

The tournament was a success, but I would not call it a rousing success. We pulled in, after paying out winnings and expenses, just north of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. After all our hard work, we hoped for more, but we did well enough that we would start earlier this time to plan a second annual event. Perry promised us the golf course again for next May.

As spring was overcome by the heat of summer, the kids enjoyed day camp, swam in our pool, and watched as Bertha's house was being built. The workers would show up around seven in the morning and be gone by five. George especially enjoyed watching the crew and would come outside with his little hard hat and wave at the men and women. They called him "Little Boss." He just loved that, and we took his name off the hat and put on "Little Boss."

Holly and I continued our online courses at WCU and were making slow progress. I had six years to complete my MSN but was rethinking my strategy and considered dumping the program for some Bachelor's level psychology courses that might be more in line with my role at Bridge House and the Women's Health Center. I also continued to do fill in work at Chester County Hospital and Paoli Hospital in various departments just to keep my skills fresh and my certifications up to date. Usually no more than twenty hours a week. And believe me, it was not for the money.

One of our bodyguards, Herman Krass, was a retired Navy SEAL, and he took the kids in hand, teaching them everything possible about swimming. At four, little George was as strong a swimmer as any eight-year-old. Except Celeste, of course. He even gave his older sister a run for her money when they swam competitive laps. Herman, under his tutelage, had them doing it most days in the summer. And when our kids swam competitively against their peers, there was never any contest, something Herman took great pride in and he called them his little PUPS, the name of a baby seal. Celeste had caught his attention with her love of the pool. And his paternal love affair with her began.

My hard hat got a real workout between inspections of Bertha's house and the Wellness Center. A week didn't go by when I wasn't walking through one half-built building or another. And I don't think one day went by when Bertha didn't bring lunches, or snacks, or water to the crew building her house; always with her signature hard hat on. The construction manager said there was never a site they'd been on where they enjoyed working more, even through the sweltering summer. And their efforts and the quality of their work showed it. And when Bertha brought out beers for the crew at the end of one particularly hot Friday in June, she totally won their hearts. They all vowed that before it got cold, she'd be living in that house.

Camp for the kids ended the third week of August and there were two weeks until school started for my two in West Chester and Celeste in Unionville. Holly gave Celeste the choice between staying in the school she was in and going to the school where her brother and sister went. She wanted to finish out elementary school where she had made friends and then her brother and sister would join her in the school district when they were done at WCFS. We were just happy summer was coming to an end and that the temps would go down. It had been another painfully hot summer. Plenty of days over one hundred degrees.

The same outfit that takes care of maintaining our solar collection system and water well collection system put a bid in for the contract for installation on Bertha's house and I told the General Contractor on the job that if their bid was fair that they should get the contract to install and maintain Bertha's solar and water setups. It would behoove them to have two similar customers so close together. And as they were inspecting and tightening up and adjusting all aspects including batteries and distribution of energy at our place, the electrician working for the guys installing the solar at Bertha's will be able to work with the electrician wiring the house.

They'd be a hundred feet away from each other if they ever needed to consult. And it was my job to make certain everything coalesced. And when these guys shook hands, the job was pretty much done. They shook hands mid-August, planning for a Labor Day finish. Bertha's housewarming party. She was counting the minutes.

Bertha planned to invite all the girls, and all the guys and gals who built the house, and the Architect and the Builder and all her family and friends. And she was doing it on her own dime. We helped her a little with the shopping and furnishing the house, the plans for which had started right after last Christmas.

She was planning a barbeque so people could walk through and enjoy her house but not be crowded into it. And all the builders' people could show off their work to their plus ones. I can't say for sure, but I believe there is one of those people in particular that Bertha has her eye on. But only time will tell about that. Not my business. Not yet, at least.

The most important thing about bringing a house together quickly is timing. And we got lucky. We had very few weather problems. Material shipments came on time. Permits and inspections went smoothly, with a little nudge every now and then from a friend connected to licenses and inspections in the neighborhood whose little boy has had his share of boo boos and splinters, and the occasional tick. She likes the reassurance of the neighborhood nurse that everything is going to be alright. And most importantly, the crew came to work every day. Very few took a day off. Some sub-contractors even came in on the weekend. It drove our security people crazy.

Bertha was a work of art when it came to running a household, and a master chef, extraordinaire. She had connections both in the city and out in the counties where some of the more well-off contracted with farmers, shepherds and ranchers to raise and slaughter chickens, cattle, sheep and pigs, as well as growing exotic vegetables. It was costly, but folks in our neck of the woods had the means to bear the cost. Bertha was the contact point for all of these farmers, and they knew her well, having worked with them to keep the Barry's cupboards stocked. One of her contacts gave her a great deal on twenty pounds of ground beef and dropped it at her door the day after her refrigerator and freezer were hooked up and running. That was two days before the housewarming.

Once Licenses and Inspections made their final walk through, we had ten days to get Bertha's house furnished and filled with all the good things that make a house a home before Labor Day. Most of her furnishings had been long bought over the past six months and were in storage. We hired a crew to move everything in and assemble that which needed building, and we made the beds, stocked the cupboards and made sure everything was shipshape. And then there was that new house smell. It smelled like fresh cut wood, but no sawdust could be found.

Sunday, September 5th, 2055, the day before Labor Day, that smell was overwhelmed by the aroma of Bertha's culinary infusion. The previous two weeks had been some of the busiest days in a long time, getting the house together, but this day was all about cooking and both our house and Bertha's were filled with the sounds and smells of wonderful food. The mac and cheese, noodle casserole, candied sweets, pasta salad, baked beans, Bertha's special potato salad and coleslaw and a singular treat - her home made burger buns. At our house, Holly and I did mostly prep work, while Bertha did most of the cooking at her house and ours.

We cut veggies in preparation for salads and husked the corn for corn on the cob; we peeled potatoes and ran ten pounds of cabbage through the food processor for Bertha's coleslaw. These days not a lot of folks have beef in their diet, so we made the burgers smaller than quarter pound size, and we made a lot. We prepped them and refrigerated them, and all the fridges in both houses were packed by the time we were done preparing for Labor Day. The kids were long in bed by the time we were finished.

Bertha had been living in her house for the past two days and she came over the day of the housewarming to make breakfast for everyone. She made a bacon and cheese frittata for the adults and pancakes for the kids. It was just the beginning of what was to be a marathon cooking session. We expected the company to arrive around noon and at ten in the morning; the ovens were all on and filled with sumptuous dishes. By eleven, the smells overwhelmed our house and as we ran food to Bertha's, the fragrance of several dishes tempted us to sample the delights that our hostess brought to the affair. No one would be disappointed.

When the company started rolling in, we were loaded for bear. The Jersey girls booked a couple of rooms in West Chester so they could help with the event and have a day of rest before heading home. They were the first to roll in around eleven thirty, Little Angela at the wheel, and got right to work. Clarissa would come later with her fiancée and Elena would be coming with her family. Clarissa was never one to pitch in much, and now she had a good excuse. She was in her sixth month. With a baby, she would be keeping.

Like me and Holly; Missy, Angela and Samantha were in the uniform of the day; jeans, sneakers and Bridge House Alumnus tee shirts. Holly had bought three hundred of the tee shirts and a hundred sweatshirts in various sizes and colors. Some even tie-dyed. The invitations to the event came with three of their choice. To show their pride. Bridge Pride. Holly thought it was a great way for the girls to express their sisterhood. The thought of arriving back at Bridge House to birth someone else's baby with an Alumnus tee shirt or sweatshirt gives a girl instant credibility.

The Bridge girls each took a station to assist one of the two servers I had contracted so that all guests, and especially Bertha, could just enjoy themselves and each other. Once everything was set up, our Bridge girls could hand it over to the servers and just enjoy the party.

Bertha was a mess. There was so much to do, and Holly and I took her aside. In my hand, I had an open bottle of Ram's Head Pale Ale, named for the local college's mascot and Bertha's favorite alcoholic beverage, which I forced her to take. "Bertha, all the heavy lifting is done and everything else has someone taking care of it. Please, just drink some beers and enjoy your company. The common thread between all the people here, young and old, is you. Go out and enjoy them and make sure they enjoy each other. Just know that Holly Bernstein has eyes on everything and has her finger on all the pulses. Do you have any specific concerns we can help with freeing you up?"

"Well, Hannah, I've got a whole load of burgers to grill and a new grill to break in. Ain't nobody doin' that but me."

"Say no more. We will station you at the grill and that's where guests will come to do their meet and greet with you. At least till the burgers run out, which should be about an hour. Or till you run out of propane."

There is storage in the brick building that is Bertha's new grill, and she has two extra tanks of gas. So, this party and her time at the grill isn't ending anytime soon. As well as burgers, she will be grilling vegetables and chicken filets. Bertha's grilled shiitake mushroom steak is legendary.

There's not much she can't do with this grill, as it has two ovens, a 2' x 3' flat top and two 2' x 3' grills, with warming racks all around and a full prep station with deep fryer. Her grill was her pride and joy, and she wanted to show it off. At the sign of the first cars coming down the road, the burners were turned on, and the ovens preheated.

Holly and I assigned ourselves as designated greeters and went to the end of the driveway to get people parked. Our cars were all in the garage and the driveway was all clear. Our driveway is very long and wide enough to park a car and still have access. Duane was with us today, both as security, and as a guest, so he joined us at the end of the driveway just to make sure we did not find ourselves in harm's way. So Duane. All of our Royce Field Service security guards would be at the party, either working or as guests with their families if they have one. So, a disturbance of any kind would be easy enough to diffuse, not that we were expecting anything, but it was going to be a very diverse crowd.

The first cars came around noon, the time on the invitation, and they kept on coming, on and off all day. I knew all the first people to arrive, as they were neighbors with their families, the architect, the general contractor, and the workers.

Others from near and far filtered in throughout the day. One of the first to arrive was a man I recall seeing, but didn't really know. A tall man with a full head of rusty red hair, who identified himself as Alastair "Don't call me Al, call me Mac," MacGregor. He was the lead carpenter on the job, but I'd had limited contact with him. He came unescorted. But you couldn't miss him. If I was into white men, I could consider him.

We shook hands, and he was very enthusiastic. "It's a beautiful house. And I can tell you, it is built to last forever. We had the best crew and everyone, and I mean everyone, took this job seriously. Top-notch. You got a lot of house for the money."

"Well, Mr. MacGregor, I appreciate your contributions and your approval."

"Oh, please, ma'am, call me Mac. Do you know where I can find Bertha?"