It's Hard to Find a Good Plumber

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

"You know what you did! Don't play stupid with me," she screamed.

"I'm not playing stupid; I honestly don't know what you're talking about," he screamed back.

The pounding on the wall got louder but they both ignored it.

Sydnee Michaels flung her long blonde hair back out of her eyes as she threw clothing into her suitcase.

"I'll be back for the rest," she screamed and stormed out of the apartment.

Ken Thibodaux wearily pushed the three drawers closed and picked up the three shirts she'd knocked to the floor of their closet.

They'd been fighting off and on for the last month. He couldn't believe that, just two months ago, he'd asked her to marry him, even bought a five thousand two hundred dollar ring.

He had to laugh; she had stormed in, again accusing him of some unnamed atrocity, some unknown incident, but that ring was still firmly on her finger.

Ken's best buddy, Virgil Arcenaux, had been trying and trying to get a date with Ingrid Hennessey ever since Ingrid had started working at First union Bank in Bender, Louisiana. And Ingrid had told Virgil a very firm 'no' each time he suggested an activity.

Ken couldn't blame Virgil, or the countless scores of others that asked; Ingrid was truly stunning with shoulder length white blonde hair, light blue eyes, tanned complexion and white smile.

Her physique, however, was what most men looked at. Her breasts were two massive mounds on her slim chest and her legs seemed to start at her armpits and hit the floor.

Virgil suggested a helicopter tour of the Atchafalaya Basin and Ingrid actually perked up slightly.

"Hmm, my friend Sydnee's been wanting to do that," Ingrid mused. "Get someone to go with us and we'll make a double date out of it, all right?"

"Um, sure, what does Sidney like?" Virgil asked, stunned at his fortune.

"What you mean?" Ingrid asked.

"Well, I mean, my sister's available if..." Virgil suggested.

"What?" Ingrid screeched, causing the other tellers and the few customers that were in the bank's lobby to look at them. "Sydnee's not a lesbian!"

"Oh, oh, Sidney's a girl!" Virgil laughed. "Sorry, but when you said 'Sidney,' I'm thinking Sidney's a guy, you know?"

"No," Ingrid grumbled.

"Well, let's see, my buddy Ken's always..." Virgil mused but Ingrid was no longer listening to him.

At first Ken flatly refused. He'd met Ingrid on the few occasions he'd gone into the bank and thought, while Ingrid certainly was nice to look at, she was an ice cold bitch. And any friend of hers was sure to be the same.

"Dude, would rather warm up some liver in the microwave and jack off into that than have to spend a minute with her and any friend of hers," Ken had said.

"Brother, listen," Virgil begged. "Do this one for me and I'll owe you forever."

"Dude, you already owe me forever and more," Ken reminded him.

"Like what?" Virgil asked.

"Uh, bail money, which by the way, prick, you still owe me half of that," Ken said.

"Oh, oh yeah, well, do me this favor and we'll consider it even," Virgil said.

"Uh, cute; shit only works on TV, ass hole," Ken laughed.

Virgil finally wore Ken down by agreeing to pay for all the tickets for the helicopter tour.

"Damn, dude," Virgil whispered to Ken as they stood outside of Ingrid's condominium. "A hundred and eighty bucks!"

"Dude, want some cheese go with that whine of yours," Ken said, unsympathetic. "You're the dumb ass wanted do this shit in the first place."

Ingrid opened the door, nodded briskly to Virgil, then actually smiled slightly at Ken before urging her friend Sydnee to come forward.

Where Ingrid was tall and slender, Sydnee was short at only four feet, eleven inches. Sydnee also fought, and was losing, a battle with her weight, being rather chunky at one hundred and sixty pounds. Ken pasted a smile on his face and approached Sydnee, hand outstretched.

"Hi, I'm Ken Thibodaux; understand I'm lucky enough to be your date tonight," Ken said, shaking Sydnee's pudgy hand. "Don't know if you've ever eaten at Manny's before, but they've got the best salsa; I mean, I've even had salsa in Mexico, but it's nowhere as good as Manny's."

"Yeah, Manny's is great," Sydnee smiled widely.

"Oh, I guess y'all aren't hungry, huh?" Ken teased as Ingrid and Virgil lagged slightly behind.

At Manny's, Ingrid ignored Virgil and tried to horn her way into the conversation between Ken and Sydnee.

"Oh, hey, this is new; you ever had a shrimp burrito?" Ken asked Sydnee as they looked through the menu.

"Where you see that?" both Ingrid and Sydnee asked.

"Her and I are on one check," Ken told the waitress, pointing to Sydnee. "Those two said they're just going to scrape the gum off the bottom of the table and eat that, okay?"

Sydnee and Ingrid thought that was funny, but Virgil glared at him.

The tour was interesting but again, Virgil glared at Ken as Ingrid leaned her massive breasts against Ken, 'trying to see' out Ken's side of the helicopter.

That date led to one more double date of dinner and country line dancing at Cowboy's Barbeque. Virgil had to beg Ken to do that as well; Ken had found Sydnee nice but just was not interested in her.

After that date, Ingrid told Virgil that, while he was a nice guy, there just wasn't any chemistry between them.

Ken and Sydnee continued to date, even though Sydnee was definitely not Ken's type. She was a short, chunky girl and Ken preferred his girls to be what Virgil had dubbed 'Cocaine Chic,' bone thin waifs. He preferred his women to be at least five nine, five ten, as he was six feet tall.

But Sydnee was warm, affectionate, happy and intelligent. And she adored Ken; a little hero worship can do a man's ego good.

Four months after their first date, Sydnee moved into Ken's apartment. Their first weekend of living together, there was not a flat surface that they did not christen. Superglue fixed the coffee table almost as good as new.

"Dude, you owe me," Virgil reminded Ken as they sat in Red's Sports Bar in Baylor Lake, Louisiana, watching the New Orleans Saints lose to the New York Jets.

"And you still owe me a thousand for bailing your ugly ass out of jail," Ken reminded Virgil. "But how's Ingrid doing?"

"Man, fuck you," Virgil yelled, getting the attention of a few of the patrons.

"What?" Ken asked, bewildered.

"Fuck! You know she said that 'I just want to be friends' shit to me, fucking ass hole," Virgil yelled.

"Fuck I did, dude, I'd known that, I'd asked how's she doing?" Ken asked.

"Gentlemen, there a problem?" Harrison Smith asked, muscles straining against his tee shirt.

"No sir," Ken said.

"Sir?" Harrison demanded of Virgil.

"Huh? No, no problem," Virgil snapped.

"Dude, I'm sorry; thought y'all were still dating; I mean, shit, man, when's the last time you called me?" Ken asked.

"Yeah, shit, man, you right," Virgil admitted.

Ken's mother and father were polite to Sydnee at their first meeting, until they found out that Sydnee was a school teacher at Baylor Lake Elementary. Then Robin Thibodaux was delighted to meet Sydnee; Robin Thibodaux was also a teacher, teaching Science at Cabrini High School in DeGarde, Louisiana.

Sydnee Michaels' dad did not like the fact that his little girl was living with a man, but Mr. Michaels did like Ken just fine. Both men worked with their hands, Jim in Heating and Air conditioning and Ken in plumbing. Both were also football fans so they did have that to argue about.

Both liked to argue about whose job was more valid as well.

"Uh huh, hundred degrees outside, ninety nine percent humidity, your ass will be grateful I came out," Jim said.

"Uh huh, toilet backed up, spraying the walls and the floor, you really care how nice and cold your house is?" Ken spat back.

"I'm licensed use Freon," Jim bragged.

"And I'm licensed get that tampon out of your pipes," Ken said.

Jim had nodded his approval when Ken showed him the ring and agreed that it was a pretty good idea they get married, even if Ken was just a plumber.

Robin had joyously jumped in to help the motherless girl plan out their winter wedding.

(Neither Sydnee or Jim ever said what happened to Mrs. Michaels and Ken never saw a prudent time to ask)

Then Sydnee's affections started to cool. Her happy bubbly nature seemed to have disappeared and she was finding fault with everything Ken did. Ken didn't know if it was wedding jitters, a female problem, or if she was having second thoughts about their relationship. He had been no virgin when they met, but Ken had to admit, women were still a mystery to him.

Then just three weeks from their wedding day, Sydnee stormed into their apartment demanding to know why.

"Why what?" Ken had asked.

"You know what you did; don't play stupid with me!" Sydnee screamed.

Repeated calls to her cell phone went to voice mail and text messages were ignored.

Then Ken called Jim.

"God damn, ain't you hurt her enough, fucker?" Jim bellowed into the telephone, and then slammed it down.

Virgil was quick to tell Ken he'd seen Sydnee at Cowboy's, dancing pretty up close and personal with some big guy. When they weren't dancing, they were sucking each other's tonsils.

At Red's, Harrison Smith, came up and asked him if it was all right with Ken if he asked Sydnee out.

"I mean, shit man, you and I are buds, right?" Harrison asked. "But you know, on Thursdays and Saturdays? I bounce over at Jumpers? Seen your girl getting down and dirty with a few of your boys."

"Do whatever you want," Ken snapped.

Ken's mother was upset with him, but Ken was used to that. Robin had never been what Ken would term 'matronly' and ken had actually been pleased that Robin and Sydnee got along so well.

Ken's father, Ryan, was likewise less than comforting. Ken had not expected any warmth or advice from his dad; his dad had never seemed especially pleased with Ken. So Ken just endured his mother's hostility and his father's aloofness.

Ingrid, who was supposed to be Sydnee's maid of honor, was baffled, and more than a little hurt when she ran into Sydnee at Super One grocery store and Sydnee called her a bitch.

Jim Michaels, who had a bit of a crush on Ingrid, did not slam the telephone down on Ingrid when she called him.

"It's just that, you know, she's real upset about you and Ken, well, you know, about y'all having then long lunches and then y'all having sex and all," Jim said.

"What?" Ingrid screamed. "Ken and I did what? We never!"

"I mean, shit, Sydnee could tell you kind of liked her Ken, but with them being engaged and all," Jim said.

"You tell that little bubble head that Ken and I never did anything," Ingrid snarled into the telephone. "Yeah, she's right, I like Ken, like him a lot and now that she's stupid enough to leave him, damned right I'm going after him. But I thought for sure that she and I were best friends and best friends don't run off having long lunches and they sure as hell don't fuck other best friends' men."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

"And best friends certainly talk with their best friends and try to find out if there's any truth to it before calling their best friends a bitch," she said and this time Jim was the one that had a phone slammed in his ear.

"But Virgil swore..." Sydnee said. "He said Ken and Ingrid were going off for long lunches and..."

"And he said he'd help me teach Ken what it felt like," Sydnee weakly mumbled.

"Honey, guess this Virgil guy isn't the friend you thought he was, Jim said, patting his daughter's back softly.

Ken saw Sydnee's number pop up, but let it go to voice mail.

Then he deleted the message.

Then he blocked her number.

Thanksgiving was cold and blustery and Ken begged off from going to his mother's; she usually overcooked everything and made the whole meal so unbearably uncomfortable that there was nothing to give thanks for.

For once, though, Robin Thibodaux begged and finally Ken agreed that stopping by for a piece of pie wouldn't kill him.

"Hey, Mom," he called out, entering their house.

"Hi, I uh, can we talk?" Sydnee asked, coming out from the kitchen.

"Cute Mom, real cute," Ken yelled, face red with anger.

"I'm real sorry," Sydnee said.

"Yeah? Well I'm not," Ken snarled at her. "My buddies Virgil and Harrison told me what a slut you turned out to be, so I'm real fucking glad we're through."

"Kenneth Ryan Thibodaux!" Robin admonished.

"Thanks a lot Mom," Ken said and slammed out of the house.

He returned to his apartment, ignoring the constant calls from his parents' house phone and his father's cell phone.

All of the furniture in the apartment was from Goodwill Industries and from various garage sales, so none of it had any sentimental value to him. The television barely worked, which was why Ken went to Red's to watch football.

His two suitcases held all of his clothing; thanks to his losing nearly one hundred pounds a year ago, he did not have many clothes in his new size yet.

He looked around and saw a few items of Sydnee's. These he placed on the couch, then unblocked her phone number, sent her a text that her key still worked but he was canceling the lease so she had less than one week to come get her stuff.

Then he blocked her number again.

His landlord was sorry to see him go; Ken had paid regularly, had never had any problems and had kept his apartment clean.

But his landlord also knew that he could now rent that one bedroom apartment for seven hundred a month, instead of the six hundred Ken had locked him into.

His boss also was unhappy to be losing him; Ken was a good worker and on top of that, was very personable, so his boss could send Ken to a client's house without fear.

"Swing by and I'll give you your last check," the man said.

PC Nation was open and the bored sales girl helped Ken change his number to a new number.

"You uh, you got a bunch of voice mails," the girl said.

"Delete them," Ken ordered. "They're all from my mom telling me what a disappointment I am."

"We related?" the girl joked and Ken smiled.

Then Ken drove. He drove west. In Galveston, Texas, once he'd demonstrated that he did know plumbing, and the man determined that there were no warrants out for Ken, he made real good money doing the remodeling that the man did on houses he was flipping.

On Christmas Day, Ken called home from a pay phone, whished his parents a Merry Christmas, told them he loved them, and then hung up before his mother could say a word.

Then he drove west. In New Mexico, another contractor didn't care if Ken was a fugitive or not and paid Ken cash for remodeling work.

Then Ken witnessed the contractor and some of his employees moving bags from one car to a company truck and realized that the remodeling business was just a front for drugs coming in across the border.

"Hey, you know, uh, guess it's time for me go on home, you know?" Ken calmly said that Friday as the man counted off a few hundred dollar bills. "You know? Tired of sleeping in my truck, tired of missing my momma's food."

"Yeah, know how it is," the man amiably agreed. "Shit, hate to lose you; you do real good work. Ever back out this way stop on in."

Yeah, shit, you know who knows?" Ken shrugged. "Shit might not have blown over yet."

He deposited eight thousand into a branch of his Galveston bank in Standing Rock, New Mexico then headed west.

Solomonville, Arizona had a Mr. Plumber right next to a Mr. Electrician and a Mr. AC and Ken enjoyed sitting in the common break room and arguing with the guys there about whose job was more vital, more important to the customer.

"All right, all right, toilets aside, you can live in a dark house; you can live in a hot house, but how long can you live without something to drink? And how long you think they going to put up with you not bathing?" Ken yelled out.

"We been putting up with Stew not bathing for years," Butch yelled back.

"Aw, kiss my ass; I take a shower every day," Stew yelled.

"Might ought to try soap next time," the dispatcher suggested before calling out their assignments. Dan, the dispatcher, knew a friend that was looking to rent out a room in his house so for four hundred a month, Ken was comfortable for about two months.

Until Brennan accused ken of making a pass at his wife.

Monica was a loud, profane flat faced woman with questionable hygiene; Ken had not made a pass at her. But Brennan would not believe Ken and refused to refund Ken his security deposit or the three weeks rent.

Brennan was shocked when he received a summons to appear in a small claims court and even more shocked when a judge ordered him to refund both security deposit and three weeks rent to Mr. Thibodaux.

"Him trying fuck my wife don't mean nothing?" Brennan angrily demanded.

"She's a big girl," the judge said, smirking at the nearly three hundred pound woman. "She can say 'no' if she wants to."

"Well I ain't giving him nothing," Brennan declared.

"That's fine, Mr. Curry," the judge smiled. "We have lovely accommodations just waiting for you. And it will be an additional fifty dollars every day you put off refunding Mr. Thibodaux his money."

Brennan decided he'd pay rather than endure the jail of Solomonville, Arizona.

Mr. Plumber was sorry to see Ken leave. In the two months and one week he'd been in their employee, some customers had started requesting him. Ken had a habit of diagnosing the problem and explaining the problem to the customer and letting the customer make their own decision about the remedies.

From Arizona, Ken decided to head north, to North Dakota. The oil fields that were popping up on private lands beckoned. Ken had no desire to work on an oil rig, but knew that an influx of several people meant an increased need for a good plumber.

The winters in North Dakota can be extremely brutal, punishing. Their summers can be quite brutal and sweltering as well. The sun beats down and the heated ground releases moisture into the air. Being from the hot and humid DeGarde, Louisiana area, though, Ken adapted very easily

One morning, his clock radio announced the date of September nineteenth and Ken remembered that September nineteen was his buddy Virgil's birthday. Ken waited until it would be twelve fifteen in Bender, Louisiana, assuming Virgil still worked at First Union Bank and called Virgil's cell phone.

"Hello?" Virgil answered warily, as he did not recognize the phone number.

"Hey man, happy birthday, another year older and still ugly as ever, huh?" Ken said cheerfully.

"Ken?" Virgil asked, stunned.

"Yeah, who else would give a shit it's your birthday, huh?" Ken answered.

"Ken, Dude! Man, listen, you got to call Sydnee, man!" Virgil said.

"I don't got to do shit," Ken snapped. "Tried calling her and calling her and next thing I know she's out fucking half of DeGarde? And now she wants to talk? Fuck her."

"No man, listen, really you got to call her," Virgil begged. "I uh, I might have been you know, um, exaggerating..."

"Harrison said same thing, man," Ken snapped. "Listen, called to wish you happy birthday so happy birthday; talk to you later."

Virgil must have given Ken's mother and Sydnee Ken's cell number because his phone did not stop ringing until Ken turned it off.

A Verizon store in Oxmore, N.D. was happy to sell Ken a new phone and a two year contract. They did not offer him anything for his old cell phone; it was a flip phone model and did not even have Internet capabilities. A dumpster behind the local Kettle restaurant was happy to take Ken's old cell phone.

His PC Nation contract had been month to month so when they did not receive October's payment, they tried to contact Ken's phone which immediately went to voice mail but his voice mail was full.