On the outskirts of any big city you will find a few scattered small towns not yet gobbled up by the ravenous metropolis. They tend to be away from the major highways, which is probably the reason they haven't been overwhelmed. But with the big city just there, a lot of people drift from the small towns to the city itself. Shops that used to support the small town just can't compete with the big city malls and close down.
Unfortunate, but a fact of life, and an intelligent person will take advantage of this fact. If you have decent transport, why not save money by renting one of those empty places in those little towns? Rent's a lot cheaper and the commute is probably the same.
That's what I was currently doing. I'd found an old general store that had to close down. It had some nice living quarters attached, and the actual shop area made for one very large room. I just stuck up blinds over the large windows and made that front room a combination games room and garage for my motor-bike. And the rental was dirt cheap. The owner was just happy to have someone paying something rather than see his investment die.
So here I was, living in the equivalent of a small village, with all the mod cons of a big city just a short bike ride away. The only drawback to the place was that there was a bit of that small town mentality prevalent. Things ignored in the big city would be frowned upon here, but that didn't really worry me, as I wasn't doing anything that would bring the locals down on me.
At least, I didn't know I was. The first inkling I had that I might have a problem was when a couple of the town council members dropped around to see me. They were very firm in telling me that if I took drugs then they would have to ask me to vacate their town and not sully it with my unsavoury habits.
I was a little at a loss. I don't do drugs. Never really wanted to. Seems a silly idea to me. I politely told them that and asked them where on earth they got the idea that I did drugs.
Local gossip suggest it, they explained, and they felt they had to take a stance right from the word go. I agreed that they had the right idea and assured them that they had my full support in this area. I also delicately enquired as to who the local gossip was.
They wouldn't tell me, of course. Confidentiality and all that. I waved them goodbye and as they wandered off I saw them being intercepted by a young lady who lived nearby. I saw the senior member of the council shaking his head and practically patting hers, and I could take a fair guess at their informant.
The young lady was Isabel. I'd seen her around a few times. A few discrete inquiries had let me know that she was single, over eighteen and still lived with her parents. She was always dressed most demurely and had the reputation of being a good girl, but a trifle shy. In my opinion there is often a big difference between a reputation and the actuality. I resolved to keep an eye on that young lass.
My next unexpected visitor was Isabel's mother. She fronted up one Saturday morning. She was, she informed me a member of MADD. I looked confused. Mothers Against Drink Driving, she told me. OK. Was she collecting for them or something?
No such luck. She was there to lecture me about my reprehensible habit of riding on my motor-bike while intoxicated. She'd already informed the police that I did so, and she demanded that I cease it immediately.
I now had the reason I'd been pulled over and breathalysed three times in the previous week. The cops had been specifically waiting for me, tipped off by this idiot.
I explained that I didn't drink and ride as I had no intention of committing suicide. She explained that I couldn't hide it. Isabel had seen me early in the week, so intoxicated that I couldn't even walk properly after I got off my bike. The reason I stumbled the other day was because I tripped on a broken step, I explained, which I was in the middle of repairing, she might notice. She still stood their lecturing me about the evils of drinking and driving while I silently fumed and fixed the damn step.
I took the time that afternoon to intercept dear sweet Isabel and have a little chat with her. I suggested, politely, that she should have better things to do with her time than to go around spreading scurrilous rumours about me. I didn't like it and I would appreciate it if she would cease and desist.
She smirked and said she had no idea what I was talking about. It wasn't her fault if other people misinterpreted what she said.
"It bloody well is your fault when you deliberately toss nasty little bits of gossip around with not a shred of evidence but your fertile imagination," I snapped. "Now, please don't think I'm threatening you, but if you keep it up you will regret it."
"Sounds like a threat to me," she said. "I'll take your advice under consideration. I'm sure you'll find you're making a lot of to-do about nothing."
Maybe, but I would lay any money down on that being the case. I returned home, just knowing that the little wretch would come up with some other item of gossip with which to entangle me.
Didn't take long. There was a pounding on my door that evening and when I answered it Joe Hamperry was standing there. He and his wife live a few doors up. Joe's a big man, run to fat now. His wife on the other hand started out fat and has since got fatter. Joe got straight to the point.
"I hear you've been sniffing around my wife, and I won't have it, you hear?" he yelled as soon as I answered the door. "She's a good wife to me and I'm not going to have some city slicker hanging around and trying to lure her away."
He had to be joking. I'd as soon fuck a rancid nanny goat as try to get it on with his wife. Sooner! The nanny goat would probably have a smaller beard and would smell sweeter. Isabel had outdone herself this time.
"Hey, take it easy, Joe," I said softly, placing a hand gently on his chest. "I'm not trying to take your sweet wife away from you. What makes you think I'd be interested in her, you silly man."
I ran my free hand up and down his arm, smiling nicely.
"Why don't you came in and we can discuss this. I'm sure you'll quickly realise I mean no harm. I wouldn't want to upset a man as nice as you. You look awfully strong. I bet you've got some real nice muscles under this shirt."
While talking I brushed my hand lightly across his chest, trying to smile as sweetly as possible. Poor Joe went white and looked a little sick.
"My mistake," he said hastily. "Knew it couldn't be true. Got to run."
He turned and bolted before I could drag him into my lair.
I really was going to have to do something about our little malicious gossip. Heaven knew what else she might come up with. And why was she picking on me anyway? Just because I was new in the area? Not that it made much difference. I still had to shut her down.
One of the advantages of renting an old shop as a place to live is that you have a front door right on the footpath. I kept one eye out for Isabel and when I saw her coming I opened the door and waited. As soon as she drew level I just reached out, took her arm and hoicked her inside.
She gave a startled yelp and glared at me, but I don't think anyone else even noticed.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" she snapped at me. "You almost gave me a heart attack."
"Just the question I was going to ask," I observed. "You almost got me a black eye."
"What did I do," she asked giving me an all innocent butter wouldn't melt in my mouth look.
"Joe Hamperry," I said. "All fire and fury because someone told him I was chasing after his wife."
Isabel started giggling at that.
"God," she finally managed to gasp out. "I couldn't believe he'd go for that line. He's always been jealous of her, but really. It was even funnier when he found out you were gay. He now thinks you're after him. You could have warned me you were gay."
"Why? Do you want to spread a rumour that I have AIDS and no-one should come too close to me? Or are you just anti-gay?"
"I wouldn't spread those kind of rumours," she protested, "and of course I'm not anti-gay. I couldn't care less about anyone's sexual preferences."
