Last Chance (Death by Advertising 06)

A surprise visit from a relative forces abrupt change into the peaceful lives of Kaylee, Karl, and Fiona. And that of the visiting relative.

The second half of this story follows “Triangle - A Memoir Part II” from last week. (All previous stories linked below.)

Click also to see the full version as this may not fit most emails...

I LOOKED UP AND THOUGHT I saw Karl standing there.

“Oh hiya, Karl.”

But he didn't reply, said nothing. This wasn't his schedule, he's usually either fixing something or writing by now.

I looked over at him again.

Something was different.

This guy looked like Karl, but his mouth was open, staring. In another minute, he's be drooling.

I sat up and shaded my eyes against the glare. Then I saw that was a mistake. This wasn't Karl, this was a stranger – who was looking at my sunbathing. Nude sunbathing.

So I threw my sunscreen lotion bottle at him and tried to wrap myself in the old comforter.

The guy ducked. And turned away.

Too late for any hope of my propriety, though...

I - Introductions

- - - -

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL day on our Iowa farm. Thin “horsetail” clouds scudding aboveL, but otherwise warm enough to lay out and soak up some rays, get rid of any of my leftover winter pale skin tone. Get a little bronze where it counts.

My old comforter, that we'd gotten at a second-hand store, was padded against the sharper grasses, but insulated against the still cool ground.

I'd picked out this piece of pasture because the cows were somewhere else and this was going to be fallow for some time. It also sloped to the south, and was in a slight draw where I'd be out of sight of the road, and also sheltered from the any light breeze.

Because I disliked wearing tan lines. So my sunbathing was in the buff.

And on good days, if my chores were done and no one needed my help, then I'd rest out here with my sunscreen lotion and notebook, just in case I had another inspiration show up out of the blue.

I heard him crunching through the grass long before he came up near me. And only opened my eyes to look when his footsteps stopped. Not too far away from me. Just standing there. His shadow was covering my face.

When I turned me head to look, he was standing stock still.

From this angle it looked like Karl.

But Karl was OK with me being out here – as long as I didn't startle the cattle, I could go anywhere on the farm. But by now, most of the cattle knew me.

My next idea, was that Karl was off his schedule. His took his usual pasture walks to check on cattle either in the early mornings or late afternoons. And this was closer to lunch. By now, he's usually either fixing something or writing his latest book.

So I looked over again. His face was still shaded from me.

I sat up and shaded my eyes. “Karl, what's up? Do you need something?”

Then I saw I'd made a mistake.

That wasn't Karl. It looked like him, only a lot younger. Thinner shoulders, not beefed up like the Karl I knew.

And he wasn't wearing any t-shirt and dungarees. I saw a button-down collar, light blue, a dress shirt. Thin belt holding up pleated slacks. The tall grass covered his feet. Something out of high-end a menswear catalog.

It was when I looked at his face, I saw that my sitting up was a mistake. Big mistake.

This Karl look-alike had his mouth open. Another minute and he'd be drooling.

So I did the logical thing – I threw my sunscreen bottle at his head and screamed.

While my pitching arm is pretty accurate, I didn't look to see what part of his face connected with that bottle. I was pulling up the comforter to cover me with one hand while I pulled over my bikini top and bottom with my other hand – near enough to wrestle into under that cover.

Once my assets were secured from roving eyes, I looked up again to give this someone a piece of my mind.

But he was turned now, a hand to his face. Probably rubbing where my bottle had hit. Mental note: next time aim for the groin.

I stood and stomped into my cowboy boots next, then pulled that bed-sized comforter around me as I stood.

“Who the hell are you and why are you trespassing?!?”

The Karl lookalike was dismissive. “I might have known that it was one of you two. On company time, no doubt. But that would add up to the description I received about the two half-naked floozies that Uncle Karl hired as caretakers.”

“Floozies?!? OK, jerk. Answer my questions first. Who the hell are you?”

He still averted his face, holding his hand to his eye – which I didn't know if he were trying to be polite, or guarding against another shiner. “My name is Curt. And I'm Karl's nephew. So technically, I'm a guest, not a trespasser.”

“As far as I'm concerned, you're 'A. Big. Jerk'. And may I add 'pompous'. 'A Big Pompous-Ass Jerk'.”

“That's hardly proper for the help to be treating a relative of the owner in such a manner.”

“Boy are you out of your league. I'm not anyone's 'help' or 'caretaker' for anyone. I live here with my Aunt. And while we do help out by cleaning the house and helping him with fencing sometimes, that doesn't mean I work here. I live here. And if you had any decency, you would have let me know if you wanted to talk to me – not just stand there gawking like a pervert!”

Seeing that I had my hands full just keeping the comforter in place, he lowered his own hand from his eye and looked at me directly. Yes, I gave him what would be a nice shiner in an hour or two.

“Young lady, you have no right to say that I was acting improperly – since it was you who have decided to evidently take advantage of my uncle's charity and parade around in your – your – Au Naturel state.”

- - - -

“CHARITY, HELL! And to hell with you. You've got 5 seconds to turn around and get out of here, or your face is going to get a cow paddy to treat that shiner with. Maybe several.”

“I... I...”

“5!”

He closed his mouth and backed up a step. “Wait – 'cow paddy' means 'manure'. Manure? You can't just...”

“4!”

He backed up another step. I put one arm behind me as if I already had a cow paddy to hand and was just waiting for the opportunity.

“3!”

He was still backing up slowly, and found himself tripping over taller weeds he could have avoided if he wasn't still looking at me.

I flexed my arm and went into a softball pitcher's stance. Meaning my trim bikini-clad shape was no longer covered by that comforter – I didn't need it now, anyway.

“2!”

At that, he took off back the way he came. Only fell down two or three times before he was over the hill-crest of that pasture and out of my sight.

I was still ticked off, though.

Visitors. And a relative. Karl must not be all that happy right now. Relatives interrupted his quiet writing schedule. And created other demands on his time. Like being polite.

II - Arrival

- - - -

I KNOCKED AT THE SCREEN door to the tiny-home cabin.

There wasn't any answer. But that was where Uncle Karl should be. Writing.

My sweaty hand tried to wipe the sweat off my forehead, but only smeared things around. My shirt was probably ruined. And that tailoring didn't come cheap.

My hand barely touched the edge of that eye and it twinged in pain. I covered it open-handed and then it stung because of all the sweat on my palm. “Owwww-oww!”

That was no floozy for sure. More like a shrew. The Shrew. Probably more like Mrs. McClintock than the original Shakespeare...

“Curt!”

I turned, squinting into the sunlight toward what he was told was called the “big house”. Framed by the doorway, a large man stood silhouetted there. “Is that you, Uncle Karl?”

“Come on over. You look like you've already had a time today. Those shoes make you slip?”

I politely kept my mouth shut until I was closer.

Once I got into the shade of that building, I was able to see better – out of my non-impacted eye.

Feminine hands first took my shoulder and then lightly touched the edge of that eye, which made me flinch. And both eyes watered all over again.

“I'll get you some ice for that.” Then the sound of that female moved off with a light patter of feet inside the house. I was seeing nothing clearly right now.

“Well, Curt, you might as well come in. Fiona will get your eye cleaned up and then you'll probably want to change out of those traveling clothes.”

While I still wasn't seeing well, the big shape of this guy had to be my Uncle from the way he was talking to me.

I held out my hand. He shook it and held on. “I'd give you a hug, but we'll save that for later, since it might hurt right now. Come and sit down on this tall stool here.”

He led me over to a swivel-type bar stool with a sturdy back. I was relieved to be off my feet and somewhere that no one was going to throw something at me.

Once Fiona cleaned my eye and let me put some ice wrapped in a dish cloth on it, I was able to blink the tears out of the other one and saw more clearly.

My uncle was tall, and wore a comfortable gray pocket t-shirt to cover his broad shoulders and back. That was stuffed into well-worn dungarees below, with sock feet below them. He had a warm, smile-worn face and weathered to suit his cattle farming side-business. His large hand was sturdy, but firm. No excesses of calluses there, which told of his writing business.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Glancing at Fiona, I saw she also preferred a knit top, tan and v-necked, loose above her own stone-washed jeans. And her ankle socks explained the padding I'd heard. She was also smiling, relaxing from the concerned look she wore earlier – which is what I saw first when my good eye cleared.

Turning toward her, “You must be Fiona.” This time I wisely didn't repeat the reported description of “floozy”.

Nodding, Fiona moved over to my uncle and put an arm around his waist. She was both older and more rounded than the “shrew” I'd met in the field. I made a mental note to find out these three relationships as I could.

But right now, my shirt was itching, and my slacks were wet from the knees down, plus my leather loafers were soaked to being squishy, along with my socks. There were also prickles from thorn bushes I'd run through and tripped over. I must look a sight.

As if reading my mind, my uncle quietly recommended a course of action, “There's a bathroom right off that library you can use to clean up in, and get yourself into another change of clothes. I got all those suitcases and boxes and such into that room so you could use it while you're here. The door is just to the right of the stairs.”

I saw where his gesture pointed and made out a dark paneled door there. “Thanks Uncle Karl. That is probably my best course of action at this time.”

“Sure thing. Once you're cleaned up, we'll get all your introductions going over some tea or coffee and find out more about each other.”

I nodded at the two of them, and then cautiously made my way across the wood floor with it's irregular throw rugs.

III – The Challenge

- - - -

“IS He around?”

My head and shoulders made their way around the open doorway into the house. I couldn't see what was on the other side of that stairwell from where I was..

“It's safe, Kaylee, come on in.”

So I did. Entering the cool air of the house interior gave goosebumps to various areas that my bikini swim suit didn't cover. Which I guess means a lot of uncovered ground, if you think it through.

“Well, Karl, I know you could have done a much better job of picking nephews if given the chance.”

Karl was grinning, Fiona was hugging him, like she always was. “How was the sunbathing today?”

I felt my face flush.

“Fine, just fine.” I stopped, measuring my words after that point. “At least until that, that – pompous ass-wipe showed up to do his voyeur-gandering. He's gotta be some sort of pervert to just stare at me like that!”

Karl hadn't quit grinning.

“OK, Karl, what's so funny – did you put him up to this?!?”

“No, Kaylee. We only just met a few minutes ago. He's getting cleaned up now.” I saw him nod toward the library.

“Good. And he'd better stay out of my way unless he wants a matched set!”

Karl suppressed that chuckle of his. “Oh, your softball arm was free, then?”

“Yes, and that sunscreen lotion bottle is still out there, somewhere.”

“I suppose he deserved it.”

“You bet he did!” I turned to my Aunt Fiona. “Have you ever been called a 'floozy' before? What a jerk-ass!”

Karl quietly tried to get more information from me. “I assume that he saw you in your natural element?”

“You mean, was I naked like I always am when I'm sun-bathing? Sure. Buck-naked and loving it. It was such a nice day, too – before he showed up to ruin things.”

Fiona moved away, still smiling. She must have remembered something else she needed to clean or dust or plants to water.

Karl still stood there, trying not to tick me off at something he found funny about my embarrassment this morning.

“So, Kaylee, you know this might work to your advantage.”

I crossed my arms must below my small bikini top. I mean, what that top needed to cover didn't require much fabric. Not much of a defensive gesture. But Karl's mystery idea had its intended effect – hook, line, and sinker. And any second now, he'd tell me the rest. So I bit my lip to keep quiet.

“You know, I'm learning a bit about the chick flick story structure these days...”

I cocked an eyebrow and continued waiting. My lip stayed bit, just enough.

“Right at the beginning, when the young couple meet...”

“No. NO.”

“...right there is a point where they both think that the other person is, well...”

“Don't you even go there! You're not going to make me think that this, this jerk-ass is going to be some beau of mine somewhere down the road!”

“No, I just brought it up as a test you could do to determine whether or how the chick-lit plots actually parallel the real world human responses.”

Karl knew where to appeal to me. We'd only been talking about this last week. And he hadn't told me, or I didn't remember that his nephew was going to be visiting.

I frowned. “Kinda like a reverse Pygmalion?”

Karl nodded, keeping any humor off his face.

I considered it. “But he's going to have to ask for my help.” Then my face flushed. “No way. NO WAY am I going to drop to his pompous-ass snobbery to 'learn' him some manners. No way!”

Karl just shrugged. “Well, he's going to be here for a couple of weeks.”

Fiona chimed in from the back porch through the open door – no doubt having listened to the whole conversation. “Dinner's at six tonight. Dress up a little, would you?”

My face turned another shade darker. “What is this, a conspiracy?”

Karl's eyebrow raised.

I got the hint – be nice, at least during dinner. “Alright. ALRIGHT!”

Then I stomped my way upstairs. “Pompous-Ass MEN!”

Before got into my room, I overheard Fiona tell Karl, “You know, maybe there's a chance here – she only said 'ass' five times that I counted.”

I shouted down the stairwell. “I heard that!” And slammed the door to my room to shut off any further comments at my expense.

IV – Ice Breaking

- - - -

DINNER WAS DELICIOUS, but afterwards was where it got really interesting. Curt had managed to prove that he knew nothing about anything again. His “agronomy experiments” in the greenhouse of his mother's mansion were just over-large potted plants he called “container gardening”. And weren't even established and maintained for a full growing season, just that semester.

Stuff that very boring table conversation is made from.

We ended up on the couch, just Curt and me. I was wearing one of my fullish Opry skirts. Faded pink, floral accents. And a beige knit top with a modest neckline. Hair pulled back into a pony tail. Totally not my usual.

Curt only put on a dress shirt (buttoned down, as usual) and some dark slacks. No jacket or tie. Maybe Fiona gave him a hint, I bet.

I wasn't uncomfortable. Still, I felt like I was on show. Like those Westminster dogs that try to win “Best of Breed” and “Best of Show” every year. Collars and leashes everywhere.

Since the small kitchen really held only two people doing dishes, that's what wound me up with Curt. He looked so solitary sitting all by himself, alone on the couch, it was painful to me. If I sat across the room, we'd both still be sitting alone.

This was about as bad as prom night – which I hated, by the way. It winds up everyone else dancing and just a few of us by our lonesomes. And the few have to stick together, to relieve the boredom if nothing else. Which meant I purposely came over to sit near him and cheer him up, if I could.

I took a simple approach to break the ice. “So, did you have some elected courses in your high school?”

Curt only nodded.

“Which one did you like the most?”

“Well I hated English, but liked working on the school paper. And then there was Business 201 – promotion and marketing.”

“Oh really? What did you like about them?”

Curt started getting interested, turning toward me and using his hands to make his points. “On the newspaper, you had a fair amount of room to write what you wanted on those articles. After the 'nut paragraph' beginning, you could write almost anything after that – as long as it fit into the column space available. Always figuring that, at any time, they could cut off the bottom to make it fit.”

“Whoa, that's harsh!”

Curt shrugged. “That's the newspaper scene. Not your top-flight work. And the course only lasted a semester. The next semester was devoted to the year book, which is mostly suck-up, cutesy stuff”.

That spoke volumes. Because Curt was so stuffy all the time. “Whoa, I could never picture you writing that either.”

He smiled at me. And his eyes went soft – just for a second. “Promotion and Marketing was much better. And that was my only other elective I could take during those four years, so I lucked out.”

I could see Curt was opening up, so I pressed on. “What was so interesting about that – it sounds like just more stuffiness.”

His eyebrows came up. “Well, on the surfaces, it was like everything else in school. But this was an elective, so it didn't count for anything, and you got a passing grade if you just showed up every day and managed to turn in your assignments. There were a few required lectures on how promotion and marketing worked for small businesses. And half your grade was parroting back their lessons through quizzed and exams. Then the rest of it was writing advertisements, which meant researching in the school library, and even doing trips to the public library to find out about potential customers for your chosen product.”

“Meaning that you had some goof-off time?”

He shrugged. “Some of them treated it like that. A lot of the girls just wanted to read the latest glamor magazines, and the guys would go and get the hot-rod and muscle car mags – or see if they could get away with smooching in the stacks.”

“But not you, I suspect.”

“No, I get bored easily. Getting caught smooching only got you more demerits – which added up to detention. So I actually took the course seriously and started studying my Mother's corporation and what advertising they did. And that's when it got surprising.”

“How so?”

“I found their really old ads had better responses than modern ones. And then looked up the advertising texts that were available at the time, just trying to figure out what the difference was. It was there I found them.”

“Smoochers in the stacks?”

- - - -

CURT ALMOST LAUGHED. “No, the really old advertising books were easier to read and made more sense than the modern ones.”

I nodded. “Like the classic, perennial topselling romances are written better than the modern bodice-rippers.”

Curt's face flushed at that term.

I elbowed him. He flinched.

“What was that for?”

“You don't get out much, do you?”

“Sure, I attend all the soirées and mixers that my Mother and her corporation put on. Just not the corporate parties where liquor is served.”

“Soirées, huh?”

“Yeah. Every bit as boring as it sounds.”

“Wait – you must have gone to a prep school...”

“Right. Boys only. And we 'mixed it up' with the various girls prep schools.”

“Only you were watched like hawks, and 'chaperons' were at every exit.”

“Guards who were armed with steely looks and demerit slips.”

“Which added up to what after that mixer?”

“They tallied them up and you were spending your after-school hours in detention doing your homework under supervision with no talking or goofing off.”

“Wow.”

“And the dancing was strictly old school. Nothing closer than a palm's distance apart.”

“Damned if you didn't and damned if you did.”

Carl looked at me with wonder. Like he'd never heard a girl cuss before. I winked at him, and he blushed. Now I was getting to where he really lived. Stuffy, pampered, and secluded from real life.

“OK, Curt, so what did you really like about that advertising stuff?”

He looked around, and found nobody there watching him. And it was then I noticed that it was just him and me. Fiona and Karl were no doubt in his small cabin, doing what the newly-in-love do. Their usual.

Curt relaxed more. No “grown-ups” around to bust him.

“I liked that no one could tell me what to do. And finding that in those days their ads had to get results based on sales and not how artsy-cutesy they were.”

Right down my line of work. This guy was turning out to be so non-stuffy, if he could get away with it, some how. “Like the best stories are the ones that get their readers wanting to buy the next ones.”

“Exactly.” His smile was just shy of a grin.

But then he suddenly turned puzzled. “Wait – I read something like that. You have blurbs in your books – back cover.”

“And that online text by the cover thumbnail.”

“Which means that blurb is your marketing.”

“And?”

“So the blurb gets the reader to buy the book.”

I interrupted him. “What I find interesting is that those blurbs are like short stories. What they used to call short-shorts. 4000 characters, about 500 words.”

Curt surprised me. “I did a small research study into non-fiction book blurbs, once. And the worse blurbs are like the pitiful ads – they just copy the others in their genre.”

I caught myself leaning toward him, now. “And the genre-based covers are all the same.”

“Exactly. “

We'd now just found common ground. Which I didn't think was possible from the way we first met – but I still think he never saw a live naked girl before me.

Just for theatrics, I looked around the room. I knew that I'd left a thick paperback anthology on that couch. It was dogeared and tabbed from my own fiction studies. “Hey, here's something that's really going to make you blush...”

- - - -

OF COURSE CURT WAS uneasy. That was the point. I grabbed that book and opened it to one of the hot pink tabs.

“OK, this is a secret – you can keep a secret, can't you?”

He nodded, but sat back.

“Relax, Curt. I'm not going to seduce you or anything.”

And he blushed again. Right on cue.

“Look, the blurb from my books and your ads are almost the same thing. And if you write them right, you get the same effect.”

He got curious and leaned in again, wanting to get the rest of the secret.

“This is something your Uncle Karl showed me.”

Keeping my finger in the book to hold my place, I turned it over. “Hook - headline and first sentence.” I was pointing to the text.

“Right – they have to get attention and pull the reader in to the next paragraph.”

“Exactly. Now, this section is all setup, and this section is the build-up.”

“Sure – you tell the benefits here and explain the mechanisms here.”

“Then there's the cliffhanger...”

“The call to action.”

“Go to the head of the class!”

Curt looked up at me. “Wait, but you just described the fiction blurb. And it doesn't have benefits and mechanisms.”

“Ah, but you haven't studied your reader. What does a romance reader want?”

He thought for a second, answering in a mock announcer's voice. “'To be swept away by their passions'.”

“Looks like 'someone' has been reading these romantic novels.”

“Or having to sit through a few too many commercials and trailers.”

“Trailers are the same. You introduce the characters, put them in a setting, and develop a curious mystery.”

“And then leave them hanging.”

“Exactly.”

We were both beaming.

I grinned at him, then toned it down to a smile. “Now, the secret is – the short story and novel are just the same, except one is longer. Every single chapter goes through the same sequence. Well, except...”

Curt was almost leaning on top of me to find out – I had him now.

“Erotica.”

Then he really blushed. And sat back.

“Porn?”

“No, just explicit sex – which is entirely unnecessary.”

“Then why's it in there?””

“Addicts.”

He was almost shocked. “You're kidding!”

“No. Been there, done that. Lived to tell the tale.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, like how I earned the phrase 'half-naked floozy' that way.”

He looked down at his hands in his lap. “You know, I never was able to apologize for my big mouth earlier.”

I reached in and pecked him on the cheek. “That's OK.”

He looked at me again, pink-cheeks and misty eyes. “Thanks.”

I looked at his reaction, paused, then shook my head. “You really, really haven't gotten out much, have you?”

Curt shrugged, frowning. “Story of my life – every hour of every day is structured. Even these exact two weeks here.”

“Exactly two weeks?”

“Right down to the airline tickets here and back.”

“Wow.”

“You said it.”

We sat for awhile, musing on our relative pains. I'm a recovering sex addict and he's never had a chance to find out how good life is.

- - - -

“WELL, THAT'S FINE, then. We still have some more time left to these two weeks. And you've got a lot of living to catch up on.”

He only shrugged, looking down at that book in my hands.

“OK, let's get back to where they don't need to put sex acts inside books.”

He perked up. “Why not – it sells, doesn't it?”

“Actually, not as well as the ones that don't contain it.”

“How does that work?”

“Look at what you call the 'Call to Action' – otherwise known as the cliffhanger. See those three dots down there?”

“The ellipses.”

“Right. Karl showed me this, and it was the key to getting off my addiction. That ellipses replaces several pages of text.”

“And...”

“Exactly – the really juicy parts are written between the lines.”

“Here – read this section out loud.”

Curt began, stumbling at times while he did:

"His hand left her chin and dropped lightly to her shoulder.

"A light kiss on her forehead was to disguise his hand moving down her arm and over to the her side, where he now felt the ribs of her corset.

"Trailing down, and assisted by another light kiss on her cheek, his hand soon found the waist of her dress.

As his hand continued downward, her breath quickened. Soon his fingers were on the thin material covering her thigh..."

Automatically, Curt put his hand up to turn page.

I put my hand on his to stop him. He looked into my eyes, now just inches away from them.

And he sat back. Again, red-faced.

“See? It worked. You wanted to find out what happened next.”

“But I didn't.”

“But you still do want to.”

His eyes went down to where my hand covered his. And he swallowed.

I took his hand and pulled out his index finger. Automatically, he closed the rest.

“OK, let's go over this line by line. You read it out loud again. And I'll follow with your finger as you do.”

He started out and ran through those lines, again stumbling:

"His hand left her chin and dropped lightly to her shoulder.

"A light kiss on her forehead was to disguise his hand moving down her arm and over to the her side, where he now felt the ribs of her corset.

"Trailing down, and assisted by another light kiss on her cheek, his hand soon found the waist of her dress.

As his hand continued downward, her breath quickened. Soon his fingers were on the thin material covering her thigh..."

Again, he tried to raise his hand to turn the page. And again, I stopped him. “Now, nothing happened, did it?”

“Right.”

“Nothing explicit?”

“No.”

“But you want to know whether they did or didn't?”

“Right.”

“OK – but as I said, the really juicy stuff is between the lines. But you won't find it unless you really read with passion.” I started reading out loud this time, with exaggerated, dramatic inflection of that same text:

"His hand left her chin and dropped lightly to her shoulder.

And I explained: “So he's close enough to touch her, and she's letting him.

"A light kiss on her forehead was to disguise his hand moving down her arm and over to the her side, where he now felt the ribs of her corset.

“Oh – it's getting racy now: he distracts her so she'll let him get closer. She's got exposed arms on that dress, or whatever she's wearing. And a corset – which means restrictions of caste and social requirements – your structured life, again.

"Trailing down, and assisted by another light kiss on her cheek, his hand soon found the waist of her dress.

“Now, here we see she does have a dress over everything. So there's more exploring to do. Again, he's distracting her, but she wants him to keep going.

“As his hand continued downward, her breath quickened. Soon his fingers were on the thin material covering her thigh..."

“She's got the hots. And he's right on her thigh – so there's only some 'thin material' between him and her treasures.

“And – there's the ellipses.”

Now he was right next to me. We were close to each other and his shoulder was pushing against my breast. Which I didn't mind at all.

And yet, he still wanted to turn the page.

So I kissed him on the cheek.

He blushed again, but hardly moved, except to turn his own hand over to hold mine.

At that, I kissed him once more on the cheek, closed the book and stood.

“There you go Curt. A demonstration of the power of the ellipses. And we both have a lot to do tomorrow.”

I smiled, and went up the stairs to my room.

I glanced back and found he hadn't moved.

And while he said nothing, I could feel his eyes on me the whole way.

- - - -

OF COURSE, I DIDN'T get to sleep very easily myself that night.

I probably should have seen that coming...

V – Pasture Walk

- - - -

I GOT UP THIS MORNING and got dressed more quickly when I smelled the cooking.

By the time I got out, Fiona greeted me with one of her warm smiles and a fresh panbread breakfast. As simple as that meal was, it was always filling. And I had a choice of jams to use instead of just honey. Never boring.

Fiona interrupted my eating. “Oh, Karl is over in his cabin by now, after his chores. Kaylee took her own plate back upstairs as she said she felt inspired, plus she's behind on her story now.”

I was at loose ends, then. But the panbread and coffee was delicious and had my interest now.

Fiona took my empty plate and left me to sip my coffee. “Oh, Curt, we're planning to go to the Opry after dinner tonight. Dancing. Hope you've got some flexible shoes – you don't mind getting off the farm do you?”

“Of course not. Sounds like fun.” And it did.

Then I remembered. “Karl's waiting – guess I should get going. Thanks for breakfast.” I finished off that mug, and set it down.

She just smiled. As I got up ,she cleared the island and started wiping it down.

It was a nice day outside.

I still didn't know how I felt about all this. Kaylee was a real hoot. Fiona was gorgeous, and Karl kept me on my toes about, well, everything.

- - - -

“OH, CURT – GOOD MORNING. I'm just wrapping this up – a tricky paragraph. Be with you in a second.”

Rather than bothering him, I went outside to sit on one of his porch chairs.

But my thoughts kept rambling. Here, the schedule was – whenever we can fit it in. Karl was writing now, because he could while he was waiting for me. Because I had slept in after not being able to get Kaylee and her romance books out of my head.

The point was that I could sleep in. And I luxuriated on the wide couch in that library, looking at all the books lining the walls. A wealth of information and entertainment, and all the time in the world to read them.

Of course, this view and all the fresh sunshine and air I could imbibe was intoxicating. That two-week deadline was slipping away, but I was living the dream. Any thought of it ending could go on hold.

“Ready?”

I found Karl at my elbow, which was about as much room as that small porch held.

He had put on his ball cap, and his gloves were in his back pocket. Bandanna on his neck, over his pocket t-shirt (blue today) and dungarees.

We were both in our gum boots. That lesson of dew stains on my high-priced leather loafers wasn't lost on me. “Thanks again for the boots. They fit great over the cotton socks.”

“At the rate you were going, you'd be out of shoes in a few days. I don't think your mom would approve to shipping a complete set of shoes and boots that you'd then also go right through. Our local farm and home supply store has all you need for this place.”

We were walking well past that first area where I'd met Kaylee. And he paused. The comforter was still there.

Karl walked over, picked it up and handed one side to me while he held the other. We folded it up as small as practical, then he handed that bundle to me. I pushed it under one arm.

“Curt, would you help me find that sunscreen bottle? Let's see – if she was laying here, then you would be...”

I moved over to the danger zone I was standing on that day.

“Ah, that's good. Right – so the angle of attack would be about like this, and then it would bounce over to this side. She throws a mean softball, so it might be... here.” He reached for the bottle in the tall grass. “Orange and white – good contrast to all this green.”

Karl handed it to me. I tried to fit it into a back pocket, but these slacks were a bit too tightly tailored for more than a slim wallet at best. So it wound up in one of my roomy front pockets.

Karl smiled. “Be sure you take it out before we get to the house or Kaylee will crack one of her Mae West jokes.”

“Mae West?”

“A real bombshell of an actress who was in the early movies. She's known for saying, 'Is that a flashlight in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?'”

I had to grin. I was starting to appreciate Kaylee's brand of humor.

Wait, did I just think that?

“Karl, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“Kaylee said last night that she was a recovering sex addict – was that a joke?”

“No.”

I was quiet for awhile. “I don't know what to ask next.”

“Maybe you should ask her.”

“But she seems so happy about things. Brash, outspoken, and the first girl I've ever met who didn't care about cussing in front of me.”

Karl just smiled. “That she is. She's come right around. Of course, she always complains about not being hugged enough.”

“From you.”

Mostly. Fiona always hugs her. But she likes a guy to do it, I guess. Or maybe the father she lost.”

“That's sad to hear.”

“Yeah, it was for me, too. That's why I invited them to stay on until they were ready to go out into life again.”

“Oh, that's the real story – the one I never heard.”

“Gossip can be cruel sometimes.”

“And I finally got a chance to apologize to Kaylee.”

“But she was gracious, I imagine...”

“Yes, and that surprised me all over again.”

“Her Aunt thought 'floozy' was funny.”

I smiled. “Well, that's something.”

“Fiona is a very warm person, and understanding.”

We walked on for awhile, each in our own thoughts.

Karl finally turned to me as we walked. “So Kaylee is growing on you?”

“Kinda. Like I'm getting used to her teasing, and she's showing me new things I'd never considered before.”

“She's a breath of fresh air, even if you didn't need it.”

“Anything I should know, then?”

“To avoid more sunscreen bottles thrown at you?”

I smiled. “Something like that.”

“Be honest in all things, at all times. She has no tolerance for fakes. None. If you don't know something, don't play like you do. And if you're smart, you'll ask her opinion before you say anything.”

“That 'yes, dear' quip?”

“Not really. If she has an opinion, she'll tell you. If she doesn't think she has enough facts on the subject, then she'll say so.”

“More sunscreen avoidance advice?”

“If the shoe fits...”

- - - -

I LOOKED OUT OVER THE pasture. “This so lush. I've never seen so many flowers like these before.”

“Around here, there's one kind or another sort of flower on display every week of the growing season. I tested that out one year, and found it was true. If I wanted, I could pick Fiona a new bouquet for the table every time the old ones wore out.”

“Does Kaylee like flowers?”

“Probably.”

He stopped us walking at that. “You aren't growing soft on her are you?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, take some advice: She likes to smootch. But you should let her start it and end it. Not that you can't start it, but, well – let's just say you should start off that way. It will end up better. Because she also throws a mean right hook.”

I smiled. Even if that was just a joke, forewarned is forearmed.

- - - -

THEN WE CROSSED A BARBED-wire fence and got across a steep-sided water diversion after that. And stopped at the next perimeter fence to stand in the deep shade of some fence-line trees.

“Well, Curt, what do you think of this pasture?”

“I know enough to say that I don't know. It looks OK, but much different from the one we just went through. What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“What you can't see.”

I looked up at his face, and found him in deep thought, his eyes half-closed.

Karl gestured. “I can name a dozen or so plants that are obvious. Annuals and perennials. All there where cows can feed on them. But cows contain live, microscopic biota in their gut so they can digest food – humans do this as well, to a smaller degree. When cows manure, those biota micro-organisms also get placed in the soil – where they spread into that ground and the plants and help everything grow better.

“Crop lands are dead. All the chemicals they use are to kill anything that isn't the single set of plants the farmer wants to grow. So they mine the minerals of that land to grow food and ship them off in big trucks as seed. And meanwhile, the land loses a little more topsoil each year. All that means the land is less and less able to produce more growing things the longer they are cropped. This is the reason Rome and Greece fell – and are mostly rock today. And why broad areas of the Middle East are now desert, although that is where mankind started out.

“So it's what we don't see out there. Like the massive fungus network which can grow under the surface like a massive nervous system. One that ties everything together and helps the various plants get the nutrients they need.

“And raising cattle without disturbing the land is what brings it back to a viable, fertile land.”

I looked over that pasture with its tall growth and watched the wind move the tall flower and seed stalks.

Something happened in my mind's eye. I started to see how it all fit together. The grazing cow was allowed to eat only so much. No overgrazing – that was management. Cows then helped the soil grow more grass. And the deep grass brought more minerals to the surface, while the underground fungal network helped distribute those different elements to where they were most needed. A massive teamwork, invisible to most.

A vision almost clouded the sight from my eyes – great circular wheels with interactive parts, cycling around other wheels who were composed of more wheels and revolving parts. And they were all alive, sentient in their own ways.

I was shocked with this vision. Almost speechless.

“Karl, why don't you tell people about this?”

“Well, I do, through my books. Others do, too. But their voices only go so far.”

My mind's vision expanded. With hundreds of thousands of faces beyond that system, part of that system, consumers. People who needed good quality food, who were looking for natural ways to get it. And millions – billions – beyond those.

From a food system that would feed them all and continue forever – because the land wouldn't wear out and go to desert.

Then I was speechless at that massive concept.

Until I had a thought.

That maybe I could help.

VI – The Opry

- - - -

THE OPRY “HOUSE” WAS a converted barn. It was really what they now called a “machine shed” – large enough for a stage at one end, and dancing in the middle, seats along the sides. It was originally built for housing and maintaining farm equipment, but had become a place for people to gather and have fun when they weren't farming or working.

Gray metal sides and roof outside, and festively decorated on the inside. Recorded music playing softly in the background when we entered, filling the room with canned music until the local band could take the stage and make live music saturate the air, as well as the hearts and minds of the people – bringing smiles and laughter to their faces, with joy to their hearts.

There were no chaperons here. No demerit slips. The men were handsome and well-built. The women were beautiful in their dancing dresses or tight-fitting jeans, the girls all pretty beyond measure.

All another “little slice of heaven” I'd found since arriving at my Uncle's farm, my grandfather's farm. This wonderful world that somehow exists happily on its own beyond the concrete, steel, and politics of cities.

And nothing seemed to intrude on these happy faces.

They were all here to celebrate. No particular holiday. Just celebrate life and living.

Fiona and Kaylee were in wide, pleated skirts, with frilly blouses above. Fiona was in pink, Kaylee in sunflower yellow. Karl had even put on a cowboy cut plaid shirt above his “town” jeans – not quite “Sunday” fare, but he didn't stand out in this crowd as he would in a pocket t-shirt and dungarees, no matter how clean they were.

Their footwear also set them apart. Fiona wore sensible flats with modest heels. Karl was in low-heeled, but polished Wellingtons, similar to his work boots, but with a bit of shine.

Kaylee was wearing pointed cowboy boots with fancy stitching. Like those I'd seen on her that first time we met – of course I didn't get much of a good look at them. Their tall light brown tops with dark accents showed off her lightly tanned legs – which needed no hose to be enticing. The extra heel-height brought her closer to my eye-level, which was a bit disconcerting for me.

I only had a good button-down dress shirt and pleated slacks, clean sneakers, black. That made me the most “standout-ish” of our car load.

(And I think I noticed that even Fiona's older four-door sedan was even washed for the occasion.)

I just followed Kaylee, who was behind Karl and Fiona. They led us to a set of chairs on one side, where we could see the whole dance floor.

Once we sat, I had to remark, “Kaylee, I think I like you better all dressed up.”

She punched my arm. “Thank you for the compliment – and thanks for phrasing it that way.” Then she squeezed my arm with her hand.

Another slice of heaven.

I was getting used to having pretty girls around. Besides this one beside me, there were dozens and dozens in this Opry, seated or mingling. Giggles and laughter almost drowned out the canned music.

Soon, that music faded out as the band took the stage and tested their instruments, double-checking the tuning.

“Welcome one and all to the Frederick County Opry!”

Cheers, whistles, and laughter rang out above the crowd.

“Then let the festivities begin!”

A chord was struck, and the band started a steady beat, with a twang of strings, and syncopated notes from banjo, along with a hefty back-beat from their bass player and drummer.

The crowd formed into couples and soon the floor was filled with stepping boots and swishing skirts, all in time to the music.

Karl invited Kaylee out with him, and I soon lost her pink blouse in among the sea of brightly colored shirts and skirts.

My own feet started tapping to the music. I'd been told that clean athletic shoes were just as permissible instead of dress shoes, and would allow my feet to survive the dancing with “fewer” blisters.

Of course, I had my doubts that I would even dance tonight, since all I knew well were waltzes. The side-stepping of mixers, hands properly on waists and shoulders, wouldn't fit here. If anything, I'd get run over by the over-active high-stepping that was what seemed to be the rage out there.

Fiona moved over next to me. “Are you planning to go over to one of those spare fillies on the side?” She nodded to some single girls across the dance floor, who sat in the rows of side chairs on their own. Pretty, happy, and evidently single.

I shook my head. “I'm thinking not. I'd only get in someone's way if I tried. Well, unless they played a waltz, which sounds unlikely.”

Fiona just smiled. “Well there are some waltzes, that they save for when the crowd needs to cool off. But here – let me show you how this dancing goes...”

She took my hand and pulled me unceremoniously to one end, where there was room enough for a private class.

- - - -

OF COURSE MY MIND WAS on how much of an ass I was going to make of myself.

Well, at first.

Then I noticed some girls and boys a lot younger than myself out having fun with this. (The funny thing was that they had to be way further than a palm's width apart to avoid crunching toes and banging knees.) So that helped me relax some more.

“OK, Curt – eye's on me. Not my competition. Good boy. Now this might look like line-dancing the way I'm going to teach you the Two Step. Because until you get the basics, you aren't fit to get beyond a learners permit. Woman have delicate feet, after all.

“Here we go – watch my feet. No – My. Feet. Good boy:

“Ka-boom, ka-boom, Booom Booom, then again – Ka-boom, ka-boom. Booom. Booom.”

“Some people say 'quick-step, quick-step, sloow, sloow.' Just keep it in time to the music.”

Then she made me do those with my arms up, like they held a phantom partner. And that made it easier, since it's just ballroom dancing position – straight shoulders and all that.

(They made me take classes in the subject to improve my posture. Plus I got to dance with real girls instead of, well, the instructors had secret nicknames from their students – impolite references that were never said within their hearing – each based on their obvious features.)

So I was doing that OK, and then we did it back again. Each of us, side by side with phantom partners.

Then she came over so we could practice as a couple. And Fiona was a delight to hold – I knew know why Karl was fond of hugging her. Soft and rounded where it counted.

We took several turns across and back.

Then we were ready for the complicated stuff. So we watched some others first. Doing their turns. Half turns as a couple and then full turns. The point of turns was that any dance floor has limits and you just can't keep going in one direction forever. So you did turns so as to not run out of space – or run into walls.

Finally, we got it, and Fiona and I managed to look half-decent with the simple steps.

We then went back over to our chairs to catch our breath and wait for the current tune to finish.

“You did real fine, there Curt. I can't wait to see you out on the floor – with one of the local gals. Don't worry, you probably didn't see it but there are 'No Floozies” signs posted. So you're safe here.” She smiled.

I blushed.

She patted my knee. That didn't help.

Then she laughed and I knew it as all another tease. Like aunt, like niece. I'd better lighten up – that was the message.

“You see, Curt, Kaylee finally explained to us what this type of dancing – what any dancing is. She said that it's making love in public with all your clothes on.”

“Like the Tango?”

Fiona laughed, light and airy as a bird. “As Kaylee would say – no, that's having sex in front of everyone.” And she laughed again.

I grinned. But at least I didn't blush this time.

“Making love is becoming one with the other person. And dancing is the perfect way to find a partner you can do that with. Of course Karl was a hard one to get out on the dance floor, if you wouldn't know it by watching his moves and how much fun he's having now.

“Like you, he was a quiet guy – but he knew that it was some medicine that he was going to have to swallow. So Kaylee and I insisted on this plan.

“Once Kaylee explained it to him in her own graphic way... plus we trimmed down some flattish area of the farm yard and brought out the boom box, all so we could show him how to dance at a place where he could make all his missteps in private.

Of course, we made him dance bare-footed to begin with. His work boots would have made mince meat of our delicate toes otherwise.”

Fiona smiled at the memories. And her eyes picked out Karl and Kaylee whooping it up out there. Lots of sweeping turns and fast footwork on an upbeat tempo. You could tell they were enjoying themselves.

Fiona bent her head close to mine. “That's why Kaylee always gets the first few dances. She doesn't ever get enough hugs from him, and this is more an atmosphere where a kind of 'father-daughter' loving can be right out in public. Because every now and then (her eyes misted) we are reminded of what we lost a few years back. And how Karl helped us find ourselves with his unconditional love and openhanded giving.”

She wiped her eyes and smiled. “Imagine someone like that just giving us two strangers an entire house to vacation in, and then come back to live in. Small wonder that we want to pay him back any way we can.

“After all, Kaylee is like the daughter he never had. And me, well... I'm still working to get Karl to fall in love with me. ”

She turned back to look me in the eyes. “And if you think that's some sort of secret, forget it. Karl knows I'm wooing him. And that was the logical reason we used to get Karl out dancing – ostensibly so that Kaylee could find more kids her age. But it became obvious after awhile, that while she was scoping out the field, I was narrowing in on Karl.”

Then the final bars played. The crowd clapped for the band.

“Oh, here we go. This song is wrapped up. Look's like it's my turn next.”

- - - -

KAYLEE AND KARL CAME off, with a glow on her and a sheen on him. But Fiona didn't give him a break – she took his hand and they went out for a slower tempo song.

Kaylee was grinning – and signaled to me, so I followed her to the punch bowl and the soft drink bar where the cans of soda were iced down in big galvanized wash tubs.

She clued me in. “Our drinks are on this end. The adults have the beer on the far end. Treats in between.”

I frowned. “We can't have beer here?”

“It's more of their stupid laws. But if we want to dance here, we have to live with that silliness for a few more years.” She shrugged. “That's not so long, now.”

“But we can't have beer at your home?”

“Technically, no. But Karl and Kaylee would rather I get used to the taste somewhere that I can walk home to my own bed – and clean up my own messes if I can't handle it.

“And sure, if I wanted to, I could drink here. But it might mean that we could never come back here to dance again. Those are rules I can live with. Because if I did get caught by some deputy sheriff or other county official, they could shut down the whole place – and our community would suffer because of what I did.”

I nodded. “I've had that lecture myself. Year after year. Mixed drinks are even worse. But one thing worse than cleaning up your own mess, is having the butler or maid tell on you. Then I really caught it.”

Kaylee was wide-eyed at this revelation. “Mr. Stuffy got himself piss-faced? My Word!” Then giggled at my expense.

And I joined in with some heartfelt chuckles.

“OK, Curt, let's get back to our seat – I've got another secret for you. And our seats are the best place to make sure that Fiona and Karl keep it family-friendly.” She slid her arm inside my elbow, and leaned her head toward mine. “I'm their chaperon tonight...”

We both chuckled at that, but we also knew that there was some truth in it as well.

- - - -

THOSE FOUR SEATS WERE still empty, so we took the middle two.

And I felt that we had a little private world to ourselves in the middle of this crowd.

Kaylee noticed my eyes on her. “So Fiona told you that 'dancing is making love in public with your clothes on.' right?”

I nodded.

“Curt, I can tell by your puppy-dog eyes you want to believe that. But she's only partly right.”

“She told me you said it was like having sex in public.”

Kaylee laughed out loud, and her smile was like the clouds sweeping away from a full moon at midnight. “Are you really that slow? Still? You know by now that if anything has a sex-bent on it, I get blamed for saying it. And they are probably right. I think the accurate phrase I used was that the Tango is erotica.”

Somehow, I felt flushed again.

Then she looked at me with a serious look. “Oh, I'm sorry Curt – you haven't gotten out much, so we girls are like an alien invasion that is intent on snatching and probing its victims.”

I went red again. And she laughed, then punched my arm.

“Oh lighten up, Curt. We're at a dance for gosh-sakes!”

And just to make me blush more, she took my hand and squeezed it, but didn't let go.

Karl and Fiona swept in front of us, enjoying another up-tempo tune. And quickly they merged back into the ever-shifting, swirling crowd.

- - - -

KAYLEE LEANED HER HEAD toward me. “OK, this is a great spot to put your copywriting skills to the test.”

My eyebrow went up.

She glanced at me, then gave me a wry smile. “If you keep being serious, I'm going to call you Mr. Stuffy for the rest of the evening.”

I smiled back at her.

“Good boy. Now, here's the secret. Country music sells best if it's a ballad. Meaning...”

I jumped in, “...it's a story.”

Her eyebrow went up. “OK, teacher's pet – does this follow your copywriting model then?”

I started listening. “Let's see there are lyrics and a chorus. But the lyrics all build the story. Yes, there's a hook – a set-up – a build-up – and then – wait, it ends in the chorus?”

Kaylee smiled. “You missed something. The chorus has the same words, but it means something different each time. So that last time is the kicker.”

We listened through the next song. Both of us tapping to the beat. Kaylee was swaying a little – like maybe she wanted to be dancing out there.

“Oh – you're right. And that explains how they often double down on the chorus again.”

“Right – so you get those feelings in your gut, like good copywriting or story writing.”

I smiled. This girl was a wonder.

Kaylee pointed out some couples where their skirts swung out wide and high. “There – love-making in public.”

I was puzzled and my frown showed it.

“That's the next part – where the copywriter's style shows, how the dancers interpret the song through their moves. Same as there are different styles to writing copy.”

With Kaylee holding my hand, I blushed all over again.

She punched my arm. “Oh, little 'Mr. Prep School' has returned again...

“No, Curt, look at their turns. They're timed to the music. And if you get the right song, there's a full twirl at the end of each of the lyrics and the end of the chorus.”

“Kaylee, what about the girls in jeans?”

“Watch their hips swing, instead. That's the PG-rated Tango.”

We watched with interest as the song ended. “There – look. The best dancers give a double twirl or more right at the end of the song – multiple turns. And those skirts just flare out and advertise those ladies' best assets.”

She hugged close to me and discretely pointed out some couples toward the middle of the crowd. She was leaning against me and her other hand was pointing from in front of my chest, her face close to mine.

Then she said the next quietly, next to my ear, so when the music ended her words weren't shouted across the dance floor: “He's letting her tell the world that she's his – or she will spin alone just to tell the world she's available.”

I managed to shut my open mouth at that revelation.

“Curt, it turns into 'sex-in-public' when you watch the ones who aren't wearing petticoats below. The amount of swirl depends on how high their skirt is set above their waist.”

Good thing my mouth was already secured in the shut position. I found that if you looked carefully, at just the right time...

I felt her eyes on me. “Curt?”

And I turned toward her face, just inches away. “Yes?”

“Did Fiona give you enough lessons for my feet to be safe with you?”

- - - -

I FELT SOME HEAT BELOW my collar, but at least this time it didn't seem like it spread to my face. “Well, yes. If we go down there where there aren't a lot of other couples to become collateral target practice.”

She took that hand of mine she'd been holding on to, and led me down to the end of that dance hall.

And the practice I got with Fiona did produce wonders. Kaylee and I started moving as one after awhile, once we got in sync with each other. And especially when Kaylee gave me pointers on the slow dance.

Inspirational.

VII – Barn Talk

- - - -

ONCE WE GOT OUT OF the sedan, after the Opry, I pulled Curt back once Fiona and Carl went inside the big house.

I looked a long time at the old folded comforter on the bench by the front door – with the sunscreen bottle laying on top of it. And got an idea.

“Curt.”

“Yes, Kaylee?”

“When you change out of those dance clothes, get into something comfortable that you wouldn't mind smudges getting onto them.”

He frowned. “Smudges?”

I rolled her eyes. “Yes, just do what I say. I've got another secret to tell you.”

“Oh. And I'm supposed to meet you somewhere?”

“Bright boy! Yes, east end of the barn. And try to be inconspicuous, like you're going out to see the moon-lit pastures or something, and then circle back – well, you figure it out. OK?”

Then I pecked his cheek as a sort of promise, and picked up the comforter in my arms.

Always-a-gentleman-Curt opened the door for me.

Was he ever in for a surprise.

- - - -

IT WASN'T LONG BEFORE I saw him keeping to the shadows as he rounded that south-east corner of he barn.

“Psst – Curt!”

He walked as fast as he could toward me without stumbling over some hidden booby trap in the tall grasses. There wasn't anything but dried manure out here, but some of those tough weed stalks were trippers if you didn't look out.

So I kept myself in his sight until he was almost to my corner.

By the time he got over to where I was, I'd unfolded the comforter and laid down on it. It sloped a little down hill on that side, so the comforter made it feel a bit like a nice recliner.

And, like some nervous schoolboy, he somehow got down to the ground and barely missed making himself look like a doofus. A cute doofus.

I leaned over and gave his cheek another peck.

His eyes went wide. And thankfully the moon was bright – so I could have some warning if he was going to try anything.

I knew that Fiona had a supply of ice ready if he did.

And since he minded his manners, I reached to the uphill end of that comforter, and flipped down a folded part of it to surprise him.

His eyes grew wider.

Glistening with dew was a six-pack of beer – stubbies.

And, true to form, Curt looked around for chaperons with demerit slips.

I punched him. “Old habits die hard, don't they?”

“Are you sure they won't miss them?”

“I already replaced these cold ones with another six pack out of storage. It won't be hard to explain away some of those missing.”

I reached over and unscrewed the lid of one and handed it to Curt. Then got one for myself.

Ahh, that tasted good. Especially after all that “glowing” on the dance floor.

Curt was still sipping his when I burped out loud. He almost snorted his own with his laughing.

And I laughed, too. “Oops. Sorry.”

He just sighed and laid back, looking at the stars.

So I did, too.

“OK, Kaylee, what's the secret you're trying to tell me now. Hopefully not one involving the birds and bees...”

I rolled over on one elbow. “Would you mind horribly if I made a pass at you?”

He rolled back toward me. “Trick question – but no, I wouldn't mind. Particularly since you asked politely.”

I laid back down. “OK then, forget it. Ain't gonna happen.”

He was still looking at me. From his voice, I could hear his frown. “What have I done now?”

“Well, nothing you deserve to have another shiner for.”

He was quiet for a time. But didn't move. Still looking at my face.

Then he chuckled. He was learning when I was teasing.

I felt him lay back on the comforter. “OK, rain check then.”

I smiled. “Hey, I didn't say this was a limited-supply offer.”

“No, but maybe I'm the one in limited supply. After all, I'm the closest available bachelor your age within miles. And my expiry date is getting closer...”

“And you've been studying your ellipses, I see.”

“My lips are sealed. Trade secrets. Proprietary technical know-how. All under wraps.”

I sighed. “Too bad. Now I can't show you my secret.”

He turned his head toward me again. But instead of taking the bait, he just laid there, sipping beer and looking at me.

I just let the suspense build. Sipping my own beer meanwhile.

- - - -

“OK, KAYLEE. YOU WIN. What do I have to do to get you to show me your secret – without getting a punch for asking?”

I rolled over toward him.“That was it – you had to ask politely.”

“Touché.”

“Curt, you've come a long way since you first arrived as an accidental pervert-stalker here.”

He gave a wry smile, but didn't take the bait.

“And you're right – you are the only person on this farm with a built-in shelf life.”

Curt rolled back over toward me and sighed.

“So I'm going to tell you my deepest, darkest secret.”

“I already know about your former sex addiction, what could be worse than that?”

“Here's the deal: writers always put a little of themselves, or their family, or their friends, and even acquaintances into their stories.”

“And?'

“That just proves you haven't been reading the fiction I wrote.” I got another beer and laid back down on my back.

“You mean you've been wanting me to?”

I rolled back toward him. “Well, Mr. Stuffy, how obvious do I have to make it? Like I should just 'pretend' to come over there and 'jump your bones'?”

In the moonlight, I couldn't see him blush. But his sputtering beer was pretty obvious.

Then he started laughing. Long and hard. Having to hold his stomach after awhile because it hurt so much.

I was laughing too, but it was more fun watching him. Probably the first time he'd ever really let his hair down, as short as it was.

At last his laughter went to chuckles and I saw a wide grin on his face.

“Kaylee?”

“What?”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but I think I love you – not like in some doofus, saccharine way, but you're the first one (well besides Karl and Fiona) who simply talk to me right where I'm at and simply don't care who my Mother is, and how much money she has, and what schools I've been to.

“You're the first person I've ever met, especially my age, who is interested in me for – well – me. And as knock-out gorgeous as you are, you sit there and tell me that you want to 'have your way with me' just as a joke.” And then he started laughing again, but it didn't last so long this time.

“Kaylee, that's why I love you, and admire you. Kinda like how I've come to love Fiona and Karl – but different.”

Now we were finally getting somewhere. “Different?”

He was grinning. “You know what I mean.”

So I laid it out for him – my last secret. “And I've been waiting for someone like you in my life since – forever. But you know me too well by now.

“Excepting this – I quit college to come back out to this farm to learn writing from Karl. Because I couldn't find anyone smart enough to keep up with me where it counted.

“So everything I've been telling you so far has been a series of tests.”

“And, Professor Kaylee? What are my marks?”

“Well, in Stuffiness, you aced that. Which isn't a good thing. But in Creative Logic, you got high marks. And Quick Thinking as well as Persistency, you've also done well. Even in Country Dancing – which also gave you bonus points in Courage Enough to Step Out of Your Zone.”

“But Professor, is there anything I still need to master before I graduate?”

“Just one, Young Paduan...”

“And what is that, may I ask?”

I drained the last of that beer and leaned over to place it back with the other empties.

Then I took his out of his hand and placed that bottle's neck at his lips. “Bottoms up, if you please.”

Curt did as requested.

Once I put his bottle away with the others, I took his arm that was between us and pulled it around my shoulders as I snuggled in against him. Then I leaned in close by his ear, and nibbled his lobe.

Pausing for effect, letting my breath tickle his neck, I finally whispered into that ear, “Canoodling – Graduate Level”

- - - -

THE MORNING LIGHT FOUND us asleep in each other's arms.

I sat bolt upright – and instantly regretted that sudden motion.

Holding my head against the wheezy pain, “Psst. Curt – wake up.”

My shaking his shoulder finally had its effect. But he only barely opened his eyes, and winced. “What?”

“We've gotta clean up and get out of here!”

“Why?”

I pointed. “See that chicken coop? We are in direct line of sight to it.”

“And..?.”

“When Karl comes out to feed and water the chickens, then pick up the eggs, he'll see us right here!”

I looked down and started replacing and buttoning up everything that I was supposed to have on. And then started on Curt's shirt – his pants were still untouched, remarkably.

Then I got up. Even though that caused another spike of pain in my head – or somewhere around there, anyway. “Get up and help me fold this comforter.”

Carl rolled to his knees and stayed there a while. Probably wondering what part of him hurt worst.

“Yes, Carl, my head aches too – but suck it up and let's get out of here...”

- - - -

SOMEHOW WE MIRACULOUSLY were able to sneak into the big house without anyone seeing us.

I got changed and then came back down for breakfast.

Fiona was there, smiling. She saw my pained look and nodded. As I sat down, she handed me a glass of tomato juice and two aspirin.

No, I didn't even ask why she knew I had a headache. She knows me pretty well by now, and my scrunched up eyes were obvious tells that I was in pain.

Once I'd downed those, she handed me a plastic quart bottle of something that looked like lemonade. With the lid on tight.

“Kaylee, that's 'Switchel' – vinegar and honey – and it will help you get your electrolytes back up. Take it with you on your way back up to bed.”

“How's Curt?”

“Oh, he hasn't come out yet, but his bathroom has been running well. I imagine he managed to get the same 'bug' you did. All that dancing probably left him worn out.”

I nodded. That tomato juice tasted a bit odd, but I was feeling better now.

Fiona came around the kitchen island and made sure I got myself and my bottle of Switchel both going up the stairs.

Such a nice Aunt.

Once the stairs quit moving under my feet and I was back in bed, things were going to be just fine...

VIII – Expiry Date

- - - -

AS KARL AND I RETURNED from our afternoon pasture walk, there was a huge black SUV parked in front of the Big House. With its opened back end pointed toward the pasture and in our direction, it's front was pointed toward the drive and a quick getaway.

Mother was here.

My two weeks were officially over.

Why she came in person for me, was another question. But one I'd been trained not to ask. If and when she was ready to tell me her reason, then I'd hear it.

Yes, my heart sank. I'd literally lost track of time. I'd been on Karl's time, where every day was mostly like the others. Twice daily pasture walks, fixing anything that really needed it, and assigning some rough schedule to “get around to it” on the others.

And in the rest of the day, I'd be reading Kaylee's stories and working up blurbs for them. Of course, that gave me a lot to discuss with her about how the story turned out that way, it's theme, and back-story notes.

In the evenings, she and I – often with Fiona and Karl – were watching chick flicks in the great room. Sometimes, we'd get an action movie – as long as it had a strong romance story arc. Kaylee's rules.

And when Fiona and Karl retired to his cabin, like during the first movie's ending credits, then Kaylee would “tutor” me in “Advanced Canoodling – Post Grad.” So the double feature I didn't watch much.

That alone brought a smile to my face. Briefly.

The closer I got to that monster SUV sitting outside the Big House, the more my heart sank..

Karl went over to his small cabin to change his sweat-drenched t-shirt. So that just left me to take a deep breath and open the door.

- - - -

“HELLO, SON.”

My Mother was dressed in pleated slacks and a loose, flowered top. Both tailored and pressed to add to her authority. And tailored to cover what age had done to her figure.

She was sitting in one of the two side chairs. While the two women of the house sat opposite her on the long couch. Fiona looked marvelous in her light green v-neck knit top and stonewashed jeans. Kaylee was in a faded pink blouse, buttoned up to the close collar, and a dark, pleated skirt that went down below her knees, matched with sensible pumps. I didn't imagine she was wearing hose.

Meaning, their dress said they had some advance warning about my Mother's return.

“Hello, Mother. How was your trip?”

“Just fine, Son. It looks like you've been busy this morning. Would you like to go and get cleaned up? Oh – and set your bags out. My driver will load them while we wrap up here.”

“Yes, Mother. I'll set them out after I finish packing.”

If Karl had gotten any message about it, he evidently ignored it or didn't worry enough to change his schedule just for her.

He arrived in a gray t-shirt and his town jeans, just as I left to change.

- - - -

WHEN I CAME BACK OUT, I'd already stacked all my original suitcases, bags, and boxes by the door leading into the Library. After the first week, I'd just repacked all the clothes, since they were useless out here. The laptop I'd brought had it's own case, and that was simple enough to zip up.

But all I'd changed into was a fresh t-shirt and clean dungarees. Karl had taught me what comfort really was in this humid Midwest. Starched shirts and thin dress socks wore out quickly. Kaylee and Fiona kept what I needed laundered. So I never ran out.

At last I simply dropped a duffel with my work clothes on top of the piled stack of Italian leather valises that passed for suitcases.

Whatever polite conversation was going on stopped when I walked over to join them.

Mother turned toward me in her chair. “Son, I thought you were going to change?”

“I did, Mother. Into a fresh set.”

“We're leaving shortly...”

I waited for the rest of that sentence. Mother's eyebrow raised.

So I took another step closer to the side chair she was commanding.

“You're leaving shortly.”

“That's what I said.”

“Not exactly. I'm not returning with you.”

“What?!?”

“You heard me. Any scheduled activities you have for me will have to be re-scheduled or canceled.”

Mother was frowning. “What is the meaning of this?”

I just gave here a wry smile. “That won't work with me any more. You know exactly what I mean. I didn't stutter. I'm staying here. Indefinitely.”

Her face went ruddy. I knew that look. So I cut her off. “Yes, your driver can load in the rest of those expensive suitcases. They weren't needed and they can go to meet all the rest of the expensive wardrobe you've bought for me. I simply don't need them. Just don't have him take the duffel on top. Or – on second thought...”

I walked over, picked up the duffel, re-opened the door to the library and threw the soft bag in. “There, that saves him some time.”

The room was silent while I walked back over.

But then Mother did something unexpected. She smiled. And her shoulders relaxed.

I was caught off guard. Because I was ready to have a battle royale, like we'd had often in the past.

She sighed. “Just as I'd hoped.”

I frowned. Karl, Fiona, and Kaylee shared looks of shock or concern or worry or somewhere in between.

Until Karl smiled. “Sorry Cassy, you're going to have to explain that one to him.”

Mother grimaced. “You are the only one who still calls me that.”

“Because you're my younger sister and you'll always be just Cassy to me.”

She smiled at that. “Karl...”

Mother paused, considering her choice of words. “I missed you, too. And yes, I'm going to have to explain what Curt's already guessed.” Then she sighed.

Looking back at me, “Curt, why don't you pull of one of those old ladder-back chairs that Karl keeps around. This is going to take awhile, and some of it you might not like.”

- - - -

NO, I DIDN'T PULL UP a chair. I just squeezed in between Kaylee and Fiona on the couch. Karl was also there, on the other side of Fiona, and he picked up her hand. I then did the same for Kaylee, which made her blush – even though we held hands every night after dinner.

Mother started out: “Yes, I knew you weren't applying yourself at school. High marks doesn't mean anything except you learned how to parrot.

“So I hoped that my rascal, non-conformist, over-creative brother could break through that thick, protective hide of yours and make whatever was eating you boil to the surface.

“At first, I thought maybe it was like an infection - it just needed to be lanced, and then you'd heal, and all would be well. But I did wrangle out of Karl that he was to send me daily reports about you. Even if they were only a sentence. Because I know Karl well enough to know what he can say and mean in just a single sentence. In few words.

“It was how I knew you had a true breakthrough about a week ago. Because Karl was just writing very short notes after that, and not answering my questions. I think I got 'No change.' for several days running.

“Of course, that meant either he had given up on you, or you were already your own man and he'd done all he could.

“When you came out and said what you did, it just confirmed the latter.”

Then she frowned. “All I really worried about was that you'd gone off behind the barn to drink beer with some strumpet.”

I looked at Karl directly. Kaylee gripped my hand. Fiona only patted my thigh and smiled.

Karl, however grinned as wide as I'd ever seen him. “Cassy, that tells more about you than you wanted let out. But now that you have, let me tell you about your Mother, Curt.

“I don't recall which if us did it first, but that old barn has seen more of the two of us out there than just you and Kaylee. In fact, Cassy used to come to me regularly just so I'd invent some story she could tell about where she'd been that night. All while I was helping her clean up the evidence and afterwards show whatever beau it was through the trails that got them off our property fastest and undetected.”

I thought Mother would be upset by this revelation.

She almost laughed out loud. “And I did the same for you. But the hangovers were the worst. What was it that our mother would always give us, while Dad was conspicuously absent?”

“Tomato juice with vodka in it. Two aspirin, and some Switchel. Then told us to go sleep it off – in her own polite way.”

Kaylee squeezed my hand again.

Karl continued. “But that's not the worst of us. Cassy made me go over and over every story to get the details just right.”

Mother joined in. “Because they had to be just right, or the story wouldn't hang together.”

Karl almost laughed. “Like that one hayride, where...”

A warning shot look came over the bow. “Karl, let's not bore my son with ancient history. After all...”

I butted in. “Mother, I've already heard worse about you. This tidbit just confirms some of the rumors your board members have told me – the ones who've known you since you got hired as an entry-level accountant in Dad's firm.”

That was the first time in a long time that I'd seen Mother blush. Fortunately, her driver was outside, waiting. But she did look around that big room to ensure that he was.

“But no, Mother, I could care less. Those stories just told me that you are as human as any other. It's just that...”

Mother interrupted. “Since your father got so ill and I had to take over the company to keep it afloat, I haven't had much – or more probably, made enough – time to spend with you. And I know it's been rough on you. But I thought I gave you everything possible, except the one thing you actually needed.

“So I called up Karl and we had a long talk one day. About the same time you mentioned how you wanted the see the old farm again – your grandfather's farm that you so enjoyed as a child.

“Karl mentioned he had a couple of residents here that were headstrong and really nice people. That they'd be able to help you if you wanted their help. And that answered your final unsolved problem. A 'sink or swim' test.”

Karl was nodding. And Kaylee squeezed my thigh with her other hand when the word 'headstrong' was mentioned. Yes, Mother saw that.

“Mother, what about your grooming me for some corporate level job?”

“Well, if you really still want to do that, fine. But you'll be disappointing me.”

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes. Evidently it was a family mannerism she never gave up. “Because you're too smart for that. And too much like your Uncle. Beside, I don't think your girlfriend here would ever fit into the world you grew up in. Mansions and servants and soirée's aren't something most people want to put up with. Acquired taste and all that.

“Plus, there's no Opry's anywhere near our corporate offices. All that expensive dance training you had was nothing compared to what you've learned here.”

I glanced at Karl. He just shrugged. While Fiona kept smiling broader.

Kaylee put her head on my shoulder. She had nothing to say now that it was all out in the open.

Mother smiled at Kaylee. A real mother's smile, warm and caring. A sight I'd not seen in years.

“Oh, Curt, before we get off on another subject. So, yes, you don't have to take any corporate job. I've already arranged so that the corporation will run without you. And you have dividends and company stock options, all that. A sinecure if you want it. Anything you ever want, any time you want it. Not like you're really interested. But there's also a set of trust funds – like when or if you ever decide to go to a University – even if it's just a state college near here – but I think you've got a lot of study going on already. From what I hear. And it's not just canoodling.”

At that both Kaylee and I blushed. Fiona chuckled quietly.

Karl just grinned again. “Well Cassy, I think everything is covered except one. You haven't seen your son's writing.”

Cassy almost laughed out loud, the widest and proudest smile I've ever seen on her face. “Curt – please, would you show me?”

I extracted myself from Kaylee to get my laptop.

While I was gone, either Fiona or Karl had asked Kaylee to get out the “special” refreshments. So she was arriving back with a serving tray of stubbies by the time I returned.

- - - -

THAT NIGHT WENT ON and on.

My Mother and Karl got to telling stories about each other.

Kaylee even brought out her “cutting room floor” excerpts that never made it into her romances. Fiona kept bringing out delicious snacks – and more stubbies.

And yes, Mother got to see my marketing blurbs and was delighted with them. She said she almost wished I'd come out to re-train her marketing guys.

I did have one request of her – that her publishing division took over marketing and promoting Karl's non-fiction books about regenerative agriculture. I pitched the whole concept to her, and she agreed. It would mean that Karl would have to write some articles that they could republish in various professional agronomic and other magazines. He shrugged, and agreed – as long as he didn't have to leave the farm to do any promotion for them.

But Mother also extracted something from me. That she was already paying for annual “professional training updates” which usually wound them up in Hawaii or some exotic and expensive five-star hotel somewhere. She thought they'd be better off letting me give the keynote and some seminars on what real copywriting was – and I'd lay out the format and lesson plans. Hosting her training conferences here would give the local economy a boost – and maybe her corporate people could mingle with the public they were supposed to be selling to.

And in their time off, in the evenings, they could be learning the two-step and other popular dances – instead of, well, whatever they do at those after-hours parties they organize. Again, so they would get out of their shells, their safe zones, and really meet and interact with their actual buying public.

Mother thought it would do them all a world of good. She had other people on her staff that had developed thick, protective hides... Time for them to sink or swim, she thought.

With all that understood, I could only agree if they were also to take lessons in fiction story writing, which Kaylee could help me build into a spin-off set of seminars for non-fiction and marketing writers.

We had a deal.

- - - -

BY MORNING, THAT BIG House was back to it's remote quietude. The big SUV was long gone, my Mother taking some red-eye back to whatever corporate office needed her worst. We packed some 'Switchel' with her – since it was her private jet, she could 'carry on' anything she wanted. Bloody Mary mixes, vodka, and aspirin were already on board.

The rest of us could sleep in – or go back to sleeping once the chores were done.

- - - -

THE NEXT TIME I SAW my Mother, she was walking two brides down the aisle. Giving them away – Fiona and Kaylee.

Karl and I met them as their respective grooms.

And today, if you happen to visit our farm, you'll see some changes.

We had to put another couch in the great room, so we'd have more comfortable reclining space to study our movies.

While Karl and Kaylee are busy writing most days after the chores and pasture walks are done, we also spend time proofing each other's books. I do the marketing blurbs for all of them now, and Fiona does our accounting and business deals. She's got her own tiny-home cabin for her accounting business, which also gave Karl and her more room in his for their canoodling.

Most early nights you'll see us proofing on those two couches in the great room. Perhaps reading other writers' books or watching movies to improve our craft. Meanwhile, our two small boys are between us, where they quietly play with their toys on the hooked rug that covers that floor between the couches.

Which means Mother has even more reasons to visit us. And she does.

Our two boys also have plenty of ruled pads to draw and write on.

All while their two sisters are on their way...

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Next: Death by Marketing

Earlier in this Series

Triangle: A Memoir – Part II

Death by Sales Pitch - 04

Triangle: A Memoir – Part I

The Caretaker - Death by Advertising Series 02

Death By Advertising 01

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