Paying the Piper (Gretchen)

Two very real women, in a not so real situation.

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I don't throw up, but there is a sadistic part of me that really wants to. It is like paying the piper. Throw up, feel better and start this damn book. When I was at home, packing my essentials into my duffle bag, I just knew Rachelle and I would be finishing our first chapter by the end of day one. Damn that bottle of native sweet muscadine. If it wasn't for that, we could have gotten something done. Instead, we spent a good hour reading reviews on our impromptu post.

"Are you getting hungry?" I ask, sitting down at the long dining room table. "I have some deli meat and sandwich bread," I continue, glancing to see if Rachelle's skin starts to turn green with nausea at the mention of food.

"Not quite yet. I need a little more time." She scrolls on her lap top and squints. "Gawd, this is so embarrassing. It looks like a drunk wrote this," she says, a northern whine in each syllable.

I laugh and immediately grab the sides of my head. "A drunk did write that, Rachelle."

"Don't remind me."

I open my own lap top and get to my Windows Office tab. "Come on, let's, at least, get something accomplished today."

I'm pretty sure, Rachelle is feeling the same way I do. I just want to nurse a large glass of ice cold water and stretch out on the beach. But the beach will have to wait. We have a book to write.

"Chapter One," I announce. "If ever there was a time when I wish I could take back what I said, it would be while we were sitting on the side of the road in Pennsylvania. Despite Rachelle's gracious offer to drive us, in her new car, to the FanStory Writers Convention in Atlantic City, I had quite proudly said no. I think I had referred to my Suburban as Old Reliable. I think I said it several times. That information turned out to be false. My Suburban stopped with a dramatic lurch and a cloud of smoke that billowed from under the hood. I thought that would be the end of a burgeoning friendship, but I was wrong. Rachelle and I bonded in a way that only happens in the movies. From hat eating goats, to rooster at dawn, to a way of life that was foreign and new, we found out what few others do. When there is no noise to distract you, life can be amazing. All those roads that rise up to greet you, may take you down some unfamiliar paths, but if you can get past the fear of the unknown, you just might enjoy the view." I lift my fingers off the keyboard and look over at her. "Well, what do you think?"

"I like it. Should I take over or do you want to continue?"

"Maybe we could split the chapters. I write my recollections and then you write yours."

"How about, I take over from the time the car breaks down and start with me muttering something like 'I'm sorry, Gretchen, but what did you call your vehicle?' Does that sound good?" She looks up, hopefulness shining through her bloodshot eyes.

"I love it."

I start to reread what I've written, looking for ways to spruce the intro. I see lots of commas, several words that run together, but I like it. I drum my fingers on the table while I think about what else to write. I frown as the drumming seems unusually loud. Rachelle tilts her head to look past me to the front door.

"We have company," she says, nodding for me to go answer.

I freeze several steps from the door. "Shit! It's Banana Hammock dude, and someone else. Holy crap, Rachelle, it's Freaks McFlang, or Skippy Suppleton," I start spouting off the the oddest names trying to remember what the name of her plane seatmate. "I can't open the door, Rachelle. Suppose he isn't wearing any pants?"

"Get a grip, Hargis. You're a grown woman, act like it."

I dramatically take a deep breath and walk to the door, pulling it open with a smile that shows confidence I don't feel. "Can I help you?"

Banana man grins, dull teeth that peek out of skin that has spent too much time in the tanning bed. "Hello, darling, we're just going around the neighborhood, introducing ourselves."

"Are you a registered sex offender?" I ask.

His smile falters for a millisecond before he recovers. "Uh, no. Just here to offer our services."

I cross my arms. "What kind of services?"

"Well, I, um, we noticed that you don't have any men here, so if you gals need anything, just come over or call from the deck and we will be happy to help," he says with a wink of his eye. "Sorry, didn't introduce my self, I'm Larry Lipschitz. This is my oldest and dearest friend Slaps."

I cast a wary look at the other man. He looks like a Dollar Tree version of Dean Martin. You now, all the talk and none of the walk.

Somewhere behind me I hear Rachelle make a noise, something between a gasp and gag. "Well, gentlemen, thank you for the offer, but I'm gay and she's Jewish."

Larry grins. "Me, too."

"You're gay," I say, a big smile coming to my face. "Well that explains the bathing suit bottoms."

He flinches. "No, I'm not gay," he says, his words coming out tinged with frustration. "I'm Jewish."

"So, Jews can't be gay?"

He glances at Slaps who shrugs. "We're right next door," he says, then turns to leave. Slaps nods and looks past me to see Rachelle. If he recognizes her, he doesn't let on.

After watching them cross the lawn back to their cottage, I lock the front door and then walk through the kitchen to lock the door that leads to the deck. I rejoin Rachelle at the table. "Weirdos," I say.

"Who? Them or you? Did you really tell him you were gay. A woman who has four children, been married for twenty-eight years?"

"They don't know that. Besides, if they were sincere about being available if we needed help, they sure as hell wouldn't have come over in neon grape smugglers and smelling like Aqua Velva. They came to check us out."

"So, may I ask why you didn't tell them I was gay?"

"Ew. I certainly don't want them thinking we're over here...you know, being gay together. No, I think the gay and the Jew thing was better."

Rachelle shakes her head and starts to type again. "One day, there will be a cure for that."

"Cure for what?" I ask.

"For what ever you have that makes you the way you are."

I shrug and smile. "I'm a delight and you know it."

She doesn't think I see it, but she nods her head.