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“Well, I—.” I shoved the guns back into my holster and sniffed, before swiping my hand across my nose. “I didn’t realize I was running my big mouth, bruh—I mean, Austin.” He raised his fist, which was common, and I raised my hands to surrender. “Only stating the facts, dude.”
Mushu glanced at me with a smirk developing in the corners of his mouth. “Oh, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. You need to just cool your jets,bruh.”He whispered, then laughed as I held up my fist, threatening to punch his skinny lights out.
Austin and Dallas saved me for last since I was the newest prospect. Yet, there were a dozen men and too much time to kill. I sneaked away from the makeshift range and hiked up the trail, looking for a safe, private place to empty my bladder. And then I discovered a blackberry bush and stuffed my face with a handful of them. The ones I couldn’t eat were stuffed in my hat, forgetting that blackberries cause stains that no matter the amount of washing, they’d never come out.
When I arrived back at the shooting ‘range’, Dallas called out, “Johnny, you’ve been gone for an hour.” He removed my hat and scrutinized it, as did my face. “Ah, I see. You’ve got blackberry stains all over your face. It’s your turn to shoot.”
Finally!!
Every other stump had six bottles, and every other one had six cans. There were fifteen bullets in each gun. I holstered one, pulled out the mag on the other to ensure it was loaded. Popping the clip back in its rightful place, I went to slide the chamber to cock it, until impatient Austin blurted out. “You should’ve done that already. Hurry the fuck up, since you’ve already wasted our time.” There was no doubt in my mind this guy hated me. What would he do if Dallas and I became a couple, and I ended up becoming his sister-in-law? Oh, wait, never mind that thought. I’m a dude right now and a complete loser in his mind.
Boom! Boom! Boom! I went down the line, hitting every single bottle and can without blinking an eye. The sound of gunshots hitting metal and shattering glass was beautiful music that reverberated around the surrounding forest. The men’s cheering was a perfect accompaniment to the Johnny Wayne Composition #1. Let’s hope this gives me brownie points for the first time since I set foot into the club as a man with a plan.
As soon as I was done, I turned around, feeling much too arrogant than I had a right to. But the men proceeded with their own conversations. Ah, screw them. My hands and face were sticky from the blackberries and shuffled down to the lake to wash them off. It was warm outside and if I wasn’t in the company of men, I’d strip off all of my clothes and take a dip in the lake. To keep my secret and dignity intact, it was safer to remove the flannel shirt and dunk it into the water to use as a washcloth for my face.
My private time was cut short when four of the men, two of them being Dallas and Austin, walked down to the banks. They complained about the heat and each stripped off their shirts. I paid no mind to the other three and couldn’t help but stare at Dallas.Holy six-pack city! This guy was cut from the finest Italian marble and then some. I had to turn away or he would think I was a freak that had a major staring problem. When he removed his pants, underwear, and all, curiosity got the better of me and I glanced out of the corner of my eye.Yeah, um. No! Bad, Bad Char for going there!
“Hey Johnny, are you gonna join us?” Dallas asked, taunting me to look at his god-like nakedness.
“Ummm—no, no! I’m going to see what the other guys are up to.” I chuckled nervously, walking backward until my foot hit the trail, then I rushed back up to the range. I thought I’d be able to make a quick escape to my bike until Mushu spotted me.
“Johnny!” He called out but changed his tune the closer he got to me. Pulling my arm to face him, he asked, “Where are you going, Char?”
“Home. I’ve had enough men for one day and I’m exhausted.” As if I was going to tell him about seeing that heavenly Dallas nude and how my stomach was doing gymnastics. It’s crazy. Years ago, I never thought of Dallas this way. Even when my father tried to set us up, there was no attraction. Why now? Is it because we’re grown adults now? It could be, or the attraction could be, stemmed from how cordial he is with me now when he was just a cocky jerk in his teens.
“Don’t forget the BBQ at Marquez's home,” Mushu yelled. I raised my hand to wave. I couldn’t go to Marquez's home as Johnny or Char, for fear I’d kiss Dallas and it would be chaotic. Or Austin would say the wrong thing and I’d either punch him and break my hand or wrestle him and break my back. It wasn’t in my best interest to go, so tonight I will settle for frozen pizza and a six-pack of beer, all by my lonesome.
The nom de plume of Johnny Wayne was proving to be less than fruitful, more like a basket of rotten fruit with maggots crawling in and out of holes worms made.
The only thing I learned from the members of my father’s He-Man Woman Haters Club was they were so phenomenal at keeping secrets. I knew no more about the day my father was shot than I knew weeks ago. Dallas and company had to know more than what they were letting on, yet they were being tight-lipped about it. It had to be hard for them to talk about it. I understand that. It was difficult for me to talk about it just the same, even harder to fathom anyone would think to hurt my father.
I stood outside the Townie’s bar, a place I knew all too well. Speaking of secrets, spending hours in jail for underage drinking was something I kept under lock and key. My father was livid and grounded me for a week, asking me to never speak about it. Seward was a small town and news traveled fast. It would have tarnished my father’s impeccable reputation. The last thing we all needed were rumors I was an uncontrollable, wild little heathen.
When I entered the bar, I expected a bouncer twice the size of Austin ready to frisk me to ensure I wasn’t packing. There were only two people beside me in the club, and I needed a beer to quench the nervous dryness in my mouth. “What do you want, kid?”
Raising my chin, I ordered with no emotion. “Gimme a Blue Moon, no orange slice.” The man popped the cap off the beer and slid it down the bar to me. I looked like I was twelve-years-old and he never asked for my identification. “So—um. I’m new in town and was told I could come here to see if you guys had any vacancies for prospects.”
The man behind the counter spent too long drying the same glass with a blank stare. “We don’t normally have prospects coming in. We recruit men to be prospects since our club is exclusive. Why don’t you try Nanuq in town? Since their President was shot and killed, the young buck in charge will take any loser to be part of their Girl Scout troop.”
Not another word was spoken as I finished the bottle of beer. I wasted enough time only hitting dead ends and sashayed out of the bar. There was no one threatening my life or calling me names. Of course, there was no one here to cause trouble.
It was a long ride from the Townie’s bar to my house and I was numb from my tailbone down to my toes. When I pulled up, there was a strange pickup in the driveway. Glancing over, I noticed Kennedy Townsend in the driver’s seat. Townsend? What in the hell did he want? And of all days, why today? I wasn’t up for company. Well, I never was, but that didn’t matter.
I turned off the engine and pushed the heavy bike into the garage, slipping on my dirty cap before I walked out. Kennedy was already out of the truck, carrying a plastic-wrap-covered plate. “Hello, Charlene.” He said with a shaky voice while avoiding eye contact. “I came to see how you were doing. Mrs. Townsend said brownies were your favorite.”
Mrs. Townsend’s had an excellent memory to remember brownies were and still are my favorite dessert. They are even better once topped with ice cream and a ton of hot fudge. Note to self: go buy some ice cream and hot fudge. I had to stop thinking of dessert. I took the plate he offered. “Did you want to come inside?”
Kennedy looked at the front door of our humble abode and back at me while resting his hands on his chubby hips. “No. I can’t stay long. I have a meeting in an hour with my club and I’m already going to be late as it is.” He paused and rubbed his hand anxiously on the side of his newly clipped hair. “How are you doing, Char?”
As much as I wanted to be rude and correct Kennedy on how to address me, I couldn’t. It wasn’t in me to be rude, and I was too damned tired to call him out for shooting my father. “I’m as well as expected, Mr. Townsend.” Heavily sighing, I looked around, trying to find some excuse to end this conversation and rush inside.
There was an awkward silence, which Kennedy finally broke when he cleared his throat and a guilty smile appeared on his face. “I see you’re riding the Victory.” When he set foot, intending on walking into the garage, I blocked him.
“You don’t need to go in there,” I commented, as calmly as possible, yet my voice was shaky from exhaustion and fury that was resurfacing. I inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly, and answered with a condescending smirk. “Oh, the bike that you lost in a poker game?” This revelation stunned him, and I pursed my lips. “My father told me he won it at a poker hand that you lost. It boggles my mind how you two became mortal enemies over a motorcycle. One you wagered. I don’t want the reminder of you. Please, take it back, if you’d like. I’ve got no use for it. I have my bike and obviously, my father won’t be riding anymore.”
“So, he’s doing well?” Kennedy asked, uncomfortably glancing my way before looking at the ground.
“He’s doing as well as someone who’s paralyzed from the waist down could be.” It was never determined my father would be paralyzed. The doctor had hoped that with many surgeries and physical therapy, he’d have use of his legs. Yet, that would take years.
