*Author’s Note: Any persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
*Disclaimers: this story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
**.***.**
“I, you serious? You, you really can’t be serious,” George Luquette sputtered as Reynold Reynolds told him he had just been served.
“Afraid I am, buddy,” the large man said, face a mask of sympathy as he snapped a digital photograph of George holding the large brown envelope.
George stood on the small porch of his home, staring at the rotund process server as the man wheezed and groaned, stepping down from the porch. He looked at the front door of his home again, keys still in his hand.
“I, but, I…” George sputtered.
“And, sir? There’s a restraining order. You need to have someone with the police department come in with you so you can get your things,” Reynold advised as he waddled away.
“Man! Samantha, huh? What’s this about?” George screamed at the door.
“Sir, you, you’ve been told about that restraining order,” Reynold said, opening the door of his large thirty nine year old Cadillac coupe. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be, okay?”
George shook his head in bewilderment; as far as he knew, he and Samantha had been happy. She had certainly rocked his world the night before he left for another fourteen day shift off-shore. He supposed fourteen days was long enough for someone to decide they wanted to end their marriage and file for divorce, but he could not think of anything he had done or said that would make his wife file for the dissolution of their marriage.
George thought to call his wife’s cousin, Polly Chastaine. But, looking over the paperwork for the dissolution of their marriage, George saw that it had been Polly that had prepared and filed the paperwork.
“Sir?” a stone faced police officer intoned, rapping on the window of George’s truck. “Sir? You’ve been advised of the restraining order.”
“Wow, that was quick,” George bluffed. “I just called it in and you’re already here?”
“I, you, no, I got a call that you were in violation of your restraining order,” Brian Jochet said.
“Oh? So you’re not here to help me get my stuff?” George asked.
Brian called into the station and let them know he was there to assist George Luquette in removing his personal items from the house. George patiently waited as the police officer reported to his station.
“You didn’t really call it in, did you?” Brian smirked, walking up.
“No. But, as long as you’re here…” George said.
George was savvy enough to keep his mouth shut as Samantha let him and the police officer into the house. With a sneer, Samantha pointed to several garbage bags and said she’d already packed everything of George’s. George nodded and asked Brian, not Samantha if he was allowed to double-check that she truly had packed everything he was entitled to.
“Officer? I am reaching into my nightstand to retrieve my pistol,” George said as they stood in the master bedroom.
“You ain’t got…” Samantha sneered, then shut up as George retrieved his.44 Smith & Wesson.
“And my rosary; my mother gave that to me when I made my first communion,” George said, plucking the sterling silver rosary from Samantha’s nightstand drawer.
“You gave that to me when we married,” Samantha protested.
“And now, you don’t want to be married? I’m taking it back,” George explained to her.
George also took his three pillows from the bed. He then removed a large blanket from the hall closet.
“My sister made it for me,” George softly explained to Brian.
“She was a fucking retard,” Samantha taunted George.
“And she called you Sissy because she was so happy to finally have a big sister,” George reminded Samantha, removing the sneer from Samantha’s face.
Attempting to check into the DeGarde Inn, George found out that Samantha had been busy. His cards had been cancelled. A check of their joint checking account showed that there was a balance of one hundred dollars. George smiled at the nervous clerk and fished out his American Express credit card. The girl’s hand actually shook as she took it from his hand. George almost laughed when she let out her breath.
“She didn’t know about that card,” George explained to the young lady. “I used it to buy her birthday and Christmas gifts with.”
In the room, George again read through the paperwork. He almost spit out the Dr. Pepper he was sipping; Samantha was demanding four thousand dollars a month spousal support, demanding full ownership of the home, with George continuing to pay the mortgage and all utilities. In return, she graciously would allow George all the money in their savings and checking accounts.
Again, George was truly baffled; there had been no sign of Samantha’s dissatisfaction with him or their marriage. True, she called him a ‘stick in the mud’ but she’d been calling him that for years. When they purchased the house, Samantha wanted to run right out and get this and that and the other thing for the home. Instead, George planned each big ticket item carefully. He also doubled up on their mortgage payments each month.
“It’s called equity,” George explained to Samantha when she wanted to put money into their vacation account rather than their house account.
“But Hawaii…” Samantha whined.
“Will still be there for our tenth year anniversary,” George assured her. “That’s only three years away and we’ll have three years more money in both the vacation and the house.”
Hawaii had been stunning. Pictures of the island paradise just did not do justice. And Samantha, his pale skinned red headed beauty had looked beautiful in her turquoise blue monikini. George had really enjoyed applying the sunscreen on her luscious body.
George hoped Samantha had packed his three Hawaiian shirts when she’d emptied his side of their closet. He doubted he’d ever return to the island paradise, but he liked the loose, comfortable shirts. With a sigh, George searched on his cell phone for a good attorney.
Richards, Pellichet and Jones,” a pleasant sounding voice answered.
When he heard the voice announce the name of the law firm, the enormity of his situation hit him. George took a shuddering breath. The pleasant sounding voice again repeated the name of the law firm.
“Need an appointment with a divorce attorney,” George managed to choke out.
“Yes sir,” Ethel Gerrard said, voice low and soothing.
Ethel took some information and assured George a lawyer would be in touch with him within the hour. George thanked her and finished drinking his Dr. Pepper. Once again, George had the thought that a vending machine that sold beer would be a huge money maker.
“Trevor Williams,” Trevor announced when George answered his cell phone. “I, hmm, I can see you tomorrow morning, how’s nine thirty work for you?”
Trevor pulled some strings and had a judge order the return of monies to the bank accounts. Samantha was shocked when Polly called her and threatened to withdraw herself from the divorce if Samantha pulled any more stunts. Samantha wondered how George had managed to get an attorney; she’d purposefully withdrawn all the money, leaving just enough for George to rent a motel room for a few nights. She’d cancelled their credit cards before he’d gone off-shore for his fourteen day shift and had the cards reissued in her name only.
“Doesn’t matter how he managed to get a lawyer. He got one,” Polly snapped. “Cousin or not? I will not put up with this kind of crap. Do you understand?”
Grumbling, Samantha returned fifty percent of the funds to their checking account and their savings account. She also handed over four of the eight CDs she’d taken out of the safety deposit box.
“What about the house? The mortgage?” Samantha demanded.
“He will continue to pay half until the judge makes a decision regarding division of assets,” Polly said.
“And electric?” Samantha demanded.
“He’s not living there; you are. Pay your bills,” Polly sighed. “You know, despite what your friends might have told you? You don’t automatically get the gold mine and he gets the shaft in a no-fault divorce. And Samantha? These allegations of abuse? You better be able to back them up. The courts really really really do not like being lied to or used; hear?”
With the money in his new bank account, George rented a one bedroom apartment in a relatively nice Kimble Louisiana neighborhood. The Casual was within walking distance and Cowboy’s BBQ was a three minute car ride away. The young couple that rented the apartment next to his were gregarious, loud, and friendly. He was working at Kendricks Engineering and she worked at Alana’s Playtime, in the shipping department.
“You work with Bowman? You know, we’re the ones do your upgrades and maintenance,” Foster Charmers said proudly.
“Yes sir,” George smiled as he and Foster managed to wrestle George’s almost new sofa up the stairs and into George’s apartment.
Denise Charmers somehow managed to get George to leave his mailbox key and spare apartment key with her. She would check his mail and put his mail into his apartment; their mailboxes were right next to one another at the apartment’s kiosk. She was offended when George asked how much that would cost him. Foster suggested a six pack of St. Elizabeth Lager, but Denise slapped her husband on his buttocks.
“We neighbors yeah. Neighbors, they do stuff like that,” Denise said, her Cajun accent thick.
“Can this neighbor buy y’all a six pack of beer, just because?” George asked, seeing the disappointment on Foster’s face.
The next time George saw Samantha, she was sporting a noticeable baby bump. She was also standing with an arrogant looking man in a very expensive suit.
“And you ’bout how far gone?” George asked Samantha.
“We can petition…” Trevor reminded the stone faced Samantha.
“‘Bout four months,” Samantha admitted.
As the two attorneys dickered back and forth, George looked at his wife. She was a true beauty; waist length red hair, porcelain skin with only a spatter of freckles across her slim nose. Her deep brown eyes had entranced George the first time he’d seen her, and her pouting lips had kept him under her spell for the twelve years of their courtship and marriage.
Samantha Chastaine had sported a 29B chest, a twenty five inch waist and thirty inch hips with an adorable bubble butt on her five foot five inch frame. George had been smitten from their first meeting and the looks she kept shooting his way said she’d felt pretty smitten with George Alan Luquette as well.
At six feet, George was tall when compared to the average Cajun male. His thick brown hair threatened to burst into curls and his deep tan set off his square face and wide smile and deep brown eyes to perfection.
Working off-shore as a roughneck had put muscle on George’s frame. His clothes fit him snugly and Samantha had been impressed with the package in front of her.
“And you can dance too,” Samantha had laughed happily as they cavorted around to the Zydeco band’s lively music.
Now, sitting in a courtroom in the St. Elizabeth Parish courthouse, George again looked at his beautiful red head. She had that happy glow pregnant women seem to have and George smiled sadly; she would most likely get the bigger boobs she’d always moaned about.
Since Samantha could offer no proof regarding the alleged verbal and emotional abuse, the restraining order was revoked. Trevor smirked when George whispered that he had no desire to be within five hundred yards of her anyway.
“Maybe. It keeps you out of jail though,” Trevor reminded George. “Means you can go grocery shopping, don’t need to worry she might pop up on the next aisle and start screaming you’re in violation of the restraining order. Police? Aren’t inclined to believe you didn’t know she was there.”
“What, why, why you want that?” Samantha shrilled when George, through Trevor demanded the paternity test. “It’s not yours.”
“Insurance. You can’t tell me you got better insurance through your job, huh?” George asked.
“But, but I’m already on your insurance,” Samantha argued.
“Oh no ma’am you are not,” George laughed a bitter laugh. “Dropped your bubble butt minute you had me served.”
“Uh? Remember you used like my bubble butt just fine,” Samantha sneered.
“No. I loved your bubble butt. I loved all of you,” George muttered to his attorney.
“I’ll put her and my baby on my insurance,” William sneered.
“Well, you can most likely kiss any spousal support bye-bye,” Polly hissed to Samantha.
“What? Why?” Samantha demanded.
“You and genius there just admitted you’ve been fornicating while you were still married to, and residing with Mr. Luquette,” Polly sighed. “In the future? Zip your lips and leave your boyfriend at home, okay?”
Before he left for another fourteen day shift, George submitted a blood sample to Dr. Frank Roberts. The man smiled as he assured George that doing a DNA test while the baby was in the Mommy was safe; the baby would not be harmed in any way. The sample was actually taken from the amniotic fluid and not the baby.
Dr. Roberts did tell both Trevor and Polly of George’s concerns. Samantha’s eyes filled with tears when Polly relayed that information to her.
“You know, maybe it might not be too late,” Polly quietly suggested to her cousin.
Samantha just shook her head. She left her cousin’s office and drove to Mouton Park. Sitting on a swing, Samantha slowly swung back and forth until the sun’s oppressive heat drove her back to her air-conditioned car.
Bowman engineering had insurance through Young Insurance. Tri-Carter, Wiliam’s place of employment had their insurance through Mutual Fidelity Insurance Group. Dr. Roger Peleur accepted Young Insurance’s medical plans but did not accept Mutual Fidelity. Dr. Ellen Sweetman did accept Mutual Fidelity, but Samantha had been going to Dr. Peleur ever since marrying George and getting on his insurance plan. And, on her one and only visit to Dr. Ellen Sweetman, Samantha did not like the ‘conveyor belt’ approach the good doctor and her staff seemed to have.
“She gave me that fine ass,” William crassly proclaimed the next time the parties met to go over insurance and other matters relating to George and Samantha’s baby. “Said she never let you near her ass but gave it to me and believe me, she liked it.”
“Oh my God! Shut up!” Polly shrilled at the man.
“Jesus, William. Really?” Samantha screeched, highly embarrassed.
George could smell alcohol. He was fairly certain the smell was not coming from himself or his attorney, or from Samantha and her attorney.
“Really? Well, she always said I was too big,” George said calmly. “But congratulations. I’m sure it is just fantastic.”
“Zip it,” Trevor hissed, trying to hide his amusement.
George smirked at William’s hot blush as the two paralegals and the reporter could not hide their snickers. William glared white hot hatred at Polly when Polly ordered him from the conference room.
After the paperwork was signed and notarized, Trevor and George both visited the restroom. George was pretty sure he’d picked up a bug on his shift off shore; his bowels were loose. Trevor spoke through the closed door of the stall and wished his client well before leaving.
“Yeah, yeah, I got three days get whatever this is out of my system,” George grunted.
Coming out of the restroom, George almost plowed into Samantha, who was leaving the Ladies’ room. George apologized and let Samantha proceed him to the glass doors of the office building.
“Damn, but that really is a nice ass,” George said to himself as Samantha walked in front of him.
Getting into his pickup truck, George saw Samantha looking around. His first instinct was to shrug and drive away. She’d filed for divorce; she’d evicted him from his own home. But his second instinct won out and he lowered the window of his truck.
“Problem?” he asked.
“I, I, William, we was parked right here,” Samantha stammered, pointing to an empty parking space.
“Where you going?” George asked, digging his cell phone out of the truck’s console.
“I, home, I guess,” Samantha admitted.
“Mm, hmm, okay, oh! How ’bout that? Uber’s already on his way here,” George said, looking at his phone’s screen.
“I, you, you don’t have do that,” Samantha stammered, embarrassed.
“Samantha, you was a total stranger? I wouldn’t be able to just drive off and leave you here. But, you not a stranger. You the mother of my baby,” George said gently.
“Hey! How ’bout that? Dropping off a lunch order and I get a notice you’re needing a ride,” a smiling young man said, pulling up in a fairly new BMW. “You George?”
“I’m George. That’s what I was telling her; you’re on your way,” George said. “Thanks; have a great day.”
Samantha’s eyes filled with tears again as she watched George’s truck pull out of the parking lot. She got into the back seat of the Uber driver’s car and waited while Polly’s paralegal accepted the several bags from Cowboy’s BBQ.
“Man! Now I’m super hungry, smelling all that food!” the young man laughed. “And I’m taking you to, oh hey! Those, they got some nice homes in that area!”
“Yeah. Yeah they do,” Samantha agreed quietly.
Denise sent Foster over to George’s apartment with a big bowl of her chicken noodle soup. George and Foster both shared a smirk over Denise’s insistence that chicken noodle soup would cure whatever it was that George had, but George did eat the delicious soup. After washing and drying the bowl, George filled the bowl to the brim with Reese’s Pieces; Denise had let it slip that those were her favorite. Foster and George both laughed at Denise’s excited squeal. Even though she protested that he should not have done that, she didn’t need the calories, did George know how fattening those candies were, Denise was chomping her way through a handful of the candy.
While off-shore, George used ‘Auto-Pay’ through his bank to pay all bills. He did not know why, but he smiled at seeing a bill from Dr. Roger Peleur among the bills.
“Hey we going to Vermillion and you coming yeah,” Denise ordered when George came in.
“Okay,” George smiled, knowing arguing with his headstrong neighbor would do no good.
“Shirlee Fornet playing; you like her?” Denise went on.
“She’s got a friend from work she’s wanting you to meet,” Foster warned George when Denise returned to her bedroom to finish getting ready.
“She ain’t from work; I just seen her at work,” Denise corrected.
Tammy Hale was a real estate agent with flaming red hair and a vivacious personality. George liked her from the start and the feeling seemed to be mutual. They danced nearly every dance and when they stopped to have a beer, they chatted and laughed.
But even though they had enjoyed the night, both Tammy and George knew there was no spark, no real chemistry between them. They parted with a kiss to the cheek and a sincere thank you for a fun time.
“Denise ain’t going quit,” Foster said and George smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Listen; I’m working all the time,” George said. “So, kind of hard for me to meet women on my own.”
“See?” Denise crowed triumphantly. “So you just hush.”
“But, Denise? No more red heads, okay?” George said, showing Denise a picture of Samantha on his cell phone.
“Oh! Now, why you didn’t say nothing?” Denise gasped, seeing that Samantha and Tammy could be sisters.
“‘Cause you ain’t never asked,” Foster said triumphantly.
“You was going get you some,” Denise declared. “But now?”
“Aw, come on woman; I took you dancing,” Foster whined as they closed their apartment door.
The thick envelope was on his kitchen table, along with some other mail when George returned from a nerve-wracking shift. There was a tropical depression that threatened to turn into a hurricane and as the shift supervisor, George kept an eye on the weather. He got very little sleep and worried each day if he should evacuate the rig. He was grateful to step onto the boat and leave the worry and stress to Greg Boookhammer, the other shift supervisor.
“Of course,” George laughed when the Weather Channel App on his phone showed him that the depression had stalled, then fizzled out that morning.
But, seeing the legal declaration that his marriage had ended did little to buoy his spirits. George sat glumly reading the legalese and wondered for just a moment how Samantha had felt when she’d received her copy of the decree. George poured himself a few fingers of Chocolate flavored Iron Barrel Whiskey into a small glass and somberly toasted his failure as a husband.
George was off-shore when William grumbled and complained and drove Samantha to St. Elizabeth’s Trauma Center. After eleven hours, the last two with only Dr. Peleur and a nurse assisting in the delivery room; William had wandered off to the cafeteria, Samantha gave birth to Cynthia Barbara Luquette. William was incensed that the child had ‘that son of a bitch’s’ last name and not his own.
“We’re not married; why would I name her ‘Carter,'” Samantha wearily said. “But isn’t she beautiful?”
“Uh huh,” William agreed, not even looking at the wrinkled and bruised mess in Samantha’s arms.
Cynthia had all her fingers, all her toes, beep brown eyes and flaming red hair. At six pounds four ounces and nineteen inches long, she was a good size and weight for a fully developed infant.
George gave a nod of satisfaction when he received the message of his daughter’s birth. Barbara had been his mother’s name; he wondered if good old William knew that little bit of information. Cynthia had been Samantha’s mother’s name, but it had also been the name of George’s beautiful, sweet, loving sister.
George wondered if Samantha remembered that little fact when she’d named her baby Cynthia. George wondered if Samantha remembered Cindy’s happiness at finally having a big sister. George wondered if Samantha remembered them taking Cindy to the petting zoo in Lafayette, taking Cindy to the Bowl-O-Rama. George wondered if Samantha remembered holding Cindy’s hand as Cindy’s congenital heart defect took their special little sister away from them.
Arriving on dry land again, George immediately bought a Raggedy Andy and a Raggedy Ann dolls for his daughter. Apparently, Samantha had a new phone number; he got the message that the number had been changed or was no longer in service. George did not want to just show up unannounced, so called Polly Chastaine’s office. Polly promised to call Samantha.
Samantha called George less than three minutes later. She agreed that now was a good time to come by and see the baby.
George rankled when he saw William’s Mercedes-Benz in the open garage; the message was loud and clear. William had left the door up so that George would see it, see that he had been replaced by a better, richer, more handsome man. William smirked from behind Samantha when she opened the front door to let George into the house.
Samantha smiled happily as George presented the two dolls to the sleeping girl. He perched the pair of dolls at the foot of the crib then squatted and just gazed with wonder at the beautiful infant. He ignored the posturing, preening William and focused his attention on his daughter.
“Oh! Almost forgot,” George said and handed Samantha a small package. “I, this is for you.”
“What is it?” William demanded to know.
“When she opens it, you’ll see,” George said and again squatted to look at the beautiful baby.
“Oh, I, George, this, this is, is…” Samantha choked up at the sight of the sterling silver five by seven picture frame with Cynthia’s name and date of birth engraved at the bottom.
“You put her baby picture in that,” George said and snapped a picture of Cynthia with his cell phone. “Hi Sweetheart. It’s me. Hi. It’s Daddy.”
“Uh, excuse me? Uh, she’ll be calling ME Daddy,” William stated.
“Maybe,” George said easily, even as his blood was boiling. “I’m sure she’ll have names for both of us.”
William again interjected himself into the conversation when George politely asked for Samantha’s new phone number. When she had called him, all the screen would show was ‘Private.’ George’s statement that he only wanted the phone number because of their shared daughter did not still William’s snarling declaration that George didn’t need Samantha’s phone number.
“Oh. Okay,” George said. “I can always call Polly, I guess.”
George was three blocks away when his phone buzzed. He looked and smiled; Samantha had texted him her phone number with the header of ‘Cynthia.’
The day before he went off-shore again, Cynthia was awake. And, better still, William was not present. Getting to sit in the new rocking chair and hold the precious girl in his arms had George sobbing happily. When the baby let out a cry for a clean diaper and some of Mommy’s boob, George was reluctant to relinquish his hold on the girl.
“I, sorry but, uh, you need to leave,” Samantha said softly, but firmly as she began to unbutton her blouse.
Thinking of William being allowed to see his wife, his ex-wife breast-feeding his daughter again had George’s blood boiling. He nodded with resignation and left the house. He laughed, though when he saw William’s Mercedes-Benz round the corner. William would come in, would see Samantha breast-feeding Cynthia and most likely would not believe that George had not been allowed to witness the beautiful, simple act. He smiled widely and waved at William as their vehicles passed one another. The tinted windows obscured George’s vision, but George was sure William had not returned his friendly wave.
Trevor had to get involved when Samantha balked at George having his daughter at his apartment. Samantha panicked when she realized she would not have Cynthia in her home, in Cynthia’s crib for the foreseeable future. She insisted on coming to check out the apartment, verify that her baby would be in a safe environment.
“Hi! Hi! I’m your Aunt Denise! Hi!” Denise Charmers prattled excitedly when George carried the infant from his truck to his front door.
“George? Who is this?” Samantha demanded, concerned as a short, stocky woman gushed over her daughter.
“Hey, Willie, you believe them Saints drafted Jameis Winston? I mean, yeah, I know Brees retired, but, hey, what about Taysom Hill, huh?” Foster demanded as William shadowed Samantha, glaring at everything and everyone.
“I, what? Uh, dude, its William, all right? Not Willie,” William postured.
Reluctantly, Samantha approved of the cast iron crib, which matched the cast iron queen sized bed. She was not surprised to see that the bed was neatly made. She was not surprised to see that Georg had a small wash bin that he would put into the sparkling clean bathtub when it was time to bathe his daughter. She was not surprised that there was baby soap, baby shampoo and baby lotion.
“And I told him get that A&D Ointment ® ’cause it the best she gets her that diaper rash,” Denise showed Samantha the tube of ointment in George’s medicine cabinet. “Now, you use cloth diapers or them disposable ones?”
“Disposable,” Samantha said, still not sure about this ‘Aunt Denise’ woman.
“Hmm,” was all Denise would say about that.
Samantha found that William and Foster had bonded, not over a shared love of the New Orleans Saints, but over George’s Chocolate flavored Iron Barrel Whiskey. Stoically, Samantha held out her hand for the keys to William’s car.
“What? Jesus! I, I only had two, two or three,” William hotly declared.
“Foster,” Denise said, letting her husband know she was none too pleased with him pilfering their neighbor’s booze.
“Man! We got get, what this is? Iron Barrel, oh, hey! Chocolate? I, Denise, you know whiskey come in flavors?” Foster happily, drunkenly said as Denise herded him out of the apartment.
“Keys. Or I can take an Uber,” Samantha demanded as William staggered from George’s comfortable couch.
With one more kiss to Cynthia’s cheek, Samantha pulled William to the car. George watched Samantha’s bubble butt walk away, then shut the door.
Samantha made sure to schedule Cynthia Barbara Luquette’s christening on a Sunday George would be in. At the christening, Richard Chastaine, Samantha’s father let George know he was very disappointed in his daughter’s actions. Richard and George had always had an awkward, stilted relationship; Richard was sure his daughter could do better than marrying a roughneck. Even after George was promoted to shift supervisor, her father was convinced that she could do better.
But now, even though William Carter was one-third of Tri-Carter, an oil field services provider, Richard was not so sure his baby girl had traded up. And, seeing the way George winced when Cynthia cried as the water was poured over her head, but William just looked bored, Richard was sure his daughter had not traded up.
“Wasn’t my doing,” George defended as they nibbled on finger food at Samantha’s house after the christening.
“Yeah, I know. She, at least she was pretty honest about that,” Richard grudgingly agreed. “That woman keeps calling herself Aunt Denise; that your girlfriend?”
“No, she’s married to the goofball in the Saints shirt over there,” George laughed, pointing to where Foster stood, eating the piping hot meatballs and whistling because they were too hot.
The party soon wound down. Foster and Denise left; the Saints were battling the Carolina Panthers and Foster didn’t want to miss the second half of the game. Some of Samantha’s coworkers from Casa Ole Mexican restaurant left as soon as it was apparent that the alcohol would not be coming out.
“She’ll be calling me Daddy,” William taunted George as George sat, rocking the baby.
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll have a name for you,” George said, meeting William’s eyes.
“William,” Samantha said, lips tight.
“And if she doesn’t? I have some suggestions,” George said and smirked as Richard laughed.
“George,” Samantha said, lips drawn even tighter.
“Bye Sweetheart, bye,” George crooned softly to the sleeping infant. “Daddy misses you already.”
“Thank you,” Samantha said quietly as George put his hand on the doorknob of his daughter’s room. “The, the cross and chain is beautiful. I’m sure, as soon as she’s old enough, she’ll wear it with pride.”
“I’m sure she will,” George smiled.
Monday afternoon, George was coming from the laundry room of their apartment building when he saw a small girl standing in front of Denise’s door. The girl had thick brown hair that nearly touched the sidewalk in front of the door, even though she had it pulled back in a high ponytail. When she turned to see who might be coming up behind her, George was struck by her clear green eyes.
“I, they’re usually home ’bout five thirty, six o’clock,” George offered.
“Oh, okay,” the girl said, now turning fully.
George saw that she was not a girl, but a very short woman. Her pretty face was a small, round face on a slim neck. Her torso was slim, which made her 27C chest look quite substantial. George was sure his hands would fit easily around her waist, and her hips looked good in her short gray skirt. George guesstimated that the young woman was four feet ten inches, maybe four feet eleven inches; her shoes appeared to have a three or four inch heel.
“Hi, I’m George,” George said as he unlocked the door of his apartment. “George Luquette.”
“Oh! You, you’re George? The one with the real pretty baby?” the girl chirped, pretty face splitting into a wide smile.
“Yes ma’am, that’s me. And let me tell you, ain’t none prettier than my Cynthia,” George proudly agreed, putting his laundry basket down in front of his door.
George dug his phone out and showed the young woman the most recent photos, taken at Cynthia’s christening.
“Aw!” the young woman sighed.
“Hey! See you met Cha-Cha,” Foster said.
Charlene Charmers’ face immediately morphed from adoring smile to unhappy scowl. She looked from Foster’s laughing face to George’s slightly curious face.
“And I see you met my second favorite brother,” Charlene snapped.
“And how many brother you got?” George asked, pretty sure Foster had only sisters in his immediate family.
“One,” Charlene snapped.
George put his laundry into his apartment, then stepped into the Charmers’ apartment. Foster was making a pot of coffee; George could not understand how Foster and Denise could consume that much caffeine and manage to sleep.
“Foster says you work off-shore?” Charlene said.
“Yeah, fixing go out tomorrow,” George said. “Why I was doing the wash.”
“I’m an Administrative Assistant,” Charlene said with pride.
“She works right up the street there,” Foster said, his pride evident.
“Where you work?” George asked, thinking the girl looked very young to be an AA.
“I’m with Vickers, Vickers and Dumas; they do investigations,” Charlene said.
“Maybe they need investigate where the rest of you is?” Foster suggested. “Hey George, might have noticed? She ain’t but ’bout three feet there?”
“George, you got coffee next door? I ain’t sitting here ’til Denise gets home,” Charlene said, jumping out of her kitchen chair.
“I can make us some quick,” George said. “Hey Foster, need see they can investigate why you a butt head, huh?”
“Yeah!” Charlene agreed, proceeding George out of the apartment.
“Coffee just about ready,” Foster protested.
“When Denise gets here, tell her your sister’s next door,” George said.
In his apartment, George found out that Foster’s sister’s name was Charlene. Charlene Paula Charmers. Because of her name being Charlene Charmers, her family had given her the hated nickname of Cha-Cha.
Charlene was nineteen years old and had gone to the St. Ann Vo-Tech for Administrative Assistant training. The Nicole King Scholarship had paid her tuition and now she planned to donate five percent of her paycheck back to the Nicole King Scholarship until she’d repaid them her debt.
“My cousin Michelle went to U.L.D for four years, got her a degree in what that is, literature? And she’s an AA over at St. Elizabeth Water,” Charlene said and sipped her coffee. “I like your mug. Where’s Isle of View? That in the Gulf?”
“Say it a little slower,” George suggested, pouring his own mug of decaffeinated coffee.
“Isle of View,” Charlene enunciated.
“Well, even though we just met? I love you too,” George smiled.
“Isle…Oh!” Charlene said, then laughed a happy, musical laugh.
“My butt head husband says you’re over here,” Denise said, barging into the apartment. “George, you show her some pictures of that beautiful baby?”
“Sure did,” Charlene said, jumping down to hug her four foot eleven inch sister in law. “Foster tell you I’m working right up there? Right in Vickers, Vickers and Dumas?”
“Lopez Square? Right there?” Denise verified, pointing toward the squat, ugly building.
“Uh huh,” Charlene said proudly.
George found himself being dragged back to the Charmers’ apartment while Denise fixed their supper. George decided he would buy Charlene her very own sixteen ounce mug with ‘Isle of View’ printed on it. Finding that her favorite color was pink was easy enough; Foster, Charlene and Denise all answered that question in unison.
Somehow, between the meal and George finally dragging himself out of the apartment, George found himself promising to take Charlene to Vermillion for a night of dancing the next time he was in from his shift. Aunt Denise immediately volunteered herself to be baby sitter to Cynthia Luquette.
“Hey, listen, my sister? My baby sister? She’s only nineteen, hear?” Foster snarled menacingly at George.
“And? How old we was?” Denise yelled at her husband.
“Oh. My God, I, could you be more of a butt head?” Charlene yelled at her brother, blushing hotly. “We going dancing. Dancing. That’s it, all right?”
When he returned from his fourteen day shift, George insisted on picking Charlene up at her parents’ home. He insisted on coming in and meeting Hank and Debbie Charmers. Charlene looked on in amazement as George and her overprotective father swapped tall tales about deer seasons in the not too distant past. The two men promised they’d try to get together to hunt this coming deer season.
“Course, this one? ‘Ew Daddy I don’t want eat no deer,'” Hank embarrassed his daughter, giving her an affectionate slap on her compact buttocks.
“Hank,” Debbie smiled, shaking her head.
“Daddy,” Charlene whined.
The Zydeco band was a good band with an annoying singer. The blind guitar player sang every song through his nose, giving everything a nasal twang that just did not suit the music or his voice very well. But the band itself ground out some lively music to stomp around to.
The make out session in his truck in front of her parents’ home fogged up his windows. Charlene was more than eager to have George play with her breasts, but in front of her parents’ home, she didn’t dare bring them out of her blouse.
“When you getting Cynthia?” Charlene asked as George walked her to the front door.
“What y’all was talking ’bout parked in that truck for last ten minutes?” Hank asked, jerking the door open as Charlene stepped onto the porch.
Charlene let out a squeal. George saw the amused twinkle in Hank’s eyes when Charlene squealed. George smirked at the man.
“We was wondering how long it take you come out here and beat my butt,” George said easily. “Good night, Charlene. Good night, Hank.”
“Uh? That, that’s Mister Hank, young man,” Hank said, pulling Charlene into the house.
“Yes sir, Mr. Hank,” George smiled. “Plan to take her to Sweet Pea’s for dinner tomorrow night. That all right?”
“What they having?” Hank asked, chuckling as he heard his daughter complaining bitterly to her mother.
“It matter? You know it’s going be good,” George smiled and got into his truck.
The stuffed pork chops were excellent. Charlene surprised George by managing to polish off her plate. But neither one of them had a bit of room for dessert.
By now, Samantha was not only accustomed to Denise’s overbearing nature, Samantha was comfortable around the woman. To a degree, Samantha decided she and Denise were friends. So, demands to see any new pictures of the baby were met with smiles. George was not surprised to see two women and a baby on his doorstep when Samantha and Cynthia came to his apartment.
William elected to remain in his car. Other than drinking, William and Foster had nothing in common and Samantha had laid down the law; William was not to drink at George’s apartment. He gave a polite little nod of his head when George’s weird neighbor gave him a friendly wave.
“I, okay, I, well, you got this? Yeah, I know, you got this, Samantha babbled, giving Cynthia another kiss. “I, you need anything, you just call, okay? I, bye Sweetheart. Bye Cynthia. I, Mommy misses you already. Bye.”
Within five minutes of William and Samantha pulling away from the parking lot, Charlene was knocking on George’s door.
“Hi, she here? The baby here,” Charlene demanded, barging into the apartment.
George put on a pot of decaffeinated coffee as Charlene squealed and fussed over the infant. Then he put his green ‘Isle Of View’ mug and her brand new pink ‘Isle Of View’ coffee mug onto the table.
“I can hold her?” Charlene asked, already holding Cynthia as she carried the infant into the living room/dining room.
“It do any good I say no?” George smiled.
“Nope,” Charlene said, sitting on the comfortable couch. “Hi Cindy, hi Sweetheart, hi.”
George felt the sting of tears as Charlene softly sang some Cajun songs to the infant. His mother had sang those songs to him and he remembered hearing her sing those same songs to his sister Cindy. Even when his sister was fifteen years old, Cindy demanded their mother sing those songs to her.
“Cindy would have loved you,” George thought, looking at the beautiful nineteen year old girl as she held the infant in her arms.
“Oh! Isle of view,” Charlene said, reading her coffee mug.
“Love you too; I’m fixing heat up some stew; you staying?” George asked.
“Huh? No, no, my momma’s making her stove top stuffed peppers; she got the recipe off that Cast Iron Skillet show. You ever watch him?” Charlene asked.
“Milt Duhon? Yeah. Loved the one he did with Gator and Rat from that kiddie show,” George agreed.
“Oh, I know! I laughed when he was going hit Gator with his frying pan,” Charlene giggled.
With a steamy kiss, Charlene left his apartment. George ate his supper, then bathed his baby girl and fed her a bottle of breast milk. He tried to remember the words to the lullabies, but had to hum most of the songs as he cradled the baby in his arms.
The management company put a notice in the mailbox; George had one month left on his lease. If he would sign up for another year, they would cut one hundred dollars from the first month’s rent. If he signed up for a six month lease, they would take fifty dollars off the first month’s rent. But if he decided to become a ‘month by month’ renter, then their rent would go up twenty five dollars monthly.
“One good thing you done, Denise,” George thought as he called Tammy Hale.
“So, what you looking for?” Tammy asked pleasantly. “Denise says you got a baby; congratulations.”
Looking at the Davis Realty web site while he and Tammy chatted, George saw a one story home three blocks away from his former residence. He gave Tammy the address and the MLS number.
“Oh! That one? Oh, yes sir; it’s priced to sell,” Tammy agreed. “I can pick you up and…”
“Tammy, unless you have a car seat in your car? I’ll meet you there,” George insisted.
Denise insisted on coming, so, grumbling, Foster pried himself away from the ESPN Sports high lights.
“Look! It, it’s got a good fenced in yard; you can put up a swing set out here,” Denise declared.
“Basketball goal’s already up,” Foster said, seeing the old backboard and hoop set up above the garage. “Need you a net for it, though.”
“He’s taking that ugly thing down yeah,” Denise insisted.
“I am?” George smiled.
“Well yeah. What? Think Cynthia going be some basketball player?” Denise said. “Now, here? Here’s where you need put her baby bed, this room right here.”
Charlene came out the next night and approved of the house; it was a fifteen minute walk from her parents’ home. It was quicker if she took her bike, and quicker still if she drove her car.
“And it got a gas stove?” Charlene enthused.
“Tammy? Let’s get started on the paperwork,” George said.
The application was approved, First National Bank of DeGarde rubber-stamped George’s home loan, and Foster supervised the loading of George’s furniture when Short Moves pulled up to the apartment complex. Denise supervised the unloading of George’s furniture and boxes at the new home. The three muscle-bound men were professional; they knew enough to politely agree with everything the short woman said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” the foreman said when Denise handed each man a crumpled twenty and even more crumpled five.
“Man! Better believe whoever she married to? They toe that line,” one of the men said as they hustled to get to their next scheduled move.
“My momma? Could whip your ass with a wooden spoon, then cook supper with same spoon five minutes later,” the foreman agreed. “Them coon ass women? Don’t be messing with them.”
Samantha came, bringing Cynthia and William to George’s new house. George was gracious to both Samantha and William; truthfully, he did not want the arrogant, smirking man in his house. But George was mature enough to know, nothing would be accomplished by being rude or inhospitable.
“Wow, you could just about walk here,” Samantha commented.
“Yeah; you’ll probably see us out and about, walking,” George said, showing Samantha the brand new stroller he’d bought.
“Uh huh. No pool?” William sneered, peering into the back yard through the atrium doors.
“William,” Samantha said tightly.
“What? God damn. Can’t say shit without you getting all pissed off?” William argued.
“Hey, whose Benz that is?” Charlene asked, coming into the house.
“Mine,” William smiled, eyes managing to bypass Charlene’s pretty face and latch firmly onto Charlene’s impressive chest.
Given that Charlene was fourteen inches shorter than William, he really had to cast his eyes far down to see her chest stretching the boundaries of her blouse. William did not see the girl’s annoyed look; she resisted the urge to put her arm over her breasts.
“Um, George? This is…” Samantha demanded, hackles rising as her boyfriend stared holes through the stranger’s blouse.
“Samantha, this is Charlene Charmers,” George said. “She’s my uh, my girlfriend.”
George did not know why he had a hard time admitting that the beautiful girl was his girlfriend. George supposed part of his hesitation was because he had a hard time accepting the fact that Samantha was his EX-wife and not his wife.
“Charlene? This is Samantha,” George said. “She’s Cynthia’s mommy.”
“Uh huh,” Charlene said, coming to stand next to George. “So nice to meet you.”
The grip Charlene put on George’s hand let him know he would be explaining, or attempting to explain that little hiccup in his voice when introducing her as his girlfriend.
“Mm hmm,” Samantha agreed, glaring at William as William continued to stare at Charlene’s chest.
In Cynthia’s nursery, George had put a changing table as well as a new low dresser. Samantha was not surprised to see that the changing table matched Cynthia’s crib. She was not surprised that there was an adorable lamp, a pretty little ballerina stretching up and holding the lamp shade aloft.
That was part of what had irritated Samantha so much about her husband, her ex-husband. Everything was neat and orderly and in its place. Their finances were the same way; neat, orderly, and organized. They had the money; they could have gone to Hawaii. But George insisted they wait.
“And we had a lot more money to do a lot more stuff,” Samantha murmured, seeing the toy box in the closet, several brand new toys waiting for Cynthia to start playing with them.
“Let’s go,” Samantha suddenly demanded, grabbing William’s hand.
Samantha almost smiled; she could read the expression on Charlene’s face. George was in for a tongue lashing for some perceived slight.
William, as self-absorbed as he was, could read the intention in Samantha’s grip on his hand. He was in for yet another lecture about some supposed sin he’d committed. He took one more look at the midget’s fantastic chest and asked Samantha if she’d ever thought of breast implants.
George did get the tongue lashing; Charlene tearfully asked if he was somehow ashamed of her, embarrassed by her. Or, could it be, was he not over his ex-wife? Was that it; did he still carry a torch for the beautiful red head?
George hugged and kissed Charlene, easily lifting her in his strong arms. Softly, quietly, he explained the mental hurdle he’d faced with his ex-wife and his love in the same room at the same time.
“I’m your love?” Charlene asked, melting in his embrace.
While George and Charlene were making up, cuddled on his couch, William was in Samantha’s living room, sprawled on her comfortable couch, waiting impatiently for Samantha’s latest tongue lashing. Idly, he wondered if the engagement ring would shut her up. He’d thought about taking Samantha, without the whiney baby, Jesus, just how often do babies cry, do they ever stop filling diapers with shit, on an Alaskan cruise and proposing to her as they walked on a glacier. But now, with that loser George having to watch the brat, good God, just how big were those tits on that midget, now was just as good a time as any to pop the question.
“I’m going out,” Samantha said, hurrying through the living room to the garage. “I, I don’t know when I’ll be back. You’re on your own for supper, hear?”
“Oh. Okay,” William said, getting to his feet. “Love you.”
William did not notice that Samantha did not return the endearment. He walked to the bar in the corner and poured himself a few fingers of George’s St. Elizabeth Premium whiskey. Testing the bottle’s weight, William poured a few more fingers into the glass.
“Need to see you,” Samantha had texted her cousin Polly while William had driven the three blocks from George’s new home to their home.
Polly’s response did not make Samantha very happy; Polly and her wife were at The Casual, a little dive the two women had decided was their place. Samantha would have preferred the total privacy of Polly’s office, or better still, Polly’s beautiful and comfortable home. Without Whitney there.
Samantha did not dislike the beautiful blonde; it was damned hard to dislike the bubbly, sweet, affectionate Whitney. But their homosexuality made Samantha uncomfortable. Without Whitney’s presence, Samantha could ignore Polly’s lifestyle choices, pretend it didn’t exist.
“Hey Terry? Another diet for me and they’ll have shots of that Oakleaf, okay?” Polly cheerfully called out when Samantha entered the cozy, quiet bar.
“Yay!” Whitney giggled happily, leaning against Polly.
“Joe Bob, Carla’s on her way, hear?” Terry, an older man told a severely inebriated customer.
“Aw, shit, great. She sees me like this…” Joe Bob slurred, putting his head on the bar.
“Sip it slowly,” Whitney coached when Terry put a shot glass of amber liquid in front of Samantha.
“Oh! Son of a…this, this is good!” Samantha enthused, sipping the smooth whiskey.
“So. What’s up?” Polly asked, herding Samantha and Whitney to a corner booth.
Samantha started, stopped, started, stopped, took another sip of the whiskey and shook her head. Polly softly put her hand on Whitney’s thigh when she saw Whitney was about to come to Samantha’s aid.
The arrival of a beautiful but haggard looking dishwater blonde did halt their conversation. They could not hear what the woman was saying to the drunken man, but they could hear the desperation in the tone of her voice.
“Yeah, yeah, God damn it, let’s go,” Joe Bob snarled, stumbling off of his stool.
After another breath, Samantha looked at the dark paneled wall and started speaking. Quietly, she told the two women she’d felt suffocated, trapped in her marriage with George Luquette. She wanted to live, she wanted to have fun. But George could not or would not be spontaneous, fun.
“He even makes the bed before he leaves the room,” Samantha sputtered. “Swears he can’t leave the bedroom until…”
Whitney giggled and Polly playfully slapped Whitney. Samantha did not notice the loving exchange between the two women as she continued complaining about George’s careful plotting and planning and preparation.
Then she talked about meeting William when he came in for Margarita Friday. Being an attractive red head with what many considered to be a very nice bubble butt, Samantha was used to being approached by male, and sometimes female customers. Most were deterred when Samantha showed them her very nice engagement ring and matching wedding band.
“George saved up every penny he could,” Samantha said quietly, looking at her bare finger. “He even did some house painting on the weeks he was in.”
“Aw!” Whitney couldn’t help the admiring sigh that escaped her lips.
“Yeah,” Samantha agreed softly and tried to get another sip of the excellent whiskey from her empty glass.
That Friday morning, Samantha had mentioned to George that she had seen a brand new Lexus on the road the other day. She had not said she wanted one, she simply said she’d seen one and it was very pretty. George immediately vetoed the idea of her getting a brand new any make and model of car.
“Depreciation starts the minute those wheels touch the ground,” Samantha now mimicked George’s deep voice.
Samantha had gone to work that day with a sour attitude. When the handsome, glib William Carter had been seated in her section, Samantha had noticed the expensive suit, the large diamond ring and the Rolex watch. When he’d left his signed receipt, with a 100% gratuity added, William had also left his business card.
“Not the first time someone’s left their business card,” Samantha mumbled.
But it was the first time Samantha didn’t just throw the card away. Tri-Carter’s logo was in the top right hand corner and William Carter, President of Sales was directly centered on the card. On the back, William had written his cell phone number.
At first, the illicit affair had been exciting, thrilling, spontaneous and fun. The first time William had taken her ass, it had hurt, Samantha had protested. The second time, an odd warmth had filled her guts. The third time, Samantha had blacked out from the intensity of her orgasm.
“Then George came in. For a whole week, I had to be the good, dutiful wife, doing good, dutiful things, pinching every penny until Lincoln let out a squeal,” Samantha ruminated.
“And now?” Polly queried after a long pause.
“And now?” Samantha mused, looking at the table top.
True, they did not pinch pennies. If Samantha wanted cinnamon rolls, she could get the Pillsbury brand and not the Burns & Burns Grocers brand. She could get the eye of round to make her beef stroganoff, instead of the stew meat George always insisted on.
She and William went to the movies at the regular time most people went, and not to the dollar off matinees. William went to the concession stand and bought the giant buttered popcorn, with extra butter. And, afterward, they went to Yum Yum Ice Cream for a sundae. George always held out one or the other. They could get a large buttered popcorn and a drink, or, they could go to the ice cream parlor afterward.
“Okay, so George is a cheapskate,” Polly said.
“No, no, he’s not. He’s not a cheapskate,” Samantha came to George’s defense. “He’s, he’s…he’s just uber-practical.”
William was not practical. William had never thought to save for a rainy day; he’d had a golden umbrella his entire life.
Everything in her home, the home that she and William shared, every stick of furniture, every glass, every plate had been purchased by George. Samantha tried, but could not name one item in the house that William had contributed.
“The soap,” Samantha said out loud. “I get the A and A soap.”
“I love the raw milk and honey one,” Whitney enthused.
“Stuff stinks,” Polly teased.
“I get the blackberry,” Samantha absently offered.
“Another?” Polly quietly offered when Smantha again picked up her empty glass.
“Yes, Whitney, you can have another one too,” Polly laughed and Whitney flounced to the bar.
“I, you, you’re not drinking?” Samantha noticed when Whitney put two shot glasses onto the table.
“Not good for the baby,” Polly smiled and Whitney let out another happy squeal.
Samantha was shocked as Whitney’s hand went to Polly’s flat tummy. Polly put her hand over Whitney’s hand, holding Whitney’s hand against their baby.
Samantha took a sip of her whiskey and tried to smile for her cousin and her cousin’s wife. Obviously, they were both elated about the pregnancy. William had been pleased, strutting around like a proud cock in the chicken coop. Until George’s damned DNA test came back, showing that George was the father, and not William.
“I hope it’s a girl; she and Cynthia can play together,” Samantha said as Whitney giggled and Polly beamed.
“So, Samantha…What are you thinking?” Polly asked after several moments of silence.
Samantha had been thinking of the stilted, uncomfortable Sunday dinner at Minnie Carter’s home the previous Sunday. The meal itself had been delicious; Minnie’s very proper English house servant had prepared the meal. Minnie had been polite but cold to Samantha and had not even looked at Cynthia. Natalie, William’s sister had a rambunctious two year old daughter, Elizabeth Carter; Natalie had been somewhat friendly to Samantha. Andrew, William’s younger brother had brought his wife, his precocious five year old daughter Riana and his one year old son AJ, Andrew Junior to the meal.
Andrew had been a red head with hard, cold eyes. His wife Victoria was a bizarre sight with facial piercings and tattoos. Andrew called her ‘Ria’ and Samantha had made the supposed faux pas of calling the freakish looking blonde ‘Ria.’
“Samantha? Sweetie? We’re not lovers,” Victoria had said, voice hard. “So, don’t call me RIA, okay?”
“Sorry. I uh, it’s just…sorry,” Samantha had stammered.
And that had been the end of any real conversation. Samantha’s compliment on his cooking had been met with a stone-faced nod from the old servant. Samantha had thanked Minnie for inviting her to her beautiful home for dinner and Minnie had simply nodded, fake smile on her face.
From her first moment at Miss Barbara’s home, George’s mother had pulled Samantha into the kitchen. Naturally, Cindy wanted to follow and the three women had cooked the Sunday meal together while George and his father sat and watched some boring football game on the television.
“You go ‘way,” Cindy had ordered when George stuck his head in the kitchen. “It’s just us girls. No boys!”
“YEAH!” Samantha had giggled, earning herself a beaming smile from Cindy.
Samantha remembered, every Sunday was like that. The warmth of the Luquette kitchen, the smells, the laughter, Cindy wanting constant validation from Miss Barbara, from Samantha. Samantha had no doubt, the next Sunday dinner at Miss Carter’s home would be just as stilted, just as uncomfortable. And the one after that would be the same, stilted and uncomfortable. And William had not noticed; he’d been genuinely surprised when Samantha mentioned her discomfort.
I’m thinking I got a bad case of buyer’s remorse,” Samantha admitted to her cousin, pulling her eyes from the table’s dark wood.
“And…” Polly prompted.
“And. Nothing. Absolutely God damned nothing,” Samantha said, tossing back the last sip of her drink.
Returning to her house, Samantha heated up a Lean Cuisine meal. She wasn’t in the mood for sex, but stoically gave in to William’s coaxing and undressed. She did achieve an orgasm; William did know how to eat pussy and was hell-bent on bringing Samantha to climax before he would mount her. William didn’t seem to understand, it wasn’t always necessary for Samantha to have an orgasm. Sometimes, like tonight, she just wanted it done and over with.
William approached George and asked George if he could somehow watch Cynthia for two weeks while he took Samantha on a cruise. George made the arrangements with Bowman; not for William or Samantha, but for his daughter.
Samantha was nearly frantic when they boarded the ship; before, when George had their daughter, she was only a few minutes away. But, here, on a cruise line, she would be several hundred miles away. Should her baby need her, Samantha had no way of getting to Cynthia.
“God damn! Man! Hear that? Hear that?” William enthused as he sprawled on the bed in their cabin.
“Huh?” Samantha asked, looking around.
“That’s right. No screaming, crying brats,” William chortled.
At that very moment, Samantha hated William Carter with all of her heart. Her baby, her precious little girl was no brat. Her daughter was no imposition, no inconvenience.
And, hiking across the glacier, William got on one knee, holding out a ring with a four carat square cut diamond. To Samantha, it had to be one of the ugliest rings she’d ever seen. It was just gaudy; even though she was sure it carried a hefty price tag, Samantha thought the ring looked cheap and tawdry.
“No,” Samantha quietly, firmly responded.
“I, what? What? You, you have got to be kidding me!” William sputtered, truly shocked.
“No use making a bad situation worse,” William,” Samantha sighed, turning to rejoin the tour group.
The return trip was made in stony silence. To Samantha, the return trip was more enjoyable; William wasn’t pestering her for sex and she was that much closer to her baby girl.
The moment the door of the house was opened, William was packing his belongings. Samantha grabbed the keys for her own car and drove to rescue her baby, bring her baby home.
“Hey, she’s just about down,” a tired looking George whispered, letting Samantha into his home.
Samantha stood, listening as Charlene quietly sang to Cynthia. Samantha remembered hearing Miss Barbara singing those songs to Cindy. Samantha’s eyes filled with tears hearing the familiar lullaby.
“Yeah Mommy, seems like we had a bad case of colic this week,” George admitted as Charlene carried the sleeping child out of the room.
“Colic? Oh no!” Samantha cried out, feeling horribly guilty that her baby had been feeling badly, and she had not been there to help.
“Hey, Samantha,” a tired Charlene smiled as she entered the kitchen. “SO? How was it? I, I’ve never been to Alaska, you know?”
“I, it, I hated it,” Samantha admitted.
“I’m drinking your last beer,” Charlene informed George.
“You are? Uh, even though I already put another six pack in there?” George asked.
“I see you still do just one six pack at a time,” Samantha smiled softly.
“Uh huh. Hey, pantry’s got a lot more room,” George defended.
“Samantha, you want anything?” Charlene offered, twisting the cap off of a Barley Terlings.
“How cold is that beer?” Samantha asked.
“Should be cold by now,” George said.
“Okay, I, I’ll be by tomorrow; when you going off-shore?” Samantha asked after she’d looked in on Cynthia.
“Tuesday,” George said. “Then it won’t be four weeks before I’m back; I traded with Greg for this extra week.”
“And it is just like you to do that,” Samantha thought, almost angry with George’s practical nature. “No, can’t use any of your vacation days. No, got to try and work all the angles for the best, God damn, just, just God damn.”
In true William fashion, the house looked like a tornado had roared through it when Samantha returned. William had not broken anything but he had not bothered to put anything back in its proper place. The dresser drawers hung half open, clothes hangers lay on the floor, on the bed.
With a sigh, Samantha put everything back, then ran the vacuum cleaner over the entire house. She smirked; she was doing exactly what George would have done.
Cynthia’s child support payment arrived, always three days before it was due. Because of her infidelity, Samantha had not been awarded any spousal support. And, at that time, Samantha had not needed any spousal support. She had William and William’s credit card to fall back on.
Within two months of William’s departure, Samantha saw she was in trouble. Her meager savings were gone. She had a choice; pay the mortgage or pay the utilities and buy food. But she did not have the funds to do both. Happyland Day Care Center, where she brought her daughter when she went to work on the two weeks that George was not in had taken the majority of her child support check.
“Daddy, I, I need help,” Samantha said.
“You need help? You need help? God damned insulin’s tripled in just one month and God damned insurance is trying say that tree falling on the house wasn’t because of the damned hurricane. It wasn’t the hurricane, then what was it? Ain’t like I pushed it on the house,” her father snarled into his cell phone. “You needing help? Join the club.”
George smiled happily when Samantha brought their daughter into the house. A few minutes later, Denise and Charlene showed up. Samantha broke down in tears and George found himself banished to the nursery to care for his daughter while his friend and his girlfriend comforted his ex-wife.
“Women, huh, Cynthia?” George said. “Oh! Wait! You one of them too, ain’t you? Man, I’m in for it yeah. Okay, but you promise me, no matter what, you always going love me, okay?”
“I will,” Charlene said from the doorway. “George, you need come see.”
Tearfully, Samantha admitted that she just wasn’t making it as a waitress. Her hours were long and the pay was minimal. She needed every penny of tips and tips were not very reliable.
“So what you needing from me?” George asked.
“Yes ma’am, I’m still working. Ma’am, hadn’t been for the Nicole King scholarship? Man! I, I don’t know where I’d be,” Charlene chattered into her cell phone.
“I, George, I, I don’t know,” Samantha admitted, avoiding looking at her ex-husband’s face.
“Here, you need talk to this woman, hear?” Charlene said, thrusting her cell phone into Samantha’s hand.
“Hello? Charlene, who is this?” Samantha said.
“Hi; this is Kampala Jeffries. I’m the current chair of the Nicole King scholarship. Ms. Charmers says you’re a perfect candidate for our assistance. As you may or may not be aware, any recommendation made by previous scholarship recipients are moved to the head of the list,” a pleasant sounding voice soothed. “How does three o’clock sound?”
“Uh, three, when? What day?” Samantha asked.
“Three o’clock today, Ms. Luquette,” Kampala laughed.
“Now, go home, get dressed in something nice, no, I’m coming with you,” Charlene said. “See? It was God’s will I had half a day today.”
While Samantha cleaned her face and put on some nice clothes, Charlene coached Samantha on what to say. Finally, Charlene deemed that the outfit was good enough and Samantha’s makeup was good enough.
“Hi Mrs. Jakes; we here see Kampala?” Charlene said to the receptionist as she and Samantha entered the lobby of King Sanitation.
“You’re Ms. Luquette?” Sheila Jakes smiled. “I’ll let Mrs. Jeffries know you’re here. Charlene, how have you been?”
“She’ll see you now,” Sheila told Samantha a moment later. “It’s the…”
“I’ll take her; I know right where it is,” Charlene said, grabbing Samantha’s hand and pulling her down a hall.
“Charlene! Hi!” an attractive African-American woman smiled, getting to her feet.
“You pregnant?” Charlene gasped, seeing the woman’s slight paunch.
An hour later, George looked up as a beaming Charlene entered his home. He got to his feet and started preparing their dinner.
“She’s going go to the Vo-Tech, get this; she’s thinking might want be an Administrative Assistant like me,” Charlene prattled happily.
“I need to worry? You hanging out with my ex-wife?” George teased.
“Hey. We both Cynthia’s momma,” Charlene defended. “Need get along for the baby.”
George was startled when Samantha burst into the house, calling out for Charlene. Charlene left George in the kitchen.
Samantha held out a brochure from the St. Elizabeth Parish Vo-Tech and excitedly showed Charlene that ‘Child Care’ was one of the courses. She and Charlene huddled on George’s couch and read through the other possibilities.
“And I bust on into your house like that? Bet you’d put a load of buckshot in my ass,” George thought as he made the potato pancakes Charlene loved.
“You got enough?” Charlene asked and George smiled.
“Yeah, I got enough,” George said.
“I’m sorry,” Samantha said as they sat to eat. “I know, you’d come barging into my house? I’d be more than just a little upset with you. But, I, I was just so excited when I seen ‘Child Care’ and…”
“We got a doorbell,” George said calmly.
“And I’ll use it next time,” Samantha promised.
“How you always get this so perfect?” Charlene asked.
“The potatoes? He adds cream,” Samantha answered.
Cynthia cried out and George waved both women back to their seats. A moment later, he carried the infant into the kitchen and rummaged around in the refrigerator for a bottle for her.
“I, uh, I can feed her,” Samantha offered, reaching for the buttons of her blouse.
“Hmm? Oh, okay,” George said and handed Cynthia to Samantha.
George tried not to look. George tried not to develop an erection as he watched his bare breasted ex-wife feeding their child. Garlene looked over at his hotly blushing face and lightly slapped him on his arm.
“So, when do you start?” George asked as Samantha buttoned up her blouse again.
“Hmm? Oh! Not this Monday but next,” Samantha said. “I, I’m supposed let them know what my choice is by this Friday, though, so they can make sure there’s availability.”
“Well, I bet you going do great,” George said as he cleared the dishes from the table.
“I, uh, yeah, I hope so,” Samantha said, losing some of her enthusiasm. “I mean, remember? I went to U.L.D for that one semester? Got three F’s and one D?”
“Uh huh, and like your daddy said? Was too busy playing ’round do any studying,” George agreed.
“Someone needing them a diaper? Huh? Someone needing her a dry diaper?” Charlene fussed, taking Cynthia out of Samantha’s hands.
George was at the sink when he felt his ex-wife’s arms come around his waist. He felt her embrace him from behind, putting her head against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Samantha whispered.
“It’s all right. Just use the doorbell next time, huh?” George said.
“I, no, not for that,” Samantha said quietly, releasing him.
“Hmm?” George asked, turning slightly to peer over his shoulder at her.
“I, for, for everything. For all of this,” Samantha sniffled then turned and fled George’s home.
George wrung out the sponge and placed it on the small wire tray at the rear of the sink. He heard Samantha’s car leave. George could hear Charlene singing to Cynthia as Charlene carried the girl from her nursery to the living room.
“Yeah. I’m sorry too,” George said. “And, I ain’t sorry.”
When George walked into the living room, Charlene looked up from her perch on the couch. The warm, happy smile she gave George caused George to smile in return. He locked the front door of his home, then sat on the couch.
“Whoa!” Charlene giggled as George easily hefted her and Cynthia into his lap.
George could smell Charlene’s sweat. He could smell the laundry detergent Debbie Charmers used; it was the same bargain brand he used. Underneath his fingertips, George could feel Charlene’s silky hair. Just underneath her thick hair, George felt Charlene’s firm, young body.
“So, Samantha, I ain’t sorry in the least,” George thought as his other hand stealthily crept of Charlene’s leg, feeling the silky material of her panty hose under his fingertips.
“I hate pantyhose,” George said out loud.
“Yeah? Keep going,” Charlene giggled.
“Oh! Hey now!” George approved, feeling the lacy cuffs of her stockings.
“Uh huh; when I knew I had me a half day…” Charlene suggested.
“And you wasted it on my ex-wife?” George teased, bending his head to softly kiss her.
“Uh huh, George! Nuh uh, get that hand, oh!” Charlene protested and shuddered when George reached her bare crotch.
“Hmm; did someone forget something?” George asked as his fingers ran up and down her sparsely furred crotch.
“No,” Charlene giggled and groaned as George’s fingers found her clitoris. “They in my purse; I took them off at the office there.”
George played with Charlene’s clitoris, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. Just as she was preparing to climax, George stopped. He kissed Charlene deeply until her breath returned to normal. Then he began to play with her clitoris again.
“Augh! George, man! You, that ain’t right,” Charlene complained after the third time he fingered her to near climax, only to stop.
Charlene carried Cynthia to her nursery, gave the infant a soft kiss, then put the child in the crib. Turning, Charlene pulled her dress up and off, then dropped her bra to the nursery floor.
George chuckled as the enthusiastic girl scampered into the living room. He grabbed her and put her on her back on the couch.
Charlene’s right leg when up onto the back of the sofa, her left foot rested on the floor. George put his head between her legs and tongued her pretty pussy until she was gasping and whimpering and bucking.
“Augh! George, come on, oh!” Charlene screamed in frustration when George stopped, then screamed out again as he slid his erect cock into her.
The next day, Hank and George met at the Dead End for their meat loaf with the choice of red gravy or brown gravy. A very cute strawberry blonde bounced and gyrated to some hip-hop tune and both Hank and George agreed music just wasn’t the same since the death of Chet Atkins.
“And you know, girl wouldn’t have a clue who Chet Atkins was,” Hank nodded with his head as the girl wiggled out of her faux leopard print top.
“Probably not,” George agreed, wondering how Charlene would look in leopard print top and matching miniskirt. His cock hardened as he thought of Charlene’s impressive chest in a patent leather bra and her sweet little ass in matching thong.
After Hank gladly, happily gave George his blessing to ask his baby girl for her hand, Hank magnanimously picked up the tab for the lunch. Hank shrugged when George reluctantly relayed the news that he could not get married in the Catholic Church; he was a divorced man.
“Shit; that don’t matter. We’re Lutheran. Larry Elgin? Atonement Lutheran right there? He’ll marry y’all,” Hank cheerfully said.
As the two men left the bar, Hank was already on the phone telling Debbie the happy news. Hank and George cautioned Debbie to keep the good news to herself; Charlene didn’t know about the ring in George’s pocket.
“No, Samantha, I ain’t sorry,” George thought as he pulled up in front of his old home to get Cynthia.
“Hey; was ”bout call you,” Samantha grimaced, already in her Casa Ole waitress’s uniform. “Billy just called; Monique just up and quit and walked out.”
“”Okay,” George agreed and wrinkled his nose at the squalor of his former home.
The place needed a good dusting and vacuuming. That kitchen counter hadn’t been cleaned since breakfast that morning; George saw the skillet Samantha had used to make her bacon and her scrambled eggs.
“Yes, George, I know. Place is a wreck,” Samantha spat as George took Cynthia to the door. “But know what? You don’t live here. I do. You don’t live here anymore, George.”
“No, Samantha, I ain’t sorry in the least,” George smiled as he buckled Cynthia in her car seat.
THE END
**Author’s Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I thank you sincerely for reading my stories.
I especially thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I likewise thank those that rate my works, those that ‘Favorite’ my words.
Reynold Reynolds is first introduced in ‘Mending Broken Flowers’ in the Loving Wives category. The private investigator and part time process server appears in other stories centered in and around the greater DeGarde area.
Officer Brian Jochet is a minor character introduced in ‘Eyes like the Ocean’ in the Anal category.
Polly Chastaine, Samantha’s cousin and attorney is a minor character in a few stories that are centered in and around the DeGarde, Louisiana area. Her career of attorney and her personal story are explored in ‘Is This Seat Taken?’ in the Lesbian Sex category.
Ethel Gerrard, the receptionist of Richards, Pellichet & Jones is introduced in ‘Righting A Wrong’ in the Romance category. In that story, she is introduced as Ethel Youngblood. Her marriage to Richard Gerrard is mentioned in ‘Hard Lessons Learned’ in the Loving Wives category.
Trevor Williams, George’s attorney is introduced in ‘Johnson, Johnson & Lambert’ in the Romance category.
William Carter, Samantha’s blandly handsome boyfriend is a primary character in ‘Let Myself Believe’ in the Loving Wives category.
Dr. Frank Roberts, the man that does the DNA testing is a minor character in ‘Tuff As Nails’ in the Loving Wives category. In that story, he performs another crucial DNA test.
Dr. Roger Peleur is a minor character first introduced in the ‘Jeff Tait’ series in Interracial Love category. He and his wife Jocelyn do pop up in other stories centered in and around the DeGarde area.
Dr. Ellen Sweetman is a character first introduced in ‘Tuff As Nails’ in the Loving Wives category.
The real estate agent, Tammy Hale is a character first introduced in the ‘Yapping Dogs’ series in the Lovig Wives category.
Vickers, Vickers & Dumas, Charlene’s place of employment is introduced in ’18 With The Wind Chill’ in the Incest/Taboo category.
The origins of the Nicole King Scholarship are detailed in ‘The Garbage Queens’ series in the Novels & Novellas category. The scholarship was set up by Gordon King and his wife, Kelli King, to help the underprivileged but deserving young women of St. Elizabeth and St. Ann Parishes. Through the scholarship, Nicole King is able to be a loving big sister to dozens, hopefully hundreds of girls.
Milt Duhon and the Cast Iron Stomach television show is introduced in ‘On Channel 12’ in Loving Wives category.
The Casual lounge is introduced in ‘Is This Seat Taken’ in Lesbian Sex category.
Whitney, Polly’s wife is introduced in ‘Vanity’ in the Loving Wives category. The relationship of Whitney and Polly is begun in ‘Is This Seat Taken?’ in Lesbian Sex category.
The Oakleaf whiskey is introduced in ‘Beyond The River’ in the Anal category.
The participants in the stilted, uncomfortable Sunday dinner that Samantha and William attend, Minnie Carter, her house servant Joseph, William’s sister Natalie and William’s brother Andrew, Andrew’s wife Ria and Andrew’s daughter Riana are all characters introduced in ‘Let Myself Believe’ in the Loving Wives category.
Kampala Jeffries, the current chairperson of the Nicole King Scholarship is the primary character in ‘Good Catholic Girl’ in the Interracial Love category.
Sheila Jakes, the receptionist/Executive Assistant is introduced in ‘The Garbage King’ series in the Novels and Novellas category.
The Dead End Gentlemen’s Club is introduced in the ‘Grand Opening’ series in the NonErotic category.
Larry Elgin, the pastor of Atonement Lutheran Church, and Atonement Lutheran Church are briefly mentioned in ‘Nothing To Offer’ in the Loving Wives category.
Samantha’s coworkers, Monique and Billy are characters first introduced in ‘Johnson, Johnson & Lambert’ in the Romance category.
And that’s it. Sometimes you just don’t know what you got until you throw it away.
Have a swell day. And some of you, have a swollen day.