I got a stern look for longer than an average moment. As a strange paranoia washed over me, she glanced back at the almost full bar behind her. Then looked at Gladis.
Why do I feel like I’m in trouble?
Gladis had a bemused expression on her face. “Well, Lady? You said you knew the drinks of young people. What do you think?”
“Yes, ma’am. It sounds familiar. Hmmm.” She turned toward the bottles behind her again, staring. Gladis gave me a wink.
“No, ma’am. It escapes me. I am sorry to disappoint,” Lady said, turning back to us. She meant it, too.
I quickly told the bartender, or maid, or whoever, how to make the drink. It was an easy drink to make and take; vanilla vodka and a chocolate liquor, which tasted like a real chocolate cake. How could someone not know that one?
When they were made—and by the way, they were shots, not drinks—I turned to Gladis. “Okay, this is what you do. You grab your shot. Grab your lemon coated in sugar—yes, that is an active ingredient. Now. Take the shot, swallow, then immediately suck on the sugar lemon.”
Gladis tilted her head to the side as if I’d started speaking Sanskrit.
“Gladis, this is a grown up drink. Now, c’mon. If you don’t have beer, you have this. Grab your shot, let’s get to it.”
I looked serious through the whole thing, because a smile would have given it away.
Gladis put a resigned look of determination on her face, grabbed the shot, clinked my glass, and we fired away. I really didn’t think she would do it. Welcome back to your 20’s!
When we were done, she gave me a hard look. Then a smile crept up her face like a slow moving beetle. “That does taste like German Chocolate Cake. Interesting... Now, Jessica my dear, please have Lady make you a sipping drink so we can chat.”
I would have asked for a Mojito, but didn’t know how to make it if Lady didn’t, and I didn’t think they stocked fresh mint, so I asked for a chocolate martini. Lady looked relieved at this one, made it quickly, and handed it over.
Gladis led me to a plush leather sofa. “So darlin’,” she started, “did you find the store alright?”
That earlier bout of embarrassment must have come rushing back to my face because Gladis said, "Out with it!”
I told her the whole story. From getting lost, which was embarrassing since she gave me directions, to diving around a hot guy into dog food, then not being able to find my wallet and leaving with my thirty-something-dollars’ worth of groceries on credit.
She was laughing through most of it. When I got to the money part she stopped me. “Do you need money for that, dear?”
“No! Thank you, but no. I found my wallet at the house. No, it is just so dumb that I put groceries on credit like it was 1900 or something!”
“Yes, I can see how that would be embarrassing. Listen, what did this good looking man look like?”
Thinking of him spread warmth throughout my body with a curious shiver going down my spine. “To tell you the truth, Gladis, I didn’t get a thorough look because I was too busy being surprised, then tripping over my own feet. But he had the bluest eyes I think I’ve ever seen. They were like the pictures you see of the Caribbean ocean, but the deeper parts. Clear, deep blue. Shockingly blue, even.
“He was wearing plaid, I think. Yuck, plaid. He had jet black hair that was a little long-ish, but not long. A little shorter than Russell Crowe likes to keep his hair.” That comment was met with a confused look.
“You know, like the rugged, outdoorsy Australians like to wear it? Like, boy short, but a little longer than most boys, and with a little wave to it? Not hippy long or unkempt or anything, but enough to grab a handful in cli.....”
I can’t believe I almost said cl**ax! To an old lady!
Her eyes were twinkling. Gross.
“Well, a good style, anyway. And I think he had a bit of scruff on his face. His voice was a deep baritone. He was tall. Must be six-two or something, because he would be taller than me if I was wearing heels, and I am five-six when I stand up straight. And he had this musty smell. But not a bad musty, but like a....like a… I don’t know how to describe it, but it just crawled in my nose and acted like heroine or something. Ohhh it was nice!”
“Hmmmm.”
I quirked my head at the odd reaction, but didn't pursue. It was nice to tell someone about Mr. Hottie, or Apollo, as I had, right or wrong, taken to thinking of him. I didn't know enough to delve deeper.
We moved on to other conversations, always lively without ever lacking a topic or words. I was a babbling moron, always had been, and she a pro at tempering stupidity. Despite the age gap, and social status gap, and most other gaps that existed between two strangers, we had a kindred spirit. We strangely fit together, and by the end of the night, were old friends.
I woke up late the next morning and lounged around the cottage. I unpacked some clothes, took a gloriously hot shower, and primped. It was a new town, I needed to put my best foot forward! Also, I needed to pay that bill—this time I would look decent when I met the workers. With brushed hair and clean teeth!
The day was sublime. A cool breeze with the promise of warmth to follow. I heard a bee buzzing in the distance and smelt fresh flowers in bloom. As I exited the spiked gate, Gladis looked up from a patch of dirt, potted flowers around her.
“Good morning Gladis!” I boomed.
“Ah, good mid-day to you!”
“Can’t be out of the house too early—it’d give the neighbors the wrong impression!”
Gladis chuckled and nodded. “Young ladies don’t want to seem too eager.” She went back to her gardening.
“Do you do all the gardening, Gladis?” I asked in awe, looking over more than a half-acre of front yard.
She didn’t bother stopping her digging this time. “No, dear. This is a hobby. Gardening in the sunshine is good for the soul.”
Getting a tan by the pool was more my speed, but I let it go.
I was at the Piggily Wiggly pretty quick. Weird ass name for a grocery store—I was expecting a pig farm at first—but it was as normal a store as Safeway, so what did I know? No Apollo’s this time; no tripping, no making an ass of myself, no funny business.
Ronnie, ringing people up at one of three active check stands, had obviously worked here for a while. His hands moved quickly and with purpose, moving people along expertly. And judging by his longer line of all older women, he was the young hunk of the supermarket.
Go get ‘em, gals!
When it was my turn, Ronnie recognized me right away. “Hi ya. How’re ya doin’?”
“Great, thanks! I’m just in to pay my tab from the other night. Last night. Found my wallet.” I held up the previously lost treasure and chuckled.
“Oh, well Mr. Davies picked that up for you.”
“Mr. Davies? Who’s that?”
“Oh, Mr. Davies. The guy... I mean, the man that was standing behind you the other night. He just picked up the tab seeing as how it wasn’t much ‘n all.”
Loss for words. “Um. Oh. Uh... Is there an address where I might drop the money by to him?”
Ronnie looked at me funny. “No ma’am. I really shouldn’t give out his address or nuthin’. You’re new here, but I reckon it’ll take a week or so ‘afore you know where he lives.”
“O.k...?” I was not quite sure what that meant. Did he surmise I was a stalker?
The woman behind me cleared her throat in an obvious, and not-so-subtle, way of telling me to move along.
“Well, thanks again Ronnie. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Yes ma’am. See you again real soon. Have a good ‘un.” He flashed a toothy grin. He was really cute for a young dude, in the puppy-dog sort of way.
So Apollo was Mr. Davies and known around town. Well, anyone that gorgeous was bound to stick out. Plus, he was chivalrous and generous. Paying for my groceries was classy. Dare I hope he liked me?
Memories of last night tumbled through my head. The ending note being the memory of what I looked like.
No, dare not hope. But his face was definitely going into the spank bank for sure.
With a new-found sense of freedom arising from a new place where nobody knew me, I didn’t want to go straight home. I wanted to explore. Check out the town and surrounding area. Have a glance at people, look at the countryside.
After about an hour I had the startling realization that checking out your surroundings was only a good idea if you paid attention. I wanted to get to Austin, to the city and more people. Instead, I found myself in flat nothingness filled with dirt, natural grass, barns and fences. I knew it was a farming area because it smelt like cow ass. Call me Sherlock.
I pulled to the side of the road, mostly in a ditch, to get out a map.
I rooted around in my car for ages before I came to the conclusion that I suck, and must have taken the map out when unpacking the car. Great. I didn’t even know where the nearest gas station was, and didn’t have much longer before my car was out of gas.
I put my head on the steering wheel and moaned. It didn’t help.
“Okay.” I looked up at the sun and determined that I was facing east. If I was in L.A., I would be pointed in the opposite direction as the ocean. I would then turn around and head to the beach for a glorious sunset over the waves.
And now I was home sick.
“Okay.” I said again, my voice sounding strangely loud surrounded by so much nothingness. No car noises, no people, not even airplanes overhead to drown out my words. “I am pretty sure that I was heading east, roughly east, to get here. West to get back. Yes, I am a genius. The roughly part is tricky, though. Wait…I think those directions had a sorta map…”
I dove toward my glove compartment before I noticed the shadow. Something darkened the already murky places inside my car. Which meant it was something at my window! Looming. Looking in!
I screamed and jumped at the same time, hitting my head on the ceiling and my elbow on the “Oh Shit!” handle on the door. I hastily reached for the lock before I realized that it wasn’t a face looking in, it was a monster. A brown, fuzzy monster that smelt like ass.
Through my incredible skill of detail orientation, I determined that it was a cow. Outside my door. In the middle of the road. And it wasn’t looking in at all—I was looking at the things belly, to be replaced by its butt, and then another massive bovine. In fact, there were a bunch of cows all around my car.
Why were there cows outside my car?
I’m on the road, right?
Yes, on the road.
I craned my head to look behind me, wondering how big the herd was, but my dumb seatbelt held me fast. My eyes found the rear-view mirror in time to spy some spindly legs that could only be horse. In Texas a day and already I’m dealing with cow ass and horses. Talk about culture shock.
The long legs clomped closer, giving me sudden apprehension. I was not particularly eager to meet John Wayne in the middle of nowhere, with no one in screaming range, while blocked in by massive animals.
"But how the hell am I going to escape?" I thought dismally, watching cow butts slowly move down the road.
Belatedly I realized that my window was open this whole time. And why wouldn’t it be? I was in the middle of nowhere, in the heat, with no air conditioning. Of course it was open. But now the horse and rider knew I was afraid of sneaky cows. Which, in Texas, might get me hanged as an outsider. A liberal outsider. Nail in the coffin!
Being that the horse stopped by the side of the car, I stuck my head out the window, foot ready to hit the gas and run these cows down if need be. The glare of the sun sparkling off the metal of my car made visibility difficult. I could make out cowboy boots, jeans, the shadow of a cowboy hat, the outline of the horse, and all the many cows still walking by. If I wasn’t mistaken, this man was a cowboy.
Thank you, Watson, I’ll take my tea now.
“Hi again,” said a familiar smooth, deep baritone.
My heart skipped, then began hammering in my chest. I could feel a thousand butterflies fill my stomach. Also a cold chill that was surprisingly pleasant.
“H-h-hi. Hi,” I stammered lamely, peering farther out the window and blocking the sun with my hand. The way the sun cascaded around his shoulders made him appear holy. It gave the situation an ethereal feeling, increasing my shivers.
“You are a ways from town. Didn’t you say you lived with Gladis?”
He remembered!
“I do, yeah. I went for a drive and kinda… lost my way.”
“I see. Do you have a map?”
“Yes. Well, maybe. I’m just not sure if it is in the car or in the cottage.”
“In the cottage?” Was that humor in his voice? “I wasn’t aware Gladis had a cottage.”
“Oh, well, pool house. We call it a cottage.”
He gave a deep throated chuckle and willed his horse forward a bit. “I am surprised the ol’ dame didn’t make you move into the big house with her.”
“She likes having me in the house as often as I’ll go, but the ad was for the cot—ah, pool house. She does like to have someone to talk to.”
“Oh yes, she never tires of company. Ever the entertainer.”
“Do you know her?”
“All of…the town knows her. She is a funny old lady. Nice as pie. But funny all the same.”
Yup, he knew her.
“Any rate,” he began again, his southern drawl kicking in a little more heavily. He was exceptionally well spoken, which belied a top dollar education. However, his accent came and went, always with a presence to some extent. I wondered if it was the effect of an out-of-town school.
“You’ll want to be gettin’ home here shortly. It’s getting dark.” His hat brim tilted up, his face still obscured by the glare. He must’ve been surveying the sky and land around him.