Surprise Parties

Attention Dear Readers...

   Although this story is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content is suitable for adults only.  Please be advised.

An surprise intruder at the Beckett home

    

     The house was quiet and dark, proving that the nasty housekeeper still took her day off on Thursday. A quick look at incoming video feed on the cellphone, showed Beckett's car safely parked in the designated spot, and a light still burning in his office window.  It appeared that Dollyville's Sheriff was busy catching up on neglected paperwork, while the bitch was out of the way in Boston.

    Moving silently toward the back of the house, the lithe figure in black skirted the motion detectors,  leaving the landscape in dark shadow.  Through the dining room windows, on the right side of the building, one could see the front door panel blinking, and knew, as predicted, that the security system was armed.  This was, of course, no ordinary home system the likes of ADT or Wells Fargo, but rather a complex set of alarms and sensors that was meant to discourage more than your everyday thief.  Running on a wireless connection, the technology was set to an unknown frequency code that was difficult to break.  Difficult...but not impossible.

      It was Beckett's vanity that would make this challenge happen.  The security expert would have surely suggested hard wire for the installment, it being twice as difficult to over ride.  But that intrusive method meant drilling into the original hard wood floor, and trim, of the 150 year old home, and his sense of aesthetics, and need for perfection, wouldn't allow it.  He instead decided on the wireless option, confident that the code's complexity would thwart any attempted break ins.  Or so he believed.

       The intruder pulled a small device from a back pocket, and began entering a series of numbers and letters.  This toy had cost way more than anticipated, but came with a solid guarantee insuring success.  It's designer had insisted that his invention would jam any frequency code , regardless of how difficult or complex.  But there was always the possibility that in his paranoia, Beckett had added another layer of security.  Sweating in the dark, heavy clothes, the figure watched and waited for all the digits on the screen to turn to zeros, signaling that the system was in over ride.  It took several minutes, but eventually satisfied with what the screen was showing, the intruder slipped in the house's rear entrance without notice.  Once safely inside, the power on the hand held device was terminated, and the building's security was again safely armed, given no outward signs that it had ever been tampered with.

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A surprise visit from Brian

      It had been a long time since he had come out back like this.  Seemed as if once Maureen and Beckett had announced their engagement, his days were split between pastoral duties, brotherly advice and wedding planning, with little time for anything else.  Fr. Kevin leaned back in his lawn chair, savoring the last few tokes of his joint.  With his sister back in Boston under Jamie's watchful eye, and Beckett bogged down in his Sheriff and groom-ly duties, it felt good to just sit out here and enjoy some  uninterrupted down time.
   
     He knew he should feel guilty about getting high, but the past few weeks had left him feeling pressed and anxious, disconnected from his prayer life, and in need of mind escape.  In a week's time, his entire family would roll into Dollyville.  Descend on his life like a fast moving storm, and funnel cloud suck every bit of energy and calm right out of him. Then, there was that looming meeting with Roxanne Spinelli he was dreading beyond belief.  It all weighed like a ton of bricks on his head, and if this moment of solitude and relaxation helped him gear up for what was ahead, he was going to damn well enjoy every puff of it.
   
     It was hard to believe that he had been Pastor for over a year now.  What had started off as a heavy yoke around his neck, had blossomed into something more like a comfortable mantle.  He felt a tie to his parishioners, and they to him, and Holy Family finally felt like a vibrant faith community.   He owed much of that to his sister, Maureen.  She had this unique ability to make people feel important and needed, a part of something bigger.  It was her confidence in him, and her rallying of the flock, that had truly made the difference.   Now, his little sister was getting married.  Moving on, and starting a life apart from her family.  And he still wasn't sure how he felt about all that.

      He had known Beckett a lot longer than his sister, and still hadn't figured the man out.  He could be charming and affable one moment,  bossy and intimidating the next.  Ted put on moods and personalities like a second skin, and shed them as the moment required.  The more Kevin thought about it, the more he came to realize that he only saw what the man wanted revealed, and truth be told, it bothered him.  Over the past several months, the two of them had forged a tentative relationship, and he enjoyed the Sheriff's company more than he did that of any of his brothers.  Beckett treated him as an equal, not pulling his punches, or tip-toeing around his collar, and had proved his loyalty on a number of necessary occasions.  Still, there remained a nagging little worry in the back of his mind that couldn't be shook.

     Despite his misgivings about the Sheriff's secretive past, he was satisfied that the man seemed to genuinely care for his sister's welfare.  He couldn't speak to any personal romantic feelings, as that was never discussed between the two of them.  But it was obvious that he was extremely protective of her, and more than willing to take on the responsibilities of husband and father.  And there was no mistaking Maureen's feelings for her intended.  She was crazy about the guy.  Lit up like a lamp whenever he was within fifty feet.  Beckett could read her changing moods like no one before him, and seemed to have a sixth sense about what she was up to next.  Without a doubt, it was obvious that his baby sister was happy, very happy, and because he loved her dearly, he worked at pushing any lingering thoughts about secret pasts, unanswered questions, and awful hidden rooms toward the back of his mind.

    Rising from the lawn chair, Fr. Kevin intended to head back to the rectory, and see if he couldn't hunt up the fixings for a sandwich.  As cliched as it sounded, weed always made him feel ravenous, and he hoped there was something in the fridge to suit his needs, despite his having put off a trip to the grocery store for far too long.  His course of action was delayed by the arrival of Brian from beneath the low hedges in the church's rear garden.  He hadn't seen the wee man in almost four weeks, and was a tad grateful that he chosen this moment to make an appearance.  Kevin preferred talking to the sidhe when he was thoroughly high, rather than when he was cold, stone sober. It made him feel less crazy, and gave him the excuse that he wasn't quite in control of his normal faculties.

      "Top of the evenin' to ya laddie.  I thought I smelt that fine tobacco. You was plannin' on sharin' a wee bit, weren't ya me boy?"

        Kevin routinely thought that giving marijuana to fairy folk was probably a bad idea.  But there was no way he was going to risk the wrath of the sidhe by refusing to show proper hospitality and respect, and he handed the tiny man the roach clip, and what was left of the joint.  "Saved this just for you, my friend."

         "Go raibh maith agat.  You be a good laddie, Caoimhin."  Inhaling, Brian settled himself comfortably in the grass, his back to a large rock.

        The priest nodded his appreciation for the compliment, and lowered himself back into the lawn chair.  There were certain rules of etiquette required when dealing with any member of the sidhe.  If Brian appeared for a chat, Kevin was expected to stay and chat.  To do otherwise, was to risk insult, an unwise decision Kevin was knowledgeable enough to avoid.

        "So Caoimhin, cad e ag deanamh buartha duit?"

        Slow in translating the Gaelic, it took him a moment to answer.  " What makes you think I'm worried?  I'm fine.  Every thing's great."

        The small man grunted in response.  "Himself speaks nonsense, he does.  I ken smell the fretting a mile away.  You ben hand wringing since sun up.  A waste of time, it tis."

         "Okay, fine.  I admit you might be right.  I do have a lot on my mind. I can't help but worry, Brian.  My sister's getting married next week, and well...she hardly knows this guy.  I'm not sure I even know him.  I want her to be happy, but I'm wondering if she isn't making the biggest mistake of her life.  And I feel like I'm partly to blame for this whole mess."

         The clurichaun continued to puff on the last of the joint, watching the fireflies flicker in the growing darkness of twilight.  Several seconds passed before he answered.  "Tis not your decision to make, laddie, nor your path to walk.  You kenna change what will be any more than ya ken change the movement of the night sky.  What will be, will be for certain.  Frettn' about it will not change her course.  Or yar own."

          Brian's statements always frustrated Kevin, as they made perfect sense while making no sense at all.  Without thinking, he questioned the ancient, little man.  "Can you at least tell me if..."  And then he froze, not finishing the inquiry, and realizing the error of his ways.  Asking a favor from the sidhe...any favor at all...meant that Brian could ask a favor in return. One that could not be refused or renegotiated. And if Celtic legend were true, then the clurichaun's request would far exceed the one from the desperate mortal.

         The fairy looked at Kevin shrewdly.  "Ya be askin' for a look at what will be, Ginger?  That be a fairly large favor ya 'd be committn' to."

         Fr. Kevin shook his head fiercely in denial.  "No, I'm not really askn'.  Just thinkin' out loud is all.  Please forget about it, okay?"

         Brian searched the priest's face, and satisfied, nodded.  "I will then not be rememberin' what it was ya spoke.   Of course, tis much easier to forget when one's belly is happy full.  Ya wouldn't happen to have a wee morsel or two, would ya, Caoimhin?"

        With a sigh, Fr. Kevin rose from the lawn chair, and headed toward the rectory to see what he might rustle up for the two of them, leaving the wee man chuckling in the dark over the innocence of mortals.
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       By the time Beckett pulled into his driveway, he was thoroughly exhausted.  He had been up and out of Maureen's apartment well before 5 AM, and at his desk working long before the sun rose.  There were several hours of paperwork that he needed to get through before he could focus on personal business, as well as a rather difficult conversation with the powers that be.  In addition, he had needed to deal with the transfer of three prisoners from his holding cell to the county jail, and was required in court all afternoon for testimony.

       Then, he had insisted on personally driving Maureen to Boston to spend the weekend with her brother, Jamie, in preparation for three days of bridal showers and pre-wedding festivities.  The round trip had taken nearly five hours, and there were still things he needed to deal with at the station, thus it was well after 11PM before he arrived home... tired, hungry, and generally cranky.  He was glad Helen, his housekeeper, was off on Thursdays, leaving the house quiet and calm, and relieving him of the obligation to make any type of conversation.

     Secretly, he was glad to have Maureen gone a few days.  When she was around, she drove him to distraction, and made him question his declining self control.  But now, with her away, going on 4 hours and 23 minutes, he felt out of sorts and agitated, and the whole set of contradicting feelings just ended up pissing him off.  It had been much simpler before she had plopped into his life.  Until that moment, he had easily found plenty of willing female company, without the burden of emotional entanglements.  When he grew bored with a particular scenario, he would send the woman off with a reasonable parting gift, and that would be that.  No fuss. No muss. No long good byes.

      He worried that as he aged, he might be getting soft.  It was hard to understand how he had let himself get tangled up with all that relationship bullshit... not just once, but twice.  An issue that had been recently pointed out, in great detail, by his superiors.  Of course, they were two opposite sides of the coin.  With Cassie, it had been all about sex and control.  She had known every dark corner of his psyche, and shamelessly pandered to it.  Well enough to make him think that's what he wanted on a daily basis.  Her abrupt departure had made him realize just how deep he was sinking, and he shuddered to think of where that path might have led him.

      With Maureen it was different. Why, he couldn't say.  There was still that overwhelming need for control, but mixed in was a desire for her approval.  Something that hadn't ever been there before.  In the past, it had simply been about him.  Period.  He did exactly as he pleased, and damn with the consequences.   But now, he found himself delighting in daily opportunities to make her happy.  And that bothered the shit out of him.  Still sitting in the car in his driveway, he tisked in disgust.  What he needed was a good, long assignment.  Something detailed and dangerous, where his focus needed to stay on the job at hand, and not on the way he had mucked up his perfectly good life.  Once this wedding nonsense was finished, he's talk to someone about getting back out in the field.  The sooner, the better.

     As he made his way across the lawn, he thought it odd that he hadn't heard Maggie's barking when he pulled up to the house.  Usually, the large German Shepard would be at the door, growling out a warning to whoever was on the other side.  Tonight, the silence that greeted him was a tad ominous, and he felt the adrenaline start to pump.  Shrugging it off, he pushed at the buttons on the security panel, and waited for the alarm to disengage before opening the door.

        "Maggie?  Where are you girl?"

       He waited for the sound of her tags jingling, or her toe nails on the hard wood floor, but the house was silent.  On alert, his hand went for the Glock in his shoulder holster, and he began moving around the house, sweeping all the rooms in the front of the first floor, and then moving to the second.  When he could find nothing out of the ordinary, he made his way back down to the kitchen, the dog no where in sight.  Quietly, he pushed open the door with his foot, wide enough to see an opened bottle of 2002 Dalla Ville Cabernet, and two wine glasses, on the granite counter.  For a second, his stomach dropped, and then he holstered his gun, and headed down to the basement.

        The door to the Red Room was slightly opened, the padlock he had added after Maureen's snooping, lying broken, and hanging, from the latch.  He pushed on the solid wood, and hesitating just a moment, walked inside.  She was in the corner of the room, her back to him, swinging the ceiling chains back and forth .

        "What the shit are you doing here?  And where the hell is my dog?"

         She turned to face him, all dark hair and red lips, a khaki trench coat belted at her waist.  "Nice to see you too, Teddy."  Smiling, she undid the knot holding the wrap in place, and let it slip off her shoulders, and into a puddle at her feet.  She was completely nude, except for a red braided around her neck. Before he could open his mouth and form any words, she gracefully dropped to her knees. her arms out, and wrists offered.

       Though her eyes were downcast, and her hands were held in front where he could see them, it felt as if she had reached up and forced her fingers into his skull, tickling and wiggling all the dark places he had worked so hard to keep in check the past six months.  He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples and throat, and the air in the basement room felt thick and wet.  With a shake of his head, he grabbed her by the wrists and roughly pulled her up to standing position, not at all shocked when she sucked in her breath, and then sighed.  Reaching down, he grabbed her coat, and tossed it at her, attempting to smother the moment.
   
      "What the hell do you want, Cas?  And how the fuck did you get past my security?"

      Not willing to concede defeat, she throw the coat on the bed, and padded naked across the room, her image reflected in the mirrors on both the ceiling and wall.  "Now, is that anyway to treat an old friend, Teddy?  After I've gone to so much trouble to come see you."  She positioned herself on the bed, wrapping the chains around one arm, and patting the spot next to her with the other.  "Why don't you go fetch the Cabernet I brought, and we'll sit and chat a bit.  You can tell me all about the plans for yet another wedding."  She laughed, low and throaty, but there was no joy or sincerity in the sound.

       Ignoring her, he walked to the opposite corner, where he noticed her clothes and a small back pack piled on a chair.  "We got nothing to discuss.  You left.  I moved on.  Never gave you a second thought.  End of story."  He rummaged through the backpack, and locating the signal jammer, crushed it under the heel of his boot.

       "So, we're all domesticated now, are we?'  She spat out the words, the submissive personae now totally absent.  "Face it, Teddy.  You are what you are. Kinky and messed up.  Just like me. You'll never be happy with the vanilla fluff.  That's why you've left this room just the way it was before I left.  You didn't even take my painting down!  You knew I'd be back, and you left this room untouched, because this is what you want."

       He turned, and walked to where she was sitting, his face a stone mask.  "Don't flatter yourself, Donaghue.  I don't give a shit about you.  Frankly, I doubt I ever did.  You were nothing more than a passing curiosity.  A convenient lay, and a mediocre one at that.  When you walked out, you did me a big favor.  Saved me from tossing your droopy little ass out of my house."  He threw her clothes into her lap, and threatened, "You got two minutes to put these on, or I'm throwing you bare ass into my car, and dumping you somewhere on the side of RT 44.  Are we clear?"

       Eyes narrowed, and filled with seething anger, Cassandra Donaghue began to pull on her clothes, her brain storing every second of this moment for future reference.

                       

A surprise visitor in the Red Room

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        Fr. Kevin looked down at the assortment of junk food on the counter, and watched as the night clerk rang each item up.  Not a bad haul for a neighborhood gas station.  He would have preferred something more along a standard food group, but after midnight in Dollyville, beggars couldn't be choosers.  He hope there was something in this menagerie that Brian would find satisfactory, while he himself would make do with a Red Bull and a bag of flamn' hot potato chips.
   
         Sack in hand, he left the service station convenience store, and pocketed his change, before  heading back to the rectory.  The streets were, for the most part, deserted at this hour of the night, so the car pulling up to the pumps caught his eye.  Doing a double take, he was surprised to see Beckett's black Mustang, and for a second, was happy with the thought that he wouldn't have to walk the six blocks back to the rectory.  As the Sheriff got out of the driver's side to come around to the pump, Kevin opened his mouth to call out to the man, and then abruptly stopped.  Once Beckett was out of the  car, he could clearly see to the other side of the vehicle, where plain as day there sat a person in the passenger seat.  At 1:00 in the morning. A dark haired figure, obviously a woman.  And not his sister, who was safe and sound in Boston, about 120 miles away.

       Tucking himself in the darkened shadows behind a post, Fr. Kevin watched his sister's fiance fill his tank, then pull out of the gas station, and head directly out of town, a strange woman in the seat next to him.
                 

A surprised Fr. Kevin watches from in front of the gas station

Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

   



       


     

     
     
      

Wednesday Sneaky Peek 6-19-2013

                                 

An intruder at Beckett's home

    The house was quiet and dark, proving that the housekeeper still took her day off on Thursday. A quick look at the incoming video feed running on the cellphone, showed Beckett's car safely parked in the designated spot, and a light still burning in his office window.  It appeared that Dollyville's Sheriff was busy catching up on neglected paperwork, while the bitch was out of the way in Boston.

    Moving silently toward the back of the house, the figure in black skirted the motion detectors,  leaving the landscape in dark shadow.  Peeking through the dining room windows, on the right side of the building, the panel near the front door was blinking, making it obvious, as predicted, that the security system was armed.  This was, of course, no ordinary home system the likes of ADT or Wells Fargo, but rather a complex set of alarms and sensors that was meant to discourage more than your everyday thief.  Running on a wireless connection, the technology was set to an unknown frequency code that was difficult to break.  Difficult...but not impossible.

      It was Beckett's vanity that would make this challenge happen.  The security expert would have surely suggested hard wire for the installation, it being twice as difficult as wireless to over ride.  But that intrusive method meant drilling into the original hard wood floors and trim of the 150 year old home, and his sense of aesthetics, and need for perfection, wouldn't allow it.  He instead decided on the wireless option, confident that the code's complexity would thwart any attempted break ins.  Or so he believed.

       The intruder pulled a small device from a back pocket, and began entering a series of numbers and letters.  The toy had cost way more than anticipated, but came with a solid guarantee insuring success.  It's designer had insisted that the invention would jam any frequency code, regardless of how difficult, or complex, it might be.  But there was always the possibility that in his paranoia, Beckett had added another layer of security.  Sweating in the dark, heavy clothes, the figure watched and waited for all the digits on the screen to turn to zeros, signaling that the system was in over ride.  It took several minutes, but eventually satisfied, the intruder slipped in the house's rear entrance without notice.  Once safely inside, the power on the hand held device was terminated, and the building's security was again safely armed, given no outward signs that it had ever been tampered with.

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Punishment, Poles and Pending Conflict

An Important Note for my Readers...

   Although this blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content is strongly recommended for adult audiences.  Please be advised.    

Park West Hotel, Dollyville, Massachusetts
(Could that be Beckett's Mustang parked out front?)

    By the time Beckett reached the hotel lobby, all he could see of Maureen was a flash of green dress and red hair disappearing through the revolving front door.  He thought about going after her on foot, but quickly changed his mind.  There was no damn way he was going to chase her down the street like some friggn' dog catcher after a run away puppy.  He'd pick up the Mustang from the valet, and follow her in the car.  In the meantime, he figured she wouldn't get very far in those spiked heels.

     Standing in the afternoon heat waiting for the valet, he silently fumed.  Just what the hell was her damn problem?  Against the sound advice of his own attorney, he had been exceedingly generous with the arrangements.  If he suddenly found himself dead, she'd be a very wealthy woman.  And if they ended up becoming just another divorce statistic, Maureen O'Kenney would still live very comfortably indeed.  There was no reason at all for her to carry on as she did.  It was silly, childish and extremely disrespectful, and when he caught up with her, he sure as hell was going to tell her so.

     Not for the first time, he questioned his sanity over the decision to marry this tiny, vanilla cupcake.  He liked his women experienced.  Compliant.  Obedient.  She was none of those things.  In fact, there were times he thought she purposely did the opposite of what he asked, simply to see if she could get a rise out of him.  An outright brat, who obviously didn't know the first thing about submission.  He ought to have his head examined for mixing it up with her in the first place, and if he still had a half a brain in his head, he would call the whole thing off.  Pay child support, and drag his sorry ass out of the line of fire while he still could.

      Beckett looked at his watch, and began to pace.  It was taking too damn long for them to bring the car around.  By now, she might be several blocks away.  Wandering around in those ridiculously sexy shoes.  What if she turned an ankle?  Tripped over a stone, and fell on her face?  And was it all that sensible for someone in her condition to be hiking around in this oppressive summer humidty?  Not to mention the unwanted attention she was probably garnishing in that clingy, little dress.  A wrong turn here or there, and she could end up in some lousy neighborhood.  And it would be his damn fault for being shitty about the car.

    When they finally pulled the Mustang around, Beckett throw a $20 at the kid, and began moving slowly around the streets nearest the hotel.  He eventually located her about eight blocks away, now barefoot, and carrying the Louboutons in her hand.  Maneuvering across traffic, he pulled up at a corner where she was waiting for the light to change, and rolled down the window.  "Get in the car, Maureen."

     She shook her head vigorously, side to side, refusing to speak.

     "I'm asking nicely.  If you don't comply, I will put you in it myself, and I guarantee you will not enjoy the way in which I do it."

      She hesitated a moment, and then spoke.  "Just leave me alone, Beckett.  This won't ever work.
We're just postponing the inevitable, and everyone knows it.  That's what this afternoon is all about, isn't it?  Getting everything in order for our sure fire failure."

       Voice still calm, he leaned closer to the passenger window.  "I do not wish to have this conversation on a public street corner.  Get in the car.  Now."

      Turning away, she began to move across the street against the light, but caught sight of him putting the vehicle in park, and opening the driver's side door.  Seeing the look on his face, and realizing he was actually coming after her, she backtracked to the car.  "Okay. Okay.  I'm getting in.  See?"  She dropped unceremoniously into the bucket seat, and waited for him to say something, but instead, he remained grimly silent.  For the next ten minutes, she attempted to start a conversation, even going as far as to try and goad him into a response with accusations and insults. But Beckett stayed tight lipped and mute, his face offering only a slight hint at his annoyance.

      Eventually, they pulled up the drive way of his home.  Parking the car, but leaving the engine running, he finally turned to speak to his bride, whose frustration at being ignored was bubbling over.  She opened her mouth to begin a new tirade, but he held up a hand, suggesting she stop.  "This will be a very short conversation if you keep on the path you are heading.  I have a handful of questions, and I expect you to answer them calmly and honestly.  Can you do that?"

      Eyes welling up, she nodded her consent.

      "Good girl.  Question #1.  We had a discussion similar to this one the last time you did a runner. From my house...at night...without a word.  Do you recall that conversation?"

       Again, she nodded, not sure where he was going with his line of questioning.

      "And what was the result of that debate?"

       Hesitating a moment, she mumbled.  "I promised you I wouldn't do that again."

       "Correct.  And what did we decide would happen if you broke that promise?"

       Not liking the direction of his questions, she narrowed her eyes, and folded her arms across her chest.  "This is ridiculous.  You know very well what was said."

       "I need to hear it from you."

       "Forget it, Sheriff.  I'm not some five year old you can scold and intimidate with reverse psychology."

       Shrugging his shoulders, he put the car in reverse, and began backing out the driveway.  "Okay, Maureen.  Conversation over.  I'm done."

      Suddenly fearful that he meant he was done with her, and recalling the last time they argued like this, she protested, grabbing his arm as she spoke. "Wait!  Don't leave.  I'll answer.  Just stop."

       He watched her face, and satisfied she was serious, put the car back in park.  "The question again is... what did we both decide would happen if you broke that promise?"

       Looking at her hands, she replied in a whisper.  "I would willingly suffer the consequences."

      "Nicely done, Maureen.  Now, only more question to go."  He thought about reaching for her hands, but decided against it.  "Do you want to marry me?"

       "Of course I want to marry you!  I love you to pieces.  But...it's just..."

       "There are no 'buts' Maureen.  Excuses are nothing but negotiation.  You either do...or you don't."

       He could see the wheels turning in her head, and wondered whether he had misjudged her.  The quiet in the car grew to monster proportions, and he asked again.  "So, yes or no?  Do you want to marry me?"

      She sighed heavily.  "Yes, Ted.  I want to marry you."

      He would never admit to anyone just how relieved her answer made him, but their conversation was far from over.  "Then, if you've made such a monumental decision regarding your choice of a spouse, you must surely trust me enough to have your best interests at heart, correct?"

       Still hesitant, she answered, "Yeah.  I guess so."

     "Then trust me when I tell you that you need to sign that pre-nup.  It is necessary for your own security, as well as mine.  And if it turns out we never need it, then no one would be happier than me.  But, I need to have things settled, Maureen.  It's who I am.  And it's gotta be my way."

       "Fine, Ted. Whatever.  I'll sign the damn thing.  But I want you to know...I don't care about your money.  I never cared about your money, so this whole damn thing is a waste."

        "That's good to hear, darln'."  He leaned over the console, and kissed her.  A lot gentler than he wanted.  Then taking the ring from his pocket, slid it back on her left finger, and kissed each of the tips.  "Gimme a sec here, sweetheart.  I have to call the two gentlemen we left sitting at the Park West."

         She giggled, letting her heart return to a normal beat, and listened to him talk to his attorney.  When he was finished, she looked at him, confused.  "Why did you tell them we'd be back in two hours?  It'll only take about fifteen minutes to get back to the hotel."

        "We're not quite finished here, baby."

        She looked at him quizzically.  "We're not?"

        "Nope.  There's that little matter of consequences for taking a runner on me."

         "But...but..."  She turned red, and stammering, explained, "I thought we talked through everything.  And you were okay."  Stalling, she brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead, and ran a hand down his cheek.

         "We did.  And I am.  Quite satisfied, actually.  But a promise is a promise, Maureen.  I expect you to keep your word."  He left the driver's side, and came around to open the door for her.

          "You're serious?   Ted...I...I thought you were just teasing." Her breath hitched, and she turned a deep shade of pink.

           "I never tease about consequences."  He put out his hand for her to take.

         Reluctantly, she took hold of his hand, and let him pull her out of her seat.  "You mean...like now?  Here at your house?"  Planting her feet, she whined.  "This is weird, Ted.  We can't.  Your housekeeper is here.  She'll hear us."

         "Not here.  Off on Thursdays.  So...it's just you and me, sweetheart."
   
         "But your lawyer...and Patrick...are waiting for us back at the Park West."

         "You heard what I told them.  They know we won't be back until 5.  Right now, I would guess they've made themselves comfortable in the hotel bar.  Lawyers are used to delays. Comes with the territory.  I wouldn't give it another thought."

          "Ted, I don't think..."

          "Seems to me I do recall someone saying something earlier about postponing the inevitable."  The corners of his mouth turning up in a wicked grin, he punched in the security code, and opened the front door.  Turning to Maureen, he swung open his arm in mock invitation. "Shall we, darlin'?"
                                                    ***************
          Two hours later, O'Kenney and Beckett, along with their respective counsel, convened at the Park West Hotel.  If anyone noticed that the bride was giddy and flushed, and wearing her dress inside out, no one mentioned it.  And the fact that she refused a chair, and instead choose to stand throughout the rest of the proceedings, also went without a comment.  The focus remained solely on the fact that the pre-nuptial agreement was signed, sealed and delivered, allowing the wedding plans to move forward, much to the relief of the woman's attorney, and elder brother.
                                               

Maureen O'Kenny signs the pre-nup, under the watchful eye of brother, and counsel, Patrick

________________________________

"Ravishing Roksi" on the pole at Ruby's Lounge
(PHOTOGRAPH COURTESY OF WILDWOOD DOLLHOUSES)

     It was slow for a Thursday.  By 11:00 PM, the club was normally filled with patrons getting a jump on their weekend celebration.  Strangely, on this particular night, the place was a virtual wasteland.  Two old guys, each nursing a half empty glass in front of them, sat near the stage, their eyes glazed over like victims of a hypnotic trance. On the pole, Roxanne Spinelli spun while working the math in her head.  Smaller audience meant less tips.  Less tips meant she probably was going to be late with the rent again.

      To the strains of Black Velvet, by Alannah Myles, wailing in the background, Roxie shifted her weight to her left leg and moved into a Front Hook Spin, followed by a full Carousel Straddle.  This point in the routine called for her to unsnap and toss the bra part of her costume as she slid to the right of the pole.  But in the mood she was in, there was no damn way she was going to parade her boobs for the two lone geezers drooling at the stage's railing.  Not tonight, anyway.  As the song neared it's end, the shapely brunette grabbed the brass, and with perfect precision and grace, dismounted with a Shoulder Mount Inversion, landing on the floor with a dramatic back flip.

      The tiny audience answered her performance with a weak attempt at applause, obviously disappointed with Roxie's less than full disclosure.  "Tough shit." she murmured under her breath.  "You morons got more than your money's worth already."  Grabbing a towel off the rack behind the stage's curtain, she headed for the dressing room.  She had 45 minutes before her next call, the last of the night.  If all went well, and she wasn't interrupted by the nonsense of the other girls, it was remotely possible she'd be able to get through several pages of tomorrow's assigned reading.

       "Cuttin' corners again, Rox.  You know how Ruby feels about that."  Stepping in front of her, Jake Kresky, the club's stage manager, blocked her passage.

       "Come on, Jake.  Cut me some slack.  The place is empty.  It's just those two losers who've been here since 9, sucking on the same watered down drink since they walked in."

        "A customer is a customer, girlie.  They pay the $20 cover, they can sit there until they fuckin' grow  roots.  And if they come to see "Ravishing Roksi", they're entitled to see all of her...including her tits.  We got a reputation to uphold.  Ruby runs a tight ship, and by now, ya need to get with the program.  You're no damn newbie, Rox."

       "Quite blown' smoke up my ass, Kresky.  You and I both know I'm the best there is on the pole. In all of Boston.  That's just plain fact, and everyone, including Ruby, understands that.  I bring more revenue into this dump than any girl here."

        "I'm warning ya, Spinelli...lose the attitude.  You got the moves, but you're damn well closin' in on 30, and it ain't gonna be long before gravity takes over.  Then nobody's gonna want to see your bony ass, and saggy boobies, shaking it up there on that stage.  You'll end up workin' the morning slot, and wrestling the other sorry shits for lap dance tips."

       Fighting with Kresky was like pissing in the wind.  Whatever she lobbed at him would eventually come back, and hit her square in the face.  The asshole had Ruby's ear, and if he complained long and hard enough, her skill wouldn't matter a bit.   She'd find herself out on the street before she could say jack shit, and right now, she needed this job.  Between rent, utilities and tuition, every penny was accounted for, and there was no room for sudden unemployment.  Turning her back on the man, she flipped him the bird, and made her way to the dressing room.

       In one sense, he was right.  Her attitude of late did suck.  For good reason.  Only two weeks into the summer semester, and she was already behind.  She had a paper due in her Crime Analysis class, a lab to finish in Forensic Studies, and a ton of reading on the subject of juvenile defenders.  Not to mention the part-time investigating she did for some of her neighbors.  She had promised Mrs. Wong that she would try to track down her grandson, who had left to move into the Chinatown area, and from whom the family had not heard a word in six weeks.  And she told Mr. Khajami in apartment 6B, that she'd follow his wife, and find out where she disappeared to every afternoon, promptly at 2.  Throw in her time here at the club, plus the needed rehearsal, and she might as well give up eating or sleeping.

      None of that could be helped.  She was gonna chase this dream, or die trying.  From the time she was kid, she had wanted to be a detective.  A gun- toting, trench- coat wearing, hard boiled PI.  The kind she drooled over in hours of mystery stories, and found in the likes of every character from Nancy Drew to Phillip Marlowe. In the endless hours of cable channel reruns of Perry Mason, Ellery Queen and Magnum PI.  It had been her salvation during the bad times.  The moving from place to place.  The new schools.  The shunning, and embarrassment of having a jail bird father.  Through it all, she had set her mind to what needed to be done, gritted her teeth, and dove in head first.

     When she graduated from high school, there had been no money for college.  Daddy was already in prison, and Mama was barely hanging on.  Her grades were good, but not extraordinary, and despite an amazing amount of skills in gymnastics and cheer leading, there were few scholarship offers.  The hand full of schools that had been semi-interested offered partial tuition, but not nearly enough for a girl whose family could not ante up a single dime.  So instead of packing up for a college adventure, she was picking through pages of help wanted ads, filling out applications, and hitting the pavement, business to business.

      Her first job had been as a waitress at Mike's City Diner on Washington Street.  It was a grueling, dog-eat-dog job, and at first opportunity, she looked for something better.  She found a position as a dog groomer, then as day care worker, and finally at UPS as a package handler.  It was during her time at Brown that she and a friend decided to take an evening pole dancing class as a lark.  With her years of gymnastic training, she found herself to be a natural, and with the instructor's encouragement, decided to try and go pro.

     After a ten minute audition, she was hired on the spot by Big Al's, a small gentlemen's club in the South End neighborhood.  There, she quickly made a name for herself, and after only four months on the job, was recruited by Ruby Wheeler to make the move to her popular spot, promising more pay, and a larger percentage of tips.  The fact that she made her living as an exotic dancer, taking her clothes off and dancing for strange men, gave her absolutely no pause.  It was simply a matter of working toward a goal, and she had long ago given up worrying about what people thought of her.  Their opinion mattered little, and any hesitation was lost as her bank account began to grow.

      When she had saved enough money, she enrolled as a part-time student at Boston College, listing her major as Criminal Justice.  She had done her homework, and knew Massachusetts law required that she work in professional law enforcement for three years before applying for a PI license.  And no decent municipality would even consider hiring her until she earned her BS in Criminal Justice.  Taking  two or three classes at a time to hold down the costs, and working the needed night job at the club, it had taken her almost five years to get to this point.  She needed only one more semester to graduate, and then she could finally start the journey to actually becoming a real private investigator, with a plan to start her own firm.

       In the mean time, she practiced on her neighbors and friends, doing little jobs for free.  Just last week, she had finally been able to help prove that a man suing her landlord for personal injury was, in fact, faking his symptoms.  And only a month ago, she tracked down a dead beat dad for one of the girls at the club.  There was no doubt she had a knack for this sort of thing.  A six sense for getting to the bottom of things, and working in law enforcement a few years was only going to sharpen her skills. Thus, the key to this whole plan, was landing a job as a police officer.

       Getting accepted to the police academy here in Boston was a pipe dream.  The waiting list was ridiculously long, and she didn't have a single connection to help move her long. She wasn't about to go gray waiting to make the cut.  And even if they did admit her to the program, once they found out how she had put herself through college, it was unlikely anyone would ever take her seriously.  No, she needed to branch out.  Leave the Boston area, and look for a position in some small town where she could start fresh, and learn the ropes.

       It was for that reason, and that reason alone, she accepted the invitation to Maureen O'Kenney's wedding.  It wasn't as if she didn't think of Mo as a friend.  They had reconnected a few years ago, after running into each other on the campus of Boston College, and made a point of getting together every six weeks or so.  It was even Roxie herself who suggested to the broken hearted Maureen that she leave Boston awhile after the whole affair with the boss debacle came to light.  She was happy that her childhood friend had moved on, found someone special, and made a life for herself. But going to the wedding meant a high probability of running into her brother, of having to come face to face again with Kevin O'Kenney, and the thought made her queasy.

       She hadn't spoken to Kevin in almost fifteen years.  Not since that September morning in the halls of St. Bridget's.  And despite the years that followed, and all the lousy, rotten things that had happened, the memory of that encounter cut like a knife.  She had heard through the grapevine that he had gone on to the seminary, and remembered people on Facebook mentioning his ordination, but after that, lost track of the family entirely.  It wasn't until she had met up with Maureen, that she found out he had been assigned his own parish out of the Boston area, and breathed a sigh of relief.  It was unlikely she'd run into him in her line of work, and she sure as hell wasn't going to trek down to the middle of now where to see him say Mass any time soon.

        But here she was, willingly placing herself in a position that required her to face ugly teenage demons.  Maureen undoubtedly told him what she did for a living, and she could picture him congratulating himself on the fact that he had avoided a fall of grace under the temptation of the neighborhood Jezebel.  The image wanted to make her puke.  Grabbing a robe from her locker, she slipped it over her shoulders, and belted it at the waist.  Finding a quiet corner of the dressing room, she pulled out her textbook and highlighter, and got busy on her assignment for tomorrow's class.

     The dream was all that mattered, and the only reason she was willing to risk emotional flagellation.  Upon receiving the wedding invitation, and personal note from Maureen, she had Googled the prospective groom, and was surprised to find that he was Dollyville's Sheriff.  A Sheriff in a small town, where just maybe, if she were lucky, and begged her friend's influence, she could land a job in law enforcement when she finished her degree.  If suffering this wedding meant networking that option, she would do it.  She'd take the chance, and Kevin O'Kenney be damned.

                                               

Roksi's last stage performance of the night
(PHOTOGRAPH COURTESY OF WILDWOOD DOLLHOUSES)

       Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
       All Rights Reserved

CREDITS, INFORMATION AND A GIANT THANK YOU...

    ROXANNE SPINELLI'S CHARACTER WAS INSPIRED BY THE WORK OF THESE FABULOUS ARTISIANS.  I HAVE INCLUDED CONTACT INFORMATION BELOW.

April and Ron Gill, of Wildwood Dollhouses, who created the whole building and scene, including the awesome three-way infinity mirrors, revolving stage, and special "club" lighting.

Contact them at WWDHMS@aol.com for information on this piece, and other wonderful dollhouses.  You can also find and "like" them on Facebook under Wildwood Dollhouses

Bev Gelfand who created the lovely "Ravishing Roksi"

For information on her other dolls, or custom work, contact her at info@longefellowesdesigns.com

Cat Wingler, who created the gentlemen patrons shown in the club.

For information on her other dolls, or custom work, contact her at catwingler@ec.rr.com

                             

The outside of Ruby's Lounge
(PHOTO COURTESY OF WILDWOOD DOLLHOUSES)

   AND JUST ONE MORE THING...

                           

       I wanted to make note of Maureen's outfit today...only because it gave me such a headache.  I wrote the scene last week with a description of her wearing "a soft green, jersey knit", not realizing what a pain that would be to create.  I do not excel in doll fashion, and after three failed attempts, I almost gave up, and planned another scene.  But last night, I tried this last ditch attempt at dressing her, and I'm rather pleased with the results.  Not a jersey knit, but clingy enough to give the effect.  And you'll never guess what her dress was made of.  Give up?  It started life as one of those scrubby bath gloves from the dollar store, cut and pieced together.  I rather like how she looks.
        Unfortunately, I had to sew her into that dress, so I hope she likes it.  She will probably end up wearing it for the next few posts. (Well, maybe not the shoes.  She's already complaining those Loubouton stilettos are killing her.  LOL)

     



     

     

       

   
 


         

     

       

     

     

   

     

Wednesday Sneak Peek "Teaser" Post

   Happy Wednesday Dear Readers!

        Because it is Wednesday, and I am on summer break, I've decided to give you a little "Sneak Peek" look at Saturday's post.  (Which promises to be a nice long one!)  Enjoy this little "teaser"...things are heating up in Dollyville!

Outside the Park West Hotel, Dollyville, Massachusetts
Might that be Beckett's Mustang out front?

      By the time Beckett reached the hotel lobby, all he could see of Maureen was a flash of green dress and red hair disappearing through the revolving front door.  He thought about going after her on foot, but quickly changed his mind.  There was no damn way he was going to chase her down the street like some friggn' dog catcher after a run away puppy.  He'd pick up the Mustang from the valet, and follow her in the car.  In the meantime, he figured she wouldn't get very far in those spiked heels.

     Standing in the afternoon heat waiting for the valet, he silently fumed.  Just what the hell was her damn problem?  Against the sound advice of his own attorney, he had been exceedingly generous with the arrangements.  If he suddenly found himself dead, she'd be a very wealthy woman.  And if they ended up becoming just another divorce statistic, Maureen O'Kenney would still live very comfortably indeed.  There was no reason at all for her to carry on as she did.  It was silly, childish and extremely disrespectful, and when he caught up with her, he sure as hell was going to tell her so.

     Not for the first time, he questioned his sanity over the decision to marry this tiny, vanilla cupcake.  He liked his women experienced.  Compliant.  Obedient.  She was none of those things.  In fact, there were times he thought she purposely did the opposite of what he asked, simply to see if she could get a rise out of him.  An outright brat, who obviously didn't know the first thing about submission.  He ought to have his head examined for mixing it up with her in the first place, and if he still had a half a brain in his head, he would call the whole damn thing off.  Pay child support, and drag his sorry ass out of the line of fire while he still could.

      Beckett looked at his watch, and began to pace.  It was taking too damn long for them to bring the car around.  By now, she might be several blocks away.  Wandering around in those ridiculously sexy shoes.  What if she turned an ankle?  Tripped over a stone, and fell on her face?  And was it all that sensible for someone in her condition to be hiking around in this oppressive summer humidty?  Not to mention the unwanted attention she was probably garnishing in that clingy, little dress.  A wrong turn here or there, and she could end up in some lousy neighborhood.  And it would be his damn fault for being shitty about the car.

    When they finally pulled the Mustang around, Beckett throw a $20 at the kid, and began moving slowly around the streets nearest the hotel.  He eventually located her about eight blocks away, now barefoot, and carrying the Loubouton's in her hand.  Maneuvering across traffic, he pulled up at a corner where she was waiting for the light to change, and rolled down the window.  "Get in the car, Maureen."

     She shook her head vigorously, side to side, refusing to speak.

     "I'm asking nicely.  If you don't comply, I will put you in it myself, and I guarantee you will not enjoy the way in which I do it."

                                                                     

To be continued...

Conflicts, Confusion...and a Cause for Concern

     

Beckett and Fr. Kevin meet for an early morning run...and a bit of terse conversation

     Beckett left the flat for his morning run not knowing for sure whether Kevin would actually show up.  They had gotten in the habit of meeting three times a week, and though he hated to admit it, he had begun to look forward to the priest's company. There was a good chance that this particular dawn, he might find himself snubbed.  When Kevin left Maureen's apartment the night before, he was undoubtedly upset over their teasing about his "stripper girlfriend", and Beckett figured he might still be angry.

       As it turned out, his worries were unfounded.  Rounding the corner of 23rd and Elm, he could see Fr. Kevin stretching his long legs in front of the church's main doors, and was relieved.  Today was sure to be stressful enough without adding her brother's displeasure to the litany of problems that needed to be overcome.  He came to a stop in front of Holy Family, and waited for the priest to finish warming up.  "Glad you decided to run this morning, Kev.  I like the competition."

     Fr. Kevin looked at him coolly, "Why wouldn't I be here?"

     "Well, it's just that you left in somewhat of a huff last night.  I hoped you weren't still upset.  We were only teasing.  Didn't mean anything by it.  You know how Maureen gets when she's the center of attention.  Tends to embellish."

     "You don't need to explain my sister to me, Sheriff.  I am well aware of how she is.  The question is... are you?"

     His frosty tone, and use of the title "Sheriff" rather than his name, clued Beckett to the fact that his future brother in law was, in fact, still pissed.  For every one's sake, he decided to tread lightly.  He was counting on Kevin's help in getting through this afternoon's meeting, and if it required him to play nicely, than so be it.  "Look, I want to apologize for laughing the way I did.  I sure as hell wouldn't appreciate my brothers telling tales about when I was a kid.  Your relationship with that girl is no one's business."

    In the early morning light, it was easy to see the flush of pink that spread from under the collar of his t-shirt, and gathered around his ears.  "First of all, there was no 'relationship'.  And secondly, I don't want to talk about it. Period."  He put his hands on his hips, and scowled at Beckett.  "Frankly, I would think you'd have enough to worry about in your own little world, instead of focusing on silly crap from my childhood.  I don't suspect Maureen will be Miss Compliance during your legal maneuvering, and adding my brother Patrick to the mix won't help."

       It was Beckett's turn to be defensive, and his face lost any of the cheerfulness he was trying to convey.  "You do understand that a pre-nup is as much for your sister's security as mine. As well as the baby she's carrying.  It's the logical and prudent thing to do."

      "I'm not arguing with you, Sheriff.  And I do believe you have her best interests at heart.  But we both know that Maureen will see it in a whole different light.  Your demand for a contract before marrying her will be viewed as a nod toward future failure, something her pride will never allow.  Plus, the dreamer in her will find it lacking the 'happily ever after' romance she's surely fantasizing about."

      His frustration showing, Beckett kicked at an odd stone, banking it off the grotto bench with a loud ping.  "She'll just have to act like mature adult.  This is a necessary evil.  I have to protect both Maureen, and my interest in the family company.  If something were to happen to me... suddenly, I need to know that things are in order.  I've talked with Maureen at length about the whole process.  It's not like she's going into this blind. Plus, your brother Patrick is representing her.  If anyone is able to look after her best interests, it's her own brother."

       Taking a final stretch, Fr. Kevin straightened up.  "I hope you have your best game face on, Sheriff Beckett.  I know both of them, up close and personal, and you my friend, are in for a rough afternoon."  And without another word, the priest was off, running at full speed, and leaving the other man to chase after him.
____________________________

   There was no way Patrick was going into this unprepared, so Maureen was not surprised to see a long, black limo pull up in front of Schiller's Deli.  Normally, he'd just take the train in like everyone else, but today's duty called for full pomp and circumstances, and he was determined to set the tone from the very start.

    Stacking the last of the cantaloupes in place, Maureen O'Kenney pulled off the shop apron, and hung it on a hook behind the counter.  She had been dreading this day for the past three weeks, and now that it had arrived, her anxiety grew to a whole new level.  She and Ted had discussed this whole pre-nup thing to death, and any argument she presented, he countered with a better one. Frankly, it was that way with everything.  He'd patiently listen to her concerns, then calmly dismiss them, and do exactly what he pleased.  And so it was with his demand for this pre-nuptial agreement.  It made their whole relationship sound more like a business merger rather than a marriage, and the idea of preparing for it's eventual demise appeared to her as bad karma.

     Dragging her feet, she knew that her brother was probably growing annoyed waiting for her to join him in the limo, but she sure as hell wasn't going to any lawyer's office dressed in her work clothes, and smelling like salami.  Giving Mrs. Schiller notice that she was leaving for the afternoon, she headed upstairs to do a quick make over.  It took her several minutes of switching and swapping before finally deciding on a soft, green jersey knit dress, and pair of matching Loubouton stilettos that were a splurge memento from the doomed Boston trip.  Running a comb through her curls, and adding a swipe of lipstick, she did a turn in front of the vanity mirror, and was satisfied with what she saw.  If nothing else, she looked good.  Very good.

    Careful on the stairs in her heels, she opted to take the side door out the back, rather than walk through the deli, and subject herself to a lengthy conversation with her employers.  They were lovely people, but surely didn't understand the meaning of "I'm in a hurry."  The chauffeur was patiently waiting for her, and rushed to open the passenger door.  She slid into the car, next to Patrick, who was busy on the phone, and didn't acknowledge her presence.

   Once finished with his conversation, he tucked the cell in his suit pocket, and turned toward her.  "You're late.  I've been sitting in this damn car for almost 25 minutes."

   Working to keep the little girl whine out of her voice, (the one that always seemed to surface in her oldest brother's presence) she explained.  "Sorry, Patrick.  I...I needed to change out of my work clothes.  I wasn't sure what one wore to this sort of thing."

   He gave her  the once over, and to her surprise, nodded in agreement.  "You look fine.  Very nice, in fact."

   As he wasn't known to hand out compliments, she blushed at his words.  "Thanks, Pat.  I'm really nervous."

   He grunted in reply.  "It'll be fine, Red.  Nothing unusual,  Pretty routine, in fact.  Just keep your mouth closed, and let me do the talking.  I expect that Ted's guy will advise him to keep it to the bare bones, and I'd be surprised if some negotiating wasn't required.  But I'll get you the best deal possible.  Trust me."

   At his words, Maureen's face fell.  "I hate the way you make it sound, Patrick.  It's so...so corporate.  This is supposed to be my wedding.  Not some damn business deal.  I don't want his money.  It's his.  Not mine.  And it doesn't matter one little bit to me."  He didn't look convinced, so she tried another tactic.  One she unwisely didn't think through before speaking.  "This is just so unnecessary.  You and Eileen didn't write a pre-nup before you got married.   You were just in love."  As the words left her tongue, she instantly wanted to grab them back.  Discussion about his estranged wife was a sore topic with her brother.

    He narrowed his eyes, winding up for a heavy duty lecture.  "When Eileen and I got engaged, we didn't have a pot to piss in, or a window to throw it out of!  A pre-nup isn't necessary when you've got nothing to lose.  But I'll tell you one damn thing.  I wish I had one now.  She, and that shyster WASP lawyer she's hired, will undoubtedly take me to the cleaners.  It'll be a frickn' nightmare."  Angry at his missing wife, and not caring if he hurt Maureen's feelings in the process, he continued  "Besides, Eileen wasn't knocked up when we got married.  A baby adds a whole new layer to this negotiation, so for once in your life, start acting like a grown-up, and think about your child's future."

     Sitting next to him, Maureen blanched at the harshness of his words.  Somehow, she hadn't even thought about the fact that they'd be discussing the pregnancy.  About her screw-up.  In a room with strangers.  With her older brother sitting next to her, disapproval rolling off of him in waves.   And Ted.  Her Ted.  Staring at her from across some lawyer's conference table.  She suddenly felt too warm.  Sweaty.  Trapped.  As they pulled up in front of the hotel, the same one booked for their wedding reception in two weeks, she wondered if she could possibly make a run for it in four inch stilettos.
____________________________________________

     Because Beckett's lawyer was from New York, and Patrick was there from Boston, and neither had an office in Dollyville, a small conference room had been rented at the Park West Hotel for the afternoon's meeting.  Beckett arrived early, impatient for the whole thing to be done and over with.  He had been fielding calls all week from James Harron about details in the contract, and he was fully aware that his attorney and he were not in agreement over several issues.  But there was no way he was ever going to leave her, and the child, without a substantial nest egg, and protected from the clutches of his conniving, crazy family.  There was always the chance that an assignment would go bad, and for his own piece of mind, it was imperative that he knew safe guards were in place.  Today would be the first step in setting those plans in motion.

      He could hear voices outside the door, and turned in time to see Patrick O'Kenney enter the room, followed by his fiancee.  She looked beautiful, but alarmingly pale.  He could tell by the way she clutched her handbag, white knuckled, that she was scared silly, and totally out of her element.  And although he knew it was highly inappropriate, considering the setting and situation, he found her fear deliciously appealing.  She caught his eye, and in that moment, must have deduced exactly what it was he was thinking, as she quickly looked away, her cheeks changing from ivory porcelain to cotton candy pink. She sat stiffly upright in her chair, hands folded primly in her lap, her legs tightly crossed at the ankles.

     There was much posturing and handshaking amongst the attorneys, a request for some refreshments, and a round of general chit chat before they got down to actual business.  The first half of the agreement was cut and dry, the standard items agreed upon by both parties.  It was the first time Beckett had seen Patrick in lawyer mode, and he was surprisingly impressed.  The man was shrewd and calculating, and completely professional, despite the fact it was his own sister they were discussing.  As counsel for both sides debated back and forth over dispersal of common property in the case of adultery and divorce, Beckett watched as his bride became more and more openly agitated.  She wrung her hands, and bit on her lower lip so vigorously, it was swollen and red. When asked a question, her voice came out slightly above a whisper, and his attorney had to ask her several times to speak up, and repeat her answer.

      It took nearly an hour and a half to eventually come to terms on such incidentals as alimony and child support, should they become necessary, and gratefully, the agreement was finally ready for signing and witnessing.  Taking the offered pen, Beckett signed first, then slid the paper and pen across the table towards Maureen.  She stared at the pages in front of her, fingers tightly laced, making no effort to pick up the pen.  Patiently, the three men waited for her to make a move, with Patrick eventually resorting to verbal prodding.

     "Go ahead, Maureen.  You can sign right there under Ted's name."  When she didn't respond, he leaned in and whispered, "It's fine, Red.  A very generous offer.  You're good to go."

      Without any discussion, explanation, or warning, Maureen suddenly pulled the diamond and
emerald ring off her left hand, and placed it on top of the pre-nup.  She looked at Ted, her eyes full of apprehension and confusion.  "I'm sorry.  I just can't do this."  She quickly stood, and dashed out the door, her ankles wobbling on tall heels in flight.

       Embarrassed, Patrick got up to follow her.  "I'm sorry, gentlemen.  She's been under a lot of stress.  The whole bombing episode, you know.  Plus the pregnancy makes her a bit emotional.  I'll have her back shortly."

      Before the elder O'Kenney could even leave the room, a very disgruntled Beckett scooped up the engagement ring, and was out the door in hot pursuit of his reluctant bride, leaving both attorneys scratching their heads over the awkward, and inconvenient, turn of events.

_______________________________

                                         

The brunette in the red bikini

     Several pairs of eyes watched as the brunette made her way across the concrete pool deck, and settled herself into a chaise in the usual spot.  Today she was in fire engine red, a tiny French cut bikini that did little to hide her treasures.  This grand arrival every day at 2 PM was a ritual, and the regulars could set their clocks by her appearance.  As was her custom, she pulled a corked bottle, then a single wine glass from her bag, and proceeded to slowly pour the jewel colored liquid, filling the crystal goblet half way, then setting both on the small table next to her.

      The lone life guard had long given up insisting that glass items were not allowed in the pool area.  The first time she appeared, he had attempted a polite conversation about the association's rules regarding breakable items on the deck.  But in his youth and naivete, he was soon dismissed with a  confident smile, and a look that left him both dizzy and tongue-tied.  From that day forward, she greeted him with a wink and a wave, and he, in return, pretended not to see her blatant disregard for protocol.

      There was no doubt about it.  She charged the atmosphere around the condo's pool like a live electrical wire, and male attendance on the deck consistently increased every afternoon as the hands on the clock moved toward 2.  The seniors in the building returned to their air conditioned comfort, and the moms and toddlers gathered up water wings and floaties, and headed inside for afternoon naps, leaving the woman alone with her admiring audience.  She ran a hand through her dark hair, and leaned back in the chaise, allowing everyone an enticing view.  Satisfied she was properly presented, she pulled a stack of newspapers from the matching bag on the ground next to her, and began her weekly perusal.

     Although most of the news across the globe was readily available on the net, she enjoyed the soothing routine of flipping through the printed pages, casually eyeing the want ads, reading the silly advice columns, and working through the daily word puzzles.  This weekly experience kept her in tune with the various key locations in her life in a way a web search could not, and she especially looked forward to certain editions more than others.  Thus it was with the Hello Dolly, a small, local rag from Dollyville, Massechuseutts.  It had been a hassle procuring a copy of such an obscure newspaper here on the Gulf coast, but perusing the mundane existence of the life and people she left behind was an addiction she hadn't been able to shake.

      It seemed like just any other normal week in the slow moving town of Dollyville.  There had been a small grease fire at the Dandy-Lion Pub, but the owner expected to re-open later that week.  The library was planning a series of guest speakers on retirement investments, and Boy Scout Troop 465 was hosting a ceremony, and pancake breakfast, in celebration of the upcoming Memorial Day holiday.  She quickly glossed over the other articles, and headed toward the Around Town section, the closest thing the newspaper had to a society gossip column.  Finding the section in it's usual spot, she was shocked to see Teddy's smiling face staring up at her from the page, his arm tucked around the small form of that insipid red head.  The priest's sister, whose name she always forgot.  Mary, or Maura, or something like that.

     Taking a sip of wine from the glass, she quickly scanned the article, her brain refusing to comprehend what her eyes were reading.

                                            Local Sheriff To Wed Boston Woman       

     "Wedding bells will soon be ringing for Dollyville's popular Sheriff Ted Beckett, and Miss Maureen O'Kenney, formally of Boston's South End neighborhood.  The happy couple will tie the knot on Saturday, June 8th, 2013, at Holy Family Church, 2301 West Elm Street, at 2:00 PM, with the bride's brother, Fr. Patrick O'Kenney, Pastor, officiating.  An evening reception will follow at the Park West Hotel, in Dollyville's business district.

      Get those hankies ready, ladies.  Dollyville is losing one of it's most desirable bachelors.  Besides being one of this state's hottest law men, Beckett is also heir to one of the East Coast's largest retail conglomerates, the "Henny's Pennies" Super Stores.  New to our area, Miss O'Kenney holds a Master's Degree in Social Work from Boston College, and is currently employed by Schiller's Deli, 2509 West Elm Street.  Join me in wishing the lucky bride, and her handsome groom, a very happily ever after."

  

     For a moment, Cassie Donaghue, aka Cassie McKreedy, Cassandra Phelan, Cassie Ann Spenser, and a whole myriad of similar aliases, sat there stunned, too shaken to react.  Then, with a snarl of anger and frustration, she flung the entire newspaper to her right, knocking over both the bottle and the goblet, which hit the stone pavement with a ringing crash.

       From his perch high above the pool, the life guard sighed.  Shattered glass was a pain in the ass to clean off the rough surface of the deck. It meant several hours of extra work, and the pool would need to be closed to all visitors until it was safely completed.  But, on the bright side, it momentarily gave him the advantage of a closer look, and the possibility of offering his personal aid to the obviously distressed hottie in the teeny, red bikini.

                                 

Shattered glass...and shattered plans

Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

Today is the one year anniversary of my fiction blog! I am proud of the fact I kept to my writing schedule, working hard to fit it in my crazy school schedule and the five hundred other things that tried to get in the way...including a dislocated shoulder, torn rotator cuff, hours and hours of physical therapy, a major heart attack, two angioplasties, and all the stress of daily life. I am determined to make this dream happen for myself, one post at a time. Thanks to all who have supported me from the start, and those of you that have joined the journey along the way!  You overwhelm me with your loyalty and concern! Much appreciated dear friends!  God Bless!

  
   

   



 

 




   

The Chickens Come Home to Roost

               

Wednesday night at Maureen's apartment

        They say every cloud has a silver lining, and in the case of Maureen's Boston scare, it gave everyone involved the opportunity to re-evaluate what was important, and what was simply not.  Beckett was on his best behavior, exceedingly polite, and biting back unwanted advice as to how things
should be.  He kept an exceptionally close eye on his bride's comings and goings, but worked at not appearing to hover.  The lady in question did her utmost to avoid giving her groom anything more to worry over, and was the picture of demur submission, while her brother was a spiritual presence of peace, calm, and general good will.

      Unfortunately, none of these traits were exclusively true to who they all were, and thus impossible to pull off for any length of time.  It took nearly three weeks for the cloud's silver lining to tarnish, and for the expected rain of discord to fall.  And like most arguments, it had started over something silly.  The three had gotten in the habit of getting together at Maureen's apartment on Wednesday evenings to share supper, and to go over plans for the wedding.  Realistically, the night usually ended up with Beckett and Kevin playing gin rummy, while Maureen sat at the same kitchen table writing invitations, arranging seating charts, and soliciting general opinions about nuptial nonsense.

      As the wedding date inched closer, things became more hectic, and this particular Wednesday, Mo was in the process of opening the response cards, and check marking the guest list.  The men half-heartedly shuffled cards, keeping one eye on the hockey game, and listening to the litany of who was coming, who sent regrets, and the bride's running commentary on the whole matter.  So when she shrieked over one particular card, and no one responded, she was slightly put out over their lack of interest.

      Hoping to get their attention, she slid the card toward Beckett. "Ted...you'll never guess who's coming to our wedding..."

      Eyes still glued to the Bruins game, he picked up the card, but didn't look at it.  "That's great, baby.
I'm glad you're happy."

       Annoyed, she tried again.  "Okay, then... if you don't care that Kevin's old 'girlfriend' is coming to our wedding, it's fine with me."  She flopped down into the chair, and waited for their response, which took all of three seconds.

        "Kevin's girlfriend?"  His interest piqued, Beckett looked at her brother and grinned.

         Across the table, Fr. Kevin's face had gone pale.  "Maureen, you're not funny."

         "No...really Kev.  I invited Roxie.  How could I not?  And I just got the card back.  She's coming!"

         Beckett gathered the cards in front of him, smirking at Kevin's discomfort.  "Me thinks there's a story here.  Spill the beans, Fr. Kevin.  Who's Roxie?"

          Kevin fidgeted in his chair, and sent his sister a look that would freeze paint.  "My sister's just being a jerk.  Roxanne was a kid who once lived down the block from us in South Boston."

          "Oh come on, Kev!  Admit it!  She was your one true lady love.  Until Daddy put a stop to that."

          Going from pale to pink, Kevin protested.  "I'm asking you nice, Mo.  Knock it off.  Besides, you're exaggerating...like you always do.  Roxanne was not my girlfriend, and Ted isn't interested in hearing dumb family stories about when we were kids."

       "Au contraire, dear Padre.  I'd love to hear this story.  I'm all ears, baby."

     Pleased to have her fiance's undivided attention, Maureen settled herself in for a solid bout of storytelling, while her brother stood, and wandered over to the window.  "Well...you see...it was like this.  It was the summer after I had just turned 10, and Kevin was going to be 16 in July.  I remember clearly, because he was all in a fuss about getting his driver's license, and I had just gotten a new bike.
Anyways, old Mrs. Callaghan had died the winter before, and her house was for sale.  It sat empty for months, and then one day, we see this moving van pull up, and these guys start carrying out all this fancy furniture.  You know the kind I mean, that curly French stuff with the vinyl covers over the seats?" She waited until Beckett nodded his understanding, making sure he was actually paying attention to what she was saying.  "A little while later, a brand new station wagon pulls up, and this whole family gets out.  Four boys, and one girl." She turned toward her brother, teasing, "I'm sure you only remember seeing Roxie, huh, Kev?"

       From his position at the window, Fr. Kevin covered his ears.  "See, Maureen.  I"m not listening."

       "That's so childish, Kevin."  She turned back to Beckett, and continued her story.  "Anyway, the girl came over and introduced herself.  Said her name was Roxanne Spinelli, and her family was moving into the old Callaghan place.  And that her dad was opening a candy store three blocks down, and she'd be happy to give us some free samples.  Well, that got my attention, but Kevin only had eyes for the girl.  I thought I'd have to close his mouth manually."

       Beckett leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, smiling from ear to ear, and gave the priest an exaggerated wink. "Well, well, well...so the sainted Fr. Kevin is human after all.  Like those dark eyed beauties, do we, Padre?"

       "Shut up, Beckett.  It wasn't like that at all."

       "Hey...I'm telling the story!  So, anyway, this girl sits on our front porch, and tells us all about her family.  They were originally from New York, and her dad wanted to start his own business, so they came to Boston.  She had four brothers, two older, and two younger, and she was going to be 15 in October." With a giggle she added, " And all the time she's talking, she's staring at Kevin like he's a slice of Boston cream pie."

         Blushing terribly, Kevin stormed back to the table.  "Okay, Maureen.  Now you're just making shit up."

       "I am not making stuff up, Kevin O'Kenney.  You two were attracted to each other like a couple of dime store magnets.  And I really hate when you take this 'holier than everyone else' attitude.  I'm your sister, remember?  I was there!"

       Realizing things were getting way too heated, Beckett interrupted.  "Okay.  So it's obvious Kevin didn't end up with this girl.  Finish the story Maureen...and for Kevin's sake, try not to editorialize."

       Maureen gave her brother the evil eye, and continued.  "Kevin and Roxie become quite an item that summer.  They spent every waking minute together.  Then Daddy came home, and said that Mr. Spinelli had been arrested for running a numbers racket out of the back of the candy store, and we were forbidden to have any contact with that family.  Kevin raised a huge hissy fit, but Daddy was adamant, especially where Kevin was concerned.  Kev was already talking about applying to the seminary, and he needed a letter of recommendation from Mgnsr. Kelly.  Daddy said it was unseemly for someone who was considering the priesthood to be running around with some Italian girl anyway, and being connected to the Spinellis wouldn't help his chances of getting into Holy Trinity.  Kevin agreed, but then, Dad caught him sneaking out through a window to see her, and all hell broke loose.  Mama cried for a week, and Dad beat the crap out of him.  He was grounded until school started in September."

         Beckett watched Kevin's expression go from embarrassed to stone faced, and looking to diffuse the situation, tried to put an end to Maureen's story.  "And let me guess... Roxie eventually ends up happily married, with a dozen kids.  Or better yet, for true irony, she decides she has a calling too, and joins a convent."  Amused at his own witty repartee, Beckett smiled, and took a sip of the Cabernet in front of him.

       Stifling a giggle, Maureen, retorted, "Well, that's where you're wrong, Mr. Know-it-All.   Roxie Spinelli went off and became a stripper.  She works at Big Al's in Boston."

       Unable to control himself, Beckett started to laugh, causing him to spray the last bit of wine across the tablecloth.  Tried as he might, he couldn't contain his guffawing over the thought that Fr. Kevin's heart's desire had ended up an exotic dancer in a gentlemen's club.  Wiping tears from his eyes, he apologized, "Damn, Kev, I'm sorry.  I don't mean to laugh, but the vision of you and a stripper just cracks me up."

       For a second, Fr. Kevin looked so forlorn, that even Beckett felt guilty, and when the priest spoke, his voice was without it's usual cheerful cadence.  "I'm glad I could provide the evening's entertainment."  He turned to face his sister, who was looking a bit sheepish herself.  "Why would you even invite Roxanne Spinelli to your wedding, Maureen.  You haven't seen her in years."
        "Actually, Kev, that's not true.  I ran into her at Boston College, when I was working toward my Masters.  She was taking some classes toward a B.S. in criminal justice.  We exchanged numbers, and then kept in contact over the past two years.  I had dinner with her just before I came here to Dollyville last October.  She was a good friend when I really needed one."  Looking to make amends for obviously hurting him, she added, "She always asks about you, ya know.  Was really happy for you when I told her you got your own parish."

        There was no response to the comment, and the silence in the room felt oppressive.  Kevin grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. "If you don't mind, I think I'm gonna call it a night.  I'll talk to you guys later in the week."   He wandered down the hallway stairs, and then quietly shut the door behind him.
___________________________________

       Roxanne Spinelli.  Now there was a name he hadn't brought to mind in a very long time.  On purpose.  And for very good reasons.  He had buried the name, along with a whole slew of guilty memories, in the furthest corners of his brain, and their reemergence made him feel queasy.  Grateful that the drenching rain had stopped, Fr. Kevin turned in the opposite direction of the church and rectory, and slowly ambled down the dark, wet streets of Dollyville.

      Truth be told, Maureen's story was pretty much on the mark, with some missing key elements that she was luckily unaware of.   He remembered every moment of the day Roxanne had come to his South End neighborhood.  The large paneled moving truck.  Maureen whining about the heat.  His brothers dumping water down her back, and her little girl attempt to fight back.   And of course, Roxie in her yellow sundress, her dark hair pulled back in a long, glossy braid.

       When she sat down on the O'Kenney stoop, he thought his heart would stop beating, and as hard as she worked at engaging him in conversation, he still couldn't manage to form more than a word or two at a time.  It wasn't until Maureen, tired of being ignored, took off on her new bike, and left the two of them alone, that she finally succeeded in getting him to chat.  He discovered that in addition to being the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, she was smart, funny and easy to talk to.  Right then and there, he had been smitten, and the next three weeks of his summer break was spent with the only girl who had ever made him rethink his desire to enter the seminary.

      And although he could remember every detail of the day he met her, what followed in the months to come required years of patience, and prayer, to try and forget.  He could distinctly recall the evening his father came home with the news about Gino Spinelli's arrest.  His old man was already grumpy before he hit the door, hot and over tired, plus annoyed at the collection of bikes, Rollerblades, and skateboards strewn across the driveway.  He had seated himself at the head of the table, as was his custom, and demanded the appearance of his children.  Only Kevin, Maureen, Brendan and Will were home at the time, the others still at jobs, classes, or living on their own, but there was no getting around the guarantee of obedience the senior O'Kenney demanded.

       Kevin had tried pleading with his father, arguing that it was unfair to punish Roxanne, or he, over the sins of her parent, but Big Bill O'Kenney was not a fan of democracy in his own home, and there was no changing his mind.  All Kevin received in response to his complaints was a quick swat to the back of the head, and an admonishment stating his need to "straighten up and fly right".   As much as he hated being disobedient, and equally disliked breaking the fourth commandment, the pull of Roxie was too much, and he began to sneak out his bedroom window every night after his parents had gone to bed.

         It was never clear how he had been found out.  Maybe his dad was smarter, or more observant, than a teenage Kevin had thought.  Maybe one of his siblings had tattled on him.  He was never sure.  But a week after he had started his nightly escapes, he found his father was waiting for him on the other side of the window.  What followed was ugly.  His dad was extremely angry and disappointed, and used his belt to show Kevin just how displeased he was.  It was humiliating enough to be whopped like a naughty five year old when he was nearly 16, and stood a head taller than his father, but it was his mother's tears that undid him.  He remembered her praying out loud, begging God to overlook his indiscretions, and to still call her son to a vocation in His service.  The memory made him feel ashamed.

      After much discussion, it was decided that Kevin was grounded for the rest of the summer, and was to spend every afternoon helping Fr. Joe over at Our Lady of the Angels.  His punishment was to be his salvation.  He found a sympathetic ear in Fr. Joseph Hannigan, and for the first time since he'd met Roxanne, someone who understood his confusion about his calling.  He suggested that Kevin spend this time away from the girl in prayer and meditation, and if he still felt the same way about her when school started in September, he would personally talk to Bill O'Kenney on Kevin's behalf.  It was a fair and compassionate offer, and Kevin did his best to comply.

    In his case, absence did not make the heart grow fonder.  Time in the church and rectory gave him a calm perspective to review what it was he believed he wanted.  Fr. Joe never pushed him in one direction or the other, but was always willing to hear him out, and by the time his Junior year started in September, Kevin was once again committed to applying to the seminary.  And if he had gone to Roxanne at that point, and honestly explained his change of heart, things might have worked out quite differently. But because he had not, fifteen years later, her name made him feel lousy.

      When the fall session at St. Bridget's began in September, Roxanne greeted him like a long, lost friend.  She, in return, received nothing but a cold shoulder.  Not knowing how to handle the situation, and afraid of an embarrassing scene, he ignored and avoided her, and at one point, rudely told her to leave him alone.  As long as he lived, he'd never forget the awful look of hurt on her face.  When her father was arrested, he was sure she had been subjected to all kinds of taunts and humiliation. It was the way of things in his neighborhood. But to have someone she had thought was a friend, someone special, turn on her in such a manner, must have been devastating.  To his relief, the obvious problem soon disappeared, along with Roxanne Spinelli.  Burdened with the cost of legal issues, the family sold their home down from the O'Kenney's, and moved across town.  Roxanne withdrew from St. Bridget's, and the last he had heard, graduated from some public high school in the North End.

      For years, he had tried to confess that same sin over and over, but the look on her face never truly left him.  He considered his shunning of her as one of the worst things he had ever done, and now, after all these years, it appeared that his chickens had finally come home to roost.  There was no way he would be able to avoid her at Maureen's wedding.  He was a grown man.  An ordained priest in the service of the Lord.  He counseled people all the time over making amends.  So why, then, didn't he have any advice for himself?

Copyright 2013 Victoria Rocus
All Rights Reserved

 

   

 

   

     

         

     

   

   

           



       

     

My Sincere Apologies Dear Readers...

    for missing my self imposed publishing deadline!  It is Graduation Week at the Day Job, and I have been swamped with finalizing grades, a day long trip to Six Flags Great America, Honors Night, a last day pizza party, and tomorrow, the actual graduation!  This week's chapter will be published on Sunday, June 2nd, sometime in the late afternoon.

   As always, I am entirely grateful for your continued support.  I promise you a great post tomorrow...and in the meantime, for your entertainment, I am sharing this crazy photo my teaching partner and I took at the amusement park on Wednesday...

                   

Goofing around at the amusement park...I'm the nut on the left!