Gary V. Powell, Author

Delivering the Goods

by

Gary V. Powell

(Copyright 2005 Gary V. Powell All Rights Reserved)

(This story orignally appeared on Amarillo Bay. I very pleased to have this story on my website. It's one of my favorite stories.)

“So what do you think?” Sandra gave me that look.

She was a tall, fair-skinned brunette worked the counter at Jim’s Diner. Harley and me stopped for breakfast every time we had a delivery up this way. Sandra and me had been flirting for awhile. I might have started it.

“About what?” I could be a real fox when I wanted to be.

“I think you know.”

She looked good in that short skirt. Her knees were driving me crazy. As hard as I tried not to, I thought about her knees all the time.

I paid cash and stuck a toothpick in my mouth. “I’m just talking,” I told her.

She put her elbows on the counter. “Yeah, well, I’m not. There’s a room at the Motel 6 got on our name on it.”

I nearly swallowed that toothpick. “You’re a good looking woman, Sandra." I didn't know what else to say.

“You think about it,” she called as I went out the door.

“Honey, I think about it all the time.” How could a man not think about something like that? Even a man with twenty-five years of marital bliss over his shoulder.

* * *

Our delivery was on the north side of the lake. About half way there, Harley started in. “So, you and Sandra, huh?”

“It ain’t nothing, Harley. Just flirting.”

“She’s a looker. You ever cheat on Aven?”

Aven and me got married right out of high school. Our youngest just left the nest, so it’s only the two of us again after all these years. “Now, Harley…”

“I’m just asking.”

He pulled out a bottle of pills and tossed one down.

“What’s that?”

“Viagra.”

“Viagra? What the hell?”

Aven and me used to go out with Harley and Clarice, before she became his ex-wife. Harley’s a big man, but Clarice was a bigger woman. We haven’t seen her since the divorce and her move to New Mexico. Harley claims she joined a Wicca commune. So far as I know, Harley hasn’t had a bird in his sights since she left.

“I’m taking it now, so I’ll be ready later. I’ve got a cyber date later on.”

I keep my eyes on the road. “You got a what?”

“You don’t know about that?”

“Harley, I’m a married man. I don’t date.”

Turns out Harley didn’t really date either. He visited chat rooms on AOL. He met a woman named CheriMist4657. They’d progressed from the chat room to private chat. They were both saving up for webcams.

“Yeah,” he said, “It gets pretty hot sometimes. I’m asking Cheri to get nekkid tonight.”

“Harley, this ain’t real. This is just playing around.”

“It’s real to me.”

“I’m just saying for all the time you spend in chat rooms you could meet a real woman.”

He hawked up a big one, rolled down his window, and let her fly. “Ain’t everyone can have what you and Aven’s got.”

“I reckon.”

Harley had a way of getting to the quick of the matter.

* * *

We figured our delivery was for one of those big houses the NASCAR drivers were building. Turned out to be some crew chief’s garage—not his house—his garage. Not the driver, just his crew chief.

The owner met Harley and me at the door with a bottle of gin in one hand and a good looking woman in the other. He wore a bright green Speedo and cowboy boots and she had on five-inch heels, this black swimsuit that was no more than a swatch of spandex on top and a thong crawling up her behind down below. Eleven in the morning and that bottle of gin was half empty.

The fellow introduced himself as Les and his wife as Dolly. It was just the two of them living in this place with more square footage than the Lowe’s Motor Speedway. The garage occupied its own lot next door.

Harley peeked over my shoulder into the expanse of the house. “Hot damn,” he said under his breath.

“Where you want your windows?” I asked Les.

“We'll set 'em out next to the garage. Come on, I'll show you."

We followed him and Dolly across the drive. She teetered in her heels and Les took her elbow.

"Right here," Les said, "Just unload 'em right here. You want to take a tour?”

“We call it the GarageMahal,” Dolly giggled.

“It’s some garage,” I told him.

"GarageMahal,” Harley repeated. He was just getting it. “Yeah, I want to see.”

"C'mon." Les led us inside.

"Whoooeeee," Harley said. “This is really something.

And, it was. I’m talking three stories. The first floor for automobiles, the second floor for boats, and the third floor for a workshop you never seen the like of—table saws and band saws and overhead drills I would’ve killed for. He even had a wet bar, a wide screen TV, and a fireplace. Our windows were delivering were replacements. There was something about the originals Dolly didn’t like.

"Nice," I told Les and Dolly. "Real nice."

"Ya'll want a snort?" Dolly lifted the gin bottle.

"Oh, I reckon not while we're working."

"Suit yourself," Les said.

"Maybe later," Harley reassured him. His eyes were all over Dolly. She wasn't doing anything to discourage him.

"Well," I said.

"Yep," Les agreed and he and Dolly headed back to the house while Harley and me unloaded those windows.

When we finished, I carried the receipt back to the house for signature. Les opened the door. He had a shit-eating grin on his face and Dolly stood behind him laughing like a hyena. She tried to straighten up but couldn’t.

Les signed the receipt with a flourish. “Ya’ll want to see my Jacuzzi?” He invited us in.

“I’d like to,” Harley ventured.

I could’ve slapped him. “I reckon,” I said, although it was definitely against company policy and not the kind of indulgence I normally allowed myself on delivery jobs.

“What do you think?” Les waved his arm as he led us through the house.

Ten thousand square feet and not a stick of furniture in sight. I almost told him it wasn’t bad for a basketball court, but thought better of it. Out back was a pool, a 180 degree view of Lake Norman, and a Jacuzzi the size of North Carolina.

“This here’s something,” Harley said. His eyes hadn’t left Dolly’s ass since we walked through the door—it was as hard and ripe as an autumn apple.

“Ain’t it,” she said over the shoulder, eyelashes fluttering.

“This way to the hot tub,” Les pointed out back. “Ya’ll want a beer? We done finished off the gin."

“Sure,” Harley said.

“I reckon.” I figured one beer couldn’t hurt.

Now that Jacuzzi was something. You could have had a real party in there, cup holders for twenty people and squirty jets all around.

“Hot damn,” Harley said. “I love yall’s Tiki torches.

“This is amazing,” I agreed. Me and Aven had thought about selling our place in Charlotte and moving up to the lake. Not a place like this, but maybe a cabin on a nice lot.

“Hop in,” Les said. “Make yourself to home.”

“Heck, yeah,” Dolly said.

“Well, we didn’t bring our swimsuits,” I told them.

“We can go in our skivvies,” Harley volunteered, and I could have shot him.

“Heck, yeah,” Dolly said. “We’re all friends here.”

So, Harley and me got down to our skivvies and Les got us a beer and we all slid into that Jacuzzi. I have to admit, nothing feels better on sore muscles than a Jacuzzi.

“I’m so glad ya’ll came to deliver those windows,” Dolly said. “It’s just been me and Les here all week by ourselves. We’re about to go crazy.”

“Ma’am,” Harley said. “This is the nicest delivery we ever made.”

We ended up drinking a case of beer, smoking a couple of doobies Harley had stashed in the truck’s glove compartment, and ordering out from Pizza Hut. After we finished the pizza, Dolly asked Harley if he’d like to see her tits. "Shit, you been looking at 'em all afternoon,” she said.

Harley's jaw dropped nearly to the ground. I thought she was kidding until Les spoke up.

“Show ‘em to him, Hon,” he roared.

Sure enough, she ripped that top off quicker than lightening. Those boobs were firm and round as cantaloupes. Her nipples stood out like half-inch bolts.

"Now those cost a pretty penny," Les said. “I’ll tell you what.”

"Worth ever bit," Harley said, a faraway look in his eyes.

Dolly shook her titties at him. "Well, honey, if you like these. You'd probably like the rest of the package."

"Yep," Harley said.

Les laughed loud enough it echoed across the cove. "Shit, Dolly, take him on inside. Ya'll have a good time."

I felt a shiver run up my spine and gave Harley a look. "I don't think..."

Harley reached for Dolly's hand and pulled her with him out of the tub. "Hell, this ain't no time to think."

I stared at the sunlight on the lake while Dolly and Harley made their way inside.

"Well," I said.

Les shrugged. "Shit man, it don't mean nothing. We're all just having a good time."

"I reckon,"

Les leaned back and looked at the canopy of trees above us. He confided in me that he and Dolly liked to swing. “You and your missus ever get into that?”.

“Not much,”

“Well, you don’t really know how much you love a woman until you share her with another man.”

“What I heard.”

“You love your wife, don’t you?”

“We’ve been married twenty-five years. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.”

"I’ll tell you what love is,” Les said. “Love is helping that other person be all they can be. I’d drink Dolly’s snot, if she asked me to, if I thought it would make her a better person.”

“Well,” I said. I was drunk and stoned and suddenly tired. I’d never thought of love like that.

While Harley and Dolly were inside, Les and me drank beer and talked about NASCAR. Things sure had changed since the old days. Used to be just a bunch of good ole boys and shade tree mechanics. Now it was big corporations and hi-tech machinery. He said they even had a school for it in Mooresville. You learn to build them cars, fix ‘em or drive ‘em, just by going to school. I told him the same was true of trucking. Just when you thought you had it figured out, something new came along.

After a spell, Harley and Dolly came out to the Jacuzzi. Harley slipped into the water next to me, but wouldn’t look me in the eye. He’d changed into one of Les’ swimsuits. Dolly wore a heavy terry cloth robe. She sat down behind Les and rubbed his shoulders.

“MMMmmm, mmmmmmm,” she murmured.

Les smiled and patted her hand. “I love you, baby,” he said.

“I love you too,” she told him. Her robe fell open and a perfect fake breast spilled out.

“Well,” I said.

“Yeah, I reckon.” Harley agreed.

We stayed just long enough to be polite, then said our goodbyes, and made our way to the door. Les slapped Harley on the back.

“Ya’ll come back again,” he said. “You can keep that swimsuit, if you want. I don’t wear it no more anyway.”

Harley kept his eyes on the floor. “Thanks. I appreciate.”

Dolly squeezed my arm. “Don’t be a stranger,” she said.

* * *

In the early evening traffic it took us nearly an hour down Brawley School Road to the highway. Harley didn’t speak until I turned south on 77.

“They sure were nice,” Harley said once we were headed back to Charlotte.

“Yes they were.”

“ GarageMahal,” he snorted. “Did you ever hear the like?”

Well, the one about drinking Dolly’s snot pretty much topped it, but I didn’t want to get into that with Harley.

“That was some garage,” I said.

“Yessir it was. You want the details on Dolly?”

“Not really.”

“She about turned me inside out.”

“I reckon.”

“I’m sure glad I took that Viagra.”

“Harley…”

“I know, I know. It’s just she’s the first woman I been with since Clarice.”

“Yep.”

“How’d ole Les take it? Me in there with his woman.”

“We talked about NASCAR. Shit, Harley, they’re swingers. They do this all time. It ain’t no big deal to them.”

He sat back in his seat with a sigh. “Swingers?”

“What the man said.”

“I’ll be damned.”

Harley shook another pill from his bottle and tossed it down.

“How many of those you supposed to take?”

“As many as I damn well please. I’ve still got a date with CheriMist tonight.”

“Goddamn, Harley.”

“Do you good to hook up with Sandra,” he said. “She likes you, Bud.”

I hadn’t thought about Sandra for a while. But the mention of her caused a vision of her knees to flash before my eyes. “I reckon.”

* * *

By the time I got home, Aven had dinner ready. It wasn’t a minute too soon, because I could’ve eated a horse after toking those doobies. Even though it was just me and her, she still cooked like all the kids were at home. She’d cooked fatback and fried potatoes and collard greens. Woman sure knew how to cook collards.

Aven was a good looking woman, a little stouter than she used to be, but she’d had three babies. When we were young, she was lean and hard like Dolly. Or Sandra. Our computer sat on the kitchen cabinet. My oldest boy bought it for us so we could keep in touch by e-mail. I wondered if Aven ever ventured into chat rooms while I was driving truck.

After dinner, I helped her with the dishes, then we sat on the porch. She asked how my day went and I told her just fine. I asked about her day and she said it went just fine. We talked about the kids who didn’t live with us anymore, wondering how they were doing and which would be the first to bless us with grandchildren.

When it got dark, we went inside and watched HBO until we fell asleep on the sofa. Aven woke up before me and said she’d had enough. I punched the flipper and followed her down the hall.

Aven took a little extra time in the bathroom and didn’t notice that I wore no skivvies. Harley had tied them to the truck antenna on the way home, then kept the truck overnight. How was a man supposed explain losing his skivvies to his wife?

I slipped into bed and pretended to sleep. Aven read for awhile, before turning off her light. She liked romances and stories about vampires and such. She told me once that there was something erotic about it. But I didn’t see anything erotic about drinking someone’s blood.

Pretty soon, Aven was snoozing away, but I was wide awake. I thought about the next day’s deliveries. We’d scheduled another one on the north side of the lake—lumber this time. I thought about Les and Dolly in their big old empty house. It must have felt lonely when the lights went down, even if you were with the one person in the world who helped you be all you could be. I thought about Harley chatting it up online with CheriMist. What did I know? Maybe cyber love was real love.

But mostly I thought about Sandra’s knees. Woman had beautiful knees, knees like the girls used to have when I was sixteen years old. I imagined how she’d look in a swimsuit.

I wondered if they had a Jacuzzi at that Motel Six. I wondered if Sandra and me could ever get so close we could drink each other’s snot. I wondered if I could help her be all that she could be. And I wondered what else would I be, if I wasn’t what I was?

Before I fell asleep, I reached out and placed my hand on Aven’s hip. It was ample, solid. It had given me a lot of pleasure over the years. I could feel its steady rise and fall, rise and fall.

It was the most comforting thing I’d felt all day.

The End