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My wife and I first met Melody and Earl at ‘Texas Tommy’s.’ We were looking around in the mall and went into ‘Texas Tommy’s’, a western clothing store that has everything from saddles to shoes, boots to buckles and just about anything you might imagine tied to a western theme.
I took note of the gal who was going through the blue jean skirts on a rack just inside the door. Melody was a blond, fairly attractive, about 38 years old. It turned out she was married to Earl, a big burly guy, probably 55 or older, who was always mistaken for Kenny Rogers although in truth he was taller and carried at least 50 extra pounds. Earl had the same facial set up that Rogers wore when he did the ‘Gambler’ film for TV and I don’t think I ever saw him without those distinctive facial whiskers.
As I turned round, taking my eyes off of Melody who seemed to be headed towards the back of the store, maybe to try on a dress, there was this big guy, Earl, talking the ears off my wife. He was covered with smiles and was loquacious. He had obviously asked my wife her opinion. Of course my wife considered herself a designer and was busy going through the folded shirts and holding them up one by one next to Earl’s big face and seemed pleased to have a new follower. She matched up a light blue pattern that picked up the color of Earl’s eyes and before long Melody appeared and Earl introduced us to his wife, who I’d previously thought was a hooker trolling the mall for clients. Naturally Melody smiled and joined our group.
We four were now one, as if a small school of fish traveling together, we didn’t miss an aisle. Melody found a crystal horse pendant with a leather tie, I grabbed an oversized mocha wallet with an embossed cowboy with boots who for some reason seemed to be jumping into the air. Earl picked out a jean dress he insisted he was going to buy for my wife and a fringed leather jacket for himself, but it turned out they didn’t have the jacket in his size.
We took our items and were lined up at the lone cashier for a while because the customer ahead of us had a credit card that didn’t scan. Finally someone got a piece of plastic wrap, put it over the card and it worked. The customer was then was processed and we were next. When we all made our purchases, Earl had found an extra large wide belt in the meantime. Once we paid, Earl, as friendly as a big bear, suggested we all adjure to the Starbucks and have some coffee and get to know each other.
I wasn’t too interest but my wife and Earl seemed to be leading the parade so the rest of us, Melody and myself, followed behind them into the coffee place. We got on the coffee line which seemed to be taking forever. Finally, having paid the cashier, we waited for the Barista (what a stupid snobby name) who required us to loudly sound our names so he could write them with a felt pen on the cups. I said my name was “Leroy,” which it wasn’t and Earl said, “Kenny.” My wife who is to honest to a fault, said “Flo” and Melody said, “Just put ‘Mel’ on there Honey,” as she kind of pumped up her chest.
With our hot coffee cups in hand, we found a place to sit and as Earl mentioned, we had swapped one long line in Texas Tommy’s for another in the Starbucks. Earl told us that he was a close friend of the owner of the western store, Mr. Tommy’s, and had helped him plan out the store display.
“I’m sort of a shadow manager,” he said, “I check on the condition of the store and report back to the owner.”
“You know Mr. Tommy?” I said.
“There isn’t a Mr. Tommy,” said Earl, “he’s an Armenian guy named Levic.”
“Wow,” I thought, this guy seems to know what he’s talking about.
Melody kept looking around the crowded room and would join in the conversation every few minutes to contribute pieces of her obviously varied life experiences. Before the hot coffee was drunk we knew the she had a second breast enlargement recently and was tellingly my wife, who was a natural 32DD of a place where they made custom fitted brasiers one town away. It seems that Earl only wanted the best for his wife, or should I say the best for his wife’s tits. This custom tit tailor was about 3 times the cost of a good quality bra. I’m not talking about a ‘19.95 Playtex’ but the fancy lace ‘$65-85 Wacol’s.’
“How long do the implants last?” asked my Flo.
“Hon, you gotta think of them like tires on a truck, every few years they get worn out and ya gotta replace ’em.”
We also learned that when Earl wasn’t watching ‘Texas Tommy’s’ he was a contractor currently employed as the site manager for a Chinese building and architectural firm. They were in the middle of constructing a slew of custom homes high up on a ridge overlooking the city. Melody was working at a local Real Estate broker’s office studying to get her Salesman’s License. As she was just learning the ropes, I offered any advice she might need as I was an Economics teacher with some real estate konak escort experience. My wife added that she did home design work for several local builders. Earl nodded his head and said he knew of them.
That’s how our friendship started. Earl was like a big Teddy bear, warm and protective and generous to a fault. He was always ready to pick up the bill and a dinner out always meant a sizable bar bill that we’d have to fight over. My wife didn’t drink and I was good for a single tall beer at best, so when it was my change to pay I felt like I was supporting two alcoholics. That was probably unfair of me but if we’d simply paid for our own food/drinks I would have come off with a much small bill.
We started eating out with them at different steak houses over the next couple of months. I have to admit, those two were fun to go out with. One night we passed a strip tease club and Earl said , “Let’s go” and before I knew it we were inside the club drinking whiskies and the titties were flying.
There was a sign on the wall that said Friday nights were Amateur Nights and to my surprise Melody thought she and my wife should try out, the prize was $100, hardly a consideration but if the girls wanted to wave their tits around for a bunch of strangers I thought the whole idea kind of funny. Of course that idea never came to fruition, my wife got cold feet or was it cold tits.
Curious about when they lived, we suggested we’d come to visit them one night. Earl had said he wanted to show me some painting he’d acquired. It was a small apartment on the wrong side of town, two blocks out of the industrial zone. They had decorated it sparsely but nicely. Ray sat in a big leather chair nursing a glass of whiskey when I we walked in. Flo was taken in hand and walked into the bedroom by Melody who wanted to show her some clothes she’d bought.
I sat down on the sofa facing Earl. He poured me a glass of Jack Daniels, threw in a few small ice cubes. He reached over and handed me the crystal glass and then got up and walked over to the wall where three paintings hung. He turned on the small light that was attached to the top of the gilt frame.
“So what da ya think?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you recognize them?”
“Tell me about them.” I was begging the question.
“Christ man, they are Picasso’s, they’re worth a cool million if they are worth a penny.”
I got up and got closer,
“Are they really, wow?”
“Of course they are, look at the signature.”
Sure enough, there was the signature in the right corner that looked a little smudged.
“Look,” Earl got up, visibly agitated, and grasped the painting by its frame. He lifted it up off the wall and turned it over.
“Look there is the official seal.”
And by God there it was, a big red stamp like a diploma with French writing that from what I could understand was a government authentication. It was signed Picasso Authorization Center and, then a chain of provenance signed by Claude Ruiz-Picasso, who Earl said was a son or grandson in charge of such things.
“Look,” said Earl, “let me advise you, if you don’t buy art, you should start to buy gold coins, wait till the price dips and buy ’em, the price always goes up. I got a suitcase full hidden here in the apartment don’t I hon?”
Melody nodded. I was astounded. About that time I was ready to ask to see the hidden suitcase full of gold coins but I feared if it were stolen I might be a suspect.
Later that evening we learned that Melody was a divorcee’ with a grown daughter who was a dope addict. Earl was also a divorced.
“His first wife,” said Melody in a low voice, “had become a lesbian.”
I don’t think Earl heard that comment, he was probably a little deaf, but he piped up in a loud voice, “I have a son who I left my classic Harley Davidson Fatboy with. Wait till you see that. I also have an adopted son who is a native American Indian. His family were killed in a drunk driving accident but the kid survived. Had no place to go so I adopted him.”
“Do you still keep in touch with them all?”
“From time to time,” said Earl. Melody nodded.
“My son has had some problems, always has his hand out. The Injun is doing fine, works for a moving company in …” and he named a city a few hours distant.
I didn’t press him on his troubles or anything else, people are entitled to start a new life. I gathered they’d been married at least 5 or six years ago but there were no photos of that happy event on the bare mantel, just the Picasso’s hanging there.
By now several months had passed and we had all become best of friends without really knowing much more about them, but little by little like sand through an hourglass we got the feeling we knew who they were. The more you know someone the more you begin to know who you are dealing with. It’s like seeing out through dirty glasses, everything is blurry until you clean them and then güzelbahçe escort hopefully everything comes into focus. But Earl and Melody were still a little blurry.
That weekend they had added a small band as entertainment at the ‘Jethro Steak House.’ We were in the middle of our dinner when an unruly drunk bumped into our table spilling our drinks all over the place. The waitress and one of the bus boys escorted him out and apologized for the intrusion. They set up new drinks and changed the table. Earl seemed annoyed by the disruption and he started talking about how he could kill a person with just one finger. A skill he said he learned when he was a Navy Seal. As he kind of looked to have the body of a sea lion, the idea that he was an expert swimmer didn’t seem strange at all.
At some point Melody excused herself to go to the bathroom and a few minutes later I realized I’d left my wallet in our car. I walked out back and saw some guy was standing next to Earl’s car. Suspecting he might me about to break into it I carefully crossed over a few aisles of the parking lot to get a better look. Then I saw he was leaning over with his hands in the front so I figured he was taking a piss. I realized that wasn’t the case when I saw some gal’s blond hair bobbing up and down and it looked like it might be Melody. I went back to my car, got my wallet that had fallen off the front seat and went back inside. No, it couldn’t have been Melody, there she was sitting at the table drinking her whiskey and looking as innocent as a newborn babe. That’s when her eyes looked up and met mine and after that I wasn’t so sure.
Earl started up a new story. He recounted that some years ago he was on the replacement team that went into Pakistan to kill Bin Laden. When the first team lost its helicopter Earl’s team was standing by in a hanger at some secret location awaiting word to join them. Fortunately they weren’t needed. My respect for Earl grew by leaps and bounds after he confided that story and I was pleased when he insisted that he had to swear me to secrecy. I was so proud, my buddy was a real American hero.
Seems Earl was still on call as a military consultant and he’d disappear every now and then for a few days at a time. These were secret missions and he could not discuss the details but he did say he was advising a clandestine Cuban military group in Miami who were hell bent on killing Castro but our government preferred to stall them and wait for Castro to die a natural death. Earl was meeting with them in a high school gymnasium and schooling them on hand to hand combat.
When Earl was away on a mission, we offered to take Melody out for dinner but on that one occasion I was busy with something, so Flo drove over to their place and picked up Melody. That was agreeable to me, I had plenty to do and this constant socializing was a drain on my free time. My wife, Flo, had planned to take Melody to one of our usual restaurants, but Melody didn’t want to go there so they ended up in what my wife said was some sleazy bar that gave out free tacos with overly sweet alcoholic drinks. But my wife, non to clever in that arena, did eventually figure out that it was also a ‘pick up place’ and I don’t mean pick up in the sense of ordering dinner and picking it up. I mean the men arriving there were looking for single women who wanted to have sex at the motel next door or in their trucks outside.
As my wife was younger and more attractive then Melody, I assumed she was supposed to function as the bait. My wife got tired of saying no to strange men who slaundered over to their table offering them free drinks. Flo was embarrassed by the situation and excused herself, got up, left Melody at the table and went to hide in the bathroom. Evidently Melody met someone while my wife was sitting in the bathroom and disappeared for about forty minutes. By that time Flo had returned to their table, now instead of two cocktail glasses there were now six empty ones.
Eventually Melody returned through the back door, looking a bit disheveled and her horse pendant was missing and there was a long streak of something wet on her blouse. Melody said she spilled some hot sauce on her blouse. My wife, not wanting to be tarred with Melody’s behavior thought it best they leave, she didn’t ask any questions.
“Of course hot sauce is red, not white or grey,” said Flo.
When Flo came home that night she didn’t tell me much, she left out most of the story. It took a while before she opened up with what really went on that night.
The next weekend Earl called to say he had discovered a terrific seafood place out on the coast. It was about 40 miles away so we all went in his car. He said he was taken there for a briefing and in fact there was a military base nearby. With the roar of the highway I couldn’t hear what the girls in the back seat were conversing about as he drove. Then, about half way there Earl abruptly pulled gaziemir escort off the highway, stopped just past the exit and waited.
“Are you ok, Earl?”
“I just wanted to make sure no one was following us,” he responded .
It turned out this was his modus operandi, confirmed by Melody, he did this all the time. He had told her he was working a secret undercover job for the FBI and had to be sure that no one was following him. Why ‘they’ would be following him he never explained.
Can that be true? Asked my wife.
“I don’t know,” said Melody.
At the dinner table Earl started again on his rant about his distrust of banks, something he’d said on previous occasions. He told me again I should start to acquire gold coins.
“When the world goes to shit, the banks will be closed for the duration.”
Whatever crisis Earl foresaw he didn’t elucidate, but that’s when his gold horde would permit their survival.
“If ya can’t afford gold try silver, it’s a lot cheaper.”
About that time, instead of gold coins or silver bars we were decided to look for a nicer house. My wife asked Melody to keep her eyes out at the real estate office for any bargains. That was when Melody told her she had been fired from the job. It seems she was having an affair with her boss and the boss’ wife found out.
The boss, pretending to meet a buyer, would take Melody to unoccupied homes for which he had a key or code to unlock the lockbox. In they would go in as if he was showing the home to a prospective buyer, obviously that part was played by Melody. Once inside they’d make it straight to the bedroom for a fast fuck and then back to the office. Unfortunately the wife, who was a partner in their real estate office had on that occasion a legitimate client with her when she walked in on the two of them in flagrante delicto, you might say that was when the shit hit the fan. Exit Melody, one prospective real estate saleswoman, fired.
I’d found a nice house up on a hill outside town but it had some water damage. I’d asked Earl to take a look at it and he pointed out various additional drainage problems that he said might not be repairable. Knowing he was the expert, his comments discouraged me from making an offer.
My wife, being a bit prudish, thought the time had come to diminish out contact with the couple, Melody’s escapades were getting to be a bit much. But Earl called us a week later. Sales of real estate were slow and the builder he was working for offered him or anyone he knew a super low price on these homes he was constructing. He gave us the address and we went over to check out the houses which were about half finished and a good distance away. And there was Earl, all by himself, no workmen in sight, to show us the homes. There were three for sale and you had to buy all three to make the deal.
I asked Earl, “Would you be interested in taking one for yourself and we could sell off the other one?”
It was as if he hadn’t heard me,
“This is a great opportunity for you guys, you buy ’em, I’ll finish ’em up and you’ll make a killing.”
We thought about being involved, but because the houses were only half finished and we didn’t know what it would cost to complete them, and although we could have swung purchasing one of them, for some reason we thought better of it, maybe we were beginning to have doubts about Earl.
The next night Earl insisted he’d introduce us to the owners of the houses. He took us out to dinner with his boss, Sam Chung and his family. It was the Chinese New Year and among the Chinese it was customary to give red envelopes with money to employees and on this occasion he invited them and their guests out to dinner at a well known French restaurant. I must say, the Chinese family were very warm and generous to invite us but there was no mention of the houses.
After our dinner at a swank French restaurant, where they served everything from snails to turtle, not wanting be rude we followed Earl and Melody back to his small apartment. Earl and I sat and conversed. While Earl discussed his theory of the Kennedy assassination years back, the girls disappeared into the bedroom. During this time Melody confided to my wife that she wasn’t pleased with having sex with Earl.
“Well, what is wrong with him? He can’t perform?”
“Well, he’s ok for foreplay, he goes down on me like a sperm whale and if he can’t get it up he takes a viagra and then he’s fine but hon, it just ain’t doing it for me.”
She then explained that her remedy was quite simple. She was very much attracted to the local Fed-Ex delivery man who wore short pants as he scampered about the neighborhood. So she began shipping empty boxes to herself and when the Fed-Ex guy brought them to the door, she’d come out to the door half naked and before long she had little trouble seducing the guy whose cock she assured Flo was so long it was hardly covered by his shorts. Evidently she was getting more value out of these trysts than she had paid for the postage.
I knew a guy who worked at the downtown Fed-Ex office and I asked him if he knew the delivery guy on Melody’s Street.
Had he seen Melody?
“She’s a blond, about 5 foot 6? Maybe about forty years old? Looks a little worn out? Drives a yellow Chevy?”
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