A Bad Day for Hunting

A Writer's Cramp entry

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The Writer's Cramp  (13+) Write the best story or poem in 24 hours or less and win 10K GPs! #333655 by Sophy

The prompt was to write a story using the words:checkbook, vacuum cleaner, outhouse, douches and dogfood. What fun!

A Bad Day for Hunting

          I got my checkbook and started out for the store. Naturally it was raining. The water slithered down my neck, right through the raincoat. If I hadn't had my hands full, I could have pulled up the collar, but as usual I was carrying more than I should. I had the library books, the dry cleaning, and a dead vacuum cleaner all clutched in my arms. Then when I got to the car, the key wouldn't turn in the lock. Thoroughly drenched, I finally got the lock to open, shoved in my pile, and dropped onto the seat. Of course, the car's battery was dead. Some mornings are just like that.

          Old Hank, the guy in the apartment next to mine, had been stumbling out of his doorway about the same time as I had. He'd come over to talk, and the undesirability of his presence is what finally forced my key to work. However, I'll admit I did take advantage of Hank's presence to get a charge off his vehicle. His car jump-started my old dodge, and Hank's desire. I was pretty sure I'd be paying for the assistance later in the renewal of his unwanted attentions.

          I suppose I should explain that Hank isn't really that old. I just call him that to separate him from the guys I meet who have some potential as future mates. Hank isn't even bad looking. In fact, he's got hair that falls down into his eyes in a most attractive manner. Nice eyes, too. The first week I moved here, I thought about him a lot. Then, I got to know him.

          Hank's the kind of guy who works at a fast food restaurant, and will always work there. He has zero "up and go." I don't think Hank even knows about the corporate world, or about stocks and bonds. His only interest is in buying comic books and watching old science fiction movies. But, why am I thinking about Hank, when it's Saturday morning, and I've got a full list of chores to do before I can kick back?

          The dry cleaners was first. Then, I dumped the library books in the bin, and checked out four more romance novels. A "tall, dark, and handsome" was checking out some paperbacks on sale. I moseyed closer, giving him my smile. His wife scurried over, with two kids in tow.

         The fix-it shop promised to resurrect my dead vacuum, but the price they were charging made me wonder if I'd be better off buying a new one. I left it there. It was too much trouble to start all that comparison-shopping stuff.

          Next stop was the post office. Several "perspectives" had rings on their fingers; one wore his wife on his arm. Is there some rule that only married men can buy stamps?

          The grocery store had potential. Singles shopped on Saturdays. I cruised and looked. My cart bumped into a surfer-shirt, but he didn't seem interested -- probably gay. I reached over a suited guy to pick up a melon. We exchanged a smile, but his two kids came running over, tugging away at his suit.

         "Mommy says we can pick out the cereal. Can we, Dad?"

          I kept the melon and moved to the tangerines. Too bad. The guy had good taste in ties.

          I waited in the deli section. By the time they called my number, a couple of housewives, two senior citizens -- one with a wife who kept glaring at me like I was going to steal her man, and a kid wanting a coke were the only people in sight. I should have known. Any day that started out with rain, a dead battery, and Old Hank with his puppydog eyes, could only get worse.

          I picked up my order of cheese and ham, and pushed my cart into one of the lines. Unsurprisingly, the one I picked was the slowest one. However, I had chosen it, not because of the clerk ringing up the groceries, but because the guy ahead of me looked delectable. He wasn't against striking up a conversation either. We started laughing and talking. When Jeff paid for his goodies, he waited and walked me out to my car.

          My heart was thumping. Jeff's teeth were solid rocks of white marble. His eyes were soft velvet -- rich and deliciously brown. He asked me to join him for coffee. I nodded. I would follow this guy to the moon, if he asked.

          We stopped off at his car. Jeff had a lot of groceries for a single man. It was probably rude, but I inspected what I could see: bottle of wine, mammoth-sized bag of dog food , French bread, a box of douches ?

          Jeff shut his trunk, and walked me over to my car. Courteously, he helped me unload the cart. I hardly spoke. I kept seeing that pink box of douches staring up at me.

          In the coffee house, Jeff ordered for us. He was smooth as a mocha; words flowed off his tongue. Both the girl who took our orders and I were impressed.

          It was a classy place; Beethoven or somebody just like him had composed the piece of music playing on the sound system. Jeff commented on how much he liked that particular symphony. Of course, I agreed.

          We chatted for a while, and I learned about the law firm he was working at. It sounded impressive. I told him that I was still in school. He assumed it was full time, and asked me about my career plans. I figured that roping a husband wouldn't impress him, so I substituted taxes. It didn't bother me in the least that the only class I'd taken in mathematics I'd had to drop. Jeff agreed that taxes was a good field to be in. I decided I'd check it out the following week.

          Jeff asked me out for dinner. I accepted without thinking too hard. Still, the little pink box kept rubbing at my concentration.

         "So, you live alone or... with a roommate," I probed.

          He hesitated for a moment, before the charm flowed on. "I'm between roommates," he said, sipping his coffee so his eyes didn't meet mine.

          Liar my instincts yelled. He was smooth. Maybe he'd learned that in his law firm. I stabbed again.

          "I live alone," I told him. "It's easier to concentrate on my academics."

          Jeff nodded sagely. "I know what you mean. Relationships can be tough."

          Yeah, especially when you're buying douches for them.

          "How did your last one sour?" I asked, casually.

          His eyes considered me. They narrowed slightly. I could see the cold calculation deep inside the brown.

          "It didn't actually..."

          A spark of honesty? I sat up slightly, hoping for a bit of integrity in his lawyer's soul.

          "... end that way. She dumped me for a senior partner. She plans on climbing higher through the bedroom scenario. I'm sure a lady with your charm and intelligence would never stoop to such a thing, but there are some women who..."

          His coffee saved him from continuing. Were there tears in his eyes? Should I be consoling him with that small pink box of douches sitting in his grocery bag ?

          I sipped my coffee. It was sweeter than I liked. I wished my hands hadn't been so shaky when I'd added the sugar.

          "So, do you have family around? A sister, a mother?"

          He looked up. Whatever tears were supposed to be in his eyes, they were suddenly gone. He leaned a touch closer and covered my hand with his.

         "Such sweetness," he murmured, "in eyes the color of emeralds."

          I was onto him, but my heart throbbed in double-time with his words and touch. Breathe , I told myself. Breathe.

          "My only sister lives in Cleveland. My mother has passed on. You have no competition, fair maiden."

          Except for the rectangular box of douches in his car.

          "How delightful," I said, looking down modestly at my overly sweet Java. "Although, I'm sorry to hear about your mother. That is dreadfully sad."

          Jeff smiled. His white marble teeth were actually slightly pointed. I hadn't noticed it before. Perhaps he was part shark.

          "It happened long ago. There is no cause for your distress. Give me a smile, my enchantress."

          How did I get to be his enchantress? He certainly wasn't buying those douches for me!

          I flashed him a quick encouragement, and threw out another hook. "So, tell me about your neighbors. Any good friends there, or are they beastly?"

          "My neighbors?" He wrinkled his nose, looking puzzled for a minute, but he rallied and set forth with more smooth talk. "Ah, you have an inquisitive mind, my enchantress. Is that a characteristic of one who has hair the color of autumn leaves in the sunshine?"

          My hair was auburn, and I supposed there were leaves that color, but most of them were moldy-browns -- shriveled and wrinkly. But even though Jeff had missed his mark with the compliment, his repetition of the word "enchantress" was starting to wash away the memory of that pink box of douches.

          I played with the little tab on my paper cup, wiggling it back and forth, wondering if I should pull it off, wondering about -- you know .

          "No interesting neighbors, I'm afraid, Sharon," he said. "I rarely have time to meet them. How about you? Is there a neighbor who might be a rival?"

          I shook my head, thinking about old Hank. Competition, hardly! A stray thought kept rearing its ugly head and staring at me. It kept repeating that Hank would never lie -- stupid thought. I pushed it down and returned to Jeff's brown eyes.

          Although Jeff offered me another coffee, I shook my head, and we stood. People were leaning on the walls, waiting for a table. A couple descended before I'd even unwrapped my purse from the chair.

          Still, I paused and asked the question that I could no longer put off. "Jeff, this is killing me. Please, tell me why you have a package of douches in your car."

          I blushed when I asked it. I could feel my face growing hotter as the strangers waiting for their seats, stared at me and snickered behind their coffees -- but that was nothing compared to the look of horror I saw in Jeff's eyes. He melted inward.

          Luckily, he was saved from explaining as a woman dashed over, and threw her arms around him.

          "Darling," she said. "When I saw the car still here, and I checked the trunk and found all those groceries, I knew you'd come in for coffee. You dreadful man!" she gushed, giving me a glare from the side of her smile.

          Jeff was truly a polished lawyer. He turned with a sacharine smile, and introduced his wife. Then, without a twitch, he told her how he'd been counseling me on a legal problem.

          "That's my Jeff," the woman cooed, as she assertively draped herself around his body.

         I met Jeff's eyes. The chocolates had melted in trepidation. I smiled and debated an instant. There is power in holding the well being of another in your hand. He deserved to be denounced. But cowardly, I shook his hand and said, "Thank you, Jeff. Your instruction will guide me in the future. There will be no need for that further meeting we talked about."

          His relief looked like it weighed as much as the bag of dog chow he'd tossed into his car.

         I turned, nodded to the wife, and left.

          I was kinder to Hank from then on. He may not be a "catch," but I guess there are worse things than spending your time reading comic books in the old unused outhouse behind our brick apartments. After all, the Superman ones aren't that bad!

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