"Can I get a cup of your house soup and a decaf coffee?" Mort stretched his thin lips into a smile as he waited for the older shop owner to take his money.
She raised a questionable eyebrow at him, as if she didn't believe that was what he really wanted. The store owner opened her mouth to say something but then shut it when another customer walked into the all-purpose store. Muttering under her breath, she snatched the crumpled ten dollar bill from Mort's hands with a disgusted look on her wrinkled face.
Must be desperate for money this week. Usually the grumpy old woman wouldn't accept his money and would stare him down with daggers coming out of her green eyes until he left her store empty-handed. Mort pushed his ragged hair away from his eyes as he took a seat at the kitchen counter; he received more glares from the farmers sitting at the counter on the other side. He gave them half of a smile before he turned away from their dark looks and waited for his cup of coffee. Now he knew what people meant when they could feel someone staring at them in the back of their minds.
Sighing loudly, Mort twiddled his thumbs in boredom as he tried to avoid the townspeople's hatful expressions. He caught sight of someone new in the store; only members of small towns could easily spot newcomers. Tilting his head to the side, he watched the "big city" blonde wander aimlessly around the store's seven isles searching for something. She had a jet black business suit on, a red undershirt and red high heels to match.
Mort instantly pretended to be looking in the opposite direction when the woman wandered over to the counter with a lighter in her hands. He watched her out the corner of his eye as she stood right next to him trying to grab the store owner's attention.
"Excuse me-miss?" the blonde slightly leaned over the counter as the grumpy woman carried a fresh cup of coffee to one of the farmers. When the blonde only received a fleeting glance, she grumbled under her breath and slammed her lighter down on the counter; to Mort's surprise she did not have a ring on her engagement finger. "Can you tell me where the cigarettes are, miss?" Again, the big city blonde did not get a response from the store owner.
Mort chuckled to himself when the blonde folded her arms across her chest and began to curse in a low tone of voice. "What is so funny?" she snapped at him in a bitter voice. She had beautiful blue eyes with speckles of green; it reminded Mort of the colors of the lake that he lives on.
"She refuses to serve newcomers," Mort smirked at her as he drummed his fingers on the counter. "And by the looks of your five hundred dollar purse, I'd say that you're not from around here..." Just as he said this, the grumpy woman slid his cup of coffee across the counter to have one-fourth of its contents spill along the way. Mort was barely quick enough to catch his change as she chucked it right at his face; he soon found out that she did not charge him for the soup. "Free soup today, Miranda?"
Glaring sternly at him, the store owner growled at him that she was not serving soup today and waddled over to the other end of the counter to refill the remaining farmers' cups of coffee. "Damn Soup Nazi," Mort sighed with disappointment; he was really looking forward to having clam chowder today too.
The blonde snickered at him, "By the looks of your coffee and shitty service, I'd say that you've just moved here recently..." Brushing her shoulder-length hair away from her face, she smiled sweetly at Mort; he recognized this common female expression as the "sucker face" for men. "Can you show me where the cigarettes are? Since you know this place so well..."
Mort raised an eyebrow in her direction, "Smoking will kill you, you know that?" But he had no room to talk - he had nearly smoked two packs of cigarettes last week. "Alright," he said before he took a swig of his coffee, "I'll show you were the Soup Nazi hides them."
Four minutes later, Mort was generously buying the big city blonde's pack of Camel cigarettes and walking outside with her to her car. He was half-expecting to see her driving an Escalade or a Porsche, but she walked over to a beat-up, red pick-up truck instead. Pocketing his twitching hands, Mort tried to ignore the urge to light up a cigarette with her as she ripped her pack open and stuck one in the corner of her pink lips. She had offered him one on the way out of the store but he declined with a grin on his face. For once, he was glad that he had gotten braces to help straighten his teeth, he could now smile with perfect teeth at lovely women.
"Are you here visiting?" He was trying not to sound too interested with her; being aloof was the key to getting ladies.
"No-I'm here on business..." she seemed a bit calmer now since she finally got what she wanted. "I'm building a house here. But the builders have suddenly quit on me, so I'm trying to hire someone from around here to finish it," she took another drag on her cigarette.
He readjusted his thick-rimmed glasses as he heard this, "May I ask where you are building?"
Flicking her cigarette butt on the ground, she smashed it with the edge of her red high heel. "By a lake...out on the north side, why? Do you know the place?"
After spending nearly a year along in his log cabin, without anyone to talk to except for his new pet dog, he had now found someone building a house only five miles away from him. To Mort, this was a sign from God or some other supreme being. "I'm actually only a few miles away from there," he commented in a smooth voice.
"Really?" she unlocked her red truck and tossed her expensive purse and her pack of cigarettes into the passenger seat. "Do you own that two-story log cabin on the edge of the lake then?"
Act smooth, he told himself as he waited for a few seconds before answering her question. "Yes, I just bought it two years ago..." Before he even realized what he was saying, Mort asked the blonde if she wanted to come over for a drink later on. "As long as you like dogs of course," he added to save what dignity he had left in him. It had been a while since he had offered a woman a drink; he had just gotten over the divorce with his former wife only last year.
"I love dogs...but-" she awkwardly glanced away from Mort to examine her truck's dirty wheels.
Too quick Mort! You should have kept it causal and just have told her that you would see her around! Mort tried to pretend that he was not disappointed when he heard the universal "put-down" word. His chest began to tighten with anticipation as he thought of what she would say next.
"I'm not staying at my house - it doesn't even have a roof yet. I'm staying at the local bed and breakfast here...at least until I can find a builder to finish the damn roof." The big city blonde lifted her head and smiled sweetly at Mort, "I would suggest about meeting you at one of the restaurants around here...but by the looks of it - you're not welcomed here either." She suddenly appeared to have an epiphany and she flipped around to snatch her five hundred dollar purse from the passenger's seat. Moments later, she handed him a ripped piece of paper with her name and phone number on it. "You can call me in a few days...I should have a builder by then. Hopefully," she added in a skeptical voice.
Mort read her name aloud, "Angela," he was breathing a bit easier now. "I'm Mort by the way," he reached out to shake her well-manicured hand; it felt like he was touching silk. "I guess I'll see you around then Angela," he mumbled slightly when he thought that she might have given him a fake number.
"I hope so," she grinned from ear to ear as she climbed into her red truck. "Thanks for the fags," Angela called as she shifted her car into the right gear and pulled away from the sidewalk.
Scratching the back of his head with one hand, Mort wondered if she actually wanted to have him call her or if she was really interested in him in any way. Women were sometimes too complex for Mort, he wondered if other men had the same problem as he did understanding their whimsical ways and beautiful let-downs. He glanced down at her name and the phone number she had scribbled down hastily, I guess we'll find out in a few days then, won't we?
As he pocketed the blonde's phone number, Mort spotted the town's cop lazily driving by, which was probably due to the cop's old age. For a split second the cop narrowed his beady black eyes at Mort and mouthed the words "I'm watching you," before his cop car crawled away down the street. Mort had always despised the elderly cop, ever since the cop would not lift one finger to help Mort find the man who had brutally murdered his dog with a screwdriver. The cop had claimed that it was just a minor offense, the dog was just "property" after all - nothing to be too worried about.
Once the seventy year-old cop was out of sight, Mort wandered over to his jeep with a deep frown on his face. Soon, her murder will be even a mystery to me... His stomach growled loudly as he buckled up, "Corn on the cob sounds good right now," he told himself as he turned his right blinker on to pull out into the main street.
- - - - - -
Chewing on the end of his ballpoint pen, Mort stared off into nothingness as he racked his mind for more ideas for a new story. There had always been one major problem with Mort's highly artistic mind - it always eluded him. He was eyeing the clock on the edge of his work desk, it was only 6:00 p.m. It had been three days and sixteen hours since he had met Angela, but it wasn't like he had been counting or anything. Come on - focus on writing! The frustrated writer tossed his black pen across his wooden desk and sighed pathetically at himself. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes; sitting in front of his blank computer screen was beginning to ruin them.
Suddenly a title for his next short story popped into the back of his mind, All is not as it seems...Perfect! Quickly typing the title into his Microsoft Word Document before he forgot what he was writing, Mort leaned back in his chair with a grin on his face. "That's enough work for one day," he cracked his knuckles and jumped out of his comfortable work chair. Yawning loudly, Mort went downstairs to his kitchen to snack on something unhealthy.
To any onlooker, Mort's house would be described as what a Texas home would look like after a tornado had torn through it - utter chaos. Dirty clothes were all over his wooden floor, empty bottles of alcohol covered his kitchen counter, and there were cigarette butts in every nook and cranny of the log cabin. Of course, his log cabin had not always been this way; it use to be spotless three months ago. The state of Mort's home reflected his emotional state, they were both neglected and needed to be cared for.
After moving into his secluded log cabin, two years ago, Mort was still trying to cope with the bitter divorce he was facing with his beautiful ex-wife Amy. Back then, he had enough money to hire a cleaning lady so he could leave as many messes as he pleased and would never have to worry about it. A year after his divorce, he fired the cleaning lady and began to start a new life with a bright smile on his face. Half-way through the second year, Mort lost his smile and soon came to realize that he would be alone for the remainder of his life. Thus his house became messy once again and Mort was spending a majority of his nights drinking himself to sleep.
He successfully found a piece of carrot cake, which was probably over a month old by now, hiding behind the expired milk carton in the back of his refrigerator. Mort sat down at his miniature dining table to enjoy his afternoon snack with a glass of water. As he took the first bite of his cake, he heard a loud groan from underneath the table; it was coming from his Australian Shepherd, Rosco. "Want something to eat Rosco?" he watched the dog's dull, lifeless eyes suddenly light up with enthusiasm.
Getting up from his seat, the troubled writer went back to his refrigerator to find a few leftovers for his pet. "If only my readers were like you Rosco," he glanced over at his dog's grinning face, "become overly-excited with just one word. I'd make millions!" Dumping the old chicken scraps into his dog's bowl, Mort patted Rosco on the head before he went back to finishing his piece of carrot cake.
Once he had enough food to keep his stomach quiet for the rest of the afternoon, he decided to take a nap for several hours until he was hungry again. Snatching his favorite striped robe from the left armrest of his couch, Mort wrapped himself in it before he fell backwards onto his torn-up couch. Before he even thought about closing his eyes, he took his glasses off and fluffed his goose-feathered pillow to ensure the best nap possible. In a matter of minutes, Mort was sound asleep with his mouth wide open to catch flies.
Mort had been napping for at least two hours before he cracked his eyes open when he could hear someone knocking at his front door. For a second, he thought that he was just hearing things and shut his eyes to sleep some more but then he heard someone yelling his name. Shooting up and off the couch, he snatched his thick-rimmed glasses and bolted to the front door to answer it.
Swinging the door open, he was flabbergasted to see the big city blonde standing out on his porch with two Starbucks coffees in her pampered hands. "Coffee?" Angela raised her bleached-blonde eyebrows at him, "Or would you prefer to change out of your boxer shorts first before you invite me inside your lovely abode?" She giggled quietly when Mort suddenly realized that he had answered the door in his pajamas and wrapped his blue-striped robe tighter around his body.
"I was asleep," Mort's face was bright red as he said this. He wondered if his shaggy hair was sticking straight up in the air or not, I probably look like one of those creatures from Night of the Living Dead...
"I thought you might be...I've been knocking at your door for quite some time now," she handed him the coffee she was holding in her right hand, "Does Irish cream sound alright?"
The writer's eyes widened for a second; he had not had an Irish cream coffee in months now, the Soup Nazi would only serve him decaf coffee at the very most. He took a long sip in front of her and he could feel a chill run down his spine, "Sounds perfect," Mort smiled at her.
Angela tilted her head to the side at him, as if she examining him, "Are you going to invite me inside or do you need a few minutes alone with your coffee?"
"Oh, sorry," he scratched the back of his head nervously, "Come on in...I really wasn't planning on any visitors today. Excuse the mess," Mort stepped aside to let her enter his home. One look at the state of my house and she run out of here screaming, he thought to himself as he carefully watched her wander over to his living room area.
Tilting her head to the side once again, she studied his lounge area and what she could see of his upstairs working area. "If you don't mind me asking, what do you do for a living Mort?" Angela glanced over at him with her blue eyes shining brilliantly.
"I'm a writer," he wondered if the condition of his house was appalling to her or not; her face was emotionless the entire time she inspected his house. Mort took another sip of his coffee, "Thank you for the coffee by the way," he wanted to be very courteous to her to make up for the filthy state his log cabin was in. "I was actually going to call you later on tonight," he added to see what her reaction would be.
"Really?" she sounded a bit surprised, "That's what my ex-boyfriend would always say when I'd call him during his business trips..." Angela's eyes dimmed for a moment as she thought about what she had just blurted out to someone she barely knew. "Sorry," her cheeks turned a shade of pink, "I tend to say too much around strangers..." The blonde's heels clicked on the wooden floor as she walked back over to him, "But you're a writer though?"
Mort nodded, "I've written and published sixteen books so far," he noticed that she was wearing gold earrings and a matching gold necklace today. She dressed up to bring me coffee?
Biting her bottom lip, Angela was clearly pondering about something in the back of her mind. "I know this might sound a bit strange, but I have a proposition for you... I need someone who knows the best photographic views of the lake and of the town and you need someone to keep your house tidy, so..." she let her voice trail off.
"Are you a photographer?"
"I'm submitting a collage of images of small town life to National Geographic," she took a sip of her Starbucks coffee. "So, do we have an accord?"
If the big city blonde had walked into his life a year ago, he would have turned down her offer. But now he was lonely and was in desperate need of some company besides his faithful dog's. "Deal," Mort reached out and shook her hand; her skin still felt like silk to him. "When should we start photographing?"
Angela looked down at his fluffy striped robe, "I would suggest right now...but you might want to brush your hair and change out of your pajamas first. Why don't I come back tomorrow-"
Running down the stairs at top speed, Mort's Australian Shepherd had just caught scent of a new human in the household. Barking softly, Rosco scrambled towards Angela with his nails scratching against the sleek wooden floor. Rosco madly wagged his tail back and forth as he sniffed her black high heels; he had not seen company in ages.
"Aww," Angela bent down and scratched Rosco lovingly behind the ears, "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" As she continued to scratch Rosco, the blonde looked up at Mort, "Go and get dressed...I can play with your adorable little dog while I wait for you."
For once, Mort understood why people called dogs "man's best friend." Dogs helped keep the ladies from leaving the man's house, thus making the man very pleased with his dog. "Good boy Rosco," he whispered to his dog as he jogged upstairs to his bedroom. Extra table scraps for you tonight...