Saturday
The glow of daylight through the thin curtains woke me. I groaned and turned over with a curse, then realized it was Saturday and cuddled back into the sweaty bedding with a sigh. A few hours later I finally came to with that groggy feeling you get from sleeping too long. For the first time in many years though, I didn't have a hangover. I'd spent an unusually quiet Friday night sitting out on the porch, reflecting on the situation in which I found myself. It turned out that the mosquitoes had made quite a meal of me.
Getting up so late reflected the true impact of a week of seriously hard work. Slowly I stretched my aching limbs, wincing at the feel of the synthetic sheets. I was used to Egyptian cotton, freshly laundered and ironed by Luna. Today I was going to have to find out if Bon Temps had a Laundromat, as there was no sign of a washing machine in the apartment.
As luck would have it, just as I struggled down the path with my bag of dirty laundry, the shapely form of Dee-Anne sauntered past. I could have sworn that her eyes lit up as she saw me.
"Why, Mr Beaumont, you surely do look weighed down with that dirty washing, perhaps I could be of some assistance," she drawled, her accent strong and distinctive.
"Thanks but I'm fine," I replied, "I was just going to the Laundromat."
"Now why on earth would you do want to do that, I'd be happy to help out and my place is only just along the way." She looked at me expectantly.
I hesitated, trying to decide which was the lesser of two evils.
"I'll be mighty offended if you don't," Dee-Anne pouted, "and I can make you a mighty fine cup of coffee while you're waiting."
"Thank you, that would be very kind." Even though I knew it was a bad idea, I succumbed to her offer. Sitting in the Laundromat for a couple of hours was guaranteed would leave me feeling only one up from a complete bum. Besides, maybe she was just being neighborly, that was what small town folks were like.
Dee-Anne kept up an incessant chatter as we walked the two blocks to her apartment. Luckily for me she didn't seem to require much more than the occasional 'uh-huh' to prove that I was listening. By the time they arrived I'd heard more than I needed to know about Arlene over the way and her numerous husbands, including the one who'd tried to kill Sookie Stackhouse on account of her being too friendly with the 'vampers'.
I set down his bag in the living room and took a seat on her small fake leather couch. Dee-Anne headed into the kitchen.
"Can I get you a coffee, or maybe something stronger?"
"Coffee would be fine."
As she bustled about in the kitchen I took in the apartment. The layout was very similar to my place, but the décor was quite different. It was obvious that Dee-Anne was a big fan of pink, lace and frills. The overall effect reminded me of a cheap whore-house I'd once visited in New Orleans.
Dee-Anne returned with his coffee and made sure to bend right over him as she set the mug down on the side table, giving me a very good look at her ample breasts. She took her time straightening up as well. I guess she was hoping that I would be impressed.
Male instincts won over good taste as I felt a twinge of lust. I like my women curvy – I had no use for the stick-thin supermodel type of woman. Also, for me a week was a long time to go without sex. Still, I steeled myself to resist, knowing full well that if I made a move on her, she would be only too ready to accept, even at eleven thirty on a Saturday morning.
I took in a slow breath and fixed my attention on a particularly tasteless china ornamental poodle. Dee-Anne wasn't deterred. She looked me up and down, almost ready to lick her lips. Picking up my bag of laundry she sauntered into the kitchen and, bending over from the waist, slowly loaded up her machine.
Her Daisy Duke shorts left very little to the imagination, and I felt the need to examine the rug very closely. In other circumstances a quick 'wham bam, thank you ma'am' would have suited me very well, but this was a small town and I had enough sense to know how quickly word would get around. Besides, living just down the street I wouldn't be able to get away from her. I was best keeping my jeans firmly zipped.
"So how are you finding Bon Temps?" she asked, as she returned with her coffee and curled up in the easy chair, tucking her legs under her. She'd undone a couple more buttons on her blouse so that her red lace bra was clearly visible.
"It's fine," I forced a smile, "everyone seems very friendly."
"Oh we sure are; it's real neighborly It must seem very dull to you compared to Shreveport. I mean I do like it here, but I'd much rather live in the city." Her face lit up at the thought.
Keen to change the subject away from myself, I asked if she'd lived in Bon Temps her whole life. As I'd expected, that triggered a long monologue taking her family history back at least three generations. A few more well-chosen questions about her, admittedly limited, ambitions in life got me safely through the whole wash cycle.
"I really must be going, I have to pick up some groceries, and clean my apartment."
"I could do that for you, if you like," she leant forward eagerly, giving me another eyeful.
"No honestly, I'm good. I really appreciate you doing my washing, I couldn't impose any more."
"Well if you're sure…" she trailed off, sounding disappointed. "How about I dry your things, I could iron them and drop them round later."
I opened my mouth to refuse, but somehow, "thanks that would be cool," popped out instead.
When I got back to my apartment, the small red-headed girl was sitting on the step. Raising her head, but not meeting my eyes, she gabbled out her errand. "Mom sent me to ask you if you needed any laundry doing. She says Sam Merlotte's too cheap to give his tenants a washing machine."
"That is really kind of her, please say thank you, but I'm fine."
I shut the apartment door and leant against it with a sigh. It was all very well having women fighting to do my chores, but what they might want in return didn't bear thinking about.
Inside it was hot and steamy, even with all the windows open. A noisy ceiling fan juddered round but made little impact on the humidity. I didn't dare sit outside, fearing that both Dee-Anne and her older rival would pounce on me. For a minute I had the terrifying image of a threesome with the two of them.
Pacing into the kitchen, I surveyed his empty fridge. Back in the living room I flicked aimlessly through the limited range of TV channels. 'Welfare TV,' my friends would have mocked.
A normal Saturday would have found me lounging round the pool sharing a few beers with my buddies, or, if the weather was bad, watching movies or playing computer games in the den. If we had the house to ourselves we might liven things up with a few lines of coke or some weed. The weekends passed quickly, even if I was often left with only the haziest memories of how I'd spent the time. In this new life, time passed so slowly I could hardly bear it.
Finally I decided I would have to go out even with the risk of bumping into Dee-Anne or Arlene. I hadn't had the energy to explore the limited delights which Bon Temps might offer during the week, so now was as good a time as any.
The smell of cinnamon caught me off guard as I strolled down the main street of the small town. I was transported back to my five-year old self, living in Sweden with Grandma. She had used to bake cinnamon buns every Saturday, and licking the bowl clean had been my favorite treat.
I deliberately switched into Swedish in my thoughts was still thinking in Swedish as I approached the Town Library, trying to recreate the feeling of safety and security I'd experienced in that big old farmhouse with Grandma's unconditional love enveloping me. So engrossed I didn't immediately notice the slender blonde figure who entered the building only a few moments before me, who was now standing at the counter returning three hardback novels.
I caught my breath at the sight of her high pony-tail, and cut-off denim shorts. Out of the blue I was reminded of Natalie Nordstrom, my best friend when I'd started school. Along with Grandma, she had been the person I'd most missed when Dad insisted he return to America to complete my education in the US.
The occasional check on Facebook had shown that Natalie had grown to be a beautiful woman, maybe taller than the girl in front of me, but with the same curvaceous figures. She was married now, to one of his cousins, but we still kept in touch. I sometimes wished I'd been able to defy Dad and stay with my Swedish family, but as a twelve-year old I didn't have that much choice, and when Grandma had broken her hip in a fall and had to move in with Aunt Adela my fate was pretty much sealed.
Thoughts of one woman were pushed out by the sight of another. A familiar blonde figure was jogging up the steps to the town library, clutching a parcel of books. It seemed as good a place to go as any, so I followed her in.
Bon Temps hadn't struck me as an intellectual hotbed, so I wasn't surprised to find only two other patrons in the library – an elderly man at one table and an equally aged lady at another. A matronly black woman sat behind the desk, stamping a pile of books. The fiction section was right next to the desk so I sauntered over to check out the limited collection.
Sookie didn't react to my presence. The librarian, Mrs Beck according to her name-tag, had launched into a long, voluble and rather complicated story of how someone called Maxine Fortenberry had snubbed her, and how she was sure the woman was a racist, and didn't Sookie think that she gave herself airs when she was really just trailer trash. Sookie's face creased into a frown of concentration which seemed unnecessarily serious for the triviality of the conversation.
She almost bumped into me as she made her excuses to Mrs Beck and turned to hurry away.
"I'm sorry, Mr Beaumont, I didn't realize it was you."
I didn't react immediately, but when I realized she was talking to me, I found it hard to shake a sense of disappointment that she was so obviously unimpressed. I tried to shrug it off; my rational self knew that I was being unreasonable. It was just that I was used to most women thinking I was God's gift to their sex.
Unfortunately Sookie had what appeared to be her obligatory look of disgust whenever I was in her vicinity. I wished I knew what it was I'd done to upset her.
She didn't bother with a goodbye as she hurried out of the library, leaving me to the tender mercies of Mrs Beck, who explained patiently that their budget didn't run to the latest Michael Connolly, but she had a section of old John Grisham if that was any good to me. I completed the formalities and emerged with a couple of dog-eared paperbacks. If this was how poor people had to live their lives, I wondered how on earth they could bear it.
Back at the small apartment, with no cable, no internet, no money and no drugs I was at a loss for how to entertain myself, and settled for lying back down on my bed. I must have dozed off, as I came too with a start at the sound of hammering on the door.
"Hey man," it was Jason, "isn't it time you got yourself a cellphone."
I shrugged. That was only one of the things I was missing.
"So, you coming out with us tonight?"
Jason was looking at me expectantly; I forced my features into a false smile. "You know I've got no transport," I offered, fully aware how weak my excuse was.
"No problem, Hoyt can drive, he's not much of a drinker."
"I am a bit short on cash, just until payday you know." My throat dried and I felt my stomach clench with the humiliation of the admission.
"Hey man, don't you go worrying about that. Me an' Hoyt will sub you if we need to."
That pretty much exhausted my store of excuses so I agreed that they would pick me up about eight.
Dee-Anne turned up with a freshly ironed basket of washing just in time to provide me with my one good pair of jeans and a smart black polo shirt. Unfortunately, she caught me fresh out of the shower with nothing but a small towel wrapped around my waist, and my hair still dripping down my back.
I was very glad that I couldn't read minds as I had a pretty shrewd idea what was going on in hers – the look on her face suggested she'd be quite happy to rip the towel off and jump me right there and then.
It took every ounce of charm I could summon up to convince her that I was committed to a guy's night out with Jason and Hoyt, and I was real sorry that I couldn't invite her along. She managed to extract a promise that I'd come out for a picnic with her tomorrow afternoon. I would worry about how to get out of that nearer the time.