Chapter 2: Rye Whisky I Think I Might Die

Jason, much louder than you'd expect for someone touching 90, began (please, give him a minute to get wound up... )

"Hrruuummmmppphhh." Spit ... clang. "The house was there when grandpa got off the boat, Dad believed he jumped ship, but nobody ever really said. That would be in '02 ... or maybe '09. I disremember ... sometime in there. After the turn and before the war.

"Dad had only seen him without his shirt once but he said Granddad's back was a mass of healed welts like he'd been whipped while tied ... his wrists had rope marks. On his chest was tattooed a warship but it was so old that the ink had blurred.

"Grandpa said it was a frigate so it must have been British ... America not having any then. My mother said her mother-in-law had told her she had pulled him from the sea and hid him from search parties. Boston? Maybe ... more likely Rye.

"Rye is 55 miles east of here and positively blessed with a tremendous network of salt ponds and brackish water streams ... a smugglers paradise. If a body didn't know where to step...

"Rye, well ... it's cleaned up now but before the Civil War it was a rats nest of smugglers and tax stamp evaders. Back then, folks were ambivalent about their loyalties. Gold spoke louder than politics, or policy. There were some mighty fine dressed women in Rye.

"When you could get Grandma to say anything at all about her husband, mostly she would say, 'He called me an angel in the sweetest reverent voice... "Angel ... this must be heaven," 'Course I had him by the collar and was heaving him out of the ocean at the time so I expect he was covering his wickets." ' Grandmother was a Yankee. If she was anything, she was practical.

"Things progress as things do and there was a wedding. My mother said there was guns involved, and daddy was a mite early, a matter of a couple of months only.

"Hell, son. Back then one out of four babies was born out of wedlock. At least daddy knew his father ... as much as any child could. Eventually, all mothers spread 'em, their mothers did."

Jason coughed and spit another clanger, took a big swig off his bottle and set it back in the case. He gave Jeffery the evil eye and Jeff was right there with a fresh bottle. This break in the action gave me the time I needed to call for a menu from the restaurant. Storytelling might be thirsty work, but listening begets the growlies. I needed a bite to calm the savage beast within.

Evidently, the rest of the listeners had the same idea for there was a flurry of orders. One of the buxom blond beauties stood, pulled a minuscule menu from her pocket and pencil from somewhere deep in her hair and sashayed her swivel hipped way over to me. She handed the menu to me and bent over to whisper in my ear. One pearly white pink tipped breast slid out of her blouse and I never heard a word she said.

She noticed my looking and, as I was coming out of my fog, she said quietly, "put it back."

"What?" I croaked.

"Put it back. Take your hand, lift it up and slide it back inside my blouse. My hands are full." She had a pencil and an order pad.

What else could I do? "Yes, Ma'am." I picked it up, noticing the fineness and firmness of her skin, I reveled in the manner the nipple hardened and poked my palm. I slid it back inside her blouse. My hand rebelled and I had to force myself to let go.

"That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" She said, a little breathlessly.

"It wasn't hard before, but it is now." I looked at my lap.

She looked at the tent in my pants, gasped and squeaked, "is that all you?"

"I think you might have had a whole lot to do with my condition." I gulped, "I don't recall it ever being quite this hard."

"That's so sweet, I think that's the nicest compliment I've had in ages." It didn't stop her from swatting the tip with her pencil though. As they say, that was the end of that.

She said, "I don't know if you noticed, but everyone ordered the same meal, and I suggest you do the same. If it weren't for the high water we'd be packed and everyone orders the clam and lobster bisque. It's superb. Weekends, folks drive in from four states just for the soup."

Even though my sight was still mesmerized by the vision of that perfect breast, I agreed. "I'm not buying for everyone, you know. I don't mind keeping the story wheel greased but the listeners can fend for themselves."

"Understood. You took the rooms 'with' so keep your wallet in your pocket.

"Jason has an account. Nearly the whole town pays on the first of the month. Not only is the bisque the best thing on the menu, it's the cheapest, except on weekends. We have tourist menus for the weekend crowd. The lobster comes in by boat. It's fresh every day."