Chapter 3

We made a few trips into Lovett and had many lovely nude romps on the beach. I walked her all over the diner and motel ruins and told her everything about my hopes and dreams for this place ... someday. She listened politely and said all of the right things but I'm really not sure that she could understand my boundless passion for the place. She lived her life constantly on the road and travelling. Feeling an odd but overpowering desire to build and stay with something forever was, I am sure, an utterly alien concept for her. There were certainly no roots here to bind her here. All too soon, I once again had to let her go. Of course she promised to return but could not say when.

The world once again seemed a much lonelier place without her. Her spark had filled every room she was in with her vibrant life-force. Even the brightly lit and always crowded restaurant now seemed like a dark and dull place without her presence.

Fortunately for my mental health, I was soon well distracted by the painfully slow grinding wheels of the County beginning their lengthy property seizure procedures. The absentee New York owner soon missed that second crucial annual tax payment and so far no responses had been received to any of the legal notifications sent by the County. All good news for me.

I had assumed that the entire business could now be resolved in a few more months or so but the entire legal proceedings took another eighteen months before the old County Judge (the infamous and legendary 'Hanging Judge') banged her gavel and finally closed on the final County seizure of the property, setting an auction date on the court house steps for October 1^st, about two months away.

Financing was still something of an issue. I spent much of the next 6 weeks applying at every bank I could for a real estate loan but my odds were frankly not good. I had never owned a house, or ever had bought a new car. The truck I drove now was nearly ten years old and had a negligible value. My all-important credit history was virtually a blank sheet of paper. Even the small local Lovett S&L just sadly shook their head at my request for even a small loan.

My best guess and that of the County appraisers, was that the property would fetch at least $80,000, mostly due to the size of the acreage and its excellent beach view. I had this amount in savings and a bit more to spare but I didn't like being unprepared for any possible bidding surprises. It was indeed fortunate that I had virtually no living expenses the last few years and could bank nearly every penny of my income.

Frankly, by the day of the auction, I was pretty much a total nervous wreck and my mind was a million miles away from the art of crafting waffles. Fortunately, by then I had an outstanding staff at the restaurant (drawn to a very welling paying job with benefits in a small rural town) that could work well and keep things running smooth without my constant presence.

To further complicate things, Charli showed up two days before the auction for one of her all too brief visits.

"I can only stay for a couple of days this time." She said immediately after a hug and a wet kiss at the door. "I promised I'd meet some friends in San Antonio this Friday, to go with them to a big concert up in Dallas on Saturday and stay up there for at least six weeks afterwards for a big club gig."

The auction would be at Noon on Thursday, so that gave us at least of a couple of days to enjoy each other's company.

Naturally, I once again showed her around the ruins, which hadn't improved any over the last two years and I could sense her attitudes towards 'settling down' hadn't changed much, if at all. But that still didn't stop me from making a near fatal mistake. While we were enjoying a late evening sipping drinks at Phil's Cantina, listening to the waves gently break against the shore, I lost my sense of self control and proposed to her.

It wasn't planned. I didn't have a ring for her and I didn't even get down onto one knee for her either. The words just gushed out fast and beyond my ability to retrieve. I still don't think I really loved her — I was probably just tired of always losing her and waking up again to an empty bed.

She was caught by surprise and I think more than a little shocked. She didn't quite say 'No' at first but her reaction was far from a "Yes". Things were very silent for awhile and then at length she just got up from the table with her drink and gave me a kiss on the cheek with a soft "I'm sorry". I let her take a long walk by herself on the beach for awhile and when she came back to our table her eyes did seem a bit red. Charli never had cried before that I knew of and she would certainly never have admitted it, even if caught in the act. I pretended that I didn't notice and our conversation continued as if I had never made my proposal. Our lovemaking that night was a bit more subdued than usual and we held each other a bit longer than usual before we fell asleep.

My battle plan for the auction the next day was simple. To be the first one waiting on the Court House steps for the auction to begin, to be the very first bidder when the lot with the diner and motel came up and make it clear to all that I was going to fight to the end to get the property. I hoped this would discourage the resolve of the usual real estate vultures hoping to buy cheap and resell later dear. Since my lot would be the last of about a dozen other auctioned properties I also hoped that maybe some of the other bidders would have been out of money by then. It nearly worked.

My final operational budget for bidding was $120,000, about 50% over the pre-auction estimate. I had a final $22,500 that I could pull if I absolutely needed to but I was hoping to save that money to start the restoration. I needed every penny of it ... and would need much more later.

The auction started off well and my plan seemed to be working, at first. The early lots, mostly individual houses or small ranches sold to relatively spirited bidding and only a few folks seemed to have interest in 'my' property. The bottom feeders were soon silenced and it became a round-robin of myself and just three other bidders. The first bidder dropped out at $99,000 and the second one quit at $110,000 but the third would-be buyer remained resolved and matched me bid for bid at $1000 increments until we reached $140,000.

I shot my wad, "$142,500!" I bid, the final and highest bid I could offer.

My opponent, a noted Refugio County real estate developer, replied in turn "$145,000". The fucker swine! He even had the nerve to gloat at me.

I was done and there was nothing further I could do and gave the auctioneer a sad silent shake of the head to indicate that I was done, when a brand new bidder called out "$150,000".

To my utter surprise and astonishment, the new bidder was none other than Charli!

"Charli," I whispered quickly, "I can't bid that — I don't have that much money!"

The Refugio real estate bidder made his reply bid of $155,000 and gave Charli a really evil glare, but Charli again overbid him calling out "$160,000!" Then said in reply to me, "Love, you might not have the money but I do ... besides, I know where you'll now be living and someday I might need a room."

It took a few more rounds but in the end Charli had the final winning bid of $187,500 and she stuck her tongue out at the losing bidder. The papers were signed in my name and I made the required earnest money down payment of $50,000 but I now needed at least an additional $45,000 to make the final full payment by the deadline of Monday at Noon. Frankly, my nerves were shot by the time I had driven Charli to a branch of her bank in San Antonio.

Soon I had in my hands a bank cashier's check for $50,000 and the offer of even more if I needed it. I declined; I've never been comfortable with the idea of owing a debt — especially a very large one like this. Charli just laughed at my uneasiness. "Stripping has been very, very good to me and my gash has always been available for cash." She whispered in my ear and gave it a slight nibble.

Her final words to me for this visit as I dropped her off at San Antonio friends' house were, "Just do up my room like a old fashioned San Francisco Victorian era bordello and I'll be right at home!" She gave me a final big wet sticky kiss — she had blown me in the truck just before I had pulled into their driveway and we said goodbye and I didn't see her again for quite awhile.

Time passed like the wind. Every penny I earned went into repairs and every moment not spent running the Waffle was spent hauling away endless loads of debris and decades of accumulated trash. I wanted to keep and restore as much as was possible of the original materials but frankly little outside of the frame was in very good condition. I couldn't afford any helpers and everything seemed to take at least three times longer than I originally anticipated. Progress seemed to crawl at a snails pace.

A late season tropical storm in November that dumped nearly a foot of rain on the area didn't help things much either.

For reasons that I can't quite understand or properly explain, I wanted to save the restoration of the old diner for last and when I had finally hauled away enough debris to begin my careful reconstruction by springtime, I began at the furthest end of the motel.

I also soon had unwelcome company, in the personage of an uptight and stuffy nosed New England accented lady lawyer from New York City that promised to make my every waking moment sheer hell. Apparently, the long lost previous owner from New York had reappeared (health problems apparently) and was resolved to re-obtaining his 'rightful property' back under any circumstances, legal or otherwise.

Her name was Charline Rodgers and to put it mildly she was extremely decorative. In fact she was an utter stunning beauty who could have graced any fashion runway or the cover of any magazine. She had flawless skin, long silky straight auburn hair, perfect high cheekbones and breasts. She also had a narrow and utterly flat stomach, a perfect heart shaped ass and impossibly long slim legs that betrayed thousands of hours regularly spent in a gym. Every other woman on earth would hate her instantly upon sight. It was impossible to find any physical defect with her anywhere and she dressed to show all off, in suits that undoubtedly came from either Paris or the most exclusive New York fashion designers. She seemed to be a perfect flawless jewel but her fingers displayed no wedding bands and soon her deep hidden flaws were made abundantly clear to me.

She was also a complete and utter raving bitch and we did not get off to a good start.

"Is your name Charlie Watson?" A shrill female voice said from behind me one spring morning while I was pulling up the old incredibly moldy carpet from the floor of unit #16. This was the furthest away of the motel rooms where I had started my work and had already planned that this would be Charli's room. I turned around and got my first look at Charline, dressed in a Chanel suit and Italian leather pumps each liberally splashed with mud and holding her nose tight against the overpowering mold smell with one hand while offering me a legal document with the other one.

I grudgingly agreed that I was Charlie Watson and I accepted the document. It was a court order signed by some Judge in New York ordering this property restored to a Mr. Reginald Wayne Rodgers (also of New York) and my immediate eviction from this property, immediately and permanently.

I laughed at her and tore it in half and told her take it up with the "Hanging Judge".

If looks could have killed...

She then erupted in a massive and more than slightly terrifying way and made a good deal of threats that should be considered forthwith as 'promises'. Her tone and voice getting louder and shriller as she ranted until her face turned red and the veins in her neck began to stick out.

I offered her a quite filthy handkerchief (it was the only one I had one me at the time) and blandly asked her if she needed a moment to compose herself. She proceeded to scream a fit that would have made any harpy proud and Kathrine (of Shakespeare's 'The Taming of the Shrew') jealous with envy. Frankly she was enjoying herself so much at my expense that I was loathe to interrupt her fun and decided that just playing 'imperturbable' would irritate her the most. I was mostly right; her fury seemed to know no bounds.

I continued to pointedly ignored her and eventually when she showed no signs of shutting up anytime remotely soon, I picked up a dead rat from a debris pile and offered it to her from my hand dangled by its slimy tail.

"Would you be a sweetie for me and toss this into the outside trash can?" I asked her with a slight wink of the eye and an apparent smile on my face.

That did the trick and she scampered her escape slipping across the deep mud of the parking lot in her ruined expensive shoes and not without further mishap eventually reached the safety of her BMW rental car ... which now seemed to be stuck fast in the mud. She plaintively looked in my direction a few times but didn't honk or yell for help and when I showed no inclination towards being chivalrous and helping her she eventually rocked her car out of the mud and made her escape, but not before being nearly totally mud covered from head to toe. It had been a very hard rain the last few days and I made a mental note to myself that I'd need to definitely either lay down a thick layer of gravel or pay to get the parking lot paved eventually.

She drove off to see the Hanging Judge, I assumed. Good riddance. I didn't give her a second thought until her return later the next day.

I need to interject a thought or two about Lovett County's venerable "Hanging Judge". She's been the elected County Judge since sometime in the early 1950's and is a spry and delightful old coot of a lady even in her 70's. She doesn't suffer fools of any kind at all and is very much given to presiding over extremely short no-nonsense cases. Heaven help the poor attorney who tries to sidle an argument away from the facts of the case. The nickname is supposedly one of her own giving, as far as I know she has never ordered anyone to be hanged. I asked her once, after one of the many Property Tax seizure hearings, "Your honor, just whom did you have 'hanged'?" She laughed and whispered into my ear "Why myself, of course." It seemed like a joke but sometimes I'm not so sure. Rumor has it that she has an old rope burn hidden under the scarves she always wears around her neck. I wasn't worried about any problems from the old Judge and she had zero tolerance for legal shenanigans, as the lovely Charline was about to find out.

This time, I saw Charline's rental beemer as it pulled in and I was already mentally ready to deal with her. I also took a moment to remove my dirty t-shirt so that she could better enjoy the sight of watching me sweat in just my jeans and some work boots. Suitably blue collar for her, I thought. It did seem to disrupt her concentration more than a little bit. Even in my early 30's I was now in the best physical condition of my life. I was tall, tanned and had washboard abs to die for, from all of the hard physical work I was doing nearly every day, plus my regular morning and evening run on the beach. I had never been as buff as this even in my Navy days. I made sure to flex my muscles a bit as I worked but continued to pretend that I barely noticed she was even there.

"I've filed a motion with the County Clerk for a redress and reexamination of the illegal sale of my father's property. You might as well stop working, because it won't be yours for more than another day or two."

"Fat chance." I replied with a bit of a laugh, while continuing to otherwise pointedly ignore her. "Let me know the moment your motion leaves Jane Weary's desk and makes the epic journey over to Phil's desk for approval to be taken to Bill Watley's desk to then get put onto the Hanging Judge's schedule. Assuming it makes it that far, I'm more than willing to join you hand-in-hand to watch her exaltedness drop your motion right into her shredder basket. The odds are even better that it never makes it there at all and by tonight, Phil will be using it to wipe down the counter at the Cantina. Care to lay down a modest wager?"

Her mouth opened and shut a few times but she remained quiet and made no further threats for a good couple of minutes. Now she was going to try the silent treatment on me, and it soon it worked. I turned to face her and pointedly glared and suggested that if she was going to stay I'd welcome her help with using that crowbar sitting on my workbench right next to her and she could start by helping to pull out the old sheetrock over there on the right side wall.