Chapter 1

I grew up in the fifties and sixties, which is why I believe I have such an independent spirit. I'm sure there are those who would argue with me—my ex-wife would have been one of them. She always said I was an antisocial, cranky, irascible bullshitter. In reality, I'm a really sweet guy who cares about people. Well, I care about the ones worth caring about. My motto is live and let live. If those who can't abide minding their own business like that were gassed, the world would be a better place.

I heard a few assholes slam shut just then, as some of you bleeding hearts out there thought, 'Oh, he's just another prick who thinks his opinions count more than mine, and who doesn't celebrate all life, like I do.' Well, here's what I have to say to you: You're sanctimonious shitheads with no sense of survival or the natural order of things. And you're fucking up the planet.

See? I'm not irascible or cranky. I just tell it like it is.

Now that the airheads and what, in the good old days, would have been called pinko commie fags have gone off in a huff the rest of us can get on with the story, which is about reality and survival--things genuine human beings have to come to grips with daily. I went to the school of hard knocks, and learned a few things. But you don't have to go through the same class; what I learned, I'll tell a few potential friends for free.

See there? I'm not even antisocial.

One of three kids, I had a brother four years older than me and a sister four years younger. Dale, the eldest, joined the Marines and went to Vietnam. He came back in a body bag, and it tore my mother up to the point that it pretty well unhinged her. That affected the way she tried to raise the rest of us, particularly Wanda. I think maybe she tried to make sure Wanda wouldn't choose a man like Dale, whom she felt had punished her by dying thoughtlessly. I thought that was pretty stupid, but then most kids think their parents are stupid.

Wanda went with a guy named Phil all through high school, then dumped him when he announced he was going to be a firefighter. Mom said that firefighting was dangerous, and anybody who did that should have the common decency not to get married. So, Wanda ended up with another guy named Phil (it's a common name), who couldn't have been more different. He's a psychologist now, and he can't help but practice his profession, no matter where he is or what he's doing. I think it's kind of interesting that doctors and lawyers all "practice" their professions. Maybe it's because they keep getting it wrong.

Anyway, even though I'm not the psychologist, I'd decided that Mom probably had a mental illness brought on by the death of her older son. So I pretty much ignored her, and her advice ... with the exception of the girl I picked to marry.

I should have been consistent.

I was dating two girls, and Mom said that Sherry was the practical one. So I married Sherry and as the years went on, she became a vegetarian (because cows have feelings) and joined Save The Whales (because whales have feelings), sending political contributions (of my money) to candidates who wanted to set limits on whaling. Stuff like that. I mean nothing has feelings after it's dead, so for me the only issue is: was it a clean kill? And if you want to save the whales, then stop people from killing them. You don't ask somebody to stop killing them and you don't suggest that they stop killing them. You say, "Look, the whales are my friends, and if you kill any more of my friends, I'm going to sink every fucking whaling ship I see on the seven seas. Got it?"

Of course that will never happen because of politics. Politics is why the human race will eventually go extinct. We didn't evolve any politicians for three hundred thousand years, which means for three hundred thousand years we were doing just fine ... getting better even. And then some motherfucker who didn't want to do any of the hard work decided he needed to be the first politician, so he could make decisions on behalf of everybody else, so they could keep doing all the hard work. And nobody saw the danger until it was too late and the politicians had passed some laws against killing them off.

But I digress. The point of this story is to share with you good folks what I learned from the marriage.

I'm big on vows and promises and all that kind of thing. A man's word is his bond. So when I said, "I do," I meant it. Sherry, apparently, thought it was negotiable. I didn't care what she believed or who she supported politically, but when she started giving me ultimatums, requiring me to support those beliefs, things got rocky. I had joined the Army three years after we got married, at which time she didn't say a word. Then, ten years into things, she got the equivalent of religion for an Atheist Liberal and demanded that I get out and get a real job that didn't involve murdering innocent civilians who just happened to be sheltering, feeding and arming the enemy. I think some of her new liberal friends were telling her I was a baby killer. It wouldn't surprise me.

So when I said I was going to finish the twenty years, she divorced me.

If I'd ignored my mother on who to marry, like I did on everything else, I'd probably be growing old with a good woman.

Sherry was married again within six months, which told me a lot. I wasn't. In fact, I didn't even go on a date for five years after the divorce. I had a hot little fling with a coworker, but office romances are a bad idea, so we called it off. Then she got transferred, and the temptation was gone.

Sherry was a sad case, and I didn't actually miss her all that much after a while. What I missed was her family, who I liked a lot. Her mother was a normal mother, and I liked her sister Debby a lot. I still get Christmas cards and the family newsletter from Debby every year, and Sherry's been gone for fifteen now.

Patience is rewarded. So those of you who have been patient long enough to get to this point will be rewarded, because, now that you have enough background, this is where the story actually begins. This story is about what I learned when Debby's daughter called me one day and asked if she could come stay with me for a week.

Actually, to give Debby a nod, it's about what I learned while Anna, my niece, was staying with me. Debby is an editor, and she can nitpick a man to death. She would be most happy to point out that I didn't learn these things when Anna called me, which is what she'd say that last paragraph implied. I like her, but she can drive me crazy sometimes.

Anyway, there I was enjoying my retirement, contemplating playing a round of golf, when the phone rang. I still use a rotary phone. My fingers are big and those itsy bitsy Dick Tracy phones nickel and dime you to death anyway, so I never got one. I picked up my heavy, substantial receiver, capable of being turned into a weapon upon need, and answered it in my usual crystal clear manner: "This is Bob. What the fuck do you want?"

"That's just rude!" came a sweet sounding female voice on the other end.

Because I had been without sex for a long time, I moderated my response to that, which would normally have been something like, "Why is it rude for me to ask what the fuck you want when you're the one who interrupted my day by calling?"

But before I tell you what I actually said to her next, let's just examine that last sentence a bit. Call it a nod to Debby, the editor. A lot of people would cringe if you said something like that in public. Why? It's just the truth. Wanda, and certainly Phil, would suggest that it's uncouth, impolite and crude to say things like that. And yet, they would say that if I altered my response based on my libido that would be even worse. Where the fuck did that come from? Sex makes the world go round. It's a biological fact. If it wasn't, we wouldn't be overpopulated like a motherfucker. In fact, the world is full of motherfuckers, which is how they get to be mothers in the first place. And the fact is that when I heard that voice I thought of a pretty girl who I might be more than willing to bed.

Now if she'd have announced that she was Mother Theresa, I'd have started thinking in different ways, out of respect for a woman who deserves respect for sacrificing her own pleasures for the benefit of others. It could be argued she was misguided, but the fact is that she had moxie and was twice the woman Raquel Welch, or Jane Fonda, or any other movie star you can think of was. Mother Theresa actually made some of the world a better place, even if other people kept fucking it back up again.

The point is, that's how men think, whether they want to admit it in public or not. We're wired to think that way by Mother Nature. So don't yell at me for being normal, okay?

I responded to this sweet young voice thusly: "You called me; I didn't ask you to call. You're interrupting my peaceful day and asking me to spend my precious time on you. I don't think it's unreasonable to ask you what you want in terms that might create a sense of urgency and brevity."

There was silence on the other end, which made me pretty sure it wasn't a telemarketer. They have a programmed and scripted answer for every eventuality, including "Goodbye!"

"I want to come stay with you for a week," was the urgent and brief reply.

"Really?" I was actually interested. Who on Earth—who sounded like that—would want to come stay with me?

"Really."

I had to give it to her, she took the brevity thing to heart.

"In that case, when should I expect you?" I asked.

"Don't you want to know who this is?" Her voice took on a tinge of uncertainty.

"Sweet thing, if you look anything like you sound I'll be ecstatic to see you, regardless of who you are."

"Oh." Now her voice sounded a little worried.

"Don't sweat it," I said. "I'm actually harmless."

"That's not what Mom says about you."

That kind of comment might worry some men, men who play around and take the biological imperative to its original levels, scattering their seed as widely as possible. That only works when there are too many women and not enough men. Once a cultural population stabilizes, that kind of thing becomes more negative than positive, culturally speaking. I mean the urge to be the alpha male is still there, but it can be controlled for the good of your future. It was one of the hardest lessons humans learned. Alpha males always die. Always. And they die a lot sooner than the Beta males.

"Well, if your mother told you I'm your father, she is sadly mistaken," I said. "I never strayed once in the ten years I was unlucky enough to be married."

"What about since then?" she asked.

Now that was interesting. This girl had moxy. She also recovered quickly. The male in me was still interested.

"Women don't seem to respond to my sterling qualities, perhaps because they refuse to look beneath my admittedly crusty and abusive exterior. I haven't had sex in over five years. You sound a bit older than that," I said. "Fifteen at the most, but still too old."

"I'm twenty-six," she said.

"Definitely not my daughter," I said.

"You have a daughter," she came back.

"Oh come on," I said. "You think I wouldn't recognize my own daughter's voice?"

"And you have two sons," she said. "Aren't you interested in how I know that?"

"It's not exactly top secret information," I said. "Now, are you going to come stay with me or not? It's a beautiful day and the golf course awaits."

"It will just be for a week," she said. "I need to spend some time at the court house."

"Are you a felon, going on trial?" I asked bluntly.

"Shouldn't that be alleged felon?" she asked.

"Technically I suppose it should be accused felon," I admitted. "But I can tell you right now, if you're all about being politically correct you're not going to enjoy staying with me."

"I'm not all about being politically correct," she said firmly.

"Well then we'll get along splendidly, especially if your physical appearance is as delectable as your voice."

"Perhaps it would be of value to you to know who this is," she said, a bit of a chill in her voice.

"Well it's pretty obvious that's important to you, so fire away," I said.

"It's Anna."

It didn't click. And I was in high-having-fun-flirting mode. Not that it's fun for the female I'm flirting with, but it's fun for me. I don't mind admitting it. The girls get to say no, so I feel like it's my right to at least give it a try.

"I'm happy for you, Anna," I said. "Are you going to stay in my room, or the guest room?"

"Anna," she said again. "Your niece? You used to be married to my mother's sister? Debby's daughter?"

Talk about tossing cold water on a poor old man's warm dream. I hadn't actually ever met Anna. She was born in '84, the year I got stationed in Korea, and two years after Sherry left me. I'd only seen a few pictures of her over the years, enclosed in Christmas cards. Was Debby still my sister-in-law? Had the divorce broken that semi-legal bond too?

The last picture I'd seen of her, if I was remembering correctly, was the eleven or twelve-year-old Anna, who looked bright and inquisitive and had a beautiful smile. She'd looked to be at that very awkward stage of life where she was so obviously female, but didn't really know what that meant yet. Some girls at that age are like a chrysalis, with a gorgeous butterfly inside. If you have enough experience you can tell what kind of butterfly she's likely to come out as, and you can appreciate the beauty of that butterfly, even though it isn't actually formed yet. I remembered thinking she was going to be a heartbreaker some day.

"All right then," I said quietly. "I'll get the guest room ready."

"Thank you," she said, her voice cool. Then, with more warmth, "I mean that. This will save me a lot of money."

"You're not in trouble, are you?" I asked, remembering her comment about the court house.

"No, it's nothing like that. I'll explain it when I get there. That will be Tuesday. Is that okay?"

That gave me two days to spruce things up. Not that I'd scrub the place down or anything, but at least I could police up the dirty clothes and dishes and clean the counter. Basic sanitation is generally a good idea.