Chapter 63: A Gentleman Of Leisure

“Me too!” I reached out and tugged her towards me. “Sit down and rest.” I pulled her closer and my wife twisted around and sank down onto my lap in the recliner. I idly rubbed her back, but when my fingers rubbed against her bra buckle, something not quite so restful came to mind. I began moving my fingers around her bra straps and buckle under her t-shirt. “You know, I’m pretty much a gentleman of leisure these days. I would think that the woman I was married to would understand that sort of thing.”

Marilyn snorted at that. “Is that what you call yourself? A gentleman of leisure? Try unemployed!”

“How about self-employed?” I countered.

“So?”

I tugged on her bra buckles and playfully snapped her with it. “Well, I simply think that the wife of a gentleman of leisure should be trying to keep her husband happy.”

“Happy?” she asked, laughing. “You have anything specific in mind?”

“Well, I’d think you’d be trying to be creative about it,” I teased. I snapped the bra buckle again.

She laughed some more. “Your sister is right; you really are full of shit!” Marilyn sat upright and pulled her t-shirt up and off, and then quickly removed her bra. I smiled at her. “Is this what you had in mind?” she asked.

I put my hand on her breast and cupped it and began flicking the nipple with my thumb. “Well, it’s certainly a start!”

I helped Marilyn out of her clothes, and then she returned the favor for me, and we made love in my recliner, with it laid as far back as possible and Marilyn laying on top of me. La-Z-Boy is supposed to have a good warranty, and we can’t be the only people to have ever done this, but it’d make for a hell of an accident investigation if anything bad were to happen.

Afterwards we lay there, naked in each other’s arms, idly resting and planning on a second bout, as long as Charlie stayed asleep. Marilyn laughed and said, “You know, maybe I should divorce you and take half your money. Then I can get my own teenage boy toy to take care of my needs!”

“I think I can still handle your needs,” I replied.

“Are you kidding? I’ll be able to afford two teenagers as boy toys!”

“I’ll handle your needs!” I wrestled Marilyn out of the chair and onto the floor, where we ended up with me on top, and being a bit more vigorous than we were in the chair. Afterwards we cuddled and I smacked her bottom for being a tease.

At that point, Charlie decided to announce himself. I groaned and Marilyn got to her feet. We dressed and she went off to take care of our son. I followed after her and then continued up to our bedroom. I stripped and took a quick shower, and then pulled on some shorts and a flowered shirt. I went commando. I also rummaged around in the closet and found a simple sundress for Marilyn and tossed that on the bed as well.

I went back downstairs to find Marilyn changing Charlie’s diaper again and putting a fresh outfit on him. “Daddy took a shower,” she told him. “Now Daddy gets to play with you while Mommy takes a shower!”

I chuckled at that and took him from her. “Yes, Mommy is smelly and needs to clean up. Mommy stinks!”

“Those boy toys wouldn’t make fun of Mommy!” Marilyn replied.

“I’m too tired to cook. Want me to order a pizza?”

“Sounds good!”

I nodded and juggled Charlie around, and then Marilyn headed up to our room and I took Charlie down to the living room and then on down to the kitchen. I put him in his seat and grabbed the phone book and went through the Yellow Pages until I found a place that would deliver.

Marilyn returned just after I hung up the phone, wearing the sundress but barefoot. She gave me a hug and said, “Maybe I’ll keep you around after all.”

“Good idea. Wine?” I pulled a bottle of Chianti out of the little wine rack on the counter and held it up for her.

“Sounds good!” She took over taking care of Charlie and I dug out a couple of glasses and opened the wine. I glanced over at Marilyn and noticed the absence of panty lines through the thin cotton of her dress. That boded well for later.

We goofed off until the pizza arrived. Marilyn handed me a pad and pen and had me follow her around and make notes of everything we needed to do to the town house and what we needed to buy. Some I agreed with, like a bunch of bookshelves (I have a lot of books), and some I wasn’t thrilled with, like painting the various rooms (I detest painting and wallpapering.) By the time the pizza arrived I wondered if I was going to need a second notepad.

While we ate, I quizzed Marilyn. “Where do you want to go on vacation?”

“Vacation? What vacation?”

“I’m sure I told you that after we moved, we’d take some time off. Well, we moved. Let’s take a vacation.”

“I thought you were just joking.”

“I never joke about goofing off!” I replied.

She gave me a double-take when I said that, but then said, “Well, what did you have in mind?”

“Let’s dump Buster here with your parents for a week or two and go somewhere, just the two of us. You tell me where, and I’ll make it happen!”

Marilyn was just not being very inventive with vacation ideas, so I tossed out a few. It was the beginning of March, and while Maryland was nowhere near as cold and snowy as upstate New York, it was still winter, or at least the end of winter. A vacation south would be an excellent choice. “How about the Bahamas?” I asked.

Marilyn blinked and looked at me curiously. “I don’t know. What’s it like there?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. Never been there. Let’s find out.”

“Just like that?”

“Sure, why not?”

“You mean, just go?”

“Well, maybe I should find a travel agent first,” I replied.

“When?” She smiled and shook her head. “I can’t believe we can just up and go somewhere.”

“Get used to it. It’s what us gentlemen of leisure do. Just don’t forget what we expect of the women in our lives.”

Marilyn snorted and laughed. “Just make sure there’s only one woman in your life!”

I lifted my glass of Chianti. “Old English toast - ‘ To our wives and our lovers, and the hope they never meet!’”

Marilyn smiled. “Keep it up, smart ass! Next time I see your brain trust, I’m going to ask them about divorce in Maryland!”

I gave Andrea a call and rescheduled a visit to the acreage on Mount Carmel Road for Monday afternoon. By then Charlie should be well enough to go out again, and Marilyn should see what I had in mind. I also took her grocery shopping, and we stocked the kitchen, and while we were at it, I had her buy a few house design books. I had a few things in mind, but she needed to think it over, too. We spent the rest of the weekend playing house and looking at plans.

On Monday, we drove out Mount Carmel Road and met with Andrea. As I suspected, Marilyn liked the location as much as I did. “How big is it?” she asked excitedly.

Andrea looked down at the file in her hands, fumbling with them in her gloves. It had snowed lightly overnight, probably the last snowfall of the season, and it was chilly. Charlie was all bundled up, but he was sleeping, and we had left him in the running car. “It’s 25.24 acres. It’s just under 1,000 feet of road frontage down there on Mount Carmel, and just over 1,100 here on the side we’re parked on.”

“How come it’s available?”

I looked at my wife and shrugged. “Good question.” We both turned to Andrea.

“The previous owner was a farmer, but after he died, neither of his sons wanted to become farmers. One of them lives in Baltimore and the other moved out west somewhere. The original farm was split, half on this side and a larger piece on the other side of Mount Carmel Road. The farmer down there...”, she said, pointing towards the east, “ ... he bought the piece across the road, leaving this piece.”

“What’s the farmer raise?” I asked, curious about my future neighbors.

“Not completely sure,” admitted Andrea. “Sweet corn, probably.” Andrea turned and pointed up the hill slightly. “My understanding is that there are some apple trees over there.”

I looked where she was pointing, and made out several apple trees, looking bare and gnarled in the late winter breeze. I grinned at Marilyn. “Sold! You need to learn to make apple pies!”

“I already know how to make apple pies, and you know it,” she said with a smile.

I turned to the real estate broker. “Okay, this is looking pretty positive. I’ll give you a deposit today, but it needs to be contingent on a few things. Has a survey been done on this piece?”

Andrea nodded. “Just this past summer when the property was subdivided. That’s current. What else?”

“I’m going to want a perc test run. I won’t close on the property until I know the land percs and the septic won’t cost more than the land.” I knew that out here, we weren’t near municipal water and sewer lines. We’d need a well and a septic system.

Andrea nodded, but a bit more slowly. “I can do that, but I don’t think the owners are going to pay for it themselves.”

“Well, we need to run it anyway. I doubt it will be a problem. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of drainage problems out here, but you never know. I’ll give you enough of a deposit to pay for the perc. Can you arrange it?”

“What’s a perc test?” interrupted Marilyn.

After thirty plus years in construction, I knew all about them, but Marilyn’s father would have never explained these details to one of his daughters, only his sons. “It’s short for a percolation test. It tests the soil for a septic system.”

“You need a perc test to get a septic system designed. There’s no sewer lines out here to tie into,” answered Andrea.

“Well, what is it?”

It took me a second or two to understand, but then I nodded. “Oh, it’s really simple. You dig a hole in the dirt and dump a bucket of water in the hole, and then time how long it takes for the water to drain. If it doesn’t drain, but sits there like a swimming pool, you fail the test, and you need a very expensive septic. If it drains quick, though, everybody is happy.”

“And here.”

I shrugged. “Probably pretty good. Maryland farmland is not noted for its clay. It’s mostly sand and loam mixes, I think.” I looked back at Andrea. “Do you want to do the paperwork here, or go back to the office?”

“We can sit in my car. I can arrange for a perc test, but I won’t promise the sellers will absorb the cost.”

I waved that off. I wasn’t going to quibble over the cost of the test, but I wasn’t going to buy the property without a test. We checked on Charlie (still snoozing happily) and then got into Andrea’s car and did the paperwork. She expected to be able to close between thirty and sixty days from now. John Steiner would handle my legal work. Finally, we shook hands and climbed out of the car. I wanted to look around the property some more, but Andrea wanted to get back to her office.

“One last question. Just curious, but which airport is closer, Philly or BWI?”

She smiled. “You’re not that far away from things. Philly’s probably over two hours away. BWI will be a lot closer, maybe an hour away. Why?”

“Just trying to figure it out. We’ll probably want to travel a bit, and with my bad leg, flying is a lot nicer than driving,” I explained.

“Well, maybe you can get a feeder flight out of Westminster.”

Huh? “Westminster?”

She pointed west, towards Hamsptead and Westminster beyond. “Yeah, maybe twenty minutes that way. There’s a small regional airport. It’s mostly small aircraft and some corporate type jets and stuff, but maybe you can catch a connecting flight to BWI.”

“Really! I had no idea there was an airport out here! That would be a lot nicer.” I turned to Marilyn. “Want to go exploring?”

“No. You can go explore. I want to get Charlie home and get dinner going.” Almost on cue, we heard our son start to fuss and cry inside the car.

“Okay. You take care of him. I’m going to look around a bit more.” I turned back to Andrea. “Andrea, thank you for everything. Get any of the paperwork and reports to John. Marilyn and I are going to be out of town for a few weeks, but I’ll check in with John at some point.” We shook hands again.

I left Marilyn with Charlie and wandered out into the field. I walked around it for a bit, trying to visualize placing the home, and even went over towards the apple trees. I was smiling as I got back to the car. “Happy?” asked Marilyn.

I smiled back. “Happy! I’ll do my exploring tomorrow.”

Marilyn snorted at that and leaned across the seat to kiss me, and then we loaded Charlie back into his seat and headed home. We looked through the books on home plans some more, trying to settle on a design. I already knew we were going to end up modifying the plans, but not by how much.

Tuesday morning, I kissed my family and drove out towards Westminster. I had an address from the phone book, but otherwise was winging it. I figured I should be able to find an airport. It was not quite three quarters of an hour from where we were living, but like Andrea had said, maybe half that distance and time from our new place.

I found it easily enough, or at least easily enough after I stopped at a local gas station in Westminster and asked for directions. The airport was a single mile-long paved strip serving light aircraft and business jets but was surprisingly modern. A plaque near the door announced it had been modernized extensively just a few years ago, and everything still looked new. It was supposed to be a relief airport for BWI, Baltimore Washington International, between Baltimore and Washington. In case BWI vanished, it was long enough to send jets to in an emergency, I guess.

I walked in and found my way over to an information counter. A harried looking young girl came over and asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

“Maybe. Are there any charter companies here at the airport or is it all private plane owners only?” I asked her.

“No, sir, I mean, yes, sir!” she replied. I simply gave her an amused look and waited. “I mean, yes, sir, there’s charter planes here. It’s not just private owners.”

“Can you point me towards one of them?” I was trying valiantly not to laugh at the poor girl.

She pointed across the lobby area to a hallway and a door. “Over there.”

“Thank you.” She went scurrying back to her other work, and I chuckled and headed over to the hallway.

I chuckled and turned towards the hallway and went down it. The first door was open and labeled “Executive Charters”, which sounded promising. I looked inside and saw a middle-aged man sitting at a desk looking over some charts and wearing semi-military shirt and slacks. I knocked on the door. He looked up and said, “Can I help you?”

“The girl out front pointed in this general direction and said the air charter companies were down here,” I said. “But I’m not sure she was sure.”

“Pretty little blonde, a bit ditzy?” I nodded. “That’s Brenda. A sweet girl but a real airhead.”

I grinned at the description. “I bet she makes up for it in other ways.”

He laughed. “I’m too old and married for that, but you are right. How can I help you? Looking to charter a plane?”

“Yeah, but I want to know how it works.”

“Well, have a seat. I’m Lloyd Jarrett.”

“Carl Buckman.”

“So, Carl, where do you want to go?” he asked.

“Well, first, I want to take my family up to Utica for a few days. After that, we’ll come home, and I want to travel to the Bahamas. Can that be done?”

He nodded. “No problem. Just say when.”

“So, Lloyd, how does this work? For the last few years most of my flights have been one way. The Army made me climb on board and the Air Force made me jump out rather than land.”

Lloyd laughed at that. “Paratrooper?” I grinned and inclined my head in assent. “I know what that’s like. I have some buddies who fly C-130s for the Maryland National Guard, and they occasionally do their two weeks a year down at Pope. You might have jumped from one of their flights.”

Lloyd had the look of a military man, with the stocky build and short haircut of a pilot. “Maybe so. You?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I fly A-10 Warthogs for the Guard.”

“A fighter jock,” I said with a smile. “Well, I want to fly charter to a few places, and not commercial, so, again, how does this work?”

“Rates are based on the size of the plane and the distance we fly, usually expressed in a cost per hour and the number of hours. You usually end up with a flat fee on a flight. We take most major credit cards.”

Executive Charters had a mix of planes, with a couple of Beechcraft King Airs, a Learjet 25, and a de Havilland Twin Otter for cargo purposes. They also had access through a network of charter companies to larger planes, including Gulfstream IIs and IIIs.

“Do you normally get guys like me just asking to fly places?” I asked.

Lloyd shrugged. “Not so much, but it’s more like you’re younger than the norm, by far.”

“I’m in investments these days,” I replied, temporizing. No need to get into the money with everybody. I could always run the bills through ‘The Buckman Group’. I was starting to be thankful that Jake Junior had me start up the corporation.

Lloyd just nodded. “Still, most of our work comes through corporate travel departments, or a few high-end travel agents.”

Now we were getting somewhere! What I had in mind for Marilyn and me would involve a high-end travel agent of some sort. “Such as?”

Lloyd gave me a few names and numbers for some travel agents he had worked for, and then took me out to the flight line and showed me a couple of his planes. Eventually I thanked him for his time and took his card. Lloyd had been very helpful; maybe I could have the travel agent use his company.

I had lunch at a small place in Westminster, and then drove back to the town house. Marilyn was busy trying to feed Charlie as well as do the laundry, so I rescued her by taking my son. She thought I was getting off easy until he spilled his bottle all over me and then burped up the rest on top of that. I took him up to the bathroom and stripped off both our clothes and we took a quick shower together. I’m not sure whether he liked the shower or not, but it certainly seemed to fascinate him! I returned him naked and clean to his mother to redress.

“I can’t believe you gave him a shower!” she exclaimed. Charlie wriggled and giggled in his mother’s arms as she struggled to put a fresh diaper on him.

“Hey, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do! He’s a natural at it! He’ll never want to take a bath now.”

“Men!” she exclaimed. She finished dressing him and then dumped him back in my lap.

I waited until Charlie got sleepy and then put him in his crib. Afterwards I grabbed the phone and started dialing a few of the travel agents that Lloyd had recommended. I made an appointment to meet one of them, a Taylor Hannity of Dream Vacations, at our house tomorrow afternoon.