Makes His Own Gravy

April, 1985

His bike had really brought him this far, to her house, out on a country lane. Jennifer was two years older but she didn’t seem to mind. He was fun to look at, she told him once, after they held a gaze as she walked along a log at a youth event. 

Today he had a log alright, beneath those thin black shorts everyone wore these days. Once they walked back toward the barn, not a sound to be heard, cars rarely passed, she’s tall blond and buxom, her mom wasn’t home. He didn’t feel right disappearing into the old structure, maybe it wasn’t safe, or he wasn’t ready, so he stood guard by the window, which had never held glass. They were talking about something and suddenly he feels a hand on it.

She keeps talking and he tries to, she reaches beneath and he jumps, she giggles, it’s okay, she knows what to do. So much pent up inside but still too shocked to let it out. She kneels down and takes it into her mouth, it’s indescribable, is this happening, he loses bearings then that feeling settles in, it was over so quickly.

She leads him into the barn and strips down, and he stares into the nebula, hairs and limbs surrounding the galactic core, just like in those magazines you find alongside the road, so intriguing and frightening at once, and he feels her hands pulling his face closer and closer, but he feels smothered, then his mother’s voice rings clear,

“NICK THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING, we are NOT going to be late for church!”

He turns his head sideways in the pillow and resumes breathing, heart racing, head muddy as adrenaline had begun to battle the inevitable drowsiness. He has absolutely no idea how to deal with the mess that glued him to the mattress.

Bain II

 THINK YOU CAN ROCK N ROLL 

YOUR WAY INTO HEAVEN? 

THINK AGAIN! 

SPECIAL SPEAKER THIS SUN

The marquee sign outside Cavalry Bible Church had caught Everett’s eye each time he passed it on the way to his Radio Shack store, “his” as in franchisee. While a hard worker at heart, he has developed a reverence for his accomplishments, an investment born and nurtured, takes its first steps and before long just needs occasional attention. Jameson is just one of a dozen he started or inherited over the years, first as a side hobby until it started holding it’s own, enough for Bain to a less time at the realtor’s and more time roaming around to visit the fruit of his loins, as it were.

Sometimes it’s in obedience to some corporate mandate, although he tries to stay ahead of that game. Usually he just wants in on the action, be subdued by the aroma of fresh blister-packaged merchandise and treat his managers to some free labor. Bain’s not really one to second guess them unless his nose and gut coincide, and so far that’s only been once. 

At one of his early stores he brought in some hotshot on a strong referral, able to start on short notice, so Bain figured he’d fill the hole and ask questions later. After a couple of visits he snuck a peek at the books, which led him to the unthinkable, actually popping in unannounced at closing time one night while the assistant locked up. Turns out his quick hire had been shaving profits in an attempt at a short-term loan and would have pulled it off had he not been such a dumbass about it. To boot, such a feat could have secretly won Bain’s heartfelt admiration in the process.

Everett assigns respect for his fellow man to the degree that he can satisfy the Eleventh Commandment: Don’t Get Caught. Not that one should have to operate above the law to conduct his business, but if you’re gonna fuck around, at least do us all a favor and finish well. And quietly, at that. His nose and gut have a running bet that there’s someone, at least one tired soul, on any given day, who wishes their life that a certain headline would be excused from the evening paper.

In the hotel room that Saturday night he’s on the phone with a lady friend as she corrals her kids a few counties over. She gives him a hard time when he mentions going to church, but that’s about it. Bain rarely feels the need to explain his reasons, there was just something about that sign, the implied conflict of interest between a form of expression and one’s eternal security. And the more he thinks about it the more hilarious it becomes.

The next morning, on the opposite end of the back pew he could swear one of the high school punks looks familiar. How he envies their potential.

On the way out he’s treated to a heaping earful from Dan Aldwin and responds with a polite sneer.