Bare essentials, p.1
Bare Essentials, page 1
Bare
Essentials
Other Books by
Steven W. Johnson
Fiction:
Not Much of a Crime
Long Tales & Short Shorts
The Curious Misadventures
of Tubby Wexler, Private Investigator
Hard Times and Soft Soled Shoes
The Curious Misadventures
of Tubby Wexler, Private Investigator
Volume 2
Nonfiction:
Need A Job? Publish A Book! with OpenOffice
Bare
Essentials
Steven W. Johnson
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the publisher nor the author has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Copyright © 2016 Steven W. Johnson
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any xerographic, photographic, printed or electronic form without the prior express written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material in violation of the author’s rights.
ISBN10: 1530864143
ISBN13: 978-1530864140
Patrick Merrill, BFA, MFA
Master Printmaker
December 6, 1948 – August 31, 2010
Best Friend, Best Man
My Brother In All But Blood
and to
Debra Winters, MA, MLIS
His Wife, Companion and Collaborator
Who Completed Pat
Prologue
The darkened room was illuminated by a small night light on the far wall. An occupied hospital bed was elevated to allow the patient to breathe with less effort. A small five year old child stood next to the bed, her mother’s fingers held by her tiny hand.
Behind her, an older woman stood silent as the patient shuttered her last breath.
“Mommy,” the child cried.
“She’s dead, girl.”
The child looks up at the woman behind her.
“Come along, Chastity.”
“My name’s Annabel.”
“Not any more. Your name is now Chastity.”
“No.”
The woman rips the dead woman’s hand out of Annabel’s and drags her away from the bed.
“Your name is Chastity.”
“No! Annabel!” She pulls her hand out of the woman’s.
The woman slaps Annabel across the mouth.
The child’s face hardens. Tears cascade down her cheeks but she doesn’t cry out.
The woman looks down at Annabel.
“Your whoring mother’s dead. She has no claim on you now.”
The woman grabbed Annabel’s hand and dragged her out of the room as the child maintained her silent rebellion.
~~~
Chapter 1
The Commune was founded by six women, all cousins, at the height of the Great Depression. It was meant to be a short term refuge for women and young children whose husbands rode the rails seeking work. Everyone worked on the farm, the dairy, the grist mill, or within the common buildings, cooking, sewing, caring for children and their education, or managing the ever growing enterprise.
How the commune survived during World War II and the subsequent boom years of the 50s and 60s is a testament to the tenacity and dedication of the women who lived at the commune and their willingness to banish all male children as they turned sixteen. Even married women who chose to live at the Commune lived there without their husbands who were only allowed within the walls during daylight hours on Sundays.
It was a harsh, puritanical existence, but one the women who grew up within the Commune relished.
The sun was half way into its descent when a registered letter arrived on the desk of Cousin Humility, the Commune’s postmistress. Humility was in her early 30s, twice as tall as a whisker, bell-shaped on piano legs, and dressed in a ubiquitous floor dragging, long sleeved ‘Commune’ dress. To put it mildly, Humility was a dyslexic bully of no mental stature. Sorting mail seemed to be her Peter Principle level. Still, someone had to censor the mail and Humility seemed to enjoy delving secrets held within the envelopes.
Humility, curious as always, pondered the expensive embossed printed envelope before savagely ripping it open with a letter opener.
She struggled with the words, her lips moving as she worried her way through the letter.
Not quite believing what she read, she almost asked Cousin Hope, for help before she slammed her fist on the desk.
Startled, Hope, a massive, grandmotherish woman in her 60s, spilled the coffee in her hand as it was half way to her mouth.
Humility was mystified.
“What the hell do they mean by ‘substantial?”
“Oh, dear. I’ve made another mess,” Hope muttered.
She grabbed the threadbare towel she kept attached to her desk.
Humility, distracted by the letter in her hand looked up.
“What? Forget that. Go find Cousin Chastity.”
“But the coffee…”
“Shut up and do what I tell you,” Humility screamed.
Bullied, Hope oozed out of her chair and waddled toward the door.
“What should I tell her?”
“Just tell her to get her ass over here right now.”
“Really, Cousin Humility. You really shouldn’t use lang…”
Humility’s anger exploded in two simple words, “Find her!”
Hope disappeared out the door without another word as Humility began another attempt to divine the meaning of the word ‘substantial’.
~~~
Chapter 2
It was a typical tropical themed bar. At least typical in the eyes of the tourists who would be arriving within a few days. The interior walls and front of the bar were paneled with quarter round split bamboo, palm leaf blades rotated on the overhead fans and the band was running through it’s reggae set as a beautiful young blonde danced wildly atop a table as half a dozen men surround it. They were all dressed in dark green polo shirts and white cargo shorts.
A similarly clad couple lean against a wall watching the action.
Jim Salinas, 32, Latino, sporting a shaggy surfer hair, took another swig of the cold plastic bottle of beer in his hand.
“You’ve done it again, Rhonda.”
Rhonda Lightner, resort administrator, is an aging, voluptuous, wasp-waisted, Miss America type in a jungle green polo shirt that could only be painted on and white rides-up-the-crack-of-her-ass shorts and jungle green deck shoes, smiled. “Let’s just hope they work as hard as they party.”
“What? With you cracking the whip and almost half of them returning from last year? I have no doubt about it.”
“When this is over, Jim. I want that welcome sign behind the bar squared away. It’s half an inch low on the right hand side.”
“Will do.”
“And let’s wrap this up no later than two,” Rhonda said as she bounced her shoulders off the wall. “I’m off to bed. I’ll see you I the morning.”
“Right.”
Jim watched his boss slither through the crowd as she headed toward the door.
A young black woman danced her way off the dance floor. She continued to dance as she leaned against Salinas.
“Dragon Lady’s gone. Come dance with me, Jim. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
Jim wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer. Their tongues fought wildly and ferociously a full minute before Salinas pushed himself from the wall and joined the party.
~~~
Chapter 3
Curious beyond belief as to what some dimwit New York City lawyer thought ‘substantial’ might be, Humility dialed the phone number on the letterhead.
The phone was answered between the first and second rings by a perky young female voice. “Franklin and Benedict, Attorneys-at-Law.”
Humility barked, “Gimme Jennifer Ridgeway.”
The receptionist countered, “May I say who is calling?”
Humility figured the only way to find out what she wanted to find out was to bullshit, so she answered, “AnnaBel Malachuk.”
Without missing a beat, the receptionist said, “One moment please.”
The phone clicked as Humility was transferred.
Moments later she heard the line ring and it was answered, “Ms. Ridgeway’s office. Nancy White speaking.”
“What kind of an office do you people run there? Gimme Jennifer Ridgeway.”
“May I ask… “
“Oh, for God’s sake! AnnaBel Malachuk.”
“One moment please.”
Humility heard the a click in her ear as she was put on hold.
~~~
In her large window office, expensively decorated, Jennifer Ridgeway, early-40s, runway model tall, beautiful, dressed in a $3,000 tailored silk skirt suit looks up from the brief she is reading as the intercom buzzed.
“Line one. It’s AnnaBel Malachuk.”
“Thank you, Nancy.”
Jennifer picked up her handset and punched the blinking light on her five line telephone.
“Jennifer Ridgeway. How may I help you?”
Humility’s voice erupted from the phone. “I’m calling to find out if traveling all the way to New York is worth the expense. How much money is ‘substantial’?”
“Am I speaking with Ms. Malachuk?”
Humility, snotty a t the question, answered, “No. This is her guardian, Cousin Humility.”
Jennifer, surprised by the attitude of the woman on the other end of the line, paused.
“Oh. We were unaware Ms. Malachuk was under a court appointed guardianship.”
“Well, she is.”
“If you can fax us a certified copy of the papers, I’d be happy to discuss her inheritance with you.”
She paused again before adding the kicker, “However, the Court does require her presence in New York within the next 72 hours.”
Humility, totally frustrated and pissed that her simple question wasn’t going to be answered, snapped, “So, you’re not gonna tell me anything, is that it?”
“Not without having a copy of the guardianship papers in hand. No.”
Humility countered with a single word, before hanging up. “Bitch!”
~~~
Chapter 4
It was late afternoon when Doug Benedict, managing general partner of Franklin & Benedict, returned from the wars beyond the Bar. He was Mars personified with a spare tire.
Doug hung his coat on the back of his chair and unbuttoned his vest before slipping into his chair. He took a bite of the half eaten triple death chocolate cake on the corner of his desk before presses a button on his phone.
“He here yet?” was all he said.
“He just walked in,” the secretary answered.
“Send him in.”
Matthew Kirkpatrick, in his early 30s, was Adonis in a three-piece suit. He stopped three paces from Benedict’s desk and waited.
Benedict looks up as he lifts the fork with another bite of cake toward his mouth.
Benedict uttered a single word, “Sit.”
Matt sat in one of the two leather chairs before the desk.
From the corner of his eye he scanned the military shrine to Benedict’s life as an Air Force Warthog jock in the First Gulf War - helmet, medals, photos, and a wooden model of his A-10 on the wall.
Benedict choked for a second on the cake and grabbed his glass of water. He swallows.
Matt ignored it as he crossed his legs and smoothed his pant leg.
Benedict looks hard at Matt.
“You spent some time in the Army.”
“Marines, sir. Six years,” Matt corrected.
“Action?”
“Yes, sir. Scout/Sniper, two deployments to Iraq.”
“Wounded?”
“No sir. I wasn’t that lucky.”
Benedict grunted.
“Pat, you are about to take a leave of absence.”
Matt nodded his acceptance, but remained silent not wishing to interrupt his boss.
Benedict sectioned off another bit of the cake before he continued.
“Damned doctor’s orders. No caffeine. So I cheat with chocolate.”
Matt chuckled as expected.
“Unmarried, right?” Benedict asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyone serious? Pets?”
“No, sir. On both counts.”
Benedict paused.
“What about your family?”
Matt was mystified by the question. “Sir?”
“Mother, father, brothers, sisters?”
Benedict scooped the last bit of frosting from the plate and licked the fork.
“What about them, sir?”
Benedict leaned forward, his elbows on the desk.
He waved the fork at Matt.
“Are they going to have a problem if you go incommunicado for a year or so?”
Matt questioned Benedict with his eyes. “Sir?”
Benedict hesitated a moment as if to reevaluate his choice the the very delicate assignment he was about to assign Matt.
Finally, he said, “We have a client… a very special client… living in a commune in Nebraska…. She will need some help adjusting to the real world. I’d like you to take her on.”
Matt inhaled deeply, held his breath for a moment, then exhaled, his decision made.
Matt nodded. “What can you tell me about the client?”
“Her mother disappeared some twenty-odd years ago into some bullshit female-only cult… It’s been rumored that the girl’s father paid to have her disappear.
Matt, puzzled by Benedict’s statement, uttered another, “Sir?”
“The girl’s great-uncle, Belmont Malachuk, was one of our biggest clients. Jennifer Ridgeway is the executor of his estate… Now the young woman’s the sole heir to his fortune but we need to pry her out of the cult’s clutches.
Matt nodded his understanding. “Is this a religious sect?”
“No. Strictly secular, but with some very… I guess you’d call it a straight-out-of-the-16th-century communal belief system that forbids personal property.”
“So, what exactly would my responsibilities be, sir?”
“Monitor her well-being. Help her adjust to the real world. And protect her from this cult.”
“How? What I mean to ask…:
Benedict interrupted, “We’re sending you two to a privately owned, restricted access island in the Caribbean. It’s completely cut off. No phones. No internet. No TV.”
“No communications at all? How am I…”
“You’ll have a satellite enabled tablet for emergencies.”
Matt carefully considered the assignment. Take it and he might make partner sooner. Not take it and he’d be asked to leave the firm.
“Consider it an all expenses paid tropical vacation.” Benedict added. “Your cover is maintenance supervisor at the resort.”
Matt made his decisions.
“What about my current caseload?”
“Already reassigned. Anything else?”
“My apartment?”
“We’ll arrange to sublet it and will store your belongings at our expense.”
“When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow, if all goes as planned. You’ll fly upstate within the hour and stay there overnight. Don’t bother packing. Everything you need will be available at the resort.”
Benedict dismissed him with a wave if his hand.
Matt stood and walked toward the door.
“One more thing,” Benedict said as Matt reached the door. “You can’t tell her that you’re her lawyer.”
~~~
Chapter 5
Hope entered the sparsely furnished barracks where she finally found Chastity mopping the floor.
Chastity, an emaciated beanpole topped with dark hair and sunken eyes to match, but somehow still pretty, toiled through an endless list of chores to earn her keep for the last 17 years.
“There you are. Cousin Humility is looking for you.”
Chastity panicked. “Why? I haven’t done anything.”
Hope gently took the mop from Chastity.
“Don’t worry. I’ll finish up here. She’s waiting for you.”
Chastity ran from the building, across the square, ignoring the DO NOT WALK ON GRASS signs and barreled into the office.
Humility looked up from the letter in her hand as Chastity entered.
“Sit down,” Humility ordered.
Chastity hurriee over to Humility’s desk and sat in the side chair.
Anger radiated from her face as she asked, “Where are your shoes?”
Chastity, knowing she has violated a Commune rule about always being shod uttered, “I… “
“Who the hell are you?” Humility barked.
“I… I’m… me.”
“God! You’re so stupid. Of course you’re you. Why would some damned lawyer from New York sent YOU a letter?”
Chastity shrugged, “Me?”
“Did I stutter?”
Chastity looked down at her hands and answered meekly, “”
Humility rattled the letter in her hands as she decided not to let Chastity read the letter.
“Go see Cousin Prudence while I sort this out.” Humility ordered.
Chastity quickly stood and bolted toward the door.
“What am I to tell Cousin Pru…”
Humility yelled, “Tell her you need a new dress by this evening. And shoes. New shoes. I’m taking you to New York.”
In a forgotten moment of rebellion, Chastity said, “But, I don’t wanna go.”
“I don’t really care! You’re going.”
Chastity was defiant. “No!”
Humility jumped to her feet and screamed, “Any more backtalk from you and I’ll put you on bread and water for a week! Now get the hell out of here!”
Chastity trembled as she struggled to open the door. She slipped out before Humility could carry out her threat.
