This story is fiction. I like getting email and if you'd like to contact me you can at uncutbloke@live.com
CHAPTER II
"Good afternoon, young Mr. Fairbanks."
"Good afternoon, Ms. Clara."
"Headed home so soon?"
"Yes ma'am. I' just had enough of the heat in that office for today."
Andrew thought, "if she only knew..."
In 1962, Laurens was still one of those towns where the majority of folks in town still didn't have air-conditioning. Even the nicest houses in town, those on West Main, suffered through the summer heat. But as a result, the ladies in town would take a break from their daily work...those that actually did work around the house...and would sit on their porches and chat with each other. Each of them with a glass in had of a drink no stronger than iced tea. Anything else wouldn't be "lady-like." However, this siesta wouldn't last long. There was either dinner to cook or to be supervised.
So, as Andrew made his way home early, he was greeted by several groups of ladies as he walked passed their homes. He was always the consummate gentleman.
"Oh, Mrs. Todd, what gorgeous roses you have this summer."
"Mrs. Watkins, I do appreciate the invitation, but I'm afraid I'm ready put up my feet and have a glass of my own tea at my house."
What young Mr. Fairbanks was actually thinking was:
"Oh, Mrs. Todd, perhaps you should spend less time tending your roses and more time tending your husband and he wouldn't be screwing his dental hygienist."
"Mrs. Watkins, I wouldn't have another glass of your tea if my life depended on it. You add so much sugar it makes me feel as if I can actually feel my teeth rotting in my mouth as I drink it."
But today, all those thoughts were secondary. In fact, it is surprising that he was conscientious enough to even notice the ladies as he passed them. His mind was consumed by William Simpson. He replayed every second of the encounter in his mind. Some moments were replayed again and again.
"I just don't think I'm the marrying type."
"I just don't think I'm the marrying type."
"I just don't think I'm the marrying type."
And then there was the touch of Will's hand and the rub of his thumb just before he left. That was a troublesome thought. It was troublesome because the thought of Will touching him was very exciting. So, Andrew became...excited...and he immediately regretted his decision not to bring his briefcase home. Fortunately, Andrew was a handsome, farm-raised boy who had been blessed by nature in some certain areas. Unfortunately, those areas were becoming quite evident at an inopportune time. He tried to cover it up with the `ol "hand in the pocket" tactic. It looked awkward, but he avoided some embarrassment.
Will arrived at his own house with a sense of relief. He had been afraid that he would meet someone along the way and be required to remove his hand from his pocket to shake his or her hand. Disaster averted.
As soon as he walked in the house, the telephone rang.
"I'll get it, Maggie," he lazily yelled to his housekeeper.
"Hello."
"This is he."
"Drucy...what a surprise to hear from you."
At that moment, Andrew's heart began racing mightily, and his hands began to shake and sweat so much that he was legitimately worried about the phone slipping out of his grip.
"Listen you faggot. I know what you are. I know my husband came to see you. I know what he's trying to do, and I am going to expose both of you to all the world for the sick perverts that you are."
Andrew heard those words in the split second of silence after he finished speaking.
However, what Drucy Penland Simpson actually said was, "Andy, I just wanted to welcome you back to town. We're so glad you decided to open up an office back here. I just was doing some laundry and pulled your card out of Will's pants pocket, so I guess he came by to see you, huh?"
"Yes, ma'am. He sure did."
"Well good. I've been telling him he needs to see someone about getting a will together, so, I'm glad he finally did something I told him for once!"
Nervous laughter.
"Well, like I said, I just wanted to phone and say welcome home."
"Thank you, Drucy. We'll be in touch."
"Bye now."
Did she really have no idea? She didn't seem to -- not even the slightest hint of suspicion in her voice. She did kind of come across as a bitch though. Andrew hadn't remembered her being that bitchy when they all went to school together, but he supposed that people change.
He figured that if things were bad enough Will wanted a divorce, it must be pretty strained at their house. People didn't just get divorces -- even country people like Will and Drucy. People were supposed to live as God intended, suffering miserable lives trapped in loveless relationships quietly resenting the person they slept beside each night until one of them was kind enough to die of heart disease, thereby allowing the other to live quietly and alone as a widow or widower. But not Will. He just wasn't the marrying type. And now he had come with his meaningful glances and rubbing thumb and decided to upset Andrew's heretofore mundane life.