33 comments/ 19425 views/ 20 favorites It's Hard To Find A Good Plumber By: JimBob44 *Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age. "You know what you did! Don't play stupid with me," she screamed. "I'm not playing stupid; I honestly don't know what you're talking about," he screamed back. The pounding on the wall got louder but they both ignored it. Sydnee Michaels flung her long blonde hair back out of her eyes as she threw clothing into her suitcase. "I'll be back for the rest," she screamed and stormed out of the apartment. Ken Thibodaux wearily pushed the three drawers closed and picked up the three shirts she'd knocked to the floor of their closet. They'd been fighting off and on for the last month. He couldn't believe that, just two months ago, he'd asked her to marry him, even bought a five thousand two hundred dollar ring. He had to laugh; she had stormed in, again accusing him of some unnamed atrocity, some unknown incident, but that ring was still firmly on her finger. Ken's best buddy, Virgil Arcenaux, had been trying and trying to get a date with Ingrid Hennessey ever since Ingrid had started working at First union Bank in Bender, Louisiana. And Ingrid had told Virgil a very firm 'no' each time he suggested an activity. Ken couldn't blame Virgil, or the countless scores of others that asked; Ingrid was truly stunning with shoulder length white blonde hair, light blue eyes, tanned complexion and white smile. Her physique, however, was what most men looked at. Her breasts were two massive mounds on her slim chest and her legs seemed to start at her armpits and hit the floor. Virgil suggested a helicopter tour of the Atchafalaya Basin and Ingrid actually perked up slightly. "Hmm, my friend Sydnee's been wanting to do that," Ingrid mused. "Get someone to go with us and we'll make a double date out of it, all right?" "Um, sure, what does Sidney like?" Virgil asked, stunned at his fortune. "What you mean?" Ingrid asked. "Well, I mean, my sister's available if..." Virgil suggested. "What?" Ingrid screeched, causing the other tellers and the few customers that were in the bank's lobby to look at them. "Sydnee's not a lesbian!" "Oh, oh, Sidney's a girl!" Virgil laughed. "Sorry, but when you said 'Sidney,' I'm thinking Sidney's a guy, you know?" "No," Ingrid grumbled. "Well, let's see, my buddy Ken's always..." Virgil mused but Ingrid was no longer listening to him. At first Ken flatly refused. He'd met Ingrid on the few occasions he'd gone into the bank and thought, while Ingrid certainly was nice to look at, she was an ice cold bitch. And any friend of hers was sure to be the same. "Dude, would rather warm up some liver in the microwave and jack off into that than have to spend a minute with her and any friend of hers," Ken had said. "Brother, listen," Virgil begged. "Do this one for me and I'll owe you forever." "Dude, you already owe me forever and more," Ken reminded him. "Like what?" Virgil asked. "Uh, bail money, which by the way, prick, you still owe me half of that," Ken said. "Oh, oh yeah, well, do me this favor and we'll consider it even," Virgil said. "Uh, cute; shit only works on TV, ass hole," Ken laughed. Virgil finally wore Ken down by agreeing to pay for all the tickets for the helicopter tour. "Damn, dude," Virgil whispered to Ken as they stood outside of Ingrid's condominium. "A hundred and eighty bucks!" "Dude, want some cheese go with that whine of yours," Ken said, unsympathetic. "You're the dumb ass wanted do this shit in the first place." Ingrid opened the door, nodded briskly to Virgil, then actually smiled slightly at Ken before urging her friend Sydnee to come forward. Where Ingrid was tall and slender, Sydnee was short at only four feet, eleven inches. Sydnee also fought, and was losing, a battle with her weight, being rather chunky at one hundred and sixty pounds. Ken pasted a smile on his face and approached Sydnee, hand outstretched. "Hi, I'm Ken Thibodaux; understand I'm lucky enough to be your date tonight," Ken said, shaking Sydnee's pudgy hand. "Don't know if you've ever eaten at Manny's before, but they've got the best salsa; I mean, I've even had salsa in Mexico, but it's nowhere as good as Manny's." "Yeah, Manny's is great," Sydnee smiled widely. "Oh, I guess y'all aren't hungry, huh?" Ken teased as Ingrid and Virgil lagged slightly behind. At Manny's, Ingrid ignored Virgil and tried to horn her way into the conversation between Ken and Sydnee. "Oh, hey, this is new; you ever had a shrimp burrito?" Ken asked Sydnee as they looked through the menu. "Where you see that?" both Ingrid and Sydnee asked. "Her and I are on one check," Ken told the waitress, pointing to Sydnee. "Those two said they're just going to scrape the gum off the bottom of the table and eat that, okay?" Sydnee and Ingrid thought that was funny, but Virgil glared at him. The tour was interesting but again, Virgil glared at Ken as Ingrid leaned her massive breasts against Ken, 'trying to see' out Ken's side of the helicopter. That date led to one more double date of dinner and country line dancing at Cowboy's Barbeque. Virgil had to beg Ken to do that as well; Ken had found Sydnee nice but just was not interested in her. After that date, Ingrid told Virgil that, while he was a nice guy, there just wasn't any chemistry between them. Ken and Sydnee continued to date, even though Sydnee was definitely not Ken's type. She was a short, chunky girl and Ken preferred his girls to be what Virgil had dubbed 'Cocaine Chic,' bone thin waifs. He preferred his women to be at least five nine, five ten, as he was six feet tall. But Sydnee was warm, affectionate, happy and intelligent. And she adored Ken; a little hero worship can do a man's ego good. Four months after their first date, Sydnee moved into Ken's apartment. Their first weekend of living together, there was not a flat surface that they did not christen. Superglue fixed the coffee table almost as good as new. "Dude, you owe me," Virgil reminded Ken as they sat in Red's Sports Bar in Baylor Lake, Louisiana, watching the New Orleans Saints lose to the New York Jets. "And you still owe me a thousand for bailing your ugly ass out of jail," Ken reminded Virgil. "But how's Ingrid doing?" "Man, fuck you," Virgil yelled, getting the attention of a few of the patrons. "What?" Ken asked, bewildered. "Fuck! You know she said that 'I just want to be friends' shit to me, fucking ass hole," Virgil yelled. "Fuck I did, dude, I'd known that, I'd asked how's she doing?" Ken asked. "Gentlemen, there a problem?" Harrison Smith asked, muscles straining against his tee shirt. "No sir," Ken said. "Sir?" Harrison demanded of Virgil. "Huh? No, no problem," Virgil snapped. "Dude, I'm sorry; thought y'all were still dating; I mean, shit, man, when's the last time you called me?" Ken asked. "Yeah, shit, man, you right," Virgil admitted. Ken's mother and father were polite to Sydnee at their first meeting, until they found out that Sydnee was a school teacher at Baylor Lake Elementary. Then Robin Thibodaux was delighted to meet Sydnee; Robin Thibodaux was also a teacher, teaching Science at Cabrini High School in DeGarde, Louisiana. Sydnee Michaels' dad did not like the fact that his little girl was living with a man, but Mr. Michaels did like Ken just fine. Both men worked with their hands, Jim in Heating and Air conditioning and Ken in plumbing. Both were also football fans so they did have that to argue about. Both liked to argue about whose job was more valid as well. "Uh huh, hundred degrees outside, ninety nine percent humidity, your ass will be grateful I came out," Jim said. "Uh huh, toilet backed up, spraying the walls and the floor, you really care how nice and cold your house is?" Ken spat back. "I'm licensed use Freon," Jim bragged. "And I'm licensed get that tampon out of your pipes," Ken said. Jim had nodded his approval when Ken showed him the ring and agreed that it was a pretty good idea they get married, even if Ken was just a plumber. Robin had joyously jumped in to help the motherless girl plan out their winter wedding. (Neither Sydnee or Jim ever said what happened to Mrs. Michaels and Ken never saw a prudent time to ask) Then Sydnee's affections started to cool. Her happy bubbly nature seemed to have disappeared and she was finding fault with everything Ken did. Ken didn't know if it was wedding jitters, a female problem, or if she was having second thoughts about their relationship. He had been no virgin when they met, but Ken had to admit, women were still a mystery to him. Then just three weeks from their wedding day, Sydnee stormed into their apartment demanding to know why. "Why what?" Ken had asked. "You know what you did; don't play stupid with me!" Sydnee screamed. Repeated calls to her cell phone went to voice mail and text messages were ignored. Then Ken called Jim. "God damn, ain't you hurt her enough, fucker?" Jim bellowed into the telephone, and then slammed it down. Virgil was quick to tell Ken he'd seen Sydnee at Cowboy's, dancing pretty up close and personal with some big guy. When they weren't dancing, they were sucking each other's tonsils. At Red's, Harrison Smith, came up and asked him if it was all right with Ken if he asked Sydnee out. "I mean, shit man, you and I are buds, right?" Harrison asked. "But you know, on Thursdays and Saturdays? I bounce over at Jumpers? Seen your girl getting down and dirty with a few of your boys." "Do whatever you want," Ken snapped. Ken's mother was upset with him, but Ken was used to that. Robin had never been what Ken would term 'matronly' and ken had actually been pleased that Robin and Sydnee got along so well. Ken's father, Ryan, was likewise less than comforting. Ken had not expected any warmth or advice from his dad; his dad had never seemed especially pleased with Ken. So Ken just endured his mother's hostility and his father's aloofness. Ingrid, who was supposed to be Sydnee's maid of honor, was baffled, and more than a little hurt when she ran into Sydnee at Super One grocery store and Sydnee called her a bitch. Jim Michaels, who had a bit of a crush on Ingrid, did not slam the telephone down on Ingrid when she called him. "It's just that, you know, she's real upset about you and Ken, well, you know, about y'all having then long lunches and then y'all having sex and all," Jim said. "What?" Ingrid screamed. "Ken and I did what? We never!" "I mean, shit, Sydnee could tell you kind of liked her Ken, but with them being engaged and all," Jim said. "You tell that little bubble head that Ken and I never did anything," Ingrid snarled into the telephone. "Yeah, she's right, I like Ken, like him a lot and now that she's stupid enough to leave him, damned right I'm going after him. But I thought for sure that she and I were best friends and best friends don't run off having long lunches and they sure as hell don't fuck other best friends' men." She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "And best friends certainly talk with their best friends and try to find out if there's any truth to it before calling their best friends a bitch," she said and this time Jim was the one that had a phone slammed in his ear. "But Virgil swore..." Sydnee said. "He said Ken and Ingrid were going off for long lunches and..." "And he said he'd help me teach Ken what it felt like," Sydnee weakly mumbled. "Honey, guess this Virgil guy isn't the friend you thought he was, Jim said, patting his daughter's back softly. Ken saw Sydnee's number pop up, but let it go to voice mail. Then he deleted the message. Then he blocked her number. Thanksgiving was cold and blustery and Ken begged off from going to his mother's; she usually overcooked everything and made the whole meal so unbearably uncomfortable that there was nothing to give thanks for. For once, though, Robin Thibodaux begged and finally Ken agreed that stopping by for a piece of pie wouldn't kill him. "Hey, Mom," he called out, entering their house. "Hi, I uh, can we talk?" Sydnee asked, coming out from the kitchen. "Cute Mom, real cute," Ken yelled, face red with anger. "I'm real sorry," Sydnee said. "Yeah? Well I'm not," Ken snarled at her. "My buddies Virgil and Harrison told me what a slut you turned out to be, so I'm real fucking glad we're through." "Kenneth Ryan Thibodaux!" Robin admonished. "Thanks a lot Mom," Ken said and slammed out of the house. He returned to his apartment, ignoring the constant calls from his parents' house phone and his father's cell phone. All of the furniture in the apartment was from Goodwill Industries and from various garage sales, so none of it had any sentimental value to him. The television barely worked, which was why Ken went to Red's to watch football. His two suitcases held all of his clothing; thanks to his losing nearly one hundred pounds a year ago, he did not have many clothes in his new size yet. He looked around and saw a few items of Sydnee's. These he placed on the couch, then unblocked her phone number, sent her a text that her key still worked but he was canceling the lease so she had less than one week to come get her stuff. Then he blocked her number again. His landlord was sorry to see him go; Ken had paid regularly, had never had any problems and had kept his apartment clean. But his landlord also knew that he could now rent that one bedroom apartment for seven hundred a month, instead of the six hundred Ken had locked him into. His boss also was unhappy to be losing him; Ken was a good worker and on top of that, was very personable, so his boss could send Ken to a client's house without fear. "Swing by and I'll give you your last check," the man said. PC Nation was open and the bored sales girl helped Ken change his number to a new number. "You uh, you got a bunch of voice mails," the girl said. "Delete them," Ken ordered. "They're all from my mom telling me what a disappointment I am." "We related?" the girl joked and Ken smiled. Then Ken drove. He drove west. In Galveston, Texas, once he'd demonstrated that he did know plumbing, and the man determined that there were no warrants out for Ken, he made real good money doing the remodeling that the man did on houses he was flipping. On Christmas Day, Ken called home from a pay phone, whished his parents a Merry Christmas, told them he loved them, and then hung up before his mother could say a word. Then he drove west. In New Mexico, another contractor didn't care if Ken was a fugitive or not and paid Ken cash for remodeling work. Then Ken witnessed the contractor and some of his employees moving bags from one car to a company truck and realized that the remodeling business was just a front for drugs coming in across the border. "Hey, you know, uh, guess it's time for me go on home, you know?" Ken calmly said that Friday as the man counted off a few hundred dollar bills. "You know? Tired of sleeping in my truck, tired of missing my momma's food." "Yeah, know how it is," the man amiably agreed. "Shit, hate to lose you; you do real good work. Ever back out this way stop on in." Yeah, shit, you know who knows?" Ken shrugged. "Shit might not have blown over yet." He deposited eight thousand into a branch of his Galveston bank in Standing Rock, New Mexico then headed west. Solomonville, Arizona had a Mr. Plumber right next to a Mr. Electrician and a Mr. AC and Ken enjoyed sitting in the common break room and arguing with the guys there about whose job was more vital, more important to the customer. "All right, all right, toilets aside, you can live in a dark house; you can live in a hot house, but how long can you live without something to drink? And how long you think they going to put up with you not bathing?" Ken yelled out. "We been putting up with Stew not bathing for years," Butch yelled back. "Aw, kiss my ass; I take a shower every day," Stew yelled. "Might ought to try soap next time," the dispatcher suggested before calling out their assignments. Dan, the dispatcher, knew a friend that was looking to rent out a room in his house so for four hundred a month, Ken was comfortable for about two months. Until Brennan accused ken of making a pass at his wife. Monica was a loud, profane flat faced woman with questionable hygiene; Ken had not made a pass at her. But Brennan would not believe Ken and refused to refund Ken his security deposit or the three weeks rent. Brennan was shocked when he received a summons to appear in a small claims court and even more shocked when a judge ordered him to refund both security deposit and three weeks rent to Mr. Thibodaux. "Him trying fuck my wife don't mean nothing?" Brennan angrily demanded. "She's a big girl," the judge said, smirking at the nearly three hundred pound woman. "She can say 'no' if she wants to." "Well I ain't giving him nothing," Brennan declared. "That's fine, Mr. Curry," the judge smiled. "We have lovely accommodations just waiting for you. And it will be an additional fifty dollars every day you put off refunding Mr. Thibodaux his money." Brennan decided he'd pay rather than endure the jail of Solomonville, Arizona. Mr. Plumber was sorry to see Ken leave. In the two months and one week he'd been in their employee, some customers had started requesting him. Ken had a habit of diagnosing the problem and explaining the problem to the customer and letting the customer make their own decision about the remedies. From Arizona, Ken decided to head north, to North Dakota. The oil fields that were popping up on private lands beckoned. Ken had no desire to work on an oil rig, but knew that an influx of several people meant an increased need for a good plumber. The winters in North Dakota can be extremely brutal, punishing. Their summers can be quite brutal and sweltering as well. The sun beats down and the heated ground releases moisture into the air. Being from the hot and humid DeGarde, Louisiana area, though, Ken adapted very easily One morning, his clock radio announced the date of September nineteenth and Ken remembered that September nineteen was his buddy Virgil's birthday. Ken waited until it would be twelve fifteen in Bender, Louisiana, assuming Virgil still worked at First Union Bank and called Virgil's cell phone. "Hello?" Virgil answered warily, as he did not recognize the phone number. "Hey man, happy birthday, another year older and still ugly as ever, huh?" Ken said cheerfully. "Ken?" Virgil asked, stunned. "Yeah, who else would give a shit it's your birthday, huh?" Ken answered. "Ken, Dude! Man, listen, you got to call Sydnee, man!" Virgil said. "I don't got to do shit," Ken snapped. "Tried calling her and calling her and next thing I know she's out fucking half of DeGarde? And now she wants to talk? Fuck her." "No man, listen, really you got to call her," Virgil begged. "I uh, I might have been you know, um, exaggerating..." "Harrison said same thing, man," Ken snapped. "Listen, called to wish you happy birthday so happy birthday; talk to you later." Virgil must have given Ken's mother and Sydnee Ken's cell number because his phone did not stop ringing until Ken turned it off. A Verizon store in Oxmore, N.D. was happy to sell Ken a new phone and a two year contract. They did not offer him anything for his old cell phone; it was a flip phone model and did not even have Internet capabilities. A dumpster behind the local Kettle restaurant was happy to take Ken's old cell phone. His PC Nation contract had been month to month so when they did not receive October's payment, they tried to contact Ken's phone which immediately went to voice mail but his voice mail was full. It's Hard To Find A Good Plumber So, after two weeks of non-payment, PC Nation cancelled Ken's contract. Ken was used to bone chilling winters in Louisiana; the humidity, along with a brisk wind blowing in from the Gulf can make thirty degrees feel like ten degrees. But 'feel like ten degrees' and actually ten degrees are two different things. October 29, Ken woke up to a ten degree morning. After he finally got his truck to start, Ken turned in his resignation and headed south and west. "Pussy," his supervisor cheerfully said as he watched Ken's truck drive away. "Ten degrees? Shit, wait until it's forty below, huh?" "Forty, shit," the dispatcher sneered. "I remember one winter never got above fifty nine below." "Fifty nine? Shit, that ain't nothing," Tommy, the parts manager sneered, and the lies and tall tales started. In Los Angeles, California, Ken found more than a handful of his type of woman but found that most of them were vacuous mercenaries, more interested in his wallet than his cock. In San Diego, California, he found slightly warmer women, but there was high competition among plumbers and the three places he'd worked for actually expected him to be less than scrupulous. The last company actually expected Ken to break their customer's plumbing, to cause several thousands of dollars in repairs. So he headed east. His old buddy in Galveston welcomed him. "About a week after you left, hell, right before New Year's, some guy stopped by looking for you," the man said. "Said your wife was looking for you; know anything about that?" "Wife? News to me," Ken shrugged. "But Thibodaux's a pretty common name in Louisiana; might have been looking for another Ken Thibodaux." "What I thought too," the man agreed. "Well, just stopped by on my way through, wanted to say 'hi,'" Ken said; he could tell that the man did not believe him. And if the man did not believe him, the man would be on the phone with whomever was looking for Ken just as soon as Ken's back was turned. Well, good to see you," the man agreed. "Like I said, you're a hell of a good worker and you know your shit, no pun intended." "Ha ha," Ken smirked. Bender, Florida was a balmy sixty eight degrees when Ken pulled up to the local motel. The fact that the town bore the same name as his old stomping grounds made Ken smile softly. And next to the motel was a bar named Red's so after he checked in and pulled his two suitcases into the room Ken went to the bar. "Sonny boy, I'm telling you the National Football League is bullshit!" one patron was loudly arguing. "Them Saints ain't had a shot in hell beating them Colts in the Super Bowl! Payton Fucking Manning is a god; ain't no way them Saints beat him!" "They got the trophy prove it, Ralph, I'm telling you. It's right there in their trophy case," the other man replied. "Yeah they got the fucking trophy but they ain't won it!" Ralph said. "You, what you say?" the other man asked, nodding toward Ken. "I say I came in here for a beer, cold as you got it," Ken said. "Listen, Saints in the Super Bowl, what? Two thousand and ten, right?" Ralph demanded as the bartender slid a frosty cold beer toward ken. "Miracle in Miami," Ken agreed. "Yeah, I watched it." "You really think them Saints won that game or you think somebody got paid off?" Ralph asked. "I think the Saints did what they did to everyone else that season," Ken answered and drained half the glass in one gulp. "They pounded and pounded on them Colts until there just weren't no more fight left in them." "There you go, brother, put her there," the other man said and shook Ken's hand. "Aw you're all full of shit," Ralph snarled. "Now, the Patriots and Giants, huh?" "Aw come on Ralph, don't be going on and on about that one handed catch at the back of the helmet; shit we all seen plays like that," the other patron sighed. "They in here every day?" Ken asked the bartender who just smiled. "Know anyone looking for a plumber?" Ken asked. "Me; crapper in the women's room is fucked," the bartender said. "Plumber out in Verdot says be another week before he can get out here." "Let me take a look at it," Ken said. "Well, Red," Ken said, coming back out. "Nothing a new wax seal can't fix; thirty for the part and how about fifty for labor?" "Red?" the bartender asked the other patron. "Go ahead and I'll throw in one free beer every night for the next week you tell my wife it was her fat ass broke it," Red smiled. "And I'll throw in a free beer you admit that Miracle in Miami weren't no miracle," Ralph snarled. "Deal and no deal," Ken smiled. "Where's the nearest Home Depot?" "Lowe's right up the street ain't nobody here uses Home Depot," Red said, pointing in the general direction of the Lowe's. Red's wife, Dolly, was a large Latin woman and Ken had to admit, it very well could have been her to wear the wax seal to barely a strip around the bottom of the commode. Dolly wasn't fooled in the least and demanded that Ken tell her how much Red was paying him to say that she was the one to break the toilet. "A free beer," Ken admitted and she smiled. "Gringo," she said. "My momma's sink? It keep dripping and dripping; you fix maybe?" And Dolly's momma had a room she agreed to rent to Ken for three hundred a month. She fixed huge breakfasts so laden with sugar, Ken was sure he would be diabetic within a week, and fixed dinners so massive Ken was miserable by the time he went to bed. The weight he'd taken off nearly two years earlier rapidly crept back and Ken found himself having to job along the beach, five miles in the soft sand or risk having to buy 'fat clothes.' Because he spoke Spanish, albeit a little clumsily, and because he was honest with his customers, Ken found he had no shortage of work in Bender, Florida. And because he stopped off in Red's every so often, especially during football games, Ken found he had a few friends too. "Some guy was in here couple of nights ago," Red whispered to Ken one night as they watched the New Orleans Saints embarrass themselves against the Carolina Panthers. "Said your wife was looking for you; really needs to find you." "Dude, I don't have a wife," Ken whispered back. "Was supposed get married but bitch comes in screaming all kind of shit right before the wedding so I left." "Anyway, told the guy you might have stopped in here, face looked familiar; he had some high school picture of you, but hadn't seen you in a while," Red whispered. "Thanks, Amigo," Ken said, watched Drew throw another interception, grimaced, and left Red's. Dolly was waiting for him when Ken entered her mother's house. "Mister Reynolds come by looking for you," she said. "You in trouble?" "No, I'm not in any trouble," Ken denied. "You in trouble you don't stay at my Momma's house, hear?" Dolly ordered. "No, I'm not in any trouble, but this is more trouble than it's worth," Ken sighed. He sat down on her mother's couch and Dolly smiled as he winced; her mother's couch was covered in plastic. "I'm sitting there, trying to get the football game on the television, it's not cooperating and she comes in all mad and screaming I did something but won't even tell me what it is I did," Ken said. "You mess around?" Dolly asked, fixing him with a squint. "No, I mean, shit, Sydnee wasn't even my type but I loved her, you know?" Ken said. "Sidney?" Dolly asked and chuckled. "My friend, Maggie? You fix her refrigerator? It needed water line for the ice maker? She said she's standing there in just panties and tee shirt and you don't try nothing," Dolly chuckled. "Because she had a wedding ring on," Ken said. "That ring hadn't been there, I'd have begged for a taste. And Sydnee's a girl's name." "Oh!" Dolly said. "Anyway, I call and call and she doesn't want to talk to me, called her dad and he curses me out so I just gave up," Ken went on. "Mom's all mad at me; nothing new there. Dad's not talking to me; again, nothing new." Dolly went into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of beer. "Then all of a sudden she wants to talk, you know? After everybody's been telling me about all the guys she's screwing, she wants to talk," Ken said and accepted the bottle of beer. "By now, though? I could care less she wants to talk. But then she gets my mom to try to trick me into talking." Ken drank deeply of the ice cold beer. "Damn, where'd you get this anyway? Every time I look in there, your momma never has any beer in there," Ken said. "Fruit drawer, behind the melon," Dolly whispered and Ken smiled. "So I up and left, just got in my truck and left," Ken concluded his tale. "You should at least listen to her," Dolly counseled. "Why?" Ken asked and drained the bottle. He shook his head when she indicated that she'd get him another beer. "Then if you want to leave, you can and if you want to stay, you can," Dolly said. "Now? You don't have no home." "Yeah well...." Ken said. "That what you want? No home?" she asked, getting to her feet. "I don't know," Ken said wearily. "Even when it was home, it was never home. Was never good enough for my mom and dad, none of the girls were ever good enough; none of my jobs were never good enough. I came home with all as on my report card that still wasn't good enough." "That what you running from?" Dolly asked. "No, yeah, I guess," Ken agreed. In Red's, Reynold Reynolds mopped his forehead and drank his beer. "Never heard of a mother fucker no FaceBook page; shit, guy don't even have an email address!" Reynold complained. "Who in the hell don't have email, huh?" "I ain't got no email," Ralph snarled. "People want to get me need call me. And what the hell is twitter anyway?" "Sure this boy ain't around; trail ends here," Reynold asked, double chins quivering as he flashed Kenneth Ryan Thibodaux's high school picture around. "About twenty six, twenty seven, tall, six feet..." "That boy's twenty six, twenty seven?" Red asked, squinting at the photograph. "Shit, looks like he's in high school." "Well, this is his high school picture," Reynold agreed. "Then how we supposed to know we seen him or not?" Ralph asked. "Think I looked like this in high school?" "Think you was born that ugly," Red agreed. "Seriously? Said his wife's looking for him? And she ain't got no recent pictures of him?" "Well..." Reynold Reynolds said. "I mean, shit, much as Dolly hates me, she's got maybe a hundred pictures of me," Red said. "And I burn them too," Dolly said as she plopped down on a stool. "Give me a beer, huh?" "Give me this give me that, it ever stop with you?" Red asked and kissed her, then poured her a beer. "No, only reason I marry you is for beer," Dolly said and they shared another kiss before Reynold indicated he wanted another beer. The next day, Ken finished the two work orders he had before stopping in and shaking Ralph's hand and Red's hand and leaving Bender, Florida. The radio in his truck would not pick up any stations that wasn't playing Christmas music or the insipid and flavorless crap that passes for music today; no good Classic Rock or even a decent Country&Western station so Ken had to be content with silence as he drove west on I-10. The casino in Biloxi was also piping Christmas music but Ken won seven hundred and forty nine dollars so it didn't bother him. And he really couldn't hear the music over the din in the building anyway. The helpful concierge at the casino hotel, for a fifty dollar tip, did arrange to have a masseuse come to Ken's room. The woman did look a lot like Sydnee, short and chunky but with short dark hair. "You a cop?" was her greeting and Ken smiled. "No, I'm a plumber," he said. She rattled off the prices and Ken lay four one hundred dollar bills on the table next to her bag. The woman shrugged and pulled out a condom and some lubricant. "Two more and it's all holes," she offered and Ken shrugged again and lay two more bills down. The woman's blow job was quick and efficient. Ken lay and watched as the woman impassively sucked his cock. Sydnee had been terrible at sucking cock, but least she acted like she enjoyed it. Same with vaginal sex; the woman was impassive and almost looked bored. Anal sex was slightly different; she actually grunted, then moaned as Ken slid his cock in. Sydnee had never had anal sex before. She admitted that her last boyfriend had wanted to do it, but when she finally acquiesced, he'd used his saliva as lubricant for her anus and her saliva as lubricant for his penis. Then he had simply tried to force it in. Because she had loved Ken, she grimaced but agreed to do it. Ken wasn't sure who Sydnee's last boyfriend had been, but the unnamed boy would have had a very enthusiastic anal partner if he'd simply taken a few minutes. Sydnee had knelt on their bed, reached behind and pulled her fat butt cheeks apart. "Oh!" she grunted when Ken slowly eased a greasy finger into her tightly clenched rectum. Oh!" she sighed as Ken rotated the finger in her tight confines. "Uh!" Sydnee grunted when Ken added a second greasy finger and slowly twisted them around. Oh!" Sydnee grunted and drove herself back to meet his two fingers as he fucked them in and out of her anal sheath. "Stick your dick in me," she panted when he added a third finger. "Come on; stick your dick in there." The night he proposed to her, Sydnee had insisted they make the engagement official with anal sex. By now, her favorite way of taking it in the ass was to straddle him as he lay on their bed. Then she'd reach behind, grab his hard cock, and ease the head into her anus, then sink slowly down. Her big brown eyes would close tightly as he invaded her. "Fuck!" she would scream when she finally felt his pubic hair against her pudgy cheeks. Within moments, though, she'd be bouncing up and down. "You're fucking my ass," Sydnee would chant. "Fucking my ass. That's so nasty; you're a nasty boy, fucking my ass." "Going come in that nasty ass," he would grimace and then blast a torrent of his sperm into her back door. "Oh yeah!" the masseuse encouraged as Ken began to thrust himself into her. The minute he finished coming, she was wiggling free of him and dressing. "Thanks," the woman said and waited. "What?" Ken asked, wanting the woman to leave his hotel room. "Uh, most guys tip, you know," she said, all business now that they were done. "Really?" Ken said. "Even after giving you six hundred bucks, they still tip, huh?" "Uh yeah," the masseuse said. Here," Ken sighed and gave her fifty. "Fifty, huh?" the woman said, clearly less than impressed. "No, fifty and a real tip," Ken said. "Next time, act like you enjoy it." Pretty well drained and tired from the drive, Ken was able to sleep well on the cheap hotel mattress. In the morning, he showered, scraped his face and again pondered whether or not to grow a mustache; it'd be one less thing to shave. He'd had a mustache once and his mother had complained so bitterly and his father had just looked so disapproving that Ken had shaved it off. "Fat fucking lot of good that shit did me, huh?" he asked his reflection. "Fuck, they still weren't happy." Ken checked out, thanked the desk clerk, which got an odd stare from her, and left. Waveland, Mississippi had a Waffle house which served him a good hot breakfast and less than good coffee. He stopped again in Grosse Tete, Louisiana and picked up some boudin for lunch. He ate the sausages as he drove, throwing the casings out the window. 'Food in a Condom,' Virgil had called boudin. "Least I don't get on my knees to eat them," Ken had laughed. The cold IBC root beer washed the food down and he sighed in contentment as he let a belch escape. Outside of DeGarde, Louisiana, Ken cursed. Sydnee's phone number had been on his old cell phone, as had been her father's phone number. In fact, after their second date, Sydnee had grabbed Ken's phone as they left Cowboy's Barbeque and put her number into his phone, so he had no reason to remember her numbers. When they moved her into his apartment, Sydnee had added her father's number to Ken's phone. She had been number 8 and Jim had been number 9. But that phone was now in a landfill in North Dakota. "And I'm not driving there to find it," Ken joked aloud. Ken remembered that his mother's house had been number 1 and his dad's cell phone had been number 2. His job had been number 3 and Virgil had been number 4. But who had been 5 through 7 he could not remember. It was just after one in the afternoon so Ken wasn't sure where to go or what to do, so he drove to the First Union Bank. Maybe his buddy Virgil could give him some advice on how to proceed. Ken approached the front door, frowning slightly. The last time he'd been to this building, the doors had been old, ugly bulky doors. The glass had been reinforced with a diagonal wire pattern running through it, with bulky steel beams. It had given the building an imposing, unwelcoming façade. These new doors were sleek, modern looking. "Replaced them after that lady cop drove through the old ones," a female customer answered Ken's unasked question. "Well they were ugly enough, but that's taking it a bit far, don't you think?" Ken smiled, letting her go first. "No, no, she broke up this robbery," the woman laughed. "No kidding?" Ken gasped, looking back at the doors with real interest. Virgil smiled pleasantly as his customer gathered together her numerous documents and spotted Ken chatting with a female customer. "What the hell?" Ken heard a man loudly complain and looked up in time to see Virgil sprint to a door. "Damn it, I only got thirty minutes for lunch!" the male customer complained loudly. "Sir, I can help you over here," Ingrid called out briskly. The female customer went to the next teller and Ken stood, looking at the door that Virgil had disappeared through. "Ken, Ken, over here," Ingrid called out as the man, still grumbling unhappily, left her window. "Hi, uh, was hoping talk to Virgil," Ken said, still looking at the door Virgil had gone through. "Uh huh, bet you are," Ingrid said. "What? What you mean?" Ken asked, now looking at the attractive blonde. "Uh, after the shit he pulled?" Ingrid said under her breath. "Shit? What shit?" Ken asked, also keeping his voice low. "Oh, guess you didn't know you and me were doing long lunches," Ingrid said breezily. "We're doing what?" Ken asked. "Oh yeah, and then instead of lunch we're just having sex," Ingrid said. "We're what?" Ken asked, some anger creeping into his voice. "Uh huh, or at least that's what your buddy told Sydnee," Ingrid nodded. "Right after I told him, 'look I'm just not interested, all right?' he decides he's going to shit on your birthday cake." "You mean, you telling me, the guy I said 'hey, want you be my best man,' that guy?" Ken asked, voice rising. "Uh huh," Ingrid nodded. "Weasel's the kind he ain't happy ain't nobody happy, you know? Why I just wasn't into him; bad enough he looks like a rat baby, got to act like one too?" "You know what you did! Don't play stupid with me," Sydnee had screamed at him. "So, you and me on the down low with each other and my best man goes and tells Sydnee all about it?" Ken asked, face red with rage. "Afraid so," Ingrid confirmed. "Tell him I see him it'll be his turn to put up the bail money; I'll be in jail for killing him," Ken growled through gritted teeth. By the time Ken reached Oak Park Drive in Baylor Lake, though, his rage had dissipated. He and Sydnee had looked at a house, a cute little two bedroom, one bathroom bungalow on Oak Park. Ken slowed down as he looked at it. It's Hard To Find A Good Plumber He had saved up the down payment, even after buying that five thousand dollar ring for Sydnee's chubby little finger. She had wanted to replace the hideous flower box in the front with this 'utterly adorable' wooden wheelbarrow flower box she'd seen at a garden supply store in Elgee, Louisiana. That flower box was now sitting in the tool shed at his parents' home. "Unless of course Mom decided, even though she never ever fucking uses the tool shed, the wheelbarrow is just taking up too much room," Ken spat out loud. Someone else had bought the house. The hideous little flower box was still there. The new owners had also painted the front door an ugly grayish brown color and painted the garage door an equally ugly dark green. A bright yellow Smart car sat in the driveway and Ken smirked at it. "Only faggots and Democrats would drive around in them golf carts," Jim had barked. "Damn, you cannot tell me them things are safe!" "Must be a Democrat," Ken mused aloud. "No self respecting homo would ever paint the front door that ugly ass color." At the end of Oak Park, he turned left onto Vermillion Lane and stopped at Red's Sports Bar. "Hey, Stranger!" Harrison called out from his perch against the back wall. "Damn, man, how you doing, huh?" Harrison gave Ken a manly hug, with a far too vigorous back slapping. Ken was grateful for the very heavy winter coat he was wearing. "Man, where the hell you been, huh?" Harrison asked. "Man, let me tell you, North Dakota is co-oo-old!" Ken replied. "No shit, huh?" Harrison said. "Man, last time I seen you, you was running around on your little girlfriend then next thing you know, don't see you no more," Harrison said as Ken took a gulp of the ice cold beer. "Dude, let me guess," Ken said, anger rising again. "Virgil told you that shit, huh?" "Yeah, said you was getting busy with his old lady, told me tell you I seen your girl getting busy," Harrison agreed. "Kind of wanted you to see what it feels like, you know?" "Yeah, well, only thing wrong with that? I wasn't getting busy with nobody," Ken said and took another gulp of the beer. "Virgil's old lady told him she just wasn't interested in being his old lady so he had to come shit in my swimming pool." "Man, you shitting me, if you shitting me, I'm going be one mad ass mother fucker and you don't want this mother fucker mad at you," Harrison said, voice tight with anger. "Why would I lie, huh?" Ken asked, slamming the beer mug down hard. "Huh? Why the fuck would I lie?" Ken waved his arm around the bar, indicating the three other patrons in the bar. "Hear all kinds of mother fuckers lie they getting busy you know ain't no fucking way they getting busy. Ever hear some mother fucker say they not getting busy?" Ken demanded. "Your boy show his face in here again..." Harrison left the threat unsaid. Ken suddenly realized, three days before Christmas, his mother would not be in school; she would most likely be at home. "Probably sticking pins into her voodoo doll of me," Ken muttered, emptying his beer. His father would still be at St. Elizabeth Parish utilities, probably gleefully disconnecting customers' electricity just before Christmas. "Man, next time don't be so long, huh?" Harrison said, again giving Ken a far too vigorous back slap. Ken popped a peppermint in his mouth; last thing he needed was his mother bitching about the smell of beer on his breath. "God damn, dude, your twenty seven years old," Ken said to himself and spit the mint out of the truck window. "Who the fuck cares your momma bitches or not?" Outside of his parent's home, Ken did not see his mother's car, or his father's car. There was a small Toyota in the driveway. As he walked past, after verifying that the mailbox still bore the name 'Thibodaux' on it, he saw a child's safety seat in the rear seat and smiled softly. Christmas time was for children; the happiness and hope and joy and expectations of it all. In the front window, the window that opened into his parents' living room, Ken smirked. There was his mother's Christmas tree. The artificial tree had been spray painted with stark white flock, to resemble a snow covered tree, but it really just looked like a cotton ball had exploded. From outside, Ken could see that pits and pieces of the tree had flaked away, leaving some of the metal exposed. He wondered, if he could see it, why couldn't his mother? She was usually so quick to see imperfections. He knocked once, and then tried the knob. Finding it securely locked, he pulled out his key chain and found the old key. Surprisingly enough, it still worked and he let himself in. "Mom?" he called out, not expecting to hear a response. A quick search of the downstairs showed that the house was empty. He went up the stairs, went to his old room. He frowned; there was a baby bed in his room, and there was his old twin sized bed. He had asked for a larger bed one year for his birthday and had been told, "Why? It's just you. What you need a bigger bed for?" On the wall, the wall he'd never been allowed to hang any posters on, there were several small photograph frames of different shapes and sizes, placed in an almost haphazard and random pattern. Sydnee had done that at their apartment. On the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen, she had placed several small pictures of herself, of her father, of her and her father in various activities. "And when we get married," she had said the morning after he had asked her to marry him; Sydnee had pointed above the random, haphazard mess. "We'll put all our wedding pictures." Ken looked into the baby bed and almost fell over. There was a baby, a baby girl in a pink jumper, a blonde tuft of hair that stuck straight up from her adorable, chubby face. The baby was wide awake, staring at Ken. "Hi Sweetie, hi, Ken cooed to the girl and she smiled, showing him two tiny lower teeth. "What's your name, huh? What's your name?" "Her name's Kennedy Thibodaux," Sydnee said quietly. Ken turned and saw Sydnee standing in the doorway of the room. He looked into her large brown eyes; saw the tears that were started to fill them. "I call her 'Kenny,'" Sydnee said, slowly entering the room. Even in her bulky bathrobe, Ken could see that Sydnee had lost a tremendous amount of weight. "I uh, this is my parents' house," Ken said, suddenly feeling the need to defend himself for being in the house. "I know," Sydnee said, looking up at him. "I uh, I knocked," Ken defended. "Sorry, I was in the tub; don't get a chance take a bubble bath all that much," Sydnee apologized, reaching up and pulling the pins out of her long blonde hair. "Remember how I love bubble baths." She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her bathrobe, the same ugly, tattered terry cloth bathrobe she'd worn at their apartment. "Why, Ken?" Sydnee sobbed out, clutching for him. "Why'd you run away?" "No, Sydnee!" he yelled, backing away from her grasp. "Why? Huh? Why'd you run away? Why'd you listen to the fucking bull shit Virgil was flinging instead of asking me, huh?" "I don't know!" Sydnee cried out. "I don't know! All I know is I'm not your type, and Ingrid's always been so beautiful so I just knew you had to be doing her!" "Not my... Who told you you're not my type? Huh? I put a ring on your finger, didn't I?" Ken yelled. "But I'm not skinny or tall or beautiful!" Sydnee cried. "Right now? No you're not; begged you to burn that fucking robe, swear to God," Ken said. "Shut up; it was my momma's robe," Sydnee giggled, clutching the robe tightly. "Why Sydnee?" Ken asked, sitting down on the bed. "Why, when he came to you and told you that stupid shit, why didn't you just come and ask me?" "He said you'd just deny it," Sydnee said weakly, sitting on the foot of the bed. "He was your best friend; hell, if it hadn't been for him, we would have never met and he shows me all these pictures of your old girlfriends and they're all tall and skinny and drop dead gorgeous and they all look like Ingrid and he tells me I'm not even your type. Well no shit, looking at them pictures I can see that!" "So um, Kennedy, um, who's baby..." Ken stupidly asked. Sydnee slapped him across his face. "Who's baby you think she is?" she screamed at him. "You the only man I ever been in love with; who's baby you think she is?" Then she realized what she had done and gasped, horrified. "Oh, Ken! I'm so sorry!" she gasped. She scrambled to hug him. "Baby! I oh God, I didn't mean it!" she sobbed. "Oh God Baby!" "No, no, I guess I deserved that," Ken said, holding his cheek. He pushed her away and got to his feet. "No, guess I had that coming," he mumbled. "No, Ken! Please, Ken, don't go," Sydnee sobbed, clutching onto him as he slowly walked to the door. He looked in the bed again and smiled at Kennedy, who was busily staring at the Walt Disney mobile dangling over the bed. "Some guy, some fat guy came in, said my wife was looking for me," Ken said as he gently, but firmly extricated himself from Sydnee's clutches. "Guess that would be you, right?" "Please, Ken, I'm sorry, please don't go," Sydnee begged. "Only thing Is, I don't have a wife," Ken said. "Please! Ken, please!" Sydnee screamed, trying to grab him. "No, Sydnee!" he barked. "Please!" she sobbed. "You're not my type; well fuck! Who is?" Ken said as she stood in the middle of the room blubbering. "But if you had just talked to me, instead of playing those dumb ass games..." Ken said. "I know, Baby, I know," she sobbed, heart broken. "And tell my mom her tree looks like shit," he said and left. He drove east, stopped off at a store in Biloxi called 'Treasure Chest' and bought a bunch of presents and spent the night in a motel in Mobile, Alabama. "Best thing about Waffle House," Ken told the one armed waitress. "Don't matter, North Carolina, California, Alabama, the menu's the same and it's going be the same thing." "Yep, we do one thing and we do it right, Sugar," the woman tiredly agreed. Then he drove east. "Well, hey hey hey, stranger!" Red called out when Ken walked in. "Aw, it's you," Ralph said, squinting at him. "Christmas party here tonight," Red said. "Starts at six. Bad news is Dolly's cooking..." "Gringo!" Dolly called out. "Good news is my egg nog's so strong you won't even notice Dolly's cooking," Red continued as he and Dolly smiled at each other. "So I'm invited?" Ken smiled. "No," Red said sarcastically. "Just thought I'd mention it so you could sit out there and feel sorry for yourself." "Oh, okay, just tell Ralph not to try and catch me under the mistletoe," Ken said. "Dolly, your momma still got a room for rent?" "I'm not, you can just kiss my ass too, hear?" Ralph sputtered as a patron laughed. "Yeah, she say she know you be back," Dolly agreed. "Hey, my buddy's got him a houseboat he's looking sell," Ralph said. "Oh bull shit, Ralph, you ain't got no buddies," Red said. "How much?" Ken asked. "Make Yates an offer," Ralph said. "Five bucks, come on, how much Yates looking to get?" Ken asked. "Well, been in dry dock," Ralph admitted. "Last hurricane? Got kind of banged up on the pier, you know?" "Probably get it for three, maybe four thousand," Red said. "Needs about three, four thousand in work." Thirty five hundred dollars, and the marina master, knowing Ken to be a good and honest plumber, offered Ken a slip with amenities and the boat shop agreed to do the repairs for straight parts, no labor. "How come none of you offered me that kind of deal?" Yates screeched. "You ain't a plumber," the boat shop owner shrugged. "And you an ass hole," the marina master shrugged. "Well Merry fucking Christmas to all of you," Yates muttered, stomping away. "Now that I know I'm getting paid, be about two weeks; that all right?" the boat shop owner asked. "That's fine, I'm staying with Mrs. Montoya," Ken said. "Son, I know who you staying with," the man chuckled. "Damn, boy, I know what you had for breakfast this morning; ain't no secrets here in Bender." The party was fun; there were about thirty people in the small bar and Ken realized, he knew all of them, knew where most of them lived, where they worked. As the boat shop owner had said, Ken knew what most of those attending the party had for breakfast. "One time under the mistletoe, hear?" Red called out as Ken danced with Dolly. "See you go under there twice, I'm kicking somebody's ass." "Uh huh," Dolly called back and tried to pull Ken under the mistletoe a second time. Ken also danced with Maggie, who told him her wedding band meant nothing to her; he should have made a play for her. "Means something to me, though," Ken smiled tightly and did kiss her twice under the mistletoe. Mrs. Montoya giggled and simpered like a little girl as Ken danced her under the mistletoe. She covered her face with her hands when Dolly called out 'Oh Momma!' as Ken gave her a kiss. "Merry Christmas," Ken said, gave Ralph, Red, and Dolly their gifts. "Aw, damn, boy, would you look at that!" Ralph said, looking at the electric razor. "You keep saying you going get you one; well, now you got you one," Ken said, shaking the old man's hand. "Course, you'll still be ugly," Red said, playfully tugging Ralph's beard. Paying tenant or not, Mrs. Montoya woke Ken up, demanding that he get ready for Church. Upon their return, Ken gave Mrs. Montoya a wrapped gift, which she tried to refuse but finally opened it. She thanked him profusely for the electric skillet and when he went to his room, she was happily reading the small recipe booklet that came with the appliance. "Hello?" Ken's mother answered on the fourth ring. "Merry Christmas, love you, bye," Ken said, then turned the telephone off. The day after Christmas, Mrs. Montoya put three unnamed items on the table in front of him and pointed out that all three had been cooked in the electric skillet. Then she gave him the handwritten list of the three neighbors that needed his services, what their complaints were and what their addresses were. Two he was able to finish in less than ten minutes and one needed parts which the local Lowe's would order so he put a temporary fix so that the woman could at least wash her baby's diapers and left. Then Ken drove to the local Verizon store to get his phone number changed. "Uh sir, you got a bunch of messages," the young man said. "Delete them," Ken said "Uh, no sir," the young man said firmly. "You can delete them, but I won't. Never know, one of them might be real important." "It's my mother telling me what a disappointment I am," Ken snarled. "Think that's real important?" "Not my call," the man said, sliding the phone over to him. Ken shrugged, tapped on his mother's phone number and deleted the messages from that number. A text message from Sydnee's phone number read 'where is ox more?' A second text read 'N. Dakota it's cold there.' "You're right," Ken admitted. "One of them was important." "Yes sir," the man shrugged. Ken tapped out 'not in n.d. Too cold.' "Now, please change my phone number?" Ken asked. "Got another text," the young man said. Sydnee had typed out 'where?' Ken deleted it. "Now?" Ken asked. "Now will you change my phone number?" "Yes sir," the young man said and hooked the phone to his computer. "Uh, you know, you can get emails on that thing, right?" the young man said, noticing that Ken had never even accessed the Internet on the phone. "If I had email, I guess I could," Ken agreed. "Oh, sir, I can set you up one real quick," the young man offered. "So can I," Ken said. "But no thank you." That evening, Ken came into Mrs. Montoya's home to hear Mrs. Montoya and Dolly chattering rapidly in Spanish. "Momma say you get her magic frying pan," Dolly laughed when Ken peeked into the kitchen to see them huddled over the appliance. "It's a frying pan; she makes it magic,"" Ken smiled and Mrs. Montoya again covered her face with her hands while Dolly teased her. New Years Eve, Ralph got himself thrown out, banished from Red's when he set off some fireworks inside the small building just as they were counting down to 2014. "He'll be back before Super Bowl game," Dolly whispered to Ken. "They do this every year." "Not this time," Red thundered. "This time he's gone too far!" "And he say that every year," Dolly again whispered to Ken. The boat was ready in a week and the marina master asked Ken what he wanted to christen the boat. "Um, shit, let's call it 'Kennedy's bathtub,' what you think?" Ken asked and the man shrugged. Ken didn't know how much to send to Sydnee for the care of Kennedy, so he asked Brent, a disbarred lawyer that worked at the counter of the motel next to Red's. "You the one suing? Try to get you six hundred," Brent shrugged. "She the one suing you? Try to get it down to four, you know?" "Guess I'm the one suing," Ken said, slapped Brent on the shoulder and said. "Seattle's going to the Super Bowl, mark my words." "And they'll lose too; they ain't shit without the twelfth man," Brent said. "Twelfth man wasn't in San Francisco when they ran all over them Forty Niners," Ken answered, made out a check for six hundred dollars and slapped it into an envelope. Even though he now lived on his boat, Ken still stopped by Mrs. Montoya's house for her large breakfasts and his phone messages. And he told her he would still pay her three hundred a month. "Why?" the woman asked. "Looks like you're my secretary," Ken answered, holding up the piece of paper with that day's appointments. "Oh," she shrugged. A week after sending Kennedy's child support, exhausted after two clogged toilets (A child's toy in one and a feminine product in the other) an a tree root that had busted a terra cotta pipe that had to be dug up and replaced with plastic pipe, Ken didn't even stop off at Red's. He just pulled up to the marina, just in time to see the sun send up its last rays across the water. "That has got to be the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen," Sydnee said from her perch on the pylon next to Kennedy's Bathtub. "Yeah, they really are something," Ken agreed. "Dolly showed me where the boat is," Sydnee said as she gingerly got down from the pylon and approached him. "Where's Kennedy?" Ken asked. "Mrs. Montoya's watching her," Sydnee said. Then she punched him in the stomach. "I drove all the way to Galveston, you ass hole!" she yelled at him. "Why?" he asked, only slightly winded by her weak punch. "To find you!" she yelled. "Why?" he asked again. "Because I love you, because I need you, because your baby needs you," she sobbed out. She swung at him again, but this time he caught her fist before it could land. "Who in the hell has a bank in Texas when they live in Florida?" she screamed at him and tried to swing at him with the other hand. "A guy too lazy open a new bank account," he admitted and backed up as she kicked out at him. "I drove all the way out to Galveston; guy said you hadn't been there since last Christmas," Sydnee said. "So how'd you find me?" Ken asked, amused as she continued to struggle against him. "Looked at the postmark on the envelope," she said. "Oh, didn't think of that," Ken admitted. "I'm not even out the car and that Dolly comes up and says 'You Sydnee?' to me; you been talking about me?" Sydnee asked, ceasing her struggles. "She asked me why that detective you sent was looking for me," Ken said. "I hired him; you needed to know, you needed to know we have a baby, a beautiful little baby girl that needs her daddy come home," Sydnee said, wiping at her eyes as best she could with Ken holding onto her balled up hands. It's Hard To Find A Good Plumber "I need you to come on home," Sydnee whispered and Ken let go of her fists. "I need you," Sydnee said, putting her arms around him. "And I need you too," Ken said, kissing the top of her head. "But I am home." "I see that," she agreed. The next morning, Mrs. Montoya was singing to Kennedy when Sydnee and Ken entered the kitchen. "You got no job today; I tell everybody you wife just come here you two need you some time left alone," she announced as she began loading up their plates. ""Oh my God, I can't eat all..." Sydnee began to protest but Ken clamped a hand over her mouth. "But Honey, I just lost sixty two pounds!" Sydnee whined when he released her mouth. "And you look great," he said and Sydnee's face lighted up. "That boat? That no place for pretty baby girl," Mrs. Montoya announced as Dolly came into the house. "Hi," Sydnee greeted the woman. "Hey," Dolly said, squinting at Ken. "Hmm, no black eye, he okay, huh?" "He's okay," Sydnee giggled happily. "No, pretty little baby girl needs a swing play on, nice back yard," Mrs. Montoya went on. "But where would we find a swing and a back yard?" Ken asked Mrs. Montoya, smiling. "Hmm, we put swing right there," Mrs. Montoya pointed to the large oak tree. "Oh yeah and maybe a slide over there?" Dolly agreed, looking through the window into the back yard. "Hmm, oh yes, a slide, you like a slide? A slide and you go 'whee!' all the way down?" Mrs. Montoya asked the cooing Kennedy. Dolly fixed herself a plate and sat at the table. "Sydnee, what you do, huh?" Dolly asked. "Well, I was a teacher, taught third grade," Sydnee said, hefting some of the fried plantains onto her fork. "But then they fired me." "Fired you?" Ken asked, ignoring Dolly as Dolly dropped her fork. "Why'd they fire you?" "Unmarried and pregnant?" Sydnee asked him. "You a teacher?" Dolly asked excitedly. "I mean, it's all right for the high school coach to be giving blow jobs to his students; I mean Baylor Lake's finally winning football games but unwed and pregnant? Oh no, we can't have that," Sydnee shook her head and swallowed. Dolly got up from the table and scurried to her purse. ""You a teacher?" Mrs. Montoya asked as Dolly began talking rapidly into her cell phone. "I was; these are good," Sydnee said, stuffing more food into her mouth. "No, no, tomorrow, she just come home, you leave her alone today," Dolly ordered. "Who's she talking to?" Sydnee asked Ken. "Beats me," Ken shrugged. "So you get you stuff off that boat and get you old room back, okay?" Mrs. Montoya decided. "And then we put swing up, okay?" the old woman asked Kennedy. "Okay, fifth grade, Jackson Elementary you start tomorrow," Dolly said, sitting down and eating with great gusto. "Wait, what?" Sydnee asked. "Oh, and I watch baby you go to work!" Mrs. Montoya said excitedly. "But I still need to get stuff off boat?" Ken asked, amused. "Well, yeah," Mrs. Montoya said. "Boat no place for pretty little girl." "But if she was ugly?" Ken asked, playing with Kennedy's tuft of blonde hair. "Then she look like you," Mrs. Montoya said. "But boat still not good place for little girl." Even though Kennedy was barely five months old, Ken was ordered to hang the swing after he'd finished moving all of his belongings off the boat and back into the spare bedroom. Sydnee sat on a thick root and watched. "So after Dad passed, I mean it wasn't even a week, Baylor Lake fires me and your Mom said I should come stay with them, in case you ever decided..." Sydnee said, and then faltered. What Robin had said, with a sneer, was, "In case Kenneth ever decides to grow up and face his responsibilities; we may be waiting a long time." "Oh, I can about imagine what my mother had to say," Ken said, clamping down the chains that held the swing. "And see? Daddy's got your swing up," Mrs. Montoya cheerfully said, bringing the freshly bathed and powdered and dressed baby. Her attempts to brush the tuft down, however, had failed miserably; the tuft still stuck straight up. "And Mr. Brent call; he say now you living here how much you want for boat?" Mrs. Montoya said. "Oh my God, you haven't even finished..." Sydnee said. "Honey, there are no secrets in Bender," Ken said and again squinted at the level he'd placed on the swing. "They all know what we had for breakfast; hell, they even know what we did last night." "Call me that again," Sydnee said, walking to him. "What?" Ken asked, looking up from his kneeling position. "Call me that again," Sydnee asked. "What, Honey?" Ken asked and she kissed him. "Call me that again," she ordered. "Honey," Ken said and Sydnee kissed him again. "Call me..." Sydnee said. "Honey," Ken said, getting to his feet and plopping her onto the swing. "Whee!" Sydnee laughed as Ken gave her a shove. **** Kennedy 'helped' her mommy plant the gardenias into the large wooden wheelbarrow in front of the house. The three year old girl got more dirt on her than into the barrow. Two year old Julia was more interested in chasing the dragonfly that hovered just out of her reach. But Kennedy was definitely a 'Mommy's Girl', when she wasn't busy being a 'Grandmama's Girl.' "And Grandmama says I was too pretty be on a stinky old boat," Kennedy prattled on as Mommy showed Kennedy where to dig the next hole in the dirt. "Daddy!" Julia screamed as the white van with Bender's Plumber' printed on the side pulled up to the curb. "Oh my God, let me get a picture of this," Ken said, getting out of the van. "You mean to tell me, Grandmama let y'all out of the house without her hovering over y'all?" "Shush," Sydnee laughed, getting to her feet with some difficulty, her eight month pregnant belly sticking out over her shorts. "Hi Honey," Ken said and kissed his wife. "Call me that again," Sydnee ordered. "You just in time, lunch on table, come on," Mrs. Montoya said, opening the front door of the house. The woman shrieked when she saw how filthy Kennedy was. In Spanish, she ordered the three year old girl to get into the bathroom and get out of those filthy clothes. Kennedy knew better than to argue with her Grandmama and scurried into the house. "This one better be a boy, you hear?" Ken said, rubbing his wife's belly. "Uh huh, and if it's a girl, what you going to name it?" Sydnee asked as Ken helped Julia wash her small hands in the kitchen sink. "Trouble," Ken smiled as a freshly scrubbed, freshly changed Kennedy came into the kitchen. Robin Thibodaux had frowned in disapproval when Julia was named after Sydnee's mother. "Hey Mom, you drop dead? I'll name my next one after you," Ken had cheerfully suggested. "Trouble, huh?" Sydnee laughed. "Well, I'm just glad this one's coming in the summer." "Miss Ortega? She say her sink backed up; you get it after we eat, okay?" Mrs. Montoya said, quickly serving their lunch. "Oh, I think Daddy's going to need a nap after lunch," Sydnee suggested. "Them naps why you having another baby," Mrs. Montoya said, taking her own seat at the table. "Daddy get a nap after he finish Miss Ortega, okay?" THE END **Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. Thank you for reading my stories. And now for the disclaimers. Yes, I need an editor. Yes, it's in the wrong category. Yes, it jumps around too much. Yes, there's too many people to keep track of. Yes, it's too long. Yes, it's stupid shit. And, yes, I suck. And you have a super sparkly day.