Early Pickins

Early Pickins freely admitted his life so far had casually roamed from disaster to rut and back into the scorching flames of disaster.  His first four marriages turned out badly.

 

Corina, his first wife ran away with a hockey player. Cost Early a lot of money to pay the guy off. Corina was not an easy sell.  Cost even more for the divorce.

 

Before leaving, Corina favored Early with a son, an intense boy who grew into an intense man, graduated from law school and these days made his money working for the Santini crime family.

 

Morine came next. Said she was a native of France. She spoke heavenly accented English until the divorce trial when she confessed she was from Minnesota. 

 

Time stomped on.  Money accumulated.  Money was not Early’s problem.

 

And while he brought in the cash, he and his son grew apart, although Early picked up the bills for college and law school.  Still, they were not close, well, until Early needed something, and more often than not it was a big something.  The son, who people naturally called Lean, because he was tall and slim, unlike Early, was in his law firm for the long haul.  The Santini family was old school. No getting out and if he decided to leave, there was no place to hide.  It did have its benefits.  Their problems, and in turn his son’s problems simply disappeared.

 

Early made a third matrimonial mistake, Fay.  She took the house and all his money.  Early even sued his lawyer to try to get something, anything back, but the opposing lawyer, Lincoln McFee, came out on top, including Early paying court costs. 

 

It had been a while since Early and his son had spoken, so when the phone rang, and Lean saw the number, he was hesitant.  He had folders on this desk and unsympathetic bosses to please and everything due yesterday. 

 

“Hi Dad,” he said as pleasantly as possible.

 

“I need a favor.”

 

“Well, no crap”, Lean thought. “I know it’s not Christmas or my birthday.”

 

But what he said was, “Good to hear from you!” sounding as cheerful as a squirrel who’d made it across the road.

 

Later, Lawyer McFee lost a leg when his car was t-boned by a dump truck.  Needed a lot of dental work as well, and his damaged mind receded into childhood.  He no longer drank Manhattans, but developed a sudden fondness for chocolate milk and cookies.

 

It was right after the third marriage that Early determined to change his ways.  No longer was bra size going to be the deciding factor.

 

The fourth and worst was Caroline Wentworth. She poisoned Early, but he survived after a good old fashioned stomach pumping.  A few days later, Caroline had an unfortunate accident, when her car stalled on a train track at the exact moment the 1:15 a.m. to Pittsburgh came through.  In Early’s life, cars and ex-wives didn’t do well.

 

Still, no one could say Early Pickins didn’t keep his cheery disposition and take his misfortunes in stride.

 

Even Las Vegas couldn’t change his luck.  Ransom, his unfortunately named accountant, had a perfect system for craps.  First night, Early won three hundred bucks, which struck a match to the fuse of his enthusiasm.  The next night he won $1500.  He was primed to make a killing.  

 

The third night their hotel room was broken into and the money disappeared.  Turned out Corina had ditched the hockey player and moved to Las Vegas. Her new boyfriend, Ramone, was also close –wink-wink-  with one of the hotel maids in the same hotel Early and his accountant were staying. The maid’s name was Rosaline ‘Rosie’ Buchannan.  Rosie unexpectedly, especially for her, fell off the roof.  Then Ramone joined her in what appeared to be a lovers’ double suicide.  His last words were “I’m SORRY! I spended all tha fuckin’ money.”

 

In no time, Early started searching for the perfect woman in more high-class places. Lobbys of the best hotels in Chicago, New York, and Miami, trips to the country’s best museums and most fabulous libraries.  One night he struck gold, seated next to a lovely woman at the theater, on opening night of Love Always, in London’s west end.

 

Avril Harrison was a strict, very correct woman from Connecticut who let Early know she didn’t shop at Wal-Mart under any conditions, and made Early leave a restaurant when a patron at the adjoining table uttered ‘shit!” out loud with a touch of anger.

 

She shuddered when another woman asked if she’d read Fifty Shades of Gray.  “Such trash,” she said, “Such perversity.”

 

She insisted on five star hotels.  Early was intrigued.  This time he had surely found elegance and culture in a forthright woman, with an independent mind.

 

Back in Philadelphia on date number six, they sat at a lovely table in the hotel’s exquisite dining room.  The gleaming crystal of chandeliers spraying the high ceilings with sparkles of light.  The diners were attired in suitable dark suits and ties for the men, and delightfully designed gowns for the ladies. Naturally, ironed and flawless white linen graced the tables.  Full sets of silverware glimmered, along with flawless crystal glassware.

 

They ordered drinks, a fifteen year old Scotch over ice for Early and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot for Avril. 

 

The waiter who delivered the bottle of champagne wore spotlessly white gloves and presented it in a forward thrust as he announced its age.  When Avril nodded her approval, the waiter made an event of popping the cork, as if he were the doctor at a royal birthing.  He set a lightly frosted flute before her and poured a properly bubbly portion.  He was about to place it neatly in an iced silver bucket, when Avril lightly touched the cuff of his black jacket.

 

“Are you sure you won’t have a flute of champagne?” She asked, giving Early a dreamy-eyed look.   It sounded like such a polite request, that he cancelled the Scotch.

 

They dined over four exquisite courses that apparently represented every European country.  It was a guess on Early’s part.  He only recognized three or four.  They emptied the bottle of Champagne while they explored the salad, and continued with two bottles of perfect French reds for the remainder.  Afterwards, Avril downed two Manhattans in a hotel bar worthy of Cary Grant and Agent Double O Seven.   Early settled for a luscious snifter of Spanish Cardinal Mendoza brandy.

 

So expensive was the meal, that even Early, Mr. Generous, blinked.  But, what the hell.  He’d already made the assumption that dinner was as erotic as it would get with his overly civilized dining partner.  So convinced was he, he’d booked two suites.

 

Instead, when he walked her to her accommodation, she invited him in. Five minutes after the heavy door closed behind them, with the solid sound of a bank vault, she attacked him like a woman trained by Igor the lion tamer.  

 

“You going to put it to me like a real man!” She said it with a guttural rasp, as she ripped off his $200 shirt, scattering buttons across the room, then raking her nails across his chest in what felt to Early like a prelude to open heart surgery.

 

“Get off me,” were not the words that leapt into Early’s befuddled mind.   This was survival of the fittest, and right that moment he had his doubts about his chances.

 

“Do I need to take a wrench to that piece of machinery,” she screeched, grabbing a fist-full of Early’s particulars with the grip of an ape stealing a coconut.

 

“Ever seen tits like this?” she said, with a panther’s purring voice, ripping off her own blouse.

 

If he ever had seen tits like that, he wasn’t about to take a risk and say so!

 

A bold move to the door crossed his mind, like a chicken pondering the chicken or the egg and finding out it was the chicken.  Just then, she grabbed his arm, dragged him toward the bed, and shoved him with a force that left him sprawled and covering his crotch with both hands in case she had a knife.  Better to lose a finger, or maybe two.

 

She wasted no time, as if she had wasted any previously,  and rode him like Calamity Jane’s psycho sister.

 

The next morning, she asked if he would like to attend church services. And what church?, he wondered.  The church of fuck me ‘til I die?

 

She delicately placed his hundred dollar bill in the silver collection plate, squeezed only his hand, thank god, and whispered she couldn’t wait to get back to their hotel room.

 

Early could wait.  He thought of locking himself in the mens room, or taking communion until they ran out of wine. 

 

Time to call his son.  He needed another favor.  If he lived that long.  His son sighed and said he’d take care of it, but in fact, he was long past dealing with his father and his father’s self-made problems.  This would be the last time.

 

That night was better or worse than the first, depending on who was on the bottom. The woman never slept!  Early cringed when she brought out a short, stout switch. “Good dog,” she said.  Good dog? He was ready to be a simpering, little toe licking fucker if this night would just end.

 

Morning saw Early leave the room at 6 a.m., bloodshot eyes, which matched his tie.  Suit pants felt like sandpaper, making him cringe at every step.  Avril left right behind him, telling him she was going to skip breakfast and catch a cab.

 

As she walked out the lobby’s revolving door, Early made a phone call.  “Everything all set?”

 

“Yes,” said the voice he didn’t recognize.

 

Then he waited.  Nothing happened.  Avril walked across the street, got in a cab and left.

 

Something must have gone wrong.

 

He followed out the doors and hailed a handy cab.  Evidently, the cab didn’t see him.  It hadn’t moved.  He stepped off the curb and waved.  The cab came forward like a horse out of the starting gate and met Early face to face. There was in a blast of blood, and  the cab sped away.

 

The doorman told the cops it was a regular city cab, but he hadn’t noted the license plate.

 

Lean also made a phone call.  The voice on the other end only said, “You won’t get anymore phone calls.” Good thing.  His bosses were tired of picking up the check.