Jacked

That one conflict aside, it wasn't exactly rocket science running the paint department and within another week, Hunter had learned pretty much all there was to learn about mixing paint and taking care of the managerial side of things, as well.

Over the course of the next six weeks, Hunter got into the rhythm of his new job and had to admit that as mind-numbingly simple as it was, it wasn't a bad little gig. He enjoyed meeting people from all walks of life, especially what his dad called 'salt of the earth' folks. Many of them were older and likely retired while quite a few were young people either doing some paint project at home or for a friend or relative.

He'd only met a handful of women he'd even consider dating and most of them had been married or were just too young and/or flighty for his tastes. Even so, he'd gone out a few times with a couple of older women and enjoyed their company which further solidified how he felt about dating in general.

That Monday, he got a text alert that his concealed carry permit had been approved and that he could pick up the paperwork at his convenience. He headed over to the courthouse during his lunch hour hoping it would be quick and easy while expecting the worst.

To his very pleasant surprise, he was in and out in less than 15 minutes and could now legally carry a handgun anywhere that wasn't specifically prohibited by law. Blackman didn't personally feel threatened by some kind of out-of-control crime rate. He just felt very strongly about exercising all of his rights under the Constitution and one of them was the right to keep and bear arms. He wasn't a Supreme Court scholar, but he knew that the Second Amendment had been explained clause by clause in a court decision and that it absolutely did apply to individual citizens.

He wasn't carrying today, but he planned to from then on—just because he could. And in the extremely unlikely event a weapon was needed, he wouldn't be dependent on calling 911 and hoping help arrived in time.

He was walking out of the courthouse and still had half an hour to burn. A small crowd surrounding a speaker caught his attention, and he wandered over and listened in.

"And that is why we MUST ban ALL weapons in the United States starting right here in the state of North Carolina!" he heard some female firebrand shouting.

Blackman wormed his way upfront and listened for a another minute or so.

"The Constitution is very clear that ONLY a well-regulated militia has the right to keep and bear arms and it does NOT apply to individuals!"

There was some light applause and a few boos and one raised hand.

"Ma'am?" the speaker heard someone say.

"This isn't a question and answer session, young man," the woman told him.

"You're not afraid to have your beliefs challenged, are you?" he said.

"When you're right, you don't have to worry about being challenged!" she smugly informed him.

"Then why don't you know the Supreme Court disagrees with your interpretation about who has the right to keep and bear arms?"

"Oh, look what we have here! A right-wing conservative Republican. A Scalia-lover!" she said mocking him. She bent down and said, "For your information, little boy, Scalia was an asshole, and idiot, and just flat wrong!"

"And yet he was appointed to the Supreme Court and you were not," the younger man calmly replied.

The woman went to speak, but the young man, one Hunter Blackman, jumped up on the makeshift platform she was standing on and kept speaking.

"If you want to ban weapons, then you're going to have to amend the Constitution and doing that is a very difficult task requiring three-fourths of the states and 2/3 of both houses of congress to concur. If you can do that, knock yourself out. Until then, I, and every law-abiding adult citizen, has the absolute right to keep and bear arms."

"The Constitution! Uh-huh. That dingy, 250-year old piece of parchment that lost its relevance 150 years ago. That Constitution?" she said in an angry, shrill voice.

"No, the one that was and still is the supreme law of the land. The one that has no provision in it for ignoring it at some specified date because of its age. You see, the Constitution is a legal document—a contract—between the government and We the People. You can't just arbitrarily claim it's outdated. You can't just assert it's a 'living, breathing' document because that's what you want it to be. If you want to change this living, breathing document, then amend it or go home. But a ban is simply unconstitutional."

"Oh, that's rich! Some conservative kid lecturing me, a university professor—and tenured no less—on the Constitution!"

"I'm not a conservative nor am I a Republican, but thanks for the stereotyping and for labeling me. How...tolerant and...open-minded of you."

"Young man, you have no idea what guns can do. You've never seen anyone killed or dying from a gunshot wound. If you had, you'd be singing a very different tune. Some of us live in the real world and then there are ignoramuses like you who get all their 'information' from Fox Noise or just plain old Fake News. Do yourself a favor and get an education then come back and try again!"

There was another smattering of applause and a few more boos and one very loud, "Shut the fuck up, bitch!" from someone with a beard and a ball cap.

"Hold on there!" Blackman yelled out at him. "This woman has the right to speak her mind. Please don't tell her or anyone else to 'shut up.' This is America and freedom of speech is no different than the right to keep and bear arms. I'm sure this woman disagrees with me on that, but freely speaking her views is her...RIGHT."

He looked over at Ms. Duncan and said, "I'd love to stay and debate this further, but I have a job and since I don't have tenure, I need to get back to work."

She made some kind of snide reply as he stepped down, but Blackman didn't hear it. He headed straight for his car when he heard a woman say, "That was very brave of you. I don't think I could have done that."

"Oh, not really," he told the woman who made the comment. "I have no issue with peaceful protests or that kind of 'street preaching.' I do however, take issue when someone is just factually wrong."

"But don't guns kills thousands of people every year?" she said walking with him toward his car.

"Ma'a, no gun has ever killed anyone. I've been around them all my life and not once has a gun ever loaded itself, stood up, and killed anyone."

He smiled as he said it, and he noticed she smiled back. She was a very attractive older woman, but he couldn't tell whether or not she was married because she was wearing gloves along with very nice-looking wool coat as the weather was getting downright cold.

"So you believe the old adage that says, 'Guns don't kill people, people kill people'?"

"It isn't an adage, ma'am. It's the truth. I'm sure you've seen how Islamist radicals are mowing people down with trucks and beheading people with knives. And while people mock and sneer when others say this, it's 100% true that more people are killed with hammers each year than with so-called assault rifles."

"Okay, but why do we need assault rifles at all?" she asked.

Blackman has reached his car, but wanted to answer one last question.

"First of all, there are no assault rifles sold in America. They are all semi-automatic rifles no one would want to take into combat with them. So the whole debate is tainted and skewed from the outset by mislabeling something like an AR-15 an 'assault weapon.' It isn't."

He opened his door then said, "I wish I had more time to talk, but I do have to get back to work."

"Me, too," she told him. "I just enjoy walking around here during lunch rather than sitting at my desk."

"Well, it was nice talking to you and perhaps we'll get the chance to continue our discussion sometime in the future."

"Same here and I'd enjoy that. I don't really follow this issue too closely, but I've heard that woman speak before and she seems to make a lot of sense." The woman paused then said, "But so do you, and now I'm even more confused."

Blackman smiled then said, "I really have to run. Enjoy your walks, by the way. It's gonna get very cold real soon."

The woman shivered, smiled and said, "Maybe next time we can discuss global warming!"

Hunter smiled back then closed his door and drove off.

******

One month later at Home Depot in Charlotte, North Carolina

It was just after 6pm on a very cold Tuesday the week before the Christmas weekend, when a very attractive woman with a little girl in tow walked up to him and asked for help.

"I'd like to repaint my daughter's room, and I was hoping you could possibly match this color," she said pulling out a swatch of pink fabric.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Hunter told her. "We can match pretty much any color on almost anything. How many gallons do you think you'll need and what finish are you thinking about?"

The woman didn't answer him, she just stood there and stared.

"I'm sorry, but aren't you the guy I talked to out front of the courthouse a month or two ago?"

Blackman looked at her and tried to imagine seeing her without the stocking cap she was wearing and the heavy scarf around her neck and then it hit him.

"Oh, my goodness! My apologies. I didn't recognize you all bundled up like that."

He smiled then said, "Yes, that was me. It's good to see you again."

"You, too," she said smiling back. "I had no idea this is where you work. Then again, I've only been in here once or twice since the store opened. I'm not exactly a home repair kind of girl."

She took off her cap and her gloves and Blackman remembered the long, dark, beautiful hair, the pretty face, and those amazing blue eyes.

"Yes, this is my...kingdom," he joked. He pointed to his orange vest that said 'manager' on it and told her. "I'm in charge of...all this." He opened his arms wide to indicate some massive area, and the woman couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, so you were asking about matching a paint color to that piece of fabric and that's every easy to do. We got sidetracked on the 'finishes' question. So...what finish do you think you'll need?" he asked.

"Oh. Um...I don't really know. What choices are there?" she asked not sure what he meant by finishes.

"Paint comes in a variety of finishes. If you'll follow me over here, I can show you easier than I can explain it."

"Oh, I get it!" the woman said as soon as she looked at the various wood samples that had been painted using matte, eggshell, semi-gloss, and gloss finishes.

"It's not only the 'shininess', it's about how much touching or abuse they can stand. For instance, if you use a matte finish, just touching the wall can leave fingerprints. With eggshell, you can wipe the walls down without smudging or removing the paint, and with semi-gloss you can actually scrub them."

"What would you recommend for a child's room?" she asked nodding at her little girl.

Hunter noticed the woman's smile was as beautiful as her face and her face was very pretty.

Before he could reply, her daughter said, "Pink!"

Both of the adults laughed as Hunter said, "Okay, pink it is."

The little girl was cute as could be and seemed very sweet.

"She's really excited about this," the woman said. "I've never really painted anything in a house before—inside or out," she added.

"Well, if you expect your daughter or maybe her friends to ever make marks on the walls with say...coloring crayons, you probably want an eggshell finish. If you know the walls are going to get a lot more um...use, maybe even semi-gloss, although I don't normally recommend that for anything but a bathroom or the kitchen around the stove."

The woman laughed and said, "In my house, the stove never gets used so that wouldn't be an issue. I hate cooking!"

With her gloves off Hunter saw her large diamond wedding ring and did his best not to let his disappointment show.

"So does your husband do most of the cooking?" He smiled just in case the woman was sensitive about who did what.

The woman stopped smiling then said rather quietly, "Oh, um...no. My husband passed away a year and a half ago."

"I'm so sorry," Hunter said with genuine sympathy. "My apologies for being flip about who does the cooking."

"It's all right," the woman said, smiling again. "It does no good to live in the past."

Hunter knew better than to comment any further and just waited patiently for her to let him know what she wanted.

"Okay, well, how about we try the eggshell?" she said still smiling.

"That would be my choice," he told her. "So how many gallons will you be needing?"

"Hmmm. Honestly? I have no idea."

"Do you know how big the room is?" he asked her.

"It's really big!" the little girl told him spreading her arms wide the way he'd done.

"Oh, okay. So we need a LOT of paint then!" Hunter said bending down to talk to her. "How old are you, young lady?"

"I'm this many," she said holding up three fingers.

"Holly? Didn't you just have a birthday?" her mom said.

"Oh! Yes, I did. I'm this many!" she said holding up four fingers.

"I see," Hunter said. "So...are you going to be painting your room all by yourself?"

The little girl laughed and said, "I can't paint my room. I can't reach high enough."

"Well, we could get you a ladder," he told her very seriously.

"No, thank you. I will let my mommy paint it. She's big!"

He mother was anything but big. She wasn't petite, but he could tell she had a very nice-looking figure even under her heavy winter coat.

"Oh, I see. Okay. Well, maybe she can tell me how big your room is," he said standing up and looking at her mother again.

"Oh, gee. Let's see. It's from maybe...here...to um...over there." She used the edge of one of the aisles then pointed to the edge of the mixing table.

"Okay and is it roughly square?"

"Pretty much," she said. "Does that help at all? Math isn't my strong suit."

"Me, either. I was a philosophy major in college, but I do have a paint calculator. Let's go find out how much you need."

Hunter measured the distance and found it was about 15 feet. He tapped in 15 x 15 and hit enter.

"Okay, we need enough for two coats so..."

"Two coats?" she said wrinkling her nose.

"Sorry. Yeah, you gotta go over it twice or it just looks awful. Do you need rollers and brushes, too? We have a really good one for cutting in around the ceiling and baseboards."

"Cutting in?" she said making the same face.

Hunter smiled then said, "You weren't kidding about having never painted before, huh?"

"What can I say? My husband took care of all that kind of stuff. I'm pretty much a girly girl."

"Me, too!" Holly informed him.

"Well, I must say you are not only a very attractive woman, but very well-dressed, too, so I'm definitely buying the 'girly-girl' thing."

"Thank you...Hunter," she said finally looking at his name tag. "I can't cook and I can't paint, but I seem to do okay with fashion and makeup and other...girly stuff."

"Me, too!" her daughter said again.

"I agree. You look very nice, and she's a very cute little girl," he said as he winked at Holly.

"Yeah, I'm kind of fond of her," her mom told him. "Oh, my name is Emily. I saw yours and used it and just realized I hadn't introduced myself."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Emily," he told her.

"Okay, let's go get your paint and then I'll mix it and shake it up for you. If you need to do some looking around it'll take me about 15 minutes to get it ready. Oh, and you are gonna need those rollers and at least one brush for cutting in."

He took her over and showed her what kind of roller to use for the main part of the walls and what 'nap' would be best.

"And this 4" angled brush is the best thing going for cutting in. You can cut in with your eyes closed with this."

"I'll take your word for it," she told him. She leaned over and said, "Okay. I have to ask. What does 'cutting in' mean?"

Hunter grabbed the brush then pretended to be painting along the edge of the wall where it touched the ceiling.

"The trick is to paint the entire wall while not touching the ceiling so you have to 'cut in' with a brush like this or else you'll have pink lines and splotches on the ceiling if you tried using a roller or the wrong brush."

"Oh, good lord!" she said. She looked at Hunter and smiled again before saying, "You don't make house calls, do you?"

"Not normally," he told her before deciding to go for it. "But I'd be willing to make an exception if you'd possibly agree to have dinner with me."

The woman laughed and covered her mouth.

"Get out of here!" she said. "I told you I don't cook. The best I could offer is a frozen TV dinner nuked in the microwave."

Hunter carried her brushes and rollers and some blue painter's tape to the mixing area then said, "I wasn't talking about you making dinner for me. I was asking you to have dinner with me."

He saw the wheels spinning in her head as she stood there staring at him.

"You're awfully young," she said without any hint of meanness or judgment.

"I'll have you know there's nothing awful about my age at all," he replied feigning defensiveness.

Emily laughed at his goofy humor then said, "You're actually very nice looking yourself, but you can't be more than what...25?"

"No, I'm not that old," he said and got another genuine laugh. "I'm 24," he told her.

"I see. Well, I'm not going to tell you my age," she replied. "I'll just say I have a few years on you." She paused then said, "Okay, maybe quite a few years."

"I'm sure you're an honest woman, but I find it very hard to believe you're that much older than me," he told her, his arms crossed and his head tilted down slightly.

"Hunter, I would really love to have some help with my project, but I...I'm not so sure about...a...a date. I mean, you're a very nice-looking and, having majored in philosophy, I'm sure you're also very intelligent. Okay, you're actually rather charming, too."

"But?" he said still holding the same pose.

"But...I don't really date much and well, I've never dated anyone younger than me. Not more than a couple of years younger, anyway."

He released the pose then said, "Normally, I'd say something cliche like 'life's an adventure' or 'what have you got to lose' but I'll quit while I'm not too far behind." He smiled politely then said, "It'll just be few minutes, and I really will come over and paint your daughter's room. No date required."

"No, I can't let you do that, Hunter. I was only kidding. I'm sure I can take care of it."

"Okay. That's your call," he said smiling at her again. "I'll get started on the color matching and get these ready for you."

"I guess we'll just take a quick walk around while you're mixing or stirring or whatever it is you do back there 'behind the curtain'," she said as he opened the first can and added in the colors.

She was staring intently as he did so. "Now why did it squirt black paint into the white when we're making pink?" she asked.

"The computer does the matching then selects what colors need to be added and in what amount. All I can tell you is the final color will match the fabric you showed me."

"Okay," she said still looking into the can until he put the lid back on and set it in the shaking machine. He knew she was having a hard time believing him, but he also knew the paint would indeed be a very bright pink, just like the fabric she'd shown him.

Fifteen minutes later, Emily came back and saw her two gallons plus one quart of paint were ready to go.

"That should do it for you," Hunter told her as he started ringing things up.

She signed the credit card receipt, and Hunter asked if he could help take anything out for her.

"Oh, that would be great. If you don't mind, of course."