One Old Fool

"Husband's shooting fine," Tracy said, sliding down to the next display case. "Thank you very little."

"You know, I've got five or six kids out there," Glen bragged.

"Five or six? Don't know?" Tracy sneered.

"Might be more," Glen bragged.

"I can understand that," Tracy nodded.

"Yeah?" Glen asked, amazed.

"Finally!" he thought to himself. "Finally getting through to her!"

"Yeah, I wouldn't want anyone knowing you're the father either," she said and began inventorying the Cartier watches.

Glen left for lunch a moment later, not telling Tracy he was leaving.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" Tracy asked the girl that had walked away from Glen.

"Yeah, I guess I really do want that watch," the girl said, pointing.

"Ah yes, the Cross? Those are very nice," Tracy complimented. "But have you looked over here, at the Seikos? There's a black one that's only three eighty nine; you might like that..."

"Now why that guy didn't say nothing about this one?" the girl asked, admiring the black watch.

"Because he's never done his inventory and wouldn't have a clue what's in his own cases," Cindy thought as she walked past.

"You were asking about the layaway?" Tracy asked, already reaching for the pad.

"Yeah, I got to put down twenty percent, right?" the girl asked.

"Yes ma'am; you can put more if you'd like, but twenty percent is the minimum and there is a two dollar holding fee," Tracy explained, showing the girl the paperwork for the layaway plan.

The girl puzzled over the amount to put down and Tracy got out a calculator and let the girl figure it out for herself, at her leisure.

"Thank you, ma'am," the girl smiled as she put her layaway voucher into her purse.

"No ma'am, thank you," Tracy smiled, putting the ticket onto a sealed box.

"Mrs. Mouton, good job," Cindy complimented.

"Oh? Okay, thanks," Tracy shrugged.

Cindy smiled as Heather popped up, winked, and then disappeared into a side door.

****

Eighty dollars poorer, Glen walked to the jewelry counter and again spritzed some breath spray into his mouth. He'd had two beers with his lunch, hardly enough to get anyone drunk, but last thing he needed was anyone bitching about smelling alcohol on him.

Tracy was bent at the waist, resting her elbows on the counter. Glen felt his cock twitch at the thought of stepping up behind her and sliding his cock into her tight anal passage.

"By the way, think I saw your husband out there; what's his name?" Glen said as he clocked in at the cash register.

"Kevin," Tracy said, perking up slightly. "Kevin Mouton; Why? Where'd you see him?"

"Real short guy, brown hair?" Glen asked, holding his hand at about waist level.

"He's not that short," Tracy defended.

"Sweetie, yeah he is," Glen smirked.

"He's five foot three," Tracy snapped walking away as far as the counter would let her.

"Five foot three?" Glen wanted to scoff, but didn't.

"So, where'd you see him?" Tracy asked, nearly twenty minutes later.

"Huh? See who?" Glen asked, snapping out of his reverie.

He had been thinking of Tammy's sister, Shelley. Tammy had been fun at first, but the bloom was long gone from that rose. He had actually been thinking of leaving when Shelley stopped by for a visit with her big sister.

She was a lot heavier than he liked them but her impressive breasts made up for that, as did her sweet, gullible nature.

Glen also liked the fact that Shelly had a pussy-whipped boyfriend totally devoted to her.

Shelley had very nearly gone for it; he had played all of the cards just right. Complimenting her for her looks, her brains, insulting and demeaning her boyfriend, to his face and behind his back. Planting the seeds of doubt in her mind, promising her a better future.

Shelly had begun to come over to his side of the court. Shelley began to second guess her boyfriend's fidelity. She began to lose any respect for the hapless Brian Edwards. Glen had even coerced Shelley into shaving her pussy; Brian had a hair fetish, loved for Shelley to sport a full, luxurious bush.

"Maybe I should just go all out for Shelley," Glen thought to himself. "Maybe wouldn't be so fucking miserable as I am now."

"Kevin, my husband," Tracy reminded him. "You said you saw him."

"Oh, oh! Oh yeah! Went to the Dead End for lunch; special of the day's their stuffed pork chops, damned good stuff and there's this midget, got his face as close to the dancer's crotch as he can get it without the manager throwing his ass out of there and I'm like 'damn, that midget looks kind of familiar' and when I got back here, I remembered that you're married to a little bitty guy," Glen lied.

Glen was lying; Kevin had not been in the Dead End. But he knew if Tracy did ask him and he denied it, Kevin would look like a liar. Any seed of doubt could be watered, and over time would mushroom into a real weed of mistrust.

Tracy's eyes flashed with anger; her Kevin wasn't a midget. Especially where it counted.

"So, what's he doing for a living?" Glen smirked. "Jockey?"

"He's a chemical engineer with Pilot," Tracy snapped. "That's why we moved here from Baylor Lake."

"Baylor Lake, huh?" Glen laughed. "You mean, Baylor Lake, where everyone's relative? Where they have only one last name in the phone book? Where pumpkin is not only the favorite vegetable, BUT the favorite past time?"

He looked on in stunned silence as she ran from the jewelry counter in tears.

Heather Lee popped up in front of him.

"Got any more fun things to say about Baylor Lake?" she asked, green eyes glazing into his blue eyes.

Heather pulled out a cell phone, punched in a few numbers and suddenly Glen heard her voice echo out of the recessed speakers that usually piped in classical music.

"Floor manager to jewelry counters, please," Heather spoke slowly, clearly. "Floor manager to jewelry counters, please."

"Problem?" Cindy asked, striding rapidly.

Heather pulled her to the side, out of the aisle and whispered urgently to Cindy.

Glen began to walk over, but Heather held up a hand, prompting him to stay where he was.

"Where is she now?" Cindy asked punching in a phone number into her own cell phone.

"Restroom, behind men's suits," Heather responded.

"Mr. Simone, my office, NOW," Cindy ordered.

There'll be no one to..." Glen protested then stopped speaking as Mark George; one of the two 'floater' associates of Abdul's nodded curtly, stepped behind the counter, and entered his associate code into the cash register.

"I'll go get her," Heather said and scampered toward the men's department.

"Hi Mark," Hillary smiled at the handsome young man.

"How many of them Smart Phones you sold today?" Mark smiled.

He loved to tease her about the fact that, once when he covered her department for her while she was on lunch break, he had should three smart phones, and two warranties for the phones.

"Oh, I quit counting after fifty," she shrugged and smiled widely.

"You are so full of it!" he laughed.

Chapter 3

Glen sat, stunned, as Heather slapped down complaint after complaint levied against him.

"You really think it was appropriate to ask April Leblanc if she'd ever had anal sex." James Hebert interrupted Heather's discourse.

"I..." Glen offered weakly.

"Ms. Leblanc did admit that she may have inadvertently started that conversation," Cindy said.

Glen smiled inwardly; he knew she was attracted to him. He nodded his thanks to her; she avoided looking at him.

Heather looked around, satisfied that the others were done with their conversations, and then again continued her testimony.

"Did you really?" James asked when Heather testified to Glen's inappropriate comments to a pregnant customer.

"Breast feeding is..." Glen weakly said.

"A private matter," Cindy snapped.

Glen's eyes went to the woman's chest. Her breasts were medium sized and showed a healthy amount of sag. He was sure that Cindy had breast fed her children.

"So is whether or not the woman has pierced nipples," Heather continued.

"She was..." Glen stammered.

"All of this?" James said, sweeping his hand along the desk toward Heather's note pad. "You can smooth-talk your way out of. I know you. You'll be able to come up with one excuse or another."

"And since no one did file any complaints," Heather said.

"At least, not with us," James said to the bone thin red head.

"Right," Heather admitted.

"No telling how many customers we've lost, though," Cindy offered.

"And I've had a few talks with you about this kind of stuff," James said, again looking at Glen.

Glen thought back to one of their 'talks.' The talk had started off in a serious tone; James was concerned about an overheard comment regarding Hillary Monroe's oral skills.

The conversation had ended, however, with both men agreeing that a blow job from Hillary Monroe would most likely be spectacular. They had also speculated, between themselves, on whether or not Hillary's carpet matched the drapes.

Glen declined to bring up that point now, though.

Heather slapped her notepad shut and glared at Glen.

Mark George had once confided in Glen that he thought Heather Lee was one of the most attractive women he'd ever laid eyes on. The young man exuded confidence, was quite intelligent and charming, but was a tongue tied idiot around the red headed security person.

Glen had thought briefly of seducing the woman, just to rub Mark's face in it; he'd overheard more than one female associate of Abdul's drooling over Mark George.

"Would be like fucking a fence board," he thought, looking at the woman's barely perceptible bumps and lumps.

"Please, just give me the fucking paper, sign the damned thing and we can all just get back to work," Glen wanted to say, but bit his tongue.

Tracy was given her turn, and with barely a sniffle or hiccough to her voice, began telling of the constant thinly veiled innuendoes, sexual comments, and suggestive remarks he'd made to her over the few weeks that she'd been working at Abdul's.

"Now, how in the fuck I'm supposed to know your fucking old man raped you, huh?" Glen thought to himself as Tracy recounted the incident of thirty minutes earlier and why it had affected her so greatly.

Tracy was sobbing now so a lull had descended over the five people.

"Fuck, probably parading around in nothing but your fucking panties," Glen thought to himself. "Bending over, putting your ass in his face, daring him to do anything."

Dianne Waterson had three girls living under her roof. She had five altogether, but two of them were out of the house by the time Glen had met her.

The three that remained were constantly parading and prancing around in various stages of undress.

"What are you doing?" Amber had giggled when he reached around and grabbed her pudgy breasts.

"If you have to ask, I'm doing it wrong," Glen said.

"You are," Dawn said. "You're supposed to be grabbing Mom's tits, not ours."

That didn't stop them from wiggling and waggling their asses at him, and it didn't stop Amber from fucking and sucking him. Dawn kept threatening to tell their mother, but Glen just shrugged.

"Probably teased the fuck out of him, and then got all freaked out when he finally had enough," Glen thought as Tracy finished her tale of woe.

Glen resisted the urge to applaud Tracy's performance. Three sets of eyes looked at him. He wondered what the appropriate response was, wondered what words he could offer that would smooth over the incident.

Cindy started talking; his long silence obviously longer than she could bear. He did not listen; she was unimportant.

"I agree," James said tiredly.

"Okay, so now we can all get the fuck out of here?" Glen thought to himself.

"Turn in your name badge, get your stuff out of your locker, Mr. Simone," James Hebert said, standing. "You can pick up your final check here tomorrow."

"Wait, what?" Glen asked, mouth open in shock.

"You've created a hostile working environment, Glen," James snapped. "Last fucking thing I need is someone suing us over your shit."

"Come on; I'll help you," Heather snapped, getting to her feet.

He dug out the few items and rankled when Heather made him empty out his lunch bag in front of her.

"Why didn't you eat your lunch?" she asked, satisfied that his lunch bag did indeed contain lunch.

"Went to the Dead End instead," Glen snapped, handing over his name badge. "You Might have heard about it; you know, where the women actually have tits?"

"Uh huh; my sister Darlene's one of the dancers there," Heather smiled sweetly.

He used the walkway to go to the third floor of the parking deck, where the employees parked.

"Hi Ass hole," he heard someone say as he unlocked his car door.

Chapter 4

"Give him room; Glen?" Heather said.

Glen looked up at the bone tine red head's face. Behind her head he could see a large globe of one the parking garage's lights. He realized he was lying on the greasy, grimy floor of the garage.

"Glen, how many fingers is I holding up?" Heather asked.

"What the fuck... Who cares how many fingers you got up, you fucking ugly ass skank?" Glen spat, trying to rise from the dirty floor before he got his suit dirty.

"Judging from that answer, I'd say you're fine," Heather smiled tightly. "But I still want to get you checked out. Ambulance is on the way."

"You go to pay for that?" Glen spat, frowning at the small crowd of on-lookers.

Again he tried to get up but a searing, shooting pain in his head made him gasp out loud.

"Yeah, whoever did this got you pretty good," Heather smiled.

"Don't need to be so fucking happy about it, stupid cunt," Glen snapped.

"Uh huh," Heather smiled, infuriating him.

An ambulance roared up. The two paramedics got out, did an examination of him, agreed that it would be best to bring him to University Medical Center in Lafayette.

"I have insurance," he snapped angrily at the two EMTs as they lifted him onto the gurney.

"Possible head trauma?" one of the men said to him. "You're not going to find any better than U.M.C. deal with that."

He lapsed into unconsciousness on the way to the hospital and when he came to again, Tammy was sitting next to his bed.

"Hey," he croaked out.

"Hi," she said flatly.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Um," she said, squinting at her watch. "Looks like nine thirty."

"At night?" he asked.

"No, Glen, nine thirty in the morning," Tammy said tiredly.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"Thank you for...?" she prompted.

"For coming here, for..." Glen said.

"Uh huh, well, now that we know you're not going to die, I won't be coming back," Tammy said and got to her feet.

"Wait, what? Why not?" Glen asked.

"Shelley told me, Glen," Tammy snapped. "All right? Shelley told me. That's why."

"Shelley told you what?" Glen asked.

"Oh, so now you got you some amnesia?" Tammy snapped. "Let me refresh your memory, mother fucker. Been trying to get into her pants for months now. This ringing any bells with you? While I'm busting my ass, trying to keep the roof over our heads, you're just running around trying to fuck my baby sister?"

Glen looked at her. He did not try to deny it; he did not try to make excuses.

"And them, I find out you got fired. Again. From another job. Because you're a loser," Tammy shrilled.

"Ma'am!" a nurse hissed, opening the door. "This is a hospital!"

"Sorry, won't happen again," Tammy said, stepping to the door.

"Fired, for trying to get into yet another woman's pants," Tammy said. "Well, good luck Glen. Hope she'll put up with your ass because I sure as fuck won't. Not any more, that's for sure."

Two police officers from the DeGarde police department came and interviewed him. All he remembered of the attack was someone called him 'ass hole' and then intense, blinding pain.

Brian Edwards had smiled when asked if he knew anything about the attack; Tammy had told the police officers that Glen had tried seducing Shelley, Brian's girlfriend.

"Wasn't me, but you tell that man, I'll buy him dinner at Radcliffe's," Brian had said.

"How you know it was a man?" James Kowalski asked.

"Okay, her then," Brian had laughed. "God! That would be truly fucking beautiful, huh? A fucking woman beating the shit out of him?"

Kevin Mouton was truly baffled about why the police would question him about a man he had never met. True, he knew who Glen Simone was; he had been the manager of the jewelry counter where his wife worked, but he had no reason to attack the man.

Two days later, Glen was discharged from the hospital.

Outside, it was a beautiful spring day. The sun was warm on the skin, but a gentle breeze blew the humidity away. Bright blue skies with a few fluffy clouds greeted Glen as he stepped outside, dressed once again in his dirty suit.

He stood, unsure of what to do. He had no money for a taxicab, certainly not the forty three dollars it would cost to ride a cab from Lafayette to DeGarde.

He had his last paycheck from Abdul's waiting for him but he wasn't about to waste half of it on a cab fare. Especially now that he was, for all intents and purposes, homeless.

He had no one to call, and even if he did, Tammy had cancelled his cell phone.

Tammy wasn't going to take any calls from him. Shelley certainly wasn't going to take any calls from him. Paula, the dancer he'd blown eighty dollars on had not given him her phone number. Tracy did not even enter his mind.

There was a bus stop bench near the entrance to the hospital; Glen wearily walked over and sat down on the sticky bench.

A bus came and let out a few people. When the bus driver saw that Glen made no attempt to stand, he shrugged and closed the door of the bus.

The same bus driver came by two more times and still Glen just sat.

"Buddy, you okay?" a security guard asked.

Glen looked up and realized it was now late in the afternoon; the sun was almost directly in his eyes.

"Buddy, you okay?" the guard asked again.

Glen looked around. He then looked up into the guard's face, squinting against the sunlight.

"You got anywhere to go?" the guard asked.

"No," Glen admitted.

"Friends? Family? No one?" the guard asked, pulling out his walkie-talkie.

Glen did not answer.

His sons, Glen Jr. and Robert at seventeen and six, weren't old enough to take him in. His daughter Elaine, he remembered, had married a doctor. He brightened slightly at that thought, and then remembered, she'd been killed a few years ago. His other daughter, Elise, as best he could remember, was still living at home with his ex-wife Carmen.

And the lat time Glen had seen her, she was hostile toward him.

"So, Father," she had sneered. "When's my birthday?"

Of course he wouldn't know her birthday; it was just another day to him.

"Tell you what; how about how old I am? Can you tell me that?" she pressed.

He couldn't answer her; he knew she had to be about twenty three or twenty four, but wasn't sure. Elise had shaken her head in disgust and walked away.

"No," Glen murmured as the guard talked into the device. "No friends or family."

The End.

**Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure. I post them here for your enjoyment.

***Author's Note: Glen Simone is a character from the 'The Broussard Sisters' series. Tracy Mouton and Kevin Mouton are characters from 'Kevin's Torment.' Cindy Scandurro is a character from the 'Breaking the Family' and 'Ice Heart' series. Heather Lee is a character from the "Oddball' series. (She is mentioned once in 'Oddball 2' and 'Oddball 7a.') Hillary Monroe is a character from the 'Flowers in the Heart' series. James Kowalski is a character from the 'Oddball' and 'Dee & The Twins' series.

Thank you for reading my stories.