Red Ribbons and Scripture

"Listen carefully, and don't lie to me, and I may allow you to keep your long hair. Were you recording this? Where are the cameras and recording equipment? I asked. "The DVR recorder is in the closet; what are you going to do to me?" Please don't hurt me, Lucas," she sobbed, "Dave said you're a coward and a sissy-boy crossdresser, and," I interrupted. "I get the picture, Beth," he's a liar," and I stepped off her hair.

"Go to that corner," I ordered, pointing, "remove that ridiculous costume and then stand there naked facing the wall. No matter what happens, don't turn around, don't say a word without permission, or you'll learn what the riding crop feels like."

I turned my attention to DeLuca; "Pull out that hidden knife, and we'll have a second go at it." DeLuca shook his head no, wincing, "I thought as much," I told him, "take off that fancy belt toss it over there," and he did. "We have now established who is a base coward and a liar.

I'll talk, and you'll listen. The DVR is still recording even now. You and Beth have much to lose if it falls into the wrong hands. Your wife is the significant shareholder and the money behind both dealerships, and all that it implies if she sees it or it goes public-your Frankenstein, not mine. Do we have an understanding?" "Yes," he replied. "Excellent, the DVR is mine for safekeeping and my silence. Do your part, and I'll take mine to the grave.

In consideration, you own property I want near the airport. I'll pay you a fair market price in three weeks. Make it happen. But, for now, listen carefully; you got mugged tonight, multiple assailants, and you didn't get a clear look at them; they were wearing masks. A good Samaritan who you never saw before will drive you to the hospital. You may have a concussion and need to go to the hospital regardless. I want you healthy and alert for the pending sale.

One more thing, DeLuca, she's off-limits to you; no retaliation, understood?" He nodded yes, put his hand to his head, and said, I feel dizzy, and I'm going to be sick. "Use the bathroom, sissy; it's over there," I mocked him.

"Who drove him to the hospital? Was it Jerry? I asked. "Yes.""I knew it, and the property was for Assets Compliance Recovery Services?" Yes, again," Lucas replied. "Did you use the riding crop on her?" "No, my good right hand on her bare bottom worked just fine after DeLuca left." "Did you cut her hair that night? "Yes, most of her ponytail while Beth pleasured me with her mouth." What about Deluca? What happened with Beth after he left? Did you make her kiss your feet?"

"End of story, Sarah, understand?" "But," and he interrupted, "But is not a yes, Sarah, Understand. "Yes, Sir," I replied, intrigued learning about the spanking and haircut. "You will grow your hair longer for me, red ribbon girl." Yes, Sir." I agreed, thinking about him cutting the kneeling Ms. Devane's hair while she sucked on his hard cock. She deserved it.

Do you like your bangs, Sarah?' "I adore my bangs. They give me a bit of panache" "I agree, not to mention, without makeup, you'd look bookish, like a librarian if your hair was up, add the right glasses; now there's a thought. Can your stylist duplicate the results-your bangs?' Yes, why do you ask?" "You won't be going back to the Black Pearl Salon."

Sunday evening, I was curled up in a chair reading a book of selected poetry when Lucas leaned over and kissed my cheek. "You have shared many things with me, including that you sold your jewelry, and the only regret was the gift from your mother father. You were very kind to spare her feelings about the loss."

"I remember; it was God's will, so I moved on and found you."I stood up and hugged him." Why are you bringing this up now?" He reached into his pocket and said, "Close your eyes and hold your hand out."

I did, and when I opened my eyes, I saw a small piece of the heavy-linen parchment paper folded with something inside. Written on it, in Lucas's cursive, "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." He was in part quoting Matthew 6.

The meaning was clear to me, and my heart leaped with joy. There was no mistaking it; inside was my 18kt gold cross, with the small dent in one corner. The cross and chain were a gift from my Mom and Dad when I left home. What Lucas did for me was priceless, almost beyond words, and he left me speechless as I stood there looking at him.

"Before I met you, I stopped to look at the community bulletin board in the library with the business cards tacked to it. One, in particular, caught my eye advertising buy/sell/trade fine fountain pens, writing instruments, and such. I put that card in my coat pocket and forgot about it until I got home.

When I removed it, it wasn't the business card I selected. The one I put in my pocket was white-stock with blue lettering. The one I took out was light violet with dark-purple lettering. I had no use for the items advertised and used it for a bookmark in the book you are reading. Two months ago, on a hunch, I met with the eclectically attired woman who purchased your cross and chain. She never put her cards at that library.

Lilly Moon runs a healing jewelry and herb-essential oils shop out of her home in Watkins Glen, NY. She invited me for a cup of herbal tea. Lilly was adorned in bracelets and bobbles and beads with rings on every finger. She reminded me of a retro-aging flower child with rose-colored granny glasses.

She was wearing your chain with a twisted gold wire pendant, twisted gold wire with a loop wrapped around a cluster of deep purple-amethyst crystals. She described all the stones adorning her as 'healing or channeling stones? To each their own, as they say. She declined to sell me the chain, but she did purchase it legally and in good faith. I was waiting for the right time to give it to you. What better time than this?

I'm going to bed to read for a while. We need to be up early to look at some agriculture-zoned property-20 acres adjacent to Oneida Lake I want to purchase. Although it's a beautiful lake, it's not the fickle Atlantic with the tempest fury of angry waves rising and crashing against the rocky shores during a storm. Then the gentle, calm, rhythmic, apologetic waves caressing the sandpipers' tiny feet as they hop about the beaches.

The expression on his face changed, and although he was looking at me, his eyes and mind seemed elsewhere. "I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. There's more to that poem, "Sea Fever, by John Masefield.

I did, after all, grow up on the coast in Maine. He picked up the poetry book and gave it to me. "I suggest page twenty --two; I'm rather fond of that poem. See you in a bit." When he left, I turned to the page to read the poem "Perfect Woman" by William Wadsworth. Lucas saved the page with Lily's Business card.

I don't know how long I sat there, euphoric and blessed, thinking about him, thinking about us, my eyes moist with tears. Was it his way of telling me he loved me? I'm sure it was. I went upstairs and found a new gold chain on my pillow. God bless him and keep my love safe- Lucas was sound asleep.

Lucas wanted a prim and proper librarian type, and I've always been modest in my speech and dress. That is Lucas's preference as well. The Bible-in Timothy says in part, 'women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel, with modesty.' Our first official date happened the following May when the weather was warm and balmy. Lucas told me to wait for him at the Dew Drop Inn at around 5:00 PM on a Tuesday during happy hour.

I noticed a few of the young men at the bar turn to watch me as I walked and sat on a barstool at the end, where I ordered a glass of white wine from the bartender. Although not upscale by any means, the atmosphere of the Inn and restaurant is warm and welcoming.

I carefully selected my attire for our date, starting with a white long-sleeve ruffled front button blouse, a charcoal-grey wool knee-length pencil skirt, and black high heels. I put my hair up in a sleek, sexy bun, and I wore round black glasses on a sparkly rhinestone eyeglass chain to complete the look.

It wasn't long before an average-looking man around Lucas's age wearing an expensive handmade suit to walk over and strike up a conversation. His associate-friend at the table was watching us see if he will score. I watched in the bar's mirror as he slipped his wedding band from his finger into his pocket.

He tritely asked, "My friend and I are wondering, are you a movie star in disguise?" "No, and you are, Sir?" I asked, amused by the lack of originality in his corny pickup line.

"My name is Bob Smith. Are you interested in some company?" "That depends, Bob Smith." "Depends on what?" he asked, flashing a smile while thinking he scored a point. "Whether or not you are married?"

"Does that matter these days," he asked, still smiling. "Yes, it means a great deal to me," I replied, taking a sip of wine. Before Bob Smith-not his real name could respond, "Bartender, I'll have a shot of Jim Beam and a Bud, please" Lucas slapped a Jackson on the bar and got between us.

I've never seen him dressed like this before. He looked like a road construction worker wearing blue jeans, scuffed and tar-covered work boots, and a sleeveless safety-yellow tee shirt. He acted as if Bob wasn't there. Lucas downed his shot and turned to me, "Good afternoon," he greeted me, "My name is Lucas Cain," "I'm Sarah Foster good afternoon, Lucas, are you married?" "No, perhaps someday, are you?" He asked, going along with our little game.

Before I could answer, Bob-not, his real name, tapped Lucas on the shoulder, and when Lucas turned to look at him, Bob made a show of sliding hundred dollar bills in Lucas's tee shirt pocket. "Why don't you find another watering hole, and leave, Ace."

"Let me get this straight, Lucas said... Ah, I didn't catch your name?" "He says he's Bob Smith," I offered. Lucas took the money out of his pocket, "Gosh!" Lucas exclaimed, playing the bumpkin, "this is a lot of money, and you're giving it to me? Just like that and no strings attached?" "Yes, provided you leave."

The bartender, an older man in his late sixties, watched the conversations with amused interest, "Bartender, a round of drinks for everybody, and keep the change," Lucas announced loud enough for everyone to hear as he slapped the money from his shirt pocket on the bar. The two waitresses then went from table to table, taking drink orders, while the bartender saw to those sitting at the bar, giving them a drink or a chit wooden nickel with the Inn's name on to use later.

Lucas turned to me and said, "Sarah, I'll be direct with you." and he took his Driver's License out of his pocket and gave it to me, "I'm single and looking for a long term relationship, and more", he held his hands up to show lack of a ring, "and a Lady can't be too careful. You are a pretty woman. Would you?"

"Are you obtuse?" Bob asked loudly, interrupting, "I paid you to leave."

"Obtuse, isn't that a musical instrument, like a big clarinet?" Lucas asked innocently. "That's an Oboe," Bob retorted frustratingly. My cousin Carol plays the clarinet," Lucas offered pleasantly," she never got paid for it. I'll be leaving here eventually; it's not like I live here, now," and Lucas again turned to me, leaving Bob glaring at him in disbelief. Goodness, I could barely keep from laughing at the bewildered Bob; this was so much fun, not as we planned, but fun nonetheless.

"As I was saying, Sarah. Would you like to have dinner here with me this evening? They don't serve gourmet, but the food is good. There's an Irish band playing later, starting at seven, and we could dance?" I gave him his license back, "Well, Lucas, I usually don't," I didn't finish as Bob interrupted.

"Listen, Lucas, that's not how it works," Bob said, changing tactics and explaining to Lucas as if he was dense or slow on the uptake; "Sarah and I were having a pleasant private conversation before you rudely interrupted us. Look at me, and look at you, and the way we dress. I'm a successful stockbroker, a man of business, my slow-witted friend, and you're not. I buy and sell people like you for a living. I wear custom suits while you shop at the marts. You have shit on your cheap Walmart clod hoppers while mine are, Berlutis' that cost two-thousand for a pair. Stop wasting her time; she's not interested in you. You're not in her league or mine. Do you understand now, Simpleton?"

"It's road tar on my shoes, Bob, and my last name is not Simpleton; I don't know that family. My name is Lucas Levi Cain. I know a Ralph Templeton, though; I went to school with him; Ralph has a transmission shop in Bangor, Maine. Wait a minute, are you insulting me, Bob?"

"Of course I'm insulting you, you moronic imbecile. You wasted two hundred dollars of my money for nothing! What did you gain by it?"

"I didn't waste it; the money is mine, per our agreement, the duration for leaving immediately not stipulated, and open for interpretation. I invested the said money in people as a gesture of goodwill and camaraderie."

Lucas held his glass up for a toast, and patrons at the bar or in earshot did too," A toast to Charles Dickens, who wrote, and I quote, 'Says Marley's Ghost to Scrooge, 'Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were, all, my business.'

Take note of that, Bob, lest you linger as an earthbound ghost, or worse, are cast into Dante's Inferno."

"Big words for a loser, with no money, give me my two-hundred now, or I'll kick your ass!" Bob demanded, turning red with anger and embarrassment at being mocked and made the fool in front of everyone.

By then, his friend walked up next to him. I assumed for support or as a backup. "Dan, let's go, forget the money; you can afford it." "No, the money is a matter of principle." "That was a good one," the bartender said, laughing and stepping from behind the bar to join us.

"What a load--a matter of principle, Mr. fancy shoes, Dan. I saw you put your wedding band in your pocket. You, a married man, lying about your name, attempting to cheat on your wife, and then trying to get into, sorry, begging your pardon, Ma'am. Do you know Lucas?" "I'm his secretary, Sarah Foster. We were to meet here at five. "Sarah's more than my secretary, Sam," Lucas explained, squeezing my hand.

I'm pleased to me you, Sarah. I'm Sam O'Brian. I suspected there was something funny going on. I met Lucas a ways back at the Greyhound bus station; he had a knapsack and nothing else. He lived in my back room here for a while. Tom Nelson stopped by a few weeks ago, Lucas. And good bouncers like you two are hard to come by; different styles, same outcome."

Lucas said nothing and calmly sipped his beer. Sam continued, "What's all this crap?" Dan asked, "Old home week. I demand to see the owner, or I'll sue!" exclaimed the angry, outed, lying, phony Dan, "this is a shake-down."

"And you, Mr. Snooty-nose Stockbroker, who thinks he's better than everybody else. I own this place, and I don't need your business." Sam told him.

By now, many of Sam's regular customers gathered around Dan and his friend. Sam continued. "Kick Lucas's ass, you say? Tougher men than you have tried. Leave, now, you are upsetting my customers; they don't like you! I don't like you. Leave unless you want Lucas to tie your ears under your chin."

They made a subdued retreat, their shoulders hunched over, and glancing worriedly behind them as a few customers followed them out, hurling catcalls and insults," My favorite, "Hey Cinderella, do your fancy shoes turn into plastic flip-flops at midnight?"

I asked, Lucas although I knew the answer, which made me love him all the more, "Why did you let him insult you when you can easily beat him in a fight? "Sun Tzu said it best, Sarah. "The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

Fighting him would serve no useful purpose. He is not a threat to me, let alone a challenge. Instead, he is all bluster and bravado. Tom Nelson is another story. Suppose Tom lands one punch, the fights over. I have seen him do it, and Tom will not kick or stomp a man when he's unconscious on the ground, as will others. Tom is not an overly mean or vindictive man, despite his temper and crude language at times. It may surprise you; Tom's a birder and breeds homing pigeons. It's hard to imagine a small delicate bird being held gently in one punches' massive hands.

Tom was sincere when he asked Jerry to tell me, 'no hard feeling,' and we made our peace at his father's wake. Our fighting days are over."

"You've fought him before?" "Yes, while Dan defeated himself, and I pity his wife. It would be a different story if Dan put his hands on you, which I will not tolerate.

Lucas and I had a good laugh over the whole episode during dinner, and by seven, the place became busy with people there to drink, dance, and listen to the band, and the band was excellent. Lucas held me close while we danced, always the gentleman, except when he boldly took my hair down, as I knew he would.

By nine, the Inn became packed; standing room only, and Sam's wife, Gina, came to help out. She made a beeline to Lucas and hugged and kissed him before he had a chance to introduce me. She then scolded him for not telling her sooner he had a lady in his life and not bringing me to the house for dinner. She hugged me and said, "You're invited any Sunday, for a pot of sauce," and jumping ahead, we went a few weeks later, and Gina fussed over Lucas, as would an Italian mother with her only son.

For old times sake, Lucas helped Sam behind the bar making drinks with a flair, flipping bottles, doing fancy pours, juggling glasses, and the like, and the customers loved it. I put an apron on and helped Gina waitress for a while. As a side-note, having worked as a waitress in several restaurants, I've never seen such a spotlessly clean kitchen, floor to ceiling clean; it was like my mother's kitchen, regardless of where we lived, but I digress. Lucas was thoroughly enjoying himself, Sam along with him, and at closing, we gave our tips to the waitresses.

It was around 1:00 AM when we went to my home to spend the night, and we were taking the next day off-Bosses orders. I closed and locked my front door and turned to Lucas. While I was hugging him and getting ready to tell him I loved him, the doorbell rang, and there was a knock on the door. I heard a familiar voice, "Sarah, it's me, Pastor Dean, we need to talk." I feared the worst; I listed him as a person to contact in an emergency.

"I'm so sorry to tell you this. Your mother's in the hospital. I spoke with the Floor Nurse an hour ago. She's unresponsive and confused when awake and is talking in her sleep. Here is the address and telephone number." He handed me a paper. "You haven't answered your phone, and I have been trying to contact you since seven pm yesterday.

I won't sugarcoat it; it may be a matter of hours or a day at the most. "She's in God's hands now," I replied, "I'll need to make plane reservations," I said, looking at my phone to see the ringer turned off.

"I checked, no flights until late tomorrow afternoon," my Pastor advised, "Standby is an option. What more can I do to help?"

"Pastor," Lucas said, "please stay with Sarah until I get back," and to me, "Honey, don't worry, I'll get us there in a matter of hours, whatever it takes. I promise."

Lucas had changed and was back in less than an hour. I was packed and ready to leave. We drove to a private airstrip adjacent to the main airport with a small Learjet 45XR fueled and waiting. "Lucas shook hands with Mr. Johnson, the pilot-also the jet's owner and then introduced me to the man who liked my idea, and soon, we were in the air.