Some Guys Have All the Luck

My entry in the 2023 Author's Hangout Challenge -- 'Karaoke Story Event'. Nothing to do with actually murdering a song in a bar, but writing a story that resonates with a particular song title.

The story is also part of my 'Cottage Industry' series about a group of New England women setting up a porn collective. See the Series page for details. All stories in the canon can be read standalone.

Prologue

I really shouldn't have been watching what I was watching in an airport departure lounge. Given the content, I just couldn't resist.

Besides, it was six in the morning and there were only a handful of us waiting for a company charter flight from Boston to Bar Harbor.

I only intended to watch a few seconds, but inevitably got caught up in it. I was so engrossed, I never even realised Mac was in front of me until he spoke.

"Whaddya watchin' O'Hara?"

I acted quickly at the sound of the stentorian baritone of Mac Bernstein, the man with the loudest voice in the Western Hemisphere. Most people called him an asshole but being from England via Irish descent, to me he was an arsehole.

Either way you cut it; the epithet fit.

I looked up wearily. Given the early hour it had already been a long morning. "Oh, nothing Mac. Just waiting for the call to arms."

"Yeah, like I believe that. Way you shut the lid of that laptop and the look on your face, reckon you're havin' a sneaky peek at sumpin' maybe you shouldn't."

"I'm a grown man, Mac. Unlike some I could mention."

"Yeah, and maybe just a little desperate since the divorce came through?"

I resisted the urge to punch his fat face or place a kick to the groin. It was never advisable to argue with Mac as he just kept on getting louder of voice and redder of face until most eardrums in the room were at bursting point. The inevitable shower of spittle was also to be factored in. Not wishing to draw any unnecessary attention, I relented and lifted the lid of the laptop a little.

Mac's pudgy face came closer and he adjusted his glasses. He saw the image that had frozen onscreen when I hit the pause key.

He drew in breath. "Sheeyit, what a pair of babes. Blue-haired kid's a bit freaky-deaky but also kinda cute. But that MILF? Don't get me started on that prime piece of hot ass! What was that old song? 'Some Guys Have All the Luck.' Shit, Steve -- they sure do. I mean, guys like us don't get that lucky, do we?"

"Guess we don't, Mac."

"Imagine that sweet l'il thing twerkin' on yer pecker and the older lady grindin' herself down on yer face like that. Two red-hot pussies - some lucky guy is having a helluva good time."

To my unbridled relief we were requested to board the aircraft. I looked out onto the apron thinking it looked more like an oversized drone than an aircraft. I didn't like flying at the best of times and this was not the best of times. I killed the file, shut the laptop and put it in my tote bag.

Mac turned towards the gate. "Yeah, that kinda shit's for the lucky guys, Steve. They get to fuck 'em, we get to watch 'em. As I said, some guys have all the luck. That guy is one lucky dude. One lucky muh-fuckin' dude."

When he turned back, his smile was almost stomach-churning. "Just send the link and your dirty l'il secret is safe with good ol' Mac, capiche?"

I followed on behind and smiled at his retreating back.

Maybe guys like you don't have that sort of luck, Mac.

But some guys do.

And when you watch that video, you'll never know that the guy having all the luck is one Steven Cormac O'Hara.

One

Smugglers Cove seemed like a nice little place to lay low for six weeks. I hadn't done much research - just picked the first place that looked good within half a day of Boston and went with it. A place to hunker down and come to terms with what had been falling apart for three years but had finally collapsed in a smouldering heap of debris a few weeks earlier.

Nineteen years of love, hope and despair gone in an eyeblink.

I needed to get away and did so at the earliest opportunity. My boss was good and she gave me time off. I wasn't looking for anything other than a chance to get myself into a new headspace and come to terms with being single again aged forty-two.

I arrived in the early afternoon and didn't bother to unload the car. There was plenty of time for that. I collected the key from a numbered lockbox on a post by the door and headed straight to a well-renowned brewpub on the harbour called The Dockyard. I had tried their beers occasionally in Boston and liked them, so it was my first port of call.

The walk along the river was pretty and the town small, but characterful. Built around the point where the river estuary meets the sea, it was all old-fashioned boardwalks, clapperboards and fresh air.

As I walked the narrow streets, the classic Groove Armada sample of 'Old Cape Cod' on 'At the River' came into my head. There were sand dunes in the distance, there was salty air and while it wasn't a little village, it was certainly quaint. Despite not being anywhere near Cape Cod, I could almost hear tremulous strings and a strident trombone playing against the backbeat as I ordered my first beer in The Dockyard.

To my eternal delight, there was an English ale on hand pull. It had been a long time since I had partaken, so drank four of them, ate Irish Stew and finished with a Guinness. Both parts of my heritage were nicely taken care of and I headed for my rented condo congratulating myself on a choice well made.

There were six condos in the small complex along the riverside. Mine boasted a small pool with a barbecue area overlooking the river. I couldn't see either getting much use, but it was a nice, secluded and relaxed spot in which to not so much reconnect with the world as disconnect from my old life.

I arrived back feeling a little the worse for wear. At least there would be no tee-total, nagging wife to berate me. It hadn't always been that way, but another in a long string of faddy health kicks took her over a few years earlier. Thereafter, to paraphrase the classic Police song, 'Every drink I took, she was watching me'.

Wishing I had unpacked earlier, I began to extricate my belongings from the car. As I did, the door of the adjacent condo opened and a woman dashed out, car keys in her hand.

She glanced across at me. "Oh, hi. Saw the car earlier. Strange to see someone here so early in the season. You renting or have you bought?"

I straightened up, hoping she would not notice my slight inebriation. "Hiya back. The former. Took six weeks on it. I know it's out of season but I needed to get away."

"Sorry, hope I didn't appear rude, but it's on the market, so wondered if I had a new neighbor." She made her way towards me. "You chose well -- Smuggler's Cove sure is a nice place to get away to." A slim hand encased in a red leather glove extended in my direction. "Mallory Felder."

I took the gloved hand in mine and a little shiver ran through me. Lacie had occasionally worn gloves just like Mallory's to tease me back when things were still fun and interesting. I fought down such thoughts.

"Steve O'Hara. Pleasure, Mallory. Certainly seems like a nice place on first look."

"Yeah, has it's quaint charms, but I'm biased. Born and bred here. You?"

"Boston, via a small town in England and a family tree that covers most of the Emerald Isle."

"Thought I detected a Brit accent in there. Welcome to Smugglers Cove, Steve O'Hara. If you're looking to chill, you've come to the right place." She held up her car keys. "Apologies, but I need to be elsewhere kinda rapido. Gotta dash. No doubt we'll see each other around, but in the unlikely event we don't, have a great stay."

I thanked her and moments later, a Cadillac EV pulled out of her carport. She waved as she drove away, tyres crunching on the gravel.

She was certainly a striking lady. Around my age, she had lustrous black hair that fell in natural curls to her shoulders. She spoke softly, but with an authority in the local accent and even in that brief moment together, I found her voice mesmeric. The gloves were not the only cow hide that adorned her curvaceous frame. A tight-fitting jacket and sheath skirt were both in black leather. Add into the mix a dark, brooding look accentuated by slightly hooded brown eyes and I had a very favorable first impression of my new neighbor.

Two

I didn't see Mallory for two days after that and when I did early one morning, it left me more than a little puzzled and slightly uneasy. I was about to head down for morning coffee when a noisy motorbike engine disturbed the peaceful solitude. I stopped at the top of the stairs as a trail bike roared into view along the short dirt track leading to the main road, kicking up dust and leaving tyre tracks in the gravel. The rider was tiny and dressed in clumpy biker boots, skater-style trousers and a short leather jacket. It had to be a girl from the diminutive size. She hooked down the stand, took off a bulky rucksack and dropped it on the gravel.

Her hands reached up to her helmet, adorned with pink and blue swirls and I did a double take as she shook down a mass of electric blue hair that fell almost to her waist. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a glasses case. As the front door of Mallory's condo opened, she put on a pair of red-rimmed glasses and stood grinning with her arms open wide.

Mallory walked towards her, hair wet from the shower, wearing only a silky black bathrobe and flip-flops. The two met in a joyous embrace. When they parted, Mallory planted a kiss on the top of the kingfisher-blue head. The girl stowed her helmet on the bike, picked up her rucksack and with a smile that lit up the day put an arm around the older woman's waist as they walked into the house.

I went down to make my coffee wondering what I had just witnessed. If it was a mother/daughter relationship, then it seemed a strange one. Their expressions as they saw each other intimated it was maybe something more and the embrace and the kiss certainly didn't fit the dynamic of a family reunion.

The girl was cute as a button. Barely five feet tall, I imagined she was in her early twenties. The blue hair should have looked ridiculous but with her elfin face, it just looked right. The red glasses and a tiny nose-stud and lip ring all added up to a very different but very beguiling look.

Putting my strange neighbours out of my mind, I decided on a plan of action for the day. A nice long hike on the coastal path, followed by a late lunch in The Dockyard seemed like a good idea - as long as I didn't overdo it on the English-style ale this time.

The walk was lovely if a little bracing at times. I clocked up a good ten miles and my new hiking shoes were comfortable and well up to the task. I had a lot of walking planned as back in Boston, the opportunities were limited. I loved walking, but my ex-wife had never seen the attraction of sightseeing on her built-in means of propulsion.

At least my first drink was well-earned this time. I sat on the outside terrace overlooking the river and small harbor, watching the world go by down below. It all seemed nice and relaxed after Boston. People ambled around aimlessly, sitting down to coffees at the various places around Harbor Square on which the town was centred. I people-watched strangers for twenty minutes or so when the only two people in town I would even vaguely recognise came into view, walking along the riverside towards the town, hand in hand. Once seen, Mallory and her blue-haired companion were not easily forgotten.

At the intersection before the pub, they stopped. Their embrace was the same as back at the condo except that this time, Mallory ended it by kissing the girl on her snub nose. Even from that distance I could see that it elicited a cute little giggle. They parted and the girl crossed the road, waving happily as Mallory waved back. She disappeared out of sight into the town and Mallory continued on in the direction of The Dockyard.

As she drew level with the pub, Mallory looked up and saw me sitting there, watching the world go by, a beer in front of me. She waved, smiling a most alluring smile. When I waved back, she pointed up and made an exaggerated motion with her hand, this time un-gloved.

Mallory Felder had just invited herself for a drink with me and I was not going to refuse the offer.

I raised a thumb and indicated the seat opposite with an open palm. Ninety seconds later, Mallory Felder slid into that seat. She wore the same leather jacket as previously, over a plain white t-shirt. This time she was in wet-look leggings and Converse trainers. She may have been around twice the age of the blue-haired girl, but at that moment she barely looked a year older. She certainly dressed for a woman half her age but somehow it suited her.

No, it didn't suit her. It enhanced her. It made her look great. Not to put too fine a point on it, Mallory Felder was a wet dream and she had me wide awake.

"Howdy temporary neighbor. Fancy meeting you here this fine afternoon!" That seductive, velvety voice just added to the appeal.

The waitress came over and she ordered a large glass of Chardonnay. I had another beer and we shot the breeze on the terrace overlooking the river and the New England coastline, discussing my afternoon walk and the lovely nature of the town and its environs. As we did so, I almost forgot my recent troubles.

Almost.

It was inevitable she would ask what had brought me to town. When at first I appeared a little reticent to discuss it, she touched me on the hand. It was only fleeting but it was nice to feel a woman's touch again.

She judged my reaction as reluctance. "Tell me to mind my own if you want."

I didn't exactly want to unload on someone I barely knew, but neither did I want to appear rude. I gave her a short and not-so-sweet resume of the recent divorce and the need to get away and clear my head.

She took a drink and nodded sagely. "Been there and got the t-shirt, Steve. In fact, I got two. First was like yours - painful and hard to take. Second was like, 'Yay, that stupid mistake is behind me!'" The last line was said in a whispered shout and she waved her hands in the air as if celebrating.

Laughing, we changed the subject to more mundane matters such as what we did for a living. I said I was an IT consultant in Boston and when it was her turn, it seemed she was the one who was now a little reticent.

"Oh, I have my nimble fingers in a few little pies round these parts. I run a couple of web-based enterprises and I am starting to get into property investment. Just bought a second condo an hour down the coast and I'm renting it out to a friend. I also run a... well, I suppose you could call it a hospitality agency. Staffing events and that kinda stuff."

"Sounds like you're a busy lady."

"Yeah, I don't let the grass grow. Means a lot of travel but I always love to return here to my roots."

I was enjoying her company and offered her another drink. She glanced at her watch. "I'd like that Steve, but I'm meeting someone in fifteen minutes. I'll just finish this one and I'll be off. Been nice though, must do it again sometime."

That sounded good and I told her so.

She held up a finger. "Oh, reminds me. I'm heading down to my other place in Coldwater Bay in the morning for a couple of days." She rolled her eyes. "Work beckons. So if you happen to see any blue apparitions floating around my place, it's not the Smurf From Hell, honest!"

I said I had seen a blue apparition arrive at the condo and also head into town earlier after leaving Mallory.

Mallory laughed. "Kinda hard to miss, huh? That apparition is the inimitable and incorrigible Miss Aspen Ventura. She's the daughter of my... how shall I describe it? I guess my 'second mistake' just about covers it. My ex-stepdaughter, I suppose. Seems strange I get along with the girl that was fleetingly my stepdaughter way better than I did with her father. She stays over occasionally as she has friends in the area. Then she'll be gone for a while. Boston, Coldwater, Providence, Portland. Stays with friends, her Mom, her Dad. Wherever she fancies next. Hard kid to keep track of, but she's so sweet and fun to be around. Helps keep me young at heart."

She drained her glass and stood. "I'd love another but... no-one can say 'no' to Aspen. She's having a top-up on her blue rinse as we speak and I'm meeting her after to catch a movie. So, next one's on me when I'm back. Say... five-thirty Friday? Nice way to round off the working week."

Not wanting to use the words 'that's a date', I told her I would be there, then watched her cross the square into town. I drank a few more beers, then walked home. I checked the local listings and as suspected, there was no movie theater within fifty miles.

I was intrigued and there was obviously more than met the eye in the relationship between Mallory Felder and the mysterious little Smurf.

As I was soon to find out.

Three

"Hi, you must be Steve!"

The voice was as cute as the rest of the girl. Full of life and character. Sing-song and a little flirty.

I turned from my laptop to see a sweet face smiling at me over the dividing fence. She was so small it came almost to her shoulders. Swallowing hard, I stood and walked over. "Indeed I am, and you must be Aspen."

"The one and only." The words were accompanied by a little curtsey which meant she almost disappeared from view. "Mal said she'd met our new neighbor so thought I'd say 'hi'. So 'hi' again, Steve and welcome to Smugglers Cove." She held up a tiny fist and bumped it gently with my much larger one. "Liking it so far?"

I told her I was but left out the fact that I was suddenly liking it a lot better now I had the chance to see her up close. Mallory had a dark, brooding quality about her that turned me on, but this kid was a real babe. Something told me that the bubbly, innocent facade was maybe not the whole story.

We chatted for a minute or two as I fought down improper thoughts and finally she put me out of my torment.

"Well, nice meeting you Steve. I'm off into town for most of the day and I'm heading out again tomorrow but you never know, may catch you again. Have a great stay in the Cove!"

A few minutes later the sound of her trail bike shattered the morning calm.

I went back to my laptop, cursing myself for looking at work stuff when I was on vacation instead of something more stimulating. After talking to Aspen, I felt the need even more. Instead I got caught up in a long mail trail with Mac Bernstein and a couple of other colleagues. I was grateful that it wasn't a face-to-face with the hideous Mac, although I could still hear that braying voice in my head with every word I read.

I was there way too long and before I knew it, the afternoon had almost given way to evening. Just an hour more of work, then a beer or two and maybe seek out a video of a naughty blue-haired girl to entertain me. I barely even registered the sound of the trail bike returning around five.

It was a few minutes later when I heard the door of the balcony next door open. I looked up to see a tiny figure leaning on the rail, phone clamped to her ear. She looked down and gave me a cheery wave and mimed two words.

"Hi Steve!"

I waved and smiled back, the improper thoughts from earlier now winning the battle once more. When she spoke, it was loud enough to hear her sing-song voice but not discern the words. She went on for a few minutes, obviously getting a little frustrated with her caller, then rolled her eyes heavenwards and retreated back indoors.

Sixty seconds later, she walked out onto the terrace. This time I could hear her words and afterwards, I was never quite the same again.