Valley of Sinners Ch. 01

"Monty!" she calls. But the so-called ferocious guard dog is asleep on the kitchen floor with a slice of sheep liver passing through his digestive system. He does not stir.

* * *

It's a long taxi ride, with the clicks in the meter flicking dollar notes through Nash's mind. He estimates the ride could cost Hope fifty bucks.

"We're almost there, sir," the Maori cab driver said.

"Good," Nash replied. "I suppose you drive this taxi on days to supplement the income from your shift-work job?"

"I own this cab, sir, and three others. I have people working for me."

"Of course," Nash said, cringing, his mind play-acting: I plead guilty, Your Honour, to making wild assumptions without malice. Most Maori women of her age work cleaning out motel rooms or in kitchens, or am I guilty of stereotyping and being half a generation out of date?

"How long have you been in the taxi business?" he asked, attempting to fine-tune his mind.

"Three years sir, ever since I graduated from university."

Nash cowered totally embarrassed. More than ever he had became aware that he was not living in the real world. This lass was better educated that himself and was entrepreneurial to boot!

Thinking about staying the weekend in a house alone with a widow old enough to be his mother, Nash wondered where he was mad, accepting such an invitation. In all probability she'd feed him a roast, followed by apple pie and then invite him into her bed. Was that what he wanted?

The truth was he didn't know what he wanted. It was so depressing. He'd tried job after job without experiencing any sense of fulfilment. Life wasn't supposed to be like this -- everyone talked about opportunities, main chances, amazing successes and miraculously landing on one's feet. The fuckers who make such statements obviously had never queued at the unemployment office.

Thank God he has his writing. It gave him somewhere to disappear from the depressing real world. At the computer keyboard he experienced the power, of really being someone who can manipulate circumstances and people in time frames just like playing chess. He linked his writing, of course, to the real world as while readers accept fiction only some want to read adult fairy stories. But apart from the few necessary evil women and slack tossers to sugar up the drama, his characters were basically happy with a sense of their own worth.

"Here we are sir, we go up this drive I image?"

Nash looked ahead in awe at the north sloping hillside coated in wall-to-wall vines and topping the hill is a 1970's style three level home -- no, a three level mini-mansion.

"This is it?" he enquired.

"Yes sir, 1028 Grapeville Road."

"Well, proceed Rimu -- take me in the pumpkin coach to the castle."

"Yes, sir. Do you write, sir?"

Dumfounded, Nash replied weakly, "Yes, how astute of you."

"It's no big deal sir; I get all types in my cab."

A hurtling ball of black, tan and mostly white hair aims itself at Nash, standing beside the cab, and while he struggles to recall the 'Down Rover' or whatever command he is supposed to deliver, the animal lands on him waist high. He catches it and the mongrel begins licking his face.

"Down Monty!" and the dog leaps to the ground and circles in behind Hope with a humorous grin on its face. Do dogs have humorous grins? Nash wondered, and then realises that the question is redundant because this dog definitely is grinning at him humorously.

Hope went to the driver's door, paid the requested fare and handed across a tip.

"Good luck with your writing, sir," calls the Maori lass, making a three-point turn to head the Ford down the drive.

"Oh, so we are a writer, are we?" Hope teased, kissing Nash on the cheek. "How nice to see you again; I'm so exited as having a house guest who is not family."

"I'm happy to be here," Nash mumbled, convinced this would be a weekend of unbridled sex. She (she is the cat's mother, his mother always says) is dressed in a red and green striped halter, straining to suspend her weighty boobs, a round white tire of tummy pokes out between that and her white high-cut shorts and she's wearing high heels, for God's sake!

As she leads him towards the entry, Nash realises why she wears those shoes: to accentuate her fabulous legs of course. Many young women would give anything to have legs like that -- and the hip sway! Nash thinks he should have packed a good supply of condoms.

Something brushes his right leg. He looks down and sees the tongue lolling head of whatshisname; the mongrel has adopted him! Lonely Nash feels pleased.

"This is the garage," Hope said unnecessary as in the foyer they turned left and entered the garage which housed the Chevy and a late model Rover sedan.

"And on this side is my father's former veterinary clinic, now converted into a bedroom suite. This is where you will stay and I have set up a desk in here for you."

"Why a desk?"

"More about that later, Nash."

So, he had a desk for some purpose and was not going to be sleeping in her bed. Those suppositions leave Nash somewhat bewildered.

They walk up the stairway to the next floor on which is located a kitchen, toilet separate dinning room, living room and formal lounge. There is no study. It's all tastefully decorated and furnished in laid-back style.

"Upstairs is a smaller level built into the roof-line. It contains the master bedroom suite and two smaller bedrooms with a bathroom between them," said Hope. "What do you think?"

"I feel I have fallen back into the 1970s," Nash said, a little rudely.

"Good boy," Hope smiled. "That is the effect intended."

The paintings on the walls, including in the stairwell, were exquisite; as far as he could tell having a mild interest in art, there did not appear to be a rubbishy one among them.

"Lovely paintings,"

"Yes, father began collecting in the 1970s, chasing after artists such as American Ray Parsons, Russia's Arseny Semionov, Australian Howard Taylor and he was infatuated with the work of New Zealand feminist painter Jacqueline Fahey. I am still collecting art and artefacts of that era.

"Come, I'll make you coffee and then we can wander around the vineyard."

That evening as they drove in the Rover to the golf club, Hope said she wanted to present a proposal to Nash.

"I'm not used to being propositioned by women," he said, only half jokingly.

Hope reached across and pinched his cheek. "Funny boy.

"Look, I've read your articles. I am convinced you can really write. I want you to ghost-write a novel under my name loosely based as a biography. You said my life story was interesting enough to become a book, so he's your chance at doing that in collaboration."

Nash was astonished. So, she's after his mind, not his body?

"Do you realise what is involved -- a project like that would take months."

"Yes."

"And if we did it we would argue and event rant?"

"Yes."

"It could become exhausting, and we'd perhaps end up having to discard whole chapters and start again."

"I would be disappointed if that did not happen."

Nash became more interested at that point. "And who would be boss?"

"You would."

"Where would we collaborate?"

"Here."

"What would the neighbours say?"

"Stuff the neighbours."

She apologised. "Sorry," she said, glancing at him. "My neighbours are very nice people; that was just an expression. I am trying to keep focused on the mission."

"Mission?"

"Mission."

"Right. So where do I live and eat and if I'm not out job-hunting I will lose my job benefit."

"Stuff the benefit, at least for a few months. I will pay you $500 a week plus provide you a bed, food and all the coffee and liquor you can drink. We shall work during parts of the day and night six days a week, and on Sundays we shall rest. You shall live with me like a...like a son. Agreed?"

They enter the car park at the golf club. Nash thinks of his mother; she will miss him. Or will she?

The thought of going week after week without sex does not appeal, but then Sunday is a free day. Perhaps he'll meet up with young women locally or else invite the sexy Maria Mersey up for the day.

Nash, amazed that Hope would want to pay him that much money plus free accommodation and sustenance, decides to push that point. "I would need some feminine company occasionally."

"No problem, I can arrange introductions."

"Right."

"Right what?"

"I'll do it."

"Oh Christ."

"What is it?"

"The conservative half of me wanted you to decline the offer. My estranged family is not going to like this one little bit."

"Don't tell them, and anyway this will be a novel, although a novel based on fact. Just be careful how you portray them and explain confrontations fairly."

Hope parked the vehicle, and leaned across and kissed Nash on the cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"For not saying no."

To Be Continued...