Geriatric Delinquents: A Cozy Southern Parody by Calvin Dean

Author:Calvin Dean [Dean, Calvin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

I didn’t hear from Clarabeth for several days, probably due to my indifference to her big date with an aging heartthrob. In my opinion Spit’s lead screamer should have been turned out to pasture immediately after the Berlin wall came tumbling down. Or maybe the dress shop kept her too busy to bother with the likes of me. Either way, I didn’t worry too much about it.

During my walk on the morning of September 20, I saw a big limousine pass through the square as I strolled along Magnolia Boulevard. With Thad’s benefit concert just a few days away, I suspected one of the Spit band members had arrived in town, and I figured I knew which one—David Ross. Based on the direction the limo traveled, I figured he was about to check in at Summerdale’s fanciest hotel. I seriously doubted Thad had invited him to stay at his place. Over the years, the two remained friends, but creative differences forced the two apart on more than one occasion.

I never understood what Clarabeth saw in that washed-up old hippie. Spit! I guess celebrity status can fog the most cerebral minds, not that Clarabeth falls into that category.

On my way home, I crossed through the square and turned up Maple Street for a jaunt past the boutique. Not wanting to disturb my disturbed sister as she prepared for her big date—her nerves probably still raw over our little spat—I peered around the façade and into the glass window. There she stood admiring herself in the bay of mirrors, wearing a cute little sleeveless dress cropped at the kneecaps. Without a customer in the store, she spent time pampering herself, stroking the fine silk garment along her hips and adjusting her bra to gauge the degree of cleavage she intended to grandstand. I must admit, the fabric’s autumn colors gave her skin a healthy glow—or maybe she had visited the local tanning salon a few times since we last talked. Typically, she looked a little washed out with that pale skin and bleached blonde bimbo hairdo. Regardless, she looked abundantly ready to cast her baited hooks and reel in David Ross come hell or high water.

When Friday finally arrived, the day of the big date and the day before the benefit concert, I kept my usual schedule and stayed out of Clarabeth’s affairs. Lord knows I didn’t need to get myself caught up in the middle of her unrealistic fantasies. But hey, maybe I was wrong. Maybe David Ross needed a woman like Clarabeth to straighten him out, convince him to repent of his hippie ways, and convert him into a good, churchgoing evangelical. Anything was possible, but somehow I found my faith sufficiently lacking when it came to this particular miracle.

By 8:30 p.m., I had finished dinner—a single serving of frozen lasagna (okay, so I splurged). I left the dishes in the sink and watched an episode of Shark Tank, which felt appropriate considering Clarabeth’s date, except I didn’t know which party to consider the shark, Clarabeth or David Ross.

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