Helena Handbasket stood beside the open car door holding her shiny silver .38, still covering her fallen target while the robber writhed in pain on the ground.

Big Daddy stood up, dusted himself off, and kicked the black automatic away from Dollar Man’s one arm which was bleeding profusely. Then he kicked him in the ribs just to drive home his point, and spat on the ground.

Ernest and Buddy stayed low, just in case.

Helena looked down at the bloody, tattoo-covered One-Armed Bandit who Big Daddy so obviously despised.

It was love at first sight.

THE END

“Who the hell are you?” yelled Dollar Man.

He hated being interrupted during a robbery.

Big Daddy played it cool.

“I might ask you the same thing,” he huffed, taking in the tattoos and filthy bare feet with aristocratic distaste. “What can I do for you, young man?”

“Gimme your wallet and car keys!” demanded Dollar Man.

“The hell I will!” blustered Big Daddy, charging the armed robber in a rush.

A gunshot rang out.

Everybody hit the dirt.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Big Daddy headed out to Two Bucks to “talk bidness”, as he said, with Ernest. He insisted that his Baby Girl ride along, “just for some fresh air” he said.

He wanted to see for himself that her infatuation with Buddy was good and dead.

Helena sulked during the ride but perked up as the Caddy approached Two Bucks. She loved being in love, but loved even better showing her scorn for a man who displeased her. She touched up her Revlon Screaming Scarlet lipstick to full effect and practiced sneering at herself in the visor mirror.

As the Caddy pulled into Two Bucks they saw the three men near the pool table, but it wasn’t until Big Daddy climbed out of the car that they could see the big cannon in Dollar Man’s hand… and now, the barrel was pointed at Big Daddy.

TO BE CONTINUED…

When the two friends got back to Two Bucks they saw the Redneck Hip-Hop Corolla parked near the pool table.

“Nice shirt,” Dollar Man complimented sarcastically.

“That’s a swell necklace!” Buddy bounced out of the truck, feeling that he’d dodged a bullet.

Or maybe not.

An ugly black semiautomatic pistol appeared in Dollar Man’s hand.

“You didn’t tell me you’re the neighborhood dealer,” he sneered at Ernest. “Hand over all your weed and all your money. You too!” He gestured with the gun to include Buddy, who gaped at him in open-mouthed surprise.

TO BE CONTINUED…

“Hey Hel, honey,” Buddy greeted her brightly the next day on the sidewalk outside the Pik N Pay.

“Oh, hey…” she muttered with the well-practiced, nonchalant indifference that had dashed so many young swains’ hopes. She noticed with distaste that he was sporting a white collared shirt with the Country Club crest on the breast pocket, and breezed into Café’ Weene’ without a backward glance.

“Good job, Buddy!” applauded Ernest, who was waiting in the truck.

“Guess I never really understood why those guys wear these stupid shirts,” Buddy laughed as he slid onto the ragged upholstery of the driver’s seat. “They really work!”

Ernest tapped the embroidered crest. “Gen–u–wine woman repellent!”

They roared with laughter as the Ranger roared back to Two Bucks.

TO BE CONTINUED…

After dinner and a few more rounds of The Famous Grouse for the men, Momma drifted upstairs. She felt the need for more relaxation, remembering the half-burned tube of ancient healing herbs waiting in an ashtray in her sitting room. Meditation room, she corrected herself, and made a mental note to redecorate. Might have to shop Pier One for big floor pillows and brass Buddha statues.

When Big Daddy finally saw Buddy to the door Ernest showed up out of nowhere to drive his Scotch-befuddled friend home.

Helena came to the door and glared suspiciously at Ernest, who gave her a casual wave but avoided her eyes as he poured Buddy into the passenger seat of the rusty old Ranger.

As the door clicked shut she turned on Big Daddy. “What the hell…”

“Hel,” he said, buoyant with Scotch and success, “that Buddy of yours, he’s a fine young man.”

Helena flounced up the Grand Staircase in defeat.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Dinner was a disaster.

Big Daddy treated Buddy like a long-lost son, Momma was physically present but mentally absent, and Ja kept her eyes downcast in proper servant’s demeanor while memorizing the scene with voluminous mental notes.

Her novel was shaping up nicely.

When she served the duck, steaming and fragrant on a silver platter, Buddy did not wait for Big Daddy to carve. He grabbed a drumstick and ripped off a chunk of the roasted bird with his teeth, grinning and grunting his approval of the cuisine.

Helena watched him in horror.

It wasn’t his table manners – she’d dated boys with more wealth and less couth – but the Polo shirt and khakis disgusted her.

Buddy now looked like every preppie boy she’d ever dated.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Helena turned from her zoned out Momma and appealed silently to Ja’Rasta.

Ja touched her hair lightly, which was code for “I’m just the help, what the hell you want from me except more iced tea?”

Hel ground her whitened, straightened teeth helplessly.

Big Daddy and Buddy tippled their seconds and were thick as thieves in the den when dinner was announced.

Big Daddy poured thirds which almost but not quite saved the men from the salad course, a wedge of iceberg lettuce slathered with mayonnaise.

Salad plates were whisked away and the soup course was served.

“Jell-O!” exclaimed Buddy as he poked his chilled consomme’ with a spoon. “And it’s beef flavor!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Big Daddy showed Buddy into the den and poured generous shots of The Famous Grouse over rocks for them both.

Helena stormed over to where her Momma sat propped up between two cushions in an armchair.

She glared at Momma with one eyebrow raised quizzically.

Momma gazed back serenely, lost in the Attitude of Gratitude she had achieved earlier in the afternoon when that nice young guru – what was his name? Oh, yes, Ern Est – taught her how to meditate. When she struggled with the relaxation part, Guru Est produced a hand-rolled cigarette filled with ancient healing herbs that, he said, would assist her on her journey to Enlightenment.

“Boy howdy, he was right,” Momma was thinking as her daughter’s negative energy flowed past her like creek water around a rock, “these ancient healing herbs are the BOMB.”

She giggled, and in a soft voice sang a line from her favorite Queen song: “… nothing really matters, at all…”

TO BE CONTINUED…

When Buddy rang the bell at the Big House that evening, he felt stiff and uncomfortable in brand new khaki slacks and genuine Polo shirt. He trusted Ernest so he followed his friend’s instructions to the letter, even carrying a single red rose. “I think she likes pink,” he had protested, but Ernest winked and said “Pink for friendship, red for love. Go for the gold.” Metaphors were lost on Buddy, but he did what Ernest said.

Big Daddy threw open the door. “Come in, come in, my boy!” He ushered him into the Foyer as Helena began her descent down the Grand Staircase. She stopped dead on the second step, as taken aback by Buddy’s new clothes as she was by his appearance in the Big House at dinnertime.

“I wanted to surprise you, my dear,” smirked Big Daddy.

“Hey Hel, I gotcha a flower!” Buddy brandished the rose proudly. Ernest had made him memorize his lines.

Regaining her composure, Helena cooed reflexively “Oh, for me?”

Her placid Southern lady veneer seemed impenetrable, but Big Daddy noted with some satisfaction the big WTF? that he perceived floating over her flaming beehived hair.

TO BE CONTINUED…