Authors: Patrick McGhee
Unexpected Angel (5 page)
It was all Tony could do to suppress a howl of delight as he left the courtroom behind his mother and the attorney. Tony had to return to the jail to complete some paperwork and get his belongings. He did not have to be shackled. He could ride out to the jail in his mother’s pickup truck. Once Tony was in the parking lot next to the building, he jumped and squealed with delight, saying over and over, “I’m free! I’m free!”
When Tony and his mother arrived at the jail, they had to wait nearly an hour before they were taken into the office of the administrative assistant. It took less than five minutes for Tony to sign the forms and get his belongings. Tony was taken to a changing room where he could put on his street clothes. He had to leave the orange uniform in the room. He could keep the green underwear. The nightmare was over.
As Tony and his mother were driving back to town, Tony remarked, “It’s after four o’clock. I need to call Wally. He gets off work at 4:30. He’s going to let me borrow seven hundred dollars for part of the down payment on a car. We can meet him in the park next to the state office building.”
“Are you sure you need to be hanging around this
Wally
? I’ve heard that he’s gay.”
“Mom! Wally has always been good to me. He doesn’t drink or go to bars. He goes to church every Sunday. He has never bothered me with gay stuff and I
have
spent the night at his place more than a couple of times. He was the only one of my friends who came to visit me in jail. Give him a break, please!”
Tony’s mother latched onto his comment about staying overnight at Wally’s place. The air seared as a burning tongue unloaded. “You stayed with him? You stayed with a . . . a pervert? I hope you slept in separate beds.”
“Well,” said Tony. The first time I slept in the spare room on the daybed—and the second time--and all the times after that--we slept together in Wally’s room. We did it so we could talk.”
“You did what?”
“We got under the covers in the same bed and talked until we fell asleep. He never made any moves that bothered me. He didn’t even bring up the subject. It was just like staying over at a friend’s house. And, he is my friend. He really cares about what is going on in my life.” Tony changed the subject abruptly. “Could I use your cell phone to call Wally’s office?”
“Do you know his office number?”
“Of course, and I also know the extension and where the office is located. I’ve been there. We are friends!”
As Tony’s mother handed him the phone, she replied, “I suppose it will be all right. I can only pay so much on the car. It will be nice to have some help on the down payment. But don’t you let him turn you into a gay boy. Do you hear me? I bet he’s got strings attached to that money and he’s going to make a move somewhere down the road. Never trust a pervert!”
Tony dialed Wally’s office number. When Wally answered, Tony could not contain himself. “Hey man. I’m free! I’m free . . . I’m with my mom. Can you meet us after work at the park near your building?”
“Sure. It’s almost 4:30. Let me shut down the computer and make a pit stop. I’ll be out in about ten minutes.”
Wally put his things away. He checked his wallet. The money was still there.
Out in the parking lot, a Lamborghini had just pulled up beside the pickup truck.
Tony’s mother smiled. “Well, if it isn’t your friend, Gianni. How nice of him to come.”
“Yes,” said Tony. “I’m gonna spend the night at his place. We’ll go get the car tomorrow.”
Chapter 7
Wally walked across the parking lot toward the pavilion in the City Park. He noticed Tony waving from the back seat of a big, blue, fancy four-door pickup truck. He was puzzled by the Lamborghini parked beside it. Only one man in Brockton had a car like that–Gianni Pomodoro.
In the front seat of the pickup sat Gianni, of course, and Tony’s mother, Fiona Danforth Wilson. Fiona’s characteristic slim-100 cigarette appeared to be directing an unseen orchestra as she carried on a lively gab session with Gianni. Her snarling lips dispelled any idea of a pleasant conversation. Someone was getting raked over a bed of sizzling coals. Wally figured rightly that he was the one getting grilled.
Fiona Wilson was a woman of many talents. Heavy gossiping and cutting people apart with words were only two of them. Her web page boasted handmade quilts and tasty preserves from Fiona’s kitchen. She was devoted to her grandchildren and worked in her church. She was a good lady, but she had this nasty habit of putting people down and down and down. She ought to just go ahead and kill them, but that would be a crime. She could do it her way, even at circle meeting, and never spend a day in jail.
Fiona worshiped her truck. It was an icon that had to be babied and polished. Tony bragged that his mother could drive with a cigarette in one hand, a cell phone in the other, and a cup of coffee on the console. As for actually gripping the steering wheel, the pinky of one hand was sufficient. It didn’t matter which hand. When it came to pinkies, she was ambidextrous. Pity the forlorn police officer that dared to pull her over.
Fiona had divorced Ezra Danforth after a spree of arguments resulting from a bra she had discovered in a pocket of Ezra’s suit coat. It mattered little that she and Jeremiah Wilson had been going to out-of-town motels for several years. She wanted Ezra out of her life. Tony was shattered by the divorce, but Ezra had never been the father Tony needed. Jeremiah Wilson, on the other hand, had no sons and soon took up with Tony.
Gianni Pomodoro was from an Italian family that had settled in Brockton during the 1920s. His grandfather had become wealthy, by Brockton standards, as a bootlegger during Prohibition. He had also become firmly established in local politics. The money and power had trickled down to Gianni, who had never worked. He didn’t have to. His good looks and sporty cars were the eye candy of middle-aged women. Rumors were afloat, from time to time, that he was also the source of good times and quick cash for young men in their twenties and thirties. Fiona Wilson didn’t believe it. People were jealous of Gianni. He would be a good role model for her son.
Tony had spent a long time hammering into Wally’s head that his mother thought he was a pervert. Wally wondered how she felt about the seven hundred dollars, or if she even knew. Of course she knew. Wally was going to fork out seven hundred dollars as a down payment on a pre-owned set of wheels. Fiona would have to abandon her disdain for the pervert until the green stuff was nesting in her pocketbook. She would permit her son one last encounter with the man who was trying to corrupt him. Then, she would forbid Tony to see him again. What could go wrong in a public parking lot?
If Fiona had known about all the promises her son had made to Wally, she might not have let Tony out of the truck. As it was, Tony, being headstrong, just like his mother, was already out of the truck. He was dashing across the parking lot. She had no time to permit him or to stop him. Wearing a tee-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops, he skipped and ran across the pavement shouting, “I’m free! I’m free!” This gleeful outburst was punctuated with “Oomph,” as one of the flip-flops snagged on a concrete rise near the parking meters. It appeared that Tony was about to damage a major attraction of his stunning body on a meter pole. The quick-footed Tony, however, was able to regain his balance. He continued skipping to the pavilion where Wally stood waiting.
Tony came to a flip-flopping halt in front of Wally. He was slightly out of breath, muttering something about wearing flip-flops and having half a brain. He gave Wally a smile that lacked any sparkle of happiness. It appeared forced rather than genuine. There was agony in that smile.
Wally shot a question, “Did you get hurt when you tripped over there at the parking meter? You don’t look so good for a man just out of jail.”
“I’m fine. Didn’t damage anything . . . If it wasn’t for Mom and Gianni sitting over in the truck, I would give you a big hug and a really, really deep kiss. I might even go for your tonsils.” Tony paused, took a deep breath, and continued, “You are so nice for helping me with the car. I’m gonna pay you back, every last penny. I promise. I can’t wait to move in with you. Do you reckon we’ll get much sleep?”
Wally closed his eyes and shivered slightly, “We’ll find out, won’t we? Tonight?”
Tony replied, “Mom says we are going out to dinner this evening. She’s going to stay with her sister and leave early in the morning. Gianni Pomodoro is going take me to Griffin’s Mill, tomorrow, to get the car. Mom says that I should stay overnight at Gianni’s so we can start down the Interstate bright and early.”
Wally’s countenance sunk, “But I thought . . . ”
“Be patient, Wally. It will happen with us, as soon as Mom gets back to the farm, and I’ve got wheels to come and go as I please.” Tony was avoiding eye contact.
Reaching into his wallet, Wally produced seven one-hundred-dollar bills. He sighed as he handed them to Tony. “Just as I promised, old buddy. Just as I promised. Call me and keep me posted on how things are going. You know, I might have to get a cell phone just to keep up with you.”
“Thank you, Wally. I love you so much . . . so much. Maybe I’ll come to your place tomorrow evening after I get the car. I won’t let you down.” Tony turned and went flip-flopping back toward the big, blue, fancy, four-door pickup and the Lamborghini.
Wally wiped a tear from his cheek. His vision was blurred by other tears that glazed over his eyes. He choked with disappointment. Wally stood there, under the roof of the pavilion, watching Fiona Wilson drive away in the pickup. Tony hopped into the Lamborghini with Gianni. Tony didn’t even wave as they drove away.
Later–much later–Wally drove home.
Chapter 8
Wally’s parents had brought him up to be a man of his word. If he made you a promise, he would keep it. This was part of his value system, but the system contained a flaw. Wally had not learned to tell the difference between a person in need and an actor. Wally loved people. He wanted people to love him, too. So, it was a bitter blow when Tony accepted the seven hundred dollars and proceeded to break every promise he had made to get it. If Wally had been a computer, he could have gone into overload and crashed. Then, he might have started life over with a new hard drive. But, being human, he felt he had to carry the burden of his mistake, to admit to himself that he had been stupid. Self-forgiveness wasn’t there because he would not allow it.
By Tuesday evening, Wally had heard nothing more from Tony. He began to accuse himself of being even more stupid than he had thought the day before. If only he didn’t love Tony, he might have been able to chalk it up to bad judgment and walk away. He could tell the world he had learned his lesson and go on with his life. Love tends to complicate things, however, and it certainly made a mess of this situation. In spite of Tony’s misuse of promises and his sham displays of affection, Wally wanted nothing less than to hug and kiss this man, to cuddle in his arms, to spend a torrid night with him. Wally’s passions colored every thought, every action. And Tony? Tony knew exactly which buttons to push and when to push them.
The next morning at work, Wally shared some of his thoughts with Mileah. Incensed at the situation, she blurted out, “Wally Jackson, can’t you see what Tony is doing, how crafty he is, how he is playing with your heartstrings? Honey, he’s gonna take everything you’ve got, including your self-respect.”
“But, Mileah. Tony loves me. He is so affectionate. He showers me with kisses. He hugs me. His hands go everywhere.”
“Oh, crap! You may think so, honey. But you mark my word. When he sticks his hand in your pants, the only thing he wants to grab is your wallet. If his fingers roam on something else for a minute, it’s only to get you all heated up. Then you’ve lost control of your hormones, your mind, and your pocketbook. Land sakes, honey. See him for what he is.”
Dorinda had just come in. She asked, “Tony problems, again? I bet he’s still hitting you up for money.”
Wally looked at the floor, “You all might as well know the truth. On Monday, when he got out of jail, I let him borrow seven hundred dollars to use as a down payment on a car.”
“You did what?” exclaimed Mileah. “Have you lost all the good sense God gave you? Oh, doll-babe! No man is worth that amount of money. You poor thing. So starved for love.”
“Did I hear you all talking about somebody being starved for love?” inquired Norman. “Is it somebody I could smother with my affection and make her forget her pain?”
Dorinda’s eyes sparkled as she latched onto Norman’s question. “Well, if you’d like to smother Wally with your passions, I know he’d get a real blessing. ‘Cause that’s who we’re talking about.”
Mileah giggled.
Norman was speechless. He searched for words. He had to maintain his image as the office stud. “All I can say is what I would do with a woman in that situation. I would cover her with kisses, you know, lots of tongue. At least one kiss would be so deep that I would surely satisfy just about every craving in her body. And she would beg for more.”
“And, of course, you’d give her exactly what she begged for,” answered Mileah.
“Yes, oh yes!” retorted Norman. “They all want it. They all dream about it. And, when they see what I’ve got, they squeal with delight, ‘Oh, yes! Yes, please!’ I don’t mean to brag, but I am sort of a pleasure machine.”
“I don’t know about that,” giggled Dorinda, “but you sure have turned into a bag of wind lately.”
“You certainly have,” echoed Mileah, “and your mind is so preoccupied with sex, you need to get some religious counseling. You men are all alike, thinking your bodies can cure just about any problem a woman could have.
