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For my mother, father, brothers and their wives
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PROSE and SHORT FICTION
By
George Arthur Davis
Them Pants
Everybody „round here wants to get into them pants, but I say she works here, respect her
for that. I don‟t want to get into them pants on account of that. But if she ever gives me
an inch, I‟m gonna to get into them pants.
Pretty Wrinkles
He‟s admires the tall slender lady ahead of him. The way her hips sway as she struts
make him wish he were young again. She stops to cross the street at the corner. He
beholds how pretty her wrinkles are.
Tomorrow‟s Valentine Day
Tomorrow‟s Valentine‟s Day, what are you going to do? I‟m going to pray for rain. Why
are you going to do that? Because my sweetheart left me and there‟s no sunshine for me
no more.
Love is Splendid
Love is splendid. It would be better if you loved me too. I want to take care of you. I
don‟t know why even if you do not love me as I love you. I don‟t know why this love is
this splendid for me about you.
I Miss Linda
I miss Linda‟s pearly white smile. I miss the sparkle in Linda‟s eyes. I miss the adorable
ways Linda tried to avoid me. I miss Linda‟s sweet hi when she couldn‟t avoid me. I miss
my very short conversations with Linda. I really miss Linda.
As I Work
I work by the sword. I confront those who live by the sword. Honor guides my integrity
as honor guides the integrity of those I confront. I have developed experience called sixth
sense of survival. I‟m prepared for those who work by the sword that honor the same the
same as I do.
Back Stabber
Some who sees my back as a target for their dagger who tell me that my work makes
them look bad. It‟s a damn shame to work by the sword against those who live by the
sword to worry about a back stabber as I work.
In Uniform
When I‟m in uniform the little old lady asks me to help her across the street. I do. When
I‟m not in uniform the little old lady clutches her bag and cross the street. I laugh.
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As He stroll
He feels the chilly wind freezing his face and not really feeling warm in his clothes. He
feels the cold ground through the soles of his shoes. He stops to eat but everyone must
have been hungry today now he has to grin with that sad sack look. Maybe someone will
have pity on him today.
I Walk Slow
It‟s not my fault that I do. It began at birth, and it‟s still with me. Some folks think I‟m
stupid because I walk slow. A lady friend once said to me that she would never walk
anywhere with me again because I walk slow. She just wanted to shake her tail, and I told
her so. One morning a guy passing me yelled you better speed it up, you‟ll be late for
work. I said back to him no I won‟t. Some woman once yelled speed it up old man or I‟ll
miss by bus, I got to cook my husband dinner before he gets home. I stepped aside to let
her catch the bus and yelled to her as pretty as you look if I were your husband dinner
would be cooked for you. Walking slow gives you time to think about things and not
wonder about things. So God said walk slow, I don‟t mind but some folks do.
Missing A Downtown Philly Christmas
I miss Santa‟s strides between Wanamaker, and Strawbridge‟s to fill them Christmas
wishes. I miss the carols letting everyone know that Christmas Day is near. I miss the
chill that makes Santa‟s helpers sip hot chocolate through pearly whites. I miss hoping
and wishing for a white Christmas will magically come to be. I miss blinking stars
helping the heavenly stars brighten a Christmas Eve.
The Hunter
The Hunter stares in wonder at the walled jungle folks call The Mart. He gathers his
courage and strolls into the jungle to seek his prey. He roams the pathways of the jungle,
but cannot find his prey. He sees a jungle guide and tells her of his prey. She points him
onto the path to where the prey gathers. He follows the path until he sees the beast called
The Smoker. This beast wants all men‟s manhood. He has been warned not to give in to it
by his mate. He struggles. But the beast beats him and makes him throw it into an
abandon cart. Outside the jungle he pushes the cart to his carriage as if it were a trophy.
Then, he stops. He stares at the jungle walls and remembers that the prey he sought is still
in there. Now he must go back into the jungle to hunt for the elusive Bag-Oh-
Handkerchief-Thing.
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Christmas Eve Reminiscing
I remember what Christmas Eve was like to us many years ago. We knew for sure, but
were not certain that all the toys were hidden in the back of the basement. But always as
Christmas Eve got closer if any of us were caught in the back of the basement, well we
had coal heat back then. So if one of us got caught he had to stay in the basement all
night to shovel coal onto the fire, bank the fire, remove the ashes and separate the ashes
from the un-burnt coal put the ashes in buckets, put the un-burnt coal in a pile and put the
bucket of ashes in the coal den. That‟s hard work for one kid. So we decided to wait for
Christmas Day. It was always worth the wait anyway, because the Christmas tree looked
greener, the decorating lights glowed brighter, the ornaments shined shinier and the toys
were much better toys because Santa Clause was here.
The Gallows
The condemned man sits on the bunk waiting for the jailers to shackle him for the
exercise yard. He follows one jailer and leads the other along the corridor pass the storage
room, through the door into the yard. He looks at the malfunctioning gallows.
“As soon as we get it fix, you won‟t have long to go,” the warden told him months ago.
He told the warden, “don‟t hurry on „count of me.”
He paces the yard until the jailers stand. In a line they walk down the corridor. The
storage room door opens. He stares at the warden. The jailers drag him into the room;
there are people standing around a gallows.
Early Love
She wasn‟t the prettiest girl in the classroom, but he sure thought so. She didn‟t pay much
attention to him because he was considered the ugliest boy in the classroom. However, he
did not let that deter his desire to be her boyfriend. So much so, in secret one day, he
passed her a love note attached to a pretty necklace to emphasize his love for her.
Her response surprised him.
He became the joke of the classroom, including the teacher.
Her father returned the love note and necklace.
He let hell freeze over before he allowed love to bother him again.
A Loser
If he succeeds, he gets a condescending smirk. If he fails, he draws mockingly laughter.
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THE NIGHT OF THE BARKING DOGS
On a winter Solace, in an empty house a wino wakes from his drunken sleep. He feels
around the floor until he locates the wine bottle. He holds it up close to his eyes to see if
any wine remains in it. Thumb high wine remains. He gulps it down, then checks his
overcoat pockets to make sure he still has the money he begged for all day. It‟s all there,
enough for cigarettes and more wine.
He leaves the house and strolls to the corner store and buys cigarettes. Then, he begins
the trek to the liquor store. After he gets his wine, he makes his way to the house until he
spots some buddies at a distance. He does not want to share his wine with them so he
takes another route to the house, an unfamiliar route through an alleyway.
Dogs bark from the yards.
One dog barks deeper than the others.
He continues into something that he does not know and that is in the same yard with the
deep barking dog a horse is stabled. He carefully steps over this and that, wishing the
dogs would stop barking, teasing one or two on his way until he sees the horse staring at
him, and he hears that deep bark.
Fright makes him run until he‟s far away from the alley.
When he stopped, he takes a swig of wine to chase away his shakes. His nerves back in
tact, he strolls to the house on an unfamiliar street. He approaches an iron-gated cemetery
that he does not know the caretaker lets his huge white German Sheppard roam free.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees this huge white thing rise from the ground.
Reluctantly, he turns his head to get a better look and sees this huge white thing flying his
way, howling.
Before he knows it he several blocks away bracing himself against a street light pole
trying to breathe normally. He reaches into his pocket for the bottle of wine to take a swig
to calm his nerves but discovers that it is gone. He knows not where. It just disappeared.
Many years later, on this day, the church deacon remembers with a big smile the night of
the barking dogs.
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THE GAME
The row house‟s rear bedroom has been converted into a card room with standing
room for the houseman and onlookers. After two hours of playing, Ben has a neat stack
of 100‟s, 50‟s and 20‟s before him. He has lots more bills before him than the other three
players have before them.
He just won the pot again with four jacks. The other players grumble their
dissatisfaction.
“I got to pee,” Ben says. He stands then reaches to gather his winnings.
“You‟re coming back?” Fat Sam asks.
“Yeah,” Ben says.
“Well you can leave your cash here.”
“Yeah, nobody‟s a thief here,” One Eye Jack says.
“Yeah it‟s safe,” Hud says.
“Yeah dude we don‟t play that shit here,” the Houseman says.
“Okay,” Ben agrees. He leaves the room.
Fat Sam looks at the scenery out the window. To himself he ponders, nobody has
that much stroke of luck.
One Eye Jack stares at the table wondering how has Ben been slipping himself the
winning cards.
Hud stares at the walls with the last hand on his mind, wondering if the cards are
marked. No, they can‟t be he concludes but nobody‟s that lucky.
Ben sits on the rim of the bathtub guessing it was nerve that suddenly filled his
bladder and not nature. He remembers the last hand. He played it foolishly. He didn‟t
mean to win it. It happened because he got greedy, shouldn‟t have done it, but it
happened. He got to cool out. But those old heads out there, they‟re supposed to be so
good. Fuck it; he‟s going home with all the money. Damnit, take no prisoners. They‟re
not all that good.
“Thought you had peed a river,” Fat Sam says.
“No,” Ben answers. He sits and begins to count his winnings.
“It‟s all there,” One Eye Jack scowls.
“Yeah. Let‟s play,” Hud says.
“Who deal is it?” Fat Sam asks.
“One Eye Jack,” the Houseman says.
One Eye Jack slaps the table. The Houseman puts a deck of cards on it.
One Eye Jack picks up the deck, unwraps it. Then shuffles it for all to see. He puts
it on the table, and Hud makes the cut.
“Ready?” One Eye Jack asks.
The other players nod.
The dealer deals, all makes bet, they draw and stare down each other during
showdown and the game continues until the Houseman calls out, “time” as if a rooster.
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In disbelief, Ben gazes at the twenty-dollar bill lying before him. Then, he peeks at
Hud who‟s counting his winnings. He rolls his eyes onto One Eye Jack, who‟s also
counting his winnings. He looks at Fat Sam stuff his winnings into his shirt pocket.
“Got taxi money Ben?” Fat Sam asks.
“Yeah, I‟m cool.”
“You‟re sure you‟ll be okay?” One Eye Jack asks.
“Yeah. Really. I‟ll be okay.”
“Here‟s a fifty,” Hud says. He tosses the bill across the table. “Just in case you have
to take a hack.”
“No. I‟m fine.”
“Take it,” One Eye Jack demands.
Ben looks at the three players leave the room. He stares at his loser‟s pot.
“Hey Ben,” the Houseman gets his attention.
“Yeah man.”
“You‟ve heard of that saying, can‟t teach an old dog new tricks.”
Annoyed, Ben says, “Yeah man.”
“Yeah. Well, it‟s bullshit.”
8
REDNECK
He gets into his pressed and starched clothing with care. During the transit ride to
his destination, he makes sure his clothes does not get wrinkled. At the office, after the
interview with the Young Lady he waits on a chair in the lobby for the coordinator of the
movement to stop the repression of Negroes. The Coordinator strolls into the lobby
debonair in dress and appearance. Their eyes meet and the coordinator‟s glance registers
fright and disgust during the occasion, he hurries into the office, forgetting to close the
door.
“Who is that Steppin Fletchin out there?” The Coordinator shouts.
“What?” The Young Lady replies shaken.
“Who is that out there?” The Coordinator demands.
“He‟s the new office assistant waiting for your approval of course.”
“Can he read and write?” The Coordinator asks without sarcasm.
“He has a diploma. He just graduated high school, and he can type good enough to
get by.”
“You believe that?” The Coordinator wants to know.
Someone else realizes the door is open and closes it.
Minutes pass, the Young Lady approaches him, he sees her eyes are tearfully red.
“I made a mistake,” she chokes. “Someone was already hired for that position.”
That was ten years ago. Now he stands before a chastising judge who is about to
sentence him to prison for manslaughter. “Why would you want to drink alcohol until it
has become habitual and to commit such a crime against someone of your own race while
Reverend King is preaching good will for all mankind. Haven‟t you learned anything
from his words?”
“Yes I did sir but some of my race didn‟t,” he says.
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THE CONFECTIONARY STORE STICKUP
The store occupies a corner of the Midtown Office Building‟s lobby. The building
tenants and visitors frequent the store making business heavy and ongoing. Thus, keeping
the shelves and racks stocked all the time is a full time task. To do this the owners hires
part time help from the recipient rolls of the state welfare office. This is how Betty got
the job a month ago.
She‟s skinny on a short frame with large breasts that attract looks from people
with or without a tittie fetus. She happily keeps the shelves and racks stocked with goods,
and she also keeps the floor well cleaned and the showcase dust less. She likes what she
does, but dreads the day the owner‟s son comes in after college classes to help out on the
cash register while his father takes care of the books in the office because every moment
he can gather the son seeks her out for his teasing pleasure with remarks of what he‟d
love do to her breasts.
Remarks that she ignores. Then there‟s times he tries to grope or caress her
breasts. But she waves the attempts away with threats to tell his parents if he doesn‟t stop.
But, it only seems to encourage him not to stop molesting her.
On this day, she stands before his parents with tear trails on her cheeks. Her
muscles tighten into clenched fists. She quivers her desire not to be employed anymore if
she has to endure their son‟s stupid shit.
The parents seem to be surprised and somewhat bothered about what she said
about their son. The father yells at him, who counters the welfare whore encourages him,
and she likes it. They stare at her with „he‟s my son‟ gaze, making Betty walk out of the
store on shaky legs.
Later on the same day, two medical examiners aides guide the curry with the
son‟s body on it out of the store through the lobby, then onto the street. Onlookers hear
his mother‟s cry for some understanding of why it happened drowning out his father‟s
moans of anguish of what happened.
In the store the two homicide detectives crosschecks their notes.
- The witness I talked to say the shooter walked up to the cash register and told the victim
„this is a stick up‟ and the victim tells him „so what fuck you‟ and bang.
- That‟s what I got but my witness says the shooter said something like „like to feel tits
huh‟ and then bang.
The two detectives study their notes.
- Naw „this is a stickup sounds more like‟ because he did grab money from the till.
10
SNOW TIGER
People‟s chattering, their scurrying and running showers wake Tay from his
drunken sleep. He lifts his head just off the pillow so he can look around and figure out
where‟s he at. He remembers, the homeless shelter.
In the dining hall he chows down oatmeal and gulps coffee to fortify his belly
because his next meal may not come so easy on the same day.
It‟s snowing some yells.
Yeah the news said it‟s going to be an all day thing someone else shouts.
Tay stands on the pavement, tightens his clothing close to his body to make
himself seem warm. Then, he strolls through the flurries to his normal hunting grounds to
stop a craving within him. There he sees groups of shoppers, people working and loiters
in unison going one way while another file another way to their places of interest. Tay
stalks a group, but people in it notices him then keeps their eyes on him then hides their
valuables from him making Tay leaves his trail to find an easier prey. He does. The
female is isolated with her attention on the vender, and she‟s aged beyond sprinting.
Tay slows his pace. His eyes fixated on the female‟s purse dangling from her
shoulder. He quickens his pace, then dashes and gets within grabbing distance.
Someone shouts watch out.
Tay misses and doesn‟t stop. He runs until he can safely stop and look sadly at the
female and people gathered around her, staring at him. Tay moves on and roams until the
noon sun is blocked by falling snow.
In the mission house Tay devours soup and sandwiches and guzzles soda then
gets a blessing from the sister before he leaves the dining all. He does not leave the
building. He sneaks up the stairway, then along the hallways until he encounters a young
woman attired in an oversized tee shirt shooing, encouraging her two youngsters to go the
playroom.
Tay and she exchanges glances. She cowers in a sensuous manner. In the room,
their whispers and touching lead to caresses, then intercourse.
On the street Tay shrugs through the snowstorm with a craving for wine and
cigarettes still within him, so he ventures into a market. He prowls the aisles until he sees
one of the things he craves for. He grabs it. He stuffs it up his clothing. He hurries to the
exit, gets there, and pushes the door. It won‟t open.
The turnkey pulls on the cell bars more so out of habit than to make sure it‟s
locked. Tay watches him leaves then gaze out the barred window at the snowstorm. He
wonders how long will he be in this trap.
11
THE HUNCH
In the shopping plaza, the police detective vehicle is parked in a manner to let the
two special victim‟s unit detectives see the fast food restaurant without drawing too much
attention from people passing by.
Claude, „the been there seen it all‟ tall, crew cut, athletic detective sits behind the
steering wheel worrying if because his partner‟s eyes are closed, she‟s asleep although
her head is upright, and her pointing finger is making circles on her ear.
“Wake up,” he shouts.
The slender good-looking Tina opens her eyes. She looks at Claude. “I wasn‟t
asleep,” she says.
“Looked like it to me.”
“I was just thinking about the case.”
“Do it with your eyes open, okay.”
“Okay, partner, I‟ll do just that.”
Before Claude interrupted her, Tina was hoping her hunch about the person who
has been grabbing teenage girls after midnight in the subway concourse and raping them,
is correct.
“This is the stupidest hunch I ever worked,” Claude says.
“Maybe to you, but I think it can rise to an arrest,” Tina snaps.
“If this gets to the squad, I‟ll be laughed at until retirement.”
“If it stays a hunch, nobody will ever know,” Tina tells him.
To block Claude from her mind, Tina scans the parking lot and the adjoining
neighborhood until she sees a group of teenaged girls in a dancing contest. One of the
girls cheering on another girl reminds her of one of the victims.
In the hospital emergency room the victim lies on the bed. Her parents stare at
their daughter through angry tears. How could someone have done this to their little
girl? Tina introduces herself to them, then gets permission to talk to their girl.
“Where were you coming from? Tina asks the girl. “A party in North Philly,” the
girl mutters. “That late?” Tina asks. “It was Friday night,” the girl says. “Early
Saturday morning," Tina responds. Silence. “Well okay tell me in your own words what
happened,” Tina says. “Well I was walking to the station and from nowhere this guy
grabs me, and pulls me into this dark little room and rapes me,” the girl tearfully says.
“Did he threaten you? Tina asks. “He put a knife to my neck. I felt the tip,” the girl says.
“Did he say anything?” Tina asks. “Be still or I’ll kill you," the girl sobs.
“I sure hope this shit is worthwhile,” Claude grunts into Tina thoughts.
“It will be; don‟t worry,” Tina says.
“I‟ll be a clown for life if this gets to the guys,” Claude says.
“You won‟t be.”
“This is bull shit,” Claude grumbles.
Agitated, Tina says, “we found no sperm from either of the victims.”
“The guy believes in being safe,” Claude snaps.
“Nobody‟s that safe,” Tina snaps back. “Anyway, no fresh condoms were found
near the scenes.”
“He probably took them home for his trophy case,” Claude says. “It‟s a stupid
hunch,” he mutters.
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It‟s the only lead we have on this case Tina tells herself.
She remembers interviewing the last victim who appeared to be a teenager but
was actually a woman in her early twenties. “It was the weirdest thing,” the woman says.
“What do you mean?” Tina asks. “I mean getting dick is my business,” the woman says.
“You’re a prostitute?” Tina asks her. “Yeah, and, what he shoved up me was no dick
believe me,” the woman says. “No shit,” Tina says. “Yeah, no shit and another thing, he
smelled like paint,” the woman says.
A tall forty-ish woman wearing combat boot, leather pants, black tee shirt and
leather vest with the red letters of her lesbian biker club strolls into the fast food
restaurant.
“Was that the hunch?” Claude asks.
“Yeah,” Tina answers, because the owner of the painting company contracted to
put a primer coat of paint on the concourse walls had told Tina that they hired this
woman to do the job during the time the rapes occurred. The contracted ended so they‟d
let her go.
“Let‟s get the hell out of here,” Claude growls. “This is bullshit.”
“I‟m going to the captain,” Tina says.
“Oh shit now she‟s going to get me put in the corner with the dunce cap on my
head.”
Tina looks him as if he all ready has one on his head.
The captain listens to Tina‟s belief why her hunch could lead to an arrest. Then,
she listens to Claude‟s argument that the hunch was bullshit that would probably be bad
news. The captain thinks it over for a moment. She decides to go along with Tina‟s
hunch, because there has not been a rape since the painting contract ended.
Tina stops at the closed door of the interview room. She has undone her
customary ponytail. From down the hallway, Claude sends her a „you‟re wasting your
time‟ smirk. She takes a deep breath and opens the door. The Biker straightens out of her
slouch and admires what she sees.
“I‟m here for an interview,” the Biker says.
Tina sits on the chair across from her, the table between them.
“Yes, you were asked to come in for this interview because we thought maybe
you could help us on a case we‟re working.”
“If I can.”
“In an police interview you are free to leave at anytime. Do you understand?
“Yeah, sure.”
“Also, this interview is being recorded and if you have anything against the
procedure you may leave.”
Silence.
“Okay I understand,” the Biker says.
Tina holds her shout for joy. “You don‟t need a lawyer but if you want one.”
“I‟m okay with this.”
“You‟re sure?”
“Yeah I‟m sure.”
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Tina sits back against the chair.
“Your name is Mary King?” Tina asks.
“Yes.”
“You worked with a sub contractor as a painter in the Broad Street subway
concourse.”
“I smeared first coat paint on the walls, yes.”
“You did this between midnight and eight in the morning?”
“Yep I did it during those hours.”
“Miss King.”
“Call me Moe,” the Biker says smiling.
“Moe during your time of employment in the concourse someone committed the
act of rape against three.”
The Biker cuts Tina short and agitated she says aloud, “three!”
Surprised, Tina scrutinizes her.
“What happened to the other two,” the Biker demands to know.
“What other two?”
14
A RIDE ON THE MISSISSIPPI
Megan stares at the grandmother who‟s steadying her carrying bag with one hand
on the ticket booth‟s counter while rummaging through it with the other hand all along
taking moments to yell at her four grand kids “she‟d change her mind, and they won‟t go
on a ride on the steamboat Natchez on the Mississippi River” to keep them in good
behavior. It‟s hot under the afternoon sun making Megan wish the woman would hurry
and find the money to pay for the tickets.
She glances at her husband Donald, the reason she‟s in New Orleans. It was his
idea to be here she remembers. A week end get away that she thought the purpose was to
rekindle the heat in their marriage, but the chill still exist from the doctor‟s bad news. It
was their agreement to wait to have children then after nine years the wait became
unnecessary.
The lady in the ticket booth says next over the microphone.
Donald steps to the booth. Megan follows. At the window Donald begins the
transaction while Megan steps to the side to read the flyers attached to the wall that soon
bores her. She turns her back to the wall and gazes at the people waiting in the ticket line.
She wonders if all of them would get to ride the steamboat on this tour.
She notices a young woman whose torso looks to be muscular more so than fat,
who‟s wearing a black tee shirt with the red lettering F... B... I... with small lettering in
white that makes words for the red letters. Megan strains her eyes to read „female body
inspector‟. Then she realizes the woman has a female companion. They‟re holding hands,
chatting.
Megan stares at the woman in the black tee shirt, and their eyes seem to meet
making her cower and look at the ground. She peeks at the woman, and it seems that the
woman is ogling her halter-top making her side step closer to Donald. He glances at her
with a smile.
At the gangplank, the photographer hides her agitation with a broad smile as she
tries her best to get Megan, and Donald to hold hands to hug or to do something lovable
to each other. Megan wishes she would hurry and take the picture. She looks to her side
at the people waiting in line for their photographs to be taken and hopes maybe the sight
would encourage the photographer to take the picture.
Then, Megan sees the woman in the black tee shirt who seems to be leering over
her body, and it makes her move closer to Donald. He hugs her waist, and they smile into
the camera.
There you go, the Photographer says aloud. Then jokes, don‟t worry I‟m not
going to ask you to kiss each other.
Afterwards, Megan follows Donald to a row of chairs on the upper deck. They sit
without moving the chairs closer to each other as other couples have done. In silence,
they look at the shoreline while listening to the boat‟s captain point out historical sites.
Passing a historic site, Megan leans forward to get a better view and sees the
woman in the tee shirt with her companion, climbing the stairway. She seems to peer at
Megan, who snaps back to avoid eye contact. She grabs Donald‟s hand.
You‟re okay? He asks.
Yes.
Hungry?
15
Okay.
The boat‟s dining hall reminds Megan of a Tampa restaurant they used to go to
when they were dating. She remembers how Donald would prepare a plate for them to eat
from, but not because of a lack of money. He called it their Lady and the Tramp moment.
I have to use the washroom, she says.
Okay. I‟ll grab a table.
Megan returns to the dining hall and looks over the crowd for Donald. She sees
him waving to her. She strolls towards him. The closer she gets to him the more she
realizes there‟s one plate on the table. She hurries through the aisle not noticing the
woman in the black tee shirt.
16
DINNER AT THE VERANDAH GRILL
He side steps studying the food on the buffet line, pondering which choice would
satisfy his appetite. He decides to put meat loaf on his plate; then, he spoons corn and
spring beans onto the plate. He selects corn bread as the garnish.
At his table, the waitress appears; she asks for his preference of drinks. Lemonade
and coffee, he tells her.
He begins to enjoy his meal, while learning current events from the CNN
anchorman who shifts him to a field reporter for an in-depth explanation of the event. The
waitress interferes with a big smile and puts the drinks on the table. He returns to feeding
his appetite and learning current events. Conversation with the fellows at the other table
about the upcoming golf event catches his attention for a moment.
She appears magically at the entrance, her youthful, pretty face made to glow
beautifully, her curvy body seen through the yellow-white mini-length dress. She looks
around as if lost but knowing she should be here. The head waitress asks her a question
and she responds through a childlike smile. Then the head waitress leads her to a table
arranged for an entourage. She sits crossing a leg over the other not to entice he‟s sure,
but she exhibits innocence of her sexual aura.
He finds himself leering, so he focuses on the television.
He slows feeding his appetite to get peeks of her wide-eyed prettiness.
She twists to get a view of the voices coming towards the entrance. He sees flesh
of a breast. He sits back; she‟s a cute marionette waiting for someone. He wishes it were
he.
The one year old lets her parents know her belly is full, and she wants to practice
her newfound adventure of walking, especially on an unfamiliar floor.
The child soon gets the admiring attention of everyone.
She watches the baby wobble about with a gorgeous smile, making his heart sink
pushing a sigh through his lips wishing it was for him.
He stares at the head waitress as if sending her a mental message for the check but
the young woman is his true line of hope. Her eyes become gleeful; her white teeth show
happiness. His heart misses a beat. The object of her affection appears, leading two
couples to the table.
Would you like dessert sir, a waitress snaps him out of his stupor. No just the
check please, he sadly mutters.
17
DINNER AT SADIKI
The Husband strolls behind his Wife. His six-foot advantage allows him to look
over her head at the Maitre d, wiggling hips displayed through a form fitting dress.
The Maitre d stops at a table for two that is against the wall under an oil urban
landscape painting with the figure of a lonely female as its centerpiece.
It gets the Wife's attention.
"It's by a local artist," the Maitre d says.
"It's nice," the Wife says.
"They're all by him," the Maitre d says.
The Wife looks at the other oil paintings.
"We just added them not long ago," the Maitre d says.
"Oh I thought there was something new since I been here last," the Wife says.
"He's good."
"Is this table okay?"
"Yes it's fine," the Husband says.
"Yes," the Wife agrees.
The Husband pulls a chair out and sits. The Wife does the same with the other
chair.
"Charles will be your waiter, and he'll be with you soon."
"Thanks," the Husband says.
"Thank you," the Wife says.
"You're welcome," the Maitre d says. Then she leaves. The Husband uses the
other patrons to get a last look at her backside. "It seems to be a good night for eating
out," he says.
"Yeah," the Wife says with her eyes on the oil painting. "It sends a message," she
says.
"What?"
"The painting it sends a message."
He looks at it and shrugs his shoulder suggesting its indifference to him.
The waiter draws their eyes to him.
They have not opened their menu.
"Need more time?" the Waiter asks in a feminine tone.
"Yes," the Husband grunts.
"Yes please," she says.
"Would you like something to drink while you make your choice?"
"Vee oh and coke with lots of ice," the Husband grumbles.
"Ginger ale over lime wedges," she says.
The Waiter writes the order on his pad. "I'll return with your drinks shortly."
She smiles a thank you and return to the menu.
The Waiter hurries away.
The Husband watches him. "Gay ass hole," he mutters.
"It's his preference," she says.
"It's shit."
"You follow your preference don't you?"
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"Yes I do."
"Well so can he."
He changes the subject. "I think I'll have the blackened catfish."
"The smothered turkey wings sounds good enough for me."
The Waiter returns with their drinks, takes their order then leaves.
In silence they listens to the music piped through ceiling speakers.
"I thought they had live bands on Friday nights," she says.
"What?"
"I said I thought they had a live band on Friday nights."
"They changed that a week or two ago."
She looks at him hard for a moment.
They eat their meal in silence.
"Room for dessert?" The Waiter asks.
"No," she says.
"Yeah I'm full too."
"I wonder if this painting is for sale?" She asks.
"No none of them are for sale; sorry," the Waiter says.
19
The Fire At 124 Jackson Place
The Mother and her six-year-old Son are asleep in the bedroom. The fire in the
kitchen wakes the family dog, a black Chihuahua. He barks at the blaze as if were an
intruder.
The firefighters declare the fire extinguished. The Fire Marshal gets ready to do
his investigation.
"What happens now?" The Mother asks the fire captain.
"The fire marshal is going to make a primary investigation for the cause of the
fire," he tells her.
"Will I be able to go back in after he finish?"
"Oh no, not tonight," he says. "The inspector will have to clear it as safe and he
will not come out until the morning on a fire like this."
"Oh man."
"Do you have a place to spend the night?"
"No."
"Come with me, I‟ll get in touch with the red cross for you; they'll help you solve
that problem."
"Okay thanks," she says. She asks a neighbor to watch her Son for her. "He‟ll be
okay," she says.
The Fire Marshal stands at the stoop of the duplex getting ready to enter the
apartment. The Son runs up to him. "What are you doing?" He asks.
The Fire Marshal does not hear him.
He tugs on the Fire Marshal‟s pants.
He looks at him. "What is it little fellow?" He asks.
"What are you doing?"
"I‟m going into the apartment to check and see how the fire started."
"I know how it happened," the Son says.
"You weren‟t playing with matches, were you?" The Fire Marshal asks half
jokingly.
The Son shakes his head. "No. No. I was asleep," he says aloud. "Chitty-Bang-
Bang woke us up barking," he adds.
"Where‟s your mother?"
The Son points, "over there," he says.
"Better go to her."
"But I want to tell you who put the fire in my mommy‟s kitchen."
Annoyed, "Who was it?" The Fire Marshal asks.
"That man who is my mommy‟s boyfriend."
"Did you see him do it?"
"No, I was asleep; I told you that before."
"Well, how do you know he did it?"
The Son uses both pointing fingers to emphasize, "he and my mommy stopped
being boyfriend and girlfriend because he wants to fuss and cuss all the time my mommy
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said, and he said one day he‟s going to burn the do-do out of my mommy‟s house with a
fire bottle."
The Fire Marshal studies the Son then hurries into the apartment.
The Mother calls the Son over to her. He rushes to her then in a ranting matter, he
tells her what he told the Fire Marshal.
"Oh shit," she mutters. "Why did you tell him that?" She asks.
"He wants to know how the fire happened."
In the kitchen, the Fire Marshal saw right away that the fire was caused by a
faulty microwave oven attached to cabinets over the electric range.
The Fire Marshal comes out of the apartment, the Son rushes to him. "Did I tell
the truth," he repeatedly asks him. The Fire Marshal does not answer. He walks to the
Mother with the Son trailing him wanting to know if he told the truth, until the Mother
makes him stop.
Embarrassed about her Son‟s accusation, the Mother tells the Fire Marshal, "we
did have a fight but that was days ago, we since made up; he even bought me a
microwave and put it in for me."
21
The Night Coupe Deville Tavern Burned Down
Betsy mixes a drink. She peeks at her wristwatch. It‟s time for the Friday after
happy hours drinkers to fill the bar. Soon the jukebox will never stop playing someone's
favorite tune that will be barely heard over the drinkers' shouts and chatter, under dim
lights made dimmer by the fog of cigarette smoke.
She puts the glass on a coaster, with a smile slides it to the man. He ogles her
breasts from behind the five-dollar bill he dangles before to her. She reaches for it. He
snatches it back just out of her reach, a silly grin on his face.
“I don‟t have time for games,” she says.
“You want it get it,” the man says.
She puts her fingertips on the coaster, slides it towards her. The man gets the
message and drops the bill on the bar. She snatches it into her grip and hurries to the cash
register. Another drinker calls out for a refill.
She looks at Ralph her coworker at one end of the bar, who seems to glide with
undisturbed waltz between drinkers and the register. She has not gotten the hang of how
he does it. She figures with practice she'll one day be just as elegant.
A drinker demands to be served. She puts her pointing finger to her lips to hush
him. "I'm be right there," she says.
A Drunk refuses to stop his loud unruliness towards other drinkers. "Hey Ralph,"
a Drinker says aloud, "you better get this begging ass hole out of my face." Ralph raps
the water pipe beneath the bar sending a signal to Betsy and Striker, the other bartender.
“You‟re flagged man,” Ralph shouts.
"You're fucked," the Drunk says.
Betsy leads Striker to Ralph‟s station. The three stare at the Drunk, a signal to him
to back down.
“I want a damn drink,” the Drunk demands.
“You're done for tonight,” Striker tells him.
“You had enough,” Betsy says.
“Bitch you don‟t tell me when I had enough,” the Drunk snarls.
Striker pushes pass Ralph. Ralph follows. They wedge a path through the drinkers
to the Drunk, who stands to face them, his fists ready to throw blows but Striker‟s quick
left jab to his nose shocks him into waving his surrender. Ralph and Striker quickly grab
the Drunk by his elbows then plow a path through the crowd and shove the Drunk out
onto the street.
Betsy stays behind the bar to discourage someone's ideas of getting a free drink.
A drinker tells her, “that‟s why they call him Striker; he used to fight pro and he
didn‟t punch you with a jab he‟d strike you like lighting."
"I know," Betsy says with a smile, watching the two coworkers return to their
stations.
Striker looks at the clock over the register; it reads five minutes to midnight. He
sighs, turns to face the partying crowd and sees the Bagman sneaking through the crowd,
holding onto a shopping bag.
“Bagman,” Striker yells.
Bagman moves on.
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“Bagman,” Striker yells.
Betsy sees the Bagman. “Bagman,” she yells.
A man stops the Bagman and points to Betsy. The Bagman dagger glare makes
the patron return his attention to his friends. The Bagman looks at Betsy with a
dumbfounded smile.
“You know the rule,” Betsy says loudly.
Bagman hutches his shoulders, to indicate he didn‟t do anything.
“You‟re in here man that‟s enough,” Ralph yells.
Betsy‟s left-handed thumb signals the Bagman to leave the bar.
The Bagman mouths fuck you then slowly makes his way through the crowd.
“Hey Bagman,” someone calls out. “Do you have any soap in that bag?” He asks.
“Outside man,” the Bagman shouts.
Betsy sees a familiar face in the crowd at Striker‟s station. She goes to the station,
ignoring requests for refills or a drink. She‟s in line of sight of the familiar face. The
Youth's eyes widen his mouth opens when he sees her. He looks away from her gaze. His
childish attempt to avoid her gaze makes her smile. It becomes a frown.
“What are you doing in here?” She asks the Youth.
She reads his lips more than hearing him tell her, “I have to use the bathroom.”
She also gets the gist of what the young man standing next to him asks. The Youth tells
him, “She‟s one of my teachers.”
“The men‟s room is for customers and you‟re too young to be one,” Betsy says.
Striker walks over and scowls. The young men cringe. Striker growl, “go and get
some more years on you.” The Youths hurry from the bar scowling each other for being
so stupid to choose this bar.
Striker notices two intoxicated men bickering about some manner and from their
glares he reads that there will soon be foul name called then fist flinging. He raps the pipe
to alert Betsy and Ralph just as the two men stand to duel with fists. One duelist punch to
the other duelist stomach is swift and he grabs his stomach and crumble to the floor
howling in pain. The standing duelist runs from the bar.
Striker and Betsy lifts the duelist by his armpits and drag him out of the bar onto
the pavement and drop him in the doorway of a closed candy store yards from the bar‟s
entrance. Betsy notices the bloody wound.
“Hey this guy been shot or stabbed,” she announces.
“Yeah I know,” Striker says.
“You know!”
“Yeah.”
“Well shit we got to call the police.”
“I will," Striker says looking around the pavement for a blood trail. “He‟s
probably bleeding on the inside,” he says.
“I‟ll go and call the cops,” Betsy says.
“I‟ll make the call from the phone booth over there,” Striker tells her.
“Why from there?”
“If the cops figure he got it while he was in the bar they‟ll close the place down
and keep everybody there all night until they talked to all of them.”
“Oh I see,” Betsy says. "Okay."
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“Yeah I‟ve seen them keep the place closed one time until the next afternoon
talking to people over shit like this.”
Ralph looks over the dwindling crowd then peeks at his wristwatch. It‟s a natural
thing after one in the morning some goes home, other goes to an after hours club or to
some other place. Then he sees the Butch Lesbian attired in the finest men's sports wear,
guiding her lady friend by the waist to empty barstools in his station. Her bragging smile
taunts the womanless gigolos and lonesome johns in the crowd with 'look what I‟m going
to fuck tonight guys.'
Ralph wonders why the Butch Lesbian does the teasing thing every time she
comes into the bar with a new woman. Then he imagines someday some fool will knock
the shit out of her over her mocking bullshit. The thought makes Ralph smile. The Butch
Lesbian thinks the smile is a smirk against her. Ralph looks pass her intimidating stare
into her eyes.
“What are you gals drinking?” He asks.
“You got a problem?” The Butch Lesbian snarls.
What's her problem Ralph ponders, “I can‟t guess what you and your friend are
drinking,” he says.
“Oh I thought maybe you took unkindly to my lady here,” the Butch Lesbian says.
“She‟s not my sister,” Ralph says in a matter of fact manner.
"I want a Tanqueray gin and seltzer with a lemon and ice," the Lady Friend says.
"Get her what she wants and a Vee oh and coke for me with no ice," the Butch
Lesbian orders Ralph.
"You got it dude," Ralph says under sarcasm.
Janet the Diver gets Striker‟s eye. He scans the drinkers along the length of the
bar. There‟s no one drunk enough for Janet to stand next to and dig into their pockets
without them feeling her hand. He raps the pipe anyway to let Betsy and Ralph know
she‟s in the bar. She knows the signal and turns then leaves the bar.
Rose staggers into the bar her repugnant body odor repels drinkers away from her
as she passes them.
Striker sees her and shouts, “Rose get the hell out of here.”
Rose screams, “I gotta pee.”
“Not in here,” Betsy tells her.
“I‟m going to pee on the floor or in the bowl,” Rose shrieks.
Ralph waves a let her go gesture. It‟s too close to last drink call to get her to
fussing.
Striker reluctantly relents.
“Bullshit she isn‟t buying a drink,” Betsy says. She agrees to let Rose use the
toilet when Ralph give her a so-what shoulder shrug.
Rose goes to the ladies room. They watch her leave with a smile on her face.
The lady friend whispers to the Butch Lesbian she has to use the lady‟s room. The
Butch Lesbian points the way, along the dimly lit hallway. The lady friend struts to the
lady‟s room. She opens the door and shrieks, “fire!”
Betsy, Ralph and Striker stand on a corner amongst other onlookers watching the
fire fighter‟s battle the flames engulfing the century old building. Rose‟s lunatic laughter
draws their attention to her. She's captured in the police cruiser‟s back seat. Her wild eyes
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focuses on the blaze, squirming her body to direct the flames how to avoid the firemen‟s
efforts to drown it out.
Striker and Ralph recall they have not seen Rose for nearly a year. They wonder
when she became a firebug. Betsy ponders on what could have been if Striker had called
the police from behind the bar instead of the phone booth.
25
GEORGE ARTHUR DAVIS
BIO
Born 1947 in Philadelphia PA; studied creative writing at the Community College
of Philadelphia, recipient of CCP Fall 2001 Judith Stark Creative Writing Award for
Scriptwork; short stories appeared in Palm Prints, a literary journal of Life Long Writers
of the University of Southern Florida; short story collections “Tales from a Thornbush”;
“Street Life”; “In The Rough” published through Peppertree Publishing; Third Place
recipient Tampa Writers Alliance 2008 writing contest for Script;
These prose and short stories are a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents either are products of the author‟s imagination or used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright
George Arthur Davis
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in
any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,
without prior written permission of the author and publisher.
www.garthurdavis.com
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