She spent the hour before the bank opened up strolling around town, 
peeking into the shop windows, and getting a lay of the land.  She 
noted a couple shop owners setting up for the day, sweeping the walk 
in front of the store, or laying out produce for the market. She was 
greeted by hearty smiles and curious eyes.  As she walked, she noted 
a small clothes shop with the alteration mistress right next door in 
a little two room shack back from the main walk about ten feet or so. 
It was decorated in feminine touches with a flower box hanging off 
the window.  There was a coffee shop, a small medical clinic, 
post office, a fishing/hunting shop, and of course the local bar. The 
buildings looked well worn like they’d been there for a while.  They 
were obviously in need of a good paint job.  The sidewalks were still 
planked with wood.  Pine straw and old, dried leaves collected on 
many of the rooftops.  Still, the place gave the impression of warmth 
and hospitality.  So it was strange that a couple of times she got 
the odd sensation she was being watched.  She looked around, but 
other than the couple of shopkeepers who didn’t really appear to be 
paying her any real attention, there didn’t seem to be anyone 
around.  

Finally she made her way back to the bank Tucker had pointed out.  
She walked inside and was blasted by an air conditioning window 
unit.  Beside a counter sat a distinguished looking black man with a 
snow-white beard and white fuzz rippling across the top of his head.  
Even his eyebrows were white.  He looked like an African-American 
Santa Claus.  “Are you Bert?” she asked softly making her way up to 
the counter. “Yes, ma’am, that I am. And you must be the wider 
Livingston that just moved up there to the parish house.” She nodded, 
smiling in response. My, but news really DID spread fast in a little 
town. “Um, Tucker over at the little country store said you might be 
able to help me with a withdrawal from my debit card?” He gave her a 
toothy reply and she saw he had several graying teeth in need of a 
dentist’s care.  “Oh, yes ma’am, I’d be only to happy to help ya.” He 
reached for her card and walked over to a little black machine 
plugged into the back wall with a card slide and a number pad.  In a 
few minutes and a signature, he’d completed her transaction for her 
and warned her that his wife might be up to the house in the next day 
or so.  She always liked making baked goods for the new neighbors and 
be sociable like.  

After a few minute conversation, she left the bank with a comfortable 
feeling that the people around here were nice enough.  Perhaps the 
move wouldn’t be so bad. She walked along back to the road that led 
back to her new home, scratching her scar through her hair.  The 
action was so practiced in her effort to hide her face, that it was 
almost unconscious now.  She was about half way back up the dirt road 
when the paranoid sensation of being watched returned to her.  Again, 
she looked around, her eyes searching every move of branch that the 
wind rustled and found nothing.  That was until she turned the fork 
away from the boat landing and there they were.  Five boys in the 
late teens/early twenties lounged by an old, fallen log near the 
path.  Her heartbeat quickened to panic and her breath caught in her 
throat.  It wasn’t hard to tell they were up to no good and she was 
their chosen target.  

She had a moments hesitation while deciding whether to turn and try 
to make it back to town before they caught up to her, or to press 
forward towards home in hopes that they were really harmless and she 
was being paranoid.  Since they would no doubt be there to assault 
her later if she waiting to come home that afternoon, she decided to 
try the latter.  She raised her chin resolutely, and started to walk 
purposefully up the road past them, nodding and smiling slightly as 
she did so.  She had almost made it past when the catcalls started.  
Her heart sank as she realized she’d made a mistake and she wasn’t 
going to get away.  Her pace quickened as she heard them start to 
move up behind her.  The faint stench of cigarettes and alcohol 
stained their breath.

“Aw, slow down little lady. We just wanna talk to ya,” one beckoned 
in his hillbilly drawl. “Yeah, talk.  Yeah, that’s it,” another 
chortled lecherously.  Her body fairly shook with terror.  One boy 
who was a little larger then the rest grabbed a hold of her arm 
suddenly, whirling her around to face them. He was dark-skinned and 
had long flowing black hair that reminded her of indian.  His eyes 
were hard however, with a hint of malevolence glittering beneath the 
dark brown color.  He brought her up close until she could smell the 
liquor on his breath full tilt.  “We wanted to greet the new neighbor 
lady properly.” He murmured lustily against her face before licking 
up her jawline.  She turned her head away to hide the damaged part of 
her face from them.  “Please, I don’t want any trouble.” She begged 
in a desperate whisper.  The boy holding her jerked her up against 
his body until her breasts were being rubbed against the lapels of 
his leather jacket. “Aw, it’s no trouble,” he whispered into her 
ear.  His fingers dug painfully into her arms and tears stung her 
eyes. “Please…let me go.”

“Show us her face, Jack” another one she couldn’t see over his 
shoulder hollered.  “They said her face was scarred up and ugly. 
That’s why she wore her hair the way she does. Let’s have a look 
see.” He urged on Jack’s lewd behavior.  Instead Jack worked his lips 
over until he’d captured her mouth in a brutal, punishing kiss.  She 
struggled to push him back and when he didn’t let go, she bit his lip 
hard causing him to scream in pain.  “Bitch!” he screamed at her 
before scraping his hand up her face pulling her hair out of the 
way.  Hanging onto her by the hair, he turned and shoved her body 
towards his friends for them to see.  Immediately they began hooting, 
laughing, and taunting her.  Their hands groped over her body as she 
kicked and screamed in horror, struggling to get away…fighting for 
her life.

Suddenly from nowhere, there rang out the cracking sound of a 
gunshot, splitting the air, and causing all the boys to duck.  The 
older boy released her hair and she immediately swung her backpack 
off her shoulder and around to smack him square in the face.  He fell 
to the ground with a curse, but her path was clear and she took off 
leaving her bag behind.  She ran until her lungs seared with agony in 
her chest.  She reached the house and took the stairs to the porch in 
two giants leaps.  She struggled quickly with shaking fingers to 
unlock the door with the key she produced from her pocket.  Then she 
burst into the front room and slammed the door behind her, locking it 
back and dead-bolting it before she sunk to the floor in a mass of 
wracking sobs.  

********************************************************************

I unlocked the door of the company’s Appalachian getaway, strode 
through to look up and immediately decided I totally hated the place.  
Apparently the publishing company’s idea of “roughing it” was 
somewhat similar to Ivonna Trump’s.  To say that this place was 
stocked with every amenity in the book was a gross understatement.  I 
found myself only slightly surprised not to find a servant waiting in 
the bathroom to wipe my ass.  The rugs on the floor were hand-
woven.  The furniture was leather…white leather.  A couple of the 
more tasteful paintings on the wall were obviously collector’s items 
from somebody’s private stash.  The kitchen was completely modern and 
fully equipped to make any gourmet treat your heart desired from ribs 
on the barbi, to steak, to wok delights and so on.  The fridge was 
completely stocked with every kind of food and beverage you could 
dream of. There was even a separate little refrigerator thingy that 
stocked the wine bottles with a glass door sitting on one side of the 
larger fridge.   

One whole wall of the living room was one big window that looked over 
the side of the mountain with some chimneys of neighbors poking up 
through the greenery here and there down the slope and further down 
what looked like a small town.  Past that, as far as the eye could 
see, were the rolling evergreen mountains.   You could actually watch 
as shadows of the darker clouds moved across them like a lover’s 
caress.  You could distinguish pockets of rain from clear areas.  The 
term “Masters of the Universe” began to tickle the back of my brain 
as I gazed out over the phenomenal view.  The wall perpendicular 
to it held a huge fireplace with black iron poking and prodding tools 
standing on one side and a bucket of fresh cut wood on the other.  

So why did I hate it, you ask?  Well, that would be because as you 
walked through the front door, directly across from the foyer hung a 
larger than life-sized painting of John in one of his “frontiersman” 
poses.  It had been blown up from being the cover of one of 
our “successes”.  Don’t look at me, it wasn’t one of mine. Truth is, 
I don’t even remember the name of the book now.  I heaved a sigh of 
disgust and sat my knapsack and laptop bag beside the stairs leading 
up towards what I could only assume were the bedrooms.  Then I pulled 
my cell phone from my knapsack and hit Phyllis’ number while I walked 
into the kitchen to scope out a drink.  After a couple rings, she 
picked up.  “Talk to me,” she sniffed in a somewhat distracted tone 
of voice.  “Auntie Em, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not in 
Kansas anymore.” I replied.  That made her chuckle and her voice 
relaxed audibly. “Ah, I take it you arrived safely then.”

“Yeah,more or less,” I nodded to the phone while perusing the contents 
of the refrigerator.  “I have landed in the emerald forest, skipped 
up the black asphalt road, and am now standing in the quote unquote 
'cabin' which I find to be the biggest ass condominium I’ve EVER seen 
with a life-sized picture of the Wicked Wizard of Oz grinning at me 
from the foyer.”  I paused after each phrase of my commentary 
allowing her to enjoy a fresh burst of chuckles after each 
one.  “Phyllis, this is WAY out of my league.” I finally found a 
Diet Coke near the back left-hand side and popped the top.  Then I 
pulled a glass from the upper cabinet right beside the fridge and 
poured.  “Should I be looking for a gilded trash can?” I asked as I 
rummaged through most of the lower cabinets looking for it.  “No, 
there’s a trash compacter unit.” Phyllis answered me as if this were 
a part of her everyday life.  If it was, then she was getting paid 
WAY better than I was for my books. “You want me to put a soda can 
down the sink?” my voice sounded somewhere between amused and 
incredulous.  “No, no, no, not a disposal.  A compacter unit,” she 
giggled.  “Look for something like a dishwasher that’s about half its 
size.”  I looked around until I spied it.

Phyllis spent the next two minutes calmly instructing me on the use 
of a trash compactor. Finally I looked back across to the living room 
and blew out a breath.  “How am I supposed to work here? I feel like 
I’m trespassing on some rich man’s private getaway.  I’m afraid to 
touch anything.” I sipped at my drink as Phyllis did her best to 
sooth my nerves.  “I know it’s a bit overwhelming to begin with, but 
you get used to it quick enough,” she coaxed.  At that moment, John’s 
painting caught my eye again and I answered her as I stared at 
it. “Somehow I don’t think so.”  Something must have registered in my 
voice, because Phyllis seemed to know exactly what I was looking at 
and what I was thinking.

“You want a hint?” she asked light-hearted.  I mulled over that a 
second and simpered, “sure.” Even from this distance, I could "see" 
the sparkle of mischief in her eyes.  She was enjoying my 
discomfort.  I just KNEW it.  “John’s picture fits perfectly in that 
space between the refrigerator and the wall.” She offered.  I raised 
an eyebrow to that as I glanced skeptically over the parameters of 
the painting. “Really? It looks kind of heavy to me.” 

“Absolutely.  It’s a little bit of a struggle to move it, but its 
well worth it for sanity sake.  It took them two months to find it 
the first time I put it there.” I cracked a smile at that and perhaps 
a chuckle or two of my own. “Well, I don’t know what I did to deserve 
this, Phyllis but thanks.” I could sense her nodding into the 
phone. “Yeah, yeah.  Just get to work and bring me back a good 
manuscript, Cal.  Oh, and the rules of the house are anything you 
use, you replace.”  I answered her with a mused harumph. “Figures.”

“Have fun, kid” she chuckled at me once more before the line went 
dead.  I slipped the antennae down on the cell phone and proceeded to 
wander around the rest of the house.  The bathroom looked like a huge 
Roman bathhouse with Jacuzzi-sized tub situated on a dais surrounded 
by four columns.  It was big enough to drown in if you tried hard 
enough.  The walk-in shower was made completely of glass walls.  
Everything was white marble and square foot tiles.  I sauntered into 
the bedroom and not sat, but literally sunk into the king-sized 
mattress. ‘Hmmm, well maybe my book’s hero could be the super sexy 
mountain Serta salesman.’ I mused.  This room was done in rich, deep 
blues and silver. A 25” TV sat on the dresser opposite the bed 
complete with DVD player and surround sound.  The closet doors were 
made of mirrors.  The second bedroom I wandered into was actually 
transformed to be a studio.  The scent of acrylic paint hung thick.  
There was paint splattered all over the wood floor and cabinets full 
of painting supplies, tarps, various sizes of canvas, and such.  
Michael must come up here to work a lot.  The room reminded me 
faintly of a cornered off section of Corral’s bedroom.  She’d snagged 
the master bedroom in our apartment as well needing the extra space 
to work.  Being that most of my stuff took up the living room, I 
didn’t mind.

Finally I trudged back down and set up my laptop on the dining room 
table looking AWAY from the window.  I’d never get any work done 
staring out there.  That left me only one problem. I was now staring 
at John…again. I glanced between the portrait and the refrigerator a 
couple times sizing up the distance between the two. Tearing at a bit 
of dead skin on my lip, I made an executive decision. “Old boy, 
you’re coming down now.” I told the offensive painting.  It stared 
back at me haughtily, just daring me to come try it.  The chair slid 
back behind my knees as I squared my shoulders to do battle.