CHAPTER 2

BILLY BOB

“So this Amish family is in a big city hotel for the first time,” Lyle began to tell me a joke as we did some preventive maintenance on equipment in Lake Enterprises shop. Actually, Lyle was watching me do the work.

“So the son is fascinated with a perfectly straight crack in the wall where a dozen lit up numbers hung above it. ‘Papa what’s this?’ the young man asked his father. The father scratched his beard and frowned as he looked it over. All of a sudden, the crack in the wall separated, revealing what appeared to be a closet. Then an old woman walked into the closet and the wall sealed back up. The numbers above the crack began flashing, and a minute or two later, the wall opened again. A young, attractive looking woman walked out. ‘Quick son! Go get your mother!’ the Amish man told his son.” Lyle burst into laughter.

“Huh. Good one,” I replied, trying to chuckle as I forced a smile.

“Come on!” Lyle barked as he spread his arms wide.

“What?”

“That was funny.”

“I laughed.”

“You barely grunted.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be making fun of religious people.”

“I’m not making fun, that was just a little harmless humor. How about a blonde joke then?”

I smiled sardonically and shook my head. “What do you do all day, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Lyle asked with a dismissive shrug.

“Well, at least looking at jokes is better than what you usually look at.”

For years Lyle did grunt work with the rest of us earth workers. Recently, his father decided he had paid his dues, and it was time for him to start learning to run the business side of the landscaping division. From where I sat, he seemed to be smoking pot and looking at porn more than he was running the division.

I was concerned for Lyle, and I frequently reprimanded him. Sometimes he made excuses, other times he shrugged me off.  He had been slowly developing good character when he was working directly with the rest of us grunts. Ironically, when he was given more responsibility, he delegated to us underlings all that he could. Then he spent the rest of the time following the dictates of his carnal nature.  

As close friends, he and I were an odd couple. I was big, rugged, and homely. Lyle was slight, but with toned muscles. With his short blonde hair and foxlike facial features, he looked like he should be on the cover of a teen magazine. His expensive clothes only added to his pretty boy good looks.

But he knew I understood the inner pain he grew up with. It was a very personal struggle he kept hid from the rest of the world. It began when we were eight years old, and his mother died from cancer. In the days and weeks after, he had publicly appeared stoic. He ended up having a breakdown, I was there for him, and we have been best of friends ever since. I’ll tell you what happened some other time.

“What do you mean?” Lyle asked again.

“Never mind,” I said waving him off.

“Talk to me, Billy Bob,” Lyle demanded. “Why have you been in a funk the last couple of days?”

I never really liked being called Billy Bob.  But it is funny how things get started. At the beginning of one elementary school year, a teacher thought it would be a good idea to begin role call using full names, including the middle. He started in alphabetical order, and I was the third one he called.

“William Robert Booker,” Mr. Finke had barked.

 “Old William Robert,” my buddy Cooper had chimed in.

“You mean ol’ Billy Bob,” Lyle had added.

“Billy Bob Booker,” my other pal Gabe had echoed with a laugh.

“Shut up,” I remember ordering the trio.

“Boys, do I need to send you to the office?” Mr. Finke had scolded. “No,” the four of us had whined at the same time. Mr. Finke stopped using full names after the little fiasco it caused. But from that day on, I was known as Billy Bob among my peers.

“I’m not in a funk,” I told Lyle as I wondered whether he was right, and I had just lied.

“You know what you need?” Lyle asked as he pointed a finger in my face.

“Enlighten me,” I sighed.

“You need a little lovin’.”

“That’s a great idea, Lyle. But not only do I not have a wife, I don’t even have a girlfriend.”

“Who needs a wife or girlfriend?” Lyle pondered.

“I do.”

Lyle rolled his eyes. “I thought you quit religion when you broke up with what’s her lips.”

“I stopped going to Carly’s church,” I explained. “I didn’t stop practicing Christianity. As a matter of fact, I recently started going to Dirk Easton’s church a few months ago.”

“The Easton brothers go to church?” Lyle asked with a frown and sarcastic smile.

The Easton brothers had a tree service that our company started using right about the time Carly and I broke up. Getting to know Dirk Easton and his lovely wife was a God send. His brother Devin, who was night to his brother’s day, was a fellow I could do without. That said, I did get along with him just fine. “I didn’t say the brothers. I said Dirk.”

“I see,” Lyle replied skeptically. “Well, I happen to know Devin is on a first name basis with numerous strippers.”

“Is Dirk his brother’s keeper?”

“If ever there was a case of blood being thicker than water, it is with the two of them,” Lyle replied. “So you’re gonna tell me one’s a saint and the other’s a sinner?”

“It is what it is,” I responded. “Dirk’s given me no reason to believe he’s anything other than a devout Christian.”   

Lyle gave me not only another eye roll, but hands on hips and a long pause with pursed lips. “Look, never mind the Easton brothers, tell me why you’ve been in a funk lately.”

“Have I?” I asked with a wince.

“Ya think?”

“Well,” I sighed, “I guess it mostly stems from the fact that I have to go to a wedding that Carly will be at with her guy… My replacement.”

“Man, I thought you were over her,” Lyle said, waving his arms with frustration.

“I am,” I said and then paused, “for the most part. The main thing is, like I said, she will be there with her guy and I’ll be like some kind of wallflower.”

“You won’t be a wallflower,” Lyle said waving a hand. “It’s a wedding, not a dance.”

“But they usually dance at weddings, don’t they?”

“Man, that Carly sure used to boss you around,” Lyle said, shaking his head and pursing his lips again. “She’d snap her fingers, tell you to jump, and you’d ask how high. You’ve been broken up for half a year now, and it seems she’s still controlling you.”

“It might have appeared that way,” I mumbled. “Maybe I just liked trying to please her.”

“I know, I know. That’s what I’m saying,” Lyle said, showing me his palms. “So you might have some type of mother complex going on with Carly.”

“You missed your calling as a psychologist,” I replied sarcastically.

“Don’t get sensitive,” Lyle said. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be dominated by a woman. I’m into it myself.”

“Do tell,” I made the mistake of replying mockingly. So Lyle told me. There was a sharp crack as Lyle snapped his fingers. It actually made me jolt a little.

“Why didn’t I think of it before?” Lyle enthused. “I’ve been seeing this chick named Willa. She specializes in being a dominatrix. Her prices are pretty reasonable for how hot and classy she is, and it’s by referral only, and I’ll gladly refer ya.”

“You mean to tell me that you’re seeing a prostitute?”

“Ssshh,” Lyle responded, waving his hands up and down to signal be quiet. “Yeah, I guess you could say she’s a type of prostitute.”

“Why would you do that? You’re a good-looking successful guy who’s never had trouble getting a girl.”

“You don’t just pay a hooker for sex, you pay them to go away afterward,” he told me.

“Well, I would never under any circumstance use a prostitute. Ever!” I told him emphatically. Minutes later, I considered a way I could use a prostitute.

“Billy Bob, you’ve got to see this chick,” Lyle pleaded, showing me both of his palms again. “She’s not just smoking hot. She’s blazing hot. Plus, you need an ‘in’ with her, and I’m it for you. She was even a centerfold. As a matter of fact, hold on.”

Lyle rapidly walked away from me and went to his office. I shook my head in disgust as I finished changing the fuel filter on the skid loader on which I was working. When Lyle returned carrying a magazine, I was screwing the cover off the air filter.

“Check this out,” Lyle commanded.

“I’m not looking at a porn magazine,” I demanded.

“It’s not porn, it’s erotica.”

“Whatever, I’m not looking at erotica,” I insisted.

“Just one look,” he urged, waving the magazine at me.

“No! Absolutely not!”

He stuck the magazine right in front of my face. I abruptly turned my head, but I had caught a glimpse. She was clothed in the image, so my moral sensibility became compromised. As a result, some male instinct caused my head to rotate back toward the earthly goddess.

“Holy smokes!” I blurted as I grabbed the periodical from Lyle’s hand, touching a dirty magazine for the first time in my life.

“See?” Lyle crooned, quite pleased with himself.

“Her eyes are amazing,” I mumbled.

“Her eyes!” Lyle shouted as he put a hand on my shoulder. Then he mocked sympathy. “Where did you go wrong, my dear friend?”

“’Tis you and not I who has strayed from desiring purity of soul,” I told him as I also placed a hand on his shoulder.

Lyle laughed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I concede,” he chuckled. “’Tis you that be the more righteous man than I.”

“Tisk, tisk, dear brother,” I replied. “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.”

“Then what’s the point?” Lyle frowned with spread arms.

“Well, we still need to obey God,” I said.

“But we’re saved by grace,” Lyle lamented.

 “Grace isn’t a license to sin.”

“It is to me,” Lyle said. “I just go to confession.”

“When’s the last time you even went to confession?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in confessing to a priest?” Lyle frowned.

“I don’t.”

“Then don’t bother me about how often I go to confession.”

I pulled a little Bible out of my pocket and read Romans 6:14-18 to him.

“Stop with the religious stuff,” Lyle said, frantically waving his hands around his head. “Just look at the pretty lady. God’s best creation in my opinion.”

The layout Lyle had displayed showed the stunning woman in an Old West setting, leaning on a bar in a saloon. She wore a long, shiny, green dress that had one black-stockinged leg protruding from a split on the side. Her long flowing brown hair draped over both shoulders. She had the facial features of a model, which it seemed she was. But her eyes were the most beautiful I had ever seen. Their unique golden color with an almond shape just large enough to make her cute on top of striking. Why was she in a nude magazine instead of Cosmopolitan or something? Then again, I was the last person to know about such things.

“So is Willa smoking hot, or what!”

“Her name’s not Willa,” I said. “This says her name is Mia Moody.”

“Oh, man,” Lyle said, slapping his thighs, rolling his eyes, and shaking his head. “Leave it to Billy Bob Booker to not only look at the eyes, but actually read a porn mag instead of totally absorbing the pictures.”

“You said it wasn’t porn, that it’s, what’d you call it, erotica?”

“Right, right,” he replied. “But come on, you don’t think she’s blazing hot?”

“Of course she’s hot,” I replied, but then lamented. “But what a shame.”

“What’s a shame?” Lyle demanded.

“That this pristine beauty sells herself sexually.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lyle shrilled. “It’s a blessing.”

“That’s blasphemous!”

“Huh?”

“You can’t call a woman so desperate or at least greedy enough to sell sexual favors a blessing,” I scolded.

“What do I call it then?”

“Like I said, a shame. Or how about a disgrace.”

“How about fortunate?”

“Whatever. I guess it’s better than a blessing,” I compromised. “It’s still just plain wrong, though.”

I turned to the next page to discover four more photos of Willa. With each progression, she had removed more clothing. In the last one I glimpsed, she was topless. I could feel my eyebrows shoot up before I quickly closed the magazine.

“They’re natural and perfect,” Lyle said enthusiastically.

I handed the magazine back to Lyle and he frowned.

“What are you doing? There’s more,” he scolded. “It only gets better. Keep looking.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

“But there’s more,” Lyle whined. “There’s also less, if you know what I mean. You didn’t even get to the centerfold. Willa was the centerfold for April 2012. She’s wearing stockings and nothing else. To top it off, she’s demonstrating how flexible she is on top of the bar.”

“Well, good for her,” I said.

 Lyle continued to flip through the pages and put them into my vision. I proceeded to work on the skid loader, focusing hard on ignoring Lyle. I’m ashamed to admit that I was severely tempted to peek. However, it was right then and there that my plan first took shape.

“Lyle, how much does she charge?” I wanted to know.

“That’s my boy,” Lyle cooed. “A hundred bucks for a half hour.”

How long would the wedding and reception take, three or four hours? If she would even agree to it, that would mean around eight hundred dollars, give or take. It would have probably cost more than that in lawyer’s fees alone if Carly and I had been married and divorced.

“Look, I’ll tell you what,” he almost whispered. “The first one’s on me. How about it?”

I smiled. That would be a perfect opportunity to make my proposition to Willa and see if we could work out a deal. Maybe she would charge less to go on a date rather than have sex or whatever a dominatrix does.

 “Are you sure?” I asked Lyle, feeling a little guilty that I intended to use Willa’s time for negotiating a possible date rather than what Lyle intended me to use it for.

“Sure, I’m sure! That’s my Billy Bob!” Lyle exclaimed as he slapped my back. “You won’t regret it.” He was right. But it would be in the long run, and not without difficulties.