Chapter 8

“You, we have many, Shannon, we have room here for you,” Moisette declared.

“Told you,” Tommy said smugly when Paris proceeded Shannon into the trailer.

“Hmm? Oh! Oh no sir,” Paris laughed scornfully. “No, I’m not here to crawl to you, loser. I’m just here to help Shannon get out of this shitty trailer.”

“The fuck you are,” Craig thundered, getting up from the frozen TV dinner he was eating.

“Sit your ignorant ass down before I put it down,” Paris threatened.

“Finished,” Shannon said after carrying three garbage bags and her pillow out to Moisette’s Mercedes-Benz.

The first time Moisette allowed Shannon into the library so that she could play a Chopin piece for her and the baby, Paris knew that Shannon had been welcomed into Moisette’s home. Shannon leaned heavily against Paris as Moisette’s fingers danced over the keys.

“Hmm, oh! I know; how about some Brahms?” Moisette happily suggested and again, her fingers danced over the keys.

“God, you, that, I could listen to that all night,” Shannon dreamily said.

So Moisette treated them to her favorite pieces. Paris went to the kitchen and prepared a snack tray for the three women and they nibbled while Moisette entertained.

The light dusting of snow was on the ground. Moisette tried to have Paris take the car, or perhaps the four-wheel drive Jeep. Paris laughed as she strapped on her helmet and prepared to leave the home.

“Fine, fine. You slip on the ice and break your head? Do not come running to me hoping for sympathy,” Moisette snapped.

“I Promise,” Paris smirked. “I will not come running to you.”

“Or to me,” Shannon backed up Moisette’s words as she tottered into the kitchen, looking for a snack.

The skimpy baby doll nightie with matching panties allowed Shannon’s adorable belly to show. Her already quite large breasts were becoming larger. With her tousled blonde hair and sleepy smile, Shannon was gorgeous.

“Bye,” Paris laughed, slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder.

At one forty one that afternoon, as a light snow fell, the construction crew on Highway 12-B sliced through the underground water main. At two thirty, Frank sent the staff of Rio Del Sol home; they could not operate a restaurant without water.

Traffic on Highway 12-A was backed up; traffic from Highway 12-B was being diverted to 12-A while crews scrambled to fix the broken main. On her bicycle, Paris easily weaved in and out of the slow moving traffic. She laughed when one woman yelled out ‘I’m so jealous!’ as Paris pumped her legs, whipping around the woman’s SUV.

Paris stored her bicycle in the garage portion of the barn, then scampered through a heavier snow to the house. She let herself in through the kitchen and greeted Francine. The maid let Paris know Ms. Seraque and Shannon were upstairs, in Shannon’s room.

“Okay. I need to let Shannon know she doesn’t need to go in for the evening shift; the restaurant had to shut down,” Paris told the woman.

Paris climbed the steps and entered Shannon’s room.

Shannon’s room was a mirror of Moisette’s room, albeit slightly smaller. There was a large cast iron bed against the southern wall. At the eastern wall was a large stone fireplace, with two wingback chairs and small settee in front of the fireplace.

A roaring fire heated the room. Reclining on the settee was a nude Shannon. Kneeling on the floor, beautiful red head between Shannon’s splayed legs was Moisette.

“I, Moisette, I, how? How could you?” Paris sobbed out.

Moisette screamed. Shannon screamed as well. Moisette scrambled to get to her feet.

“Shannon, I, I thought we were friends,” Paris sobbed over Moisette’s protestations and lies. “I thought, I really thought we were friends. How could you do this? To me?”

“No, no, oh my dear Paris,” Moisette tried to hug Paris.

“Paris, I, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Shannon sobbed, pulling her maternity blouse on over her nakedness.

“Don’t! Don’t touch me!” Paris screamed, slapping Moisette’s beautiful face with all of her might.

Moisette staggered from the force of the blow. When she looked at Paris, Paris could see the reddened mark of her hand on Moisette’s left cheek. Resisting the urge to comfort her lover, Paris fled Shannon’s room and ran to the bedroom she and Moisette shared.

The Sunflower Apartments complex went up quickly. One day there were just fallow fields at the intersection of Highways 331 and 12-A in Mordbrand, Kansas. Then a crew with bulldozers leveled the field. Then came the massive cement trucks and semis loaded down with building materials. Before long, forty eight apartments spread over four uniform buildings were available for rent.

The apartment still had that odd chemical smell of new carpet and new paint when the manager showed Paris Apartment 102D. With a sad smile, Paris agreed to rent the one bedroom unit. The eleven weeks she’d lived with Moisette had helped Paris build up a sizable next egg. And, looking at her account on her cell phone, Paris saw what Moisette’s guilt was worth. There was a twenty five thousand dollar deposit recently added to her account.

“Bitch, really?” Paris asked, bottom lip beginning to quiver. “Do you really think you can just…”

The apartment was furnished from consignment shops in Falwell City, Oklahoma and Broken Field, Kansas. Paris promised her two brothers a fifty dollar bill each for the use of their trucks and their muscles. Her oldest brother bought her a case of Gratchley’s beer to ‘christen’ her new apartment, but he and Paris’s next oldest brother decided she really only needed one six pack and helped themselves to the other three six packs of beer.

“What. Ever,” Paris shook her head. “Thanks, butt heads.”

“Welcome, butt-breath,” her two older brothers said and left the apartment.

With part of the twenty five thousand dollars that Moisette had gifted to her, Paris had bought herself a used but well maintained Ford Ranger pickup truck. After her brothers left, Paris got into her truck and drove to the Burns & Burns Grocers grocery store in Billingsly, Kansas. She grabbed a grocery cart and slowly traversed each aisle, carefully made her choices.

“Hey!” an excited voice cried out.

“Hmm?” Paris asked, then smiled when she saw Becky Richardson.

The former waitress was wearing a Burs & Burns Grocers uniform blouse. Even though the blouse was shapeless, Becky’s soft, feminine curves were apparent.

“Hey! I, hi, how are you? How have you been?” Paris greeted the attractive blonde with a genuine hug.

On many days, when Becky either did not show up, or did show up for her shift at Rio Del Sol, obviously intoxicated, Paris had been ready to kill the blonde. But those days were in the past. Becky Richardson was still a friend. They’d been in school together, had shared the same circle of friends.

“I, yeah, I, um, after I got popped for that DUI?” Becky said, digging in her jeans’ pocket.

“DUI?” Paris gasped.

Becky pulled a pink disc from her pocket and held it out for Paris’s inspection. Paris saw ‘4 Months’ and ‘AA’ imprinted on the small circle. She looked up from the chip to Becky’s worried eyes.

“I, so, so you’re sober now?” Paris asked and smiled happily. “That, Becky, that’s great! I, I am so happy to hear that.”

“I uh, yeah, I, I’m supposed to have six months, but…” Becky offered.

“No. You have four months,” Paris said firmly. “We should never look at what we should have. We need to look at what we do have.”

“Wow,” Becky giggled. “You sound just like my sponsor, I swear!”

“Your what?” Paris asked.

Paris and Becky quickly exchanged phone numbers; Becky could see her manager glaring at her. Becky then scurried to her next task while Paris finished her shopping.

When the water main was repaired and Rio Del Sol was once again opened, Mr. Frank let everyone know that Shannon had quit. He glared at Paris as he made this announcement, but Paris held his gaze. She’d done nothing to cause Shannon to quit; she had no guilt.

The next night, after a grueling shift at the restaurant, Paris saw a layer of fresh snow on the ground. Thankfully, she could actually see her apartment complex from the parking lot of Rio Del Sol and trudged to her apartment. She stamped her feet several times outside of the building to shake off any snow. Inside the apartment, she quickly got into her shower and warmed up. Then, ice cold Gratchley’s beer in hand, Paris sent Becky a text message.

Soon, Becky responded; she was just getting home from the eight o’clock AA meeting. She and her AA Sponsor had stayed behind to clean up the meeting place.

‘Service work keeps you sober,’ Becky texted.

The two texted back and forth for the better part of two hours. Becky told Paris she would be receiving her five month chip, God willing, next Friday. Paris arranged to work the lunch shift that day and showed up for the meeting in the Billingsly’s Methodist Church’s Hall.

“I, what, what are you doing here?” Becky asked Paris.

“What? I came to see you pick up your chip,” Paris said, hugging the girl. “I mean, that’s a big deal, right?”

“Any day a drunk stays sober is a big deal,” an old, withered man smiled. “But, yeah, we’re mighty proud of our Becky here.”

“That’s Joe Passini. He, he’s kind of like the resident old-timer here,” Becky said as Joe walked to the coffee urn.

“So, when do you become an old-timer?” Paris asked and was startled when several people laughed.

“Uh, in about thirty years,” an old woman smiled. “Hi, I’m Barbara. Are you…”

“Hi, I’m Paris Williams. I’m a good friend of Becky’s,” Paris said, shaking the offered hand.

During the meeting, Paris listened in awe as the people shared. Joe Passini, who looked like a sweet old man, a loving grandfatherly type, shared about his time in prison for armed robbery and attempted murder.

“Were you drunk when you did that?” Paris gasped out, interrupting Joe’s sharing.

Joe broke into a large smile and said, “Well hell yeah. If I’d been sober, I might have gotten away with it.”

At the end of the meeting, Barbara offered the chips. The first chip she offered was the ‘Surrender’ chip. Many of the people in the meeting looked at Paris, but Becky shook her head ‘no.’

“Four months? How about six months?” Barbara said.

“Hey!” Becky cried out, already half way out of her seat.

“Oh. Did I forget one?” Barbara laughed. “How about five months? Does anyone have five months today?”

The people applauded and Paris clapped her hands happily. When Becky sat back down, Paris startled Becky by giving her a kiss, directly on her lips. Then Paris studied Becky’s five month AA chip.

“And AA Birthdays are celebrated on the last Friday of the month. Eating starts at seven, meeting starts at eight,” Barbara concluded giving out the chips.

After a few announcements, the group ended the meeting. They stood in a circle and recited the Lord’s Prayer while holding hands.

“I almost wish I was an alcoholic,” Paris confessed as she wiggled into her coat. “I mean…”

“Sweetheart, no you don’t,” Joe said gruffly. “You don’t wish you’d trashed your life and the lives of those that love you. But, you’re welcome here every Friday, hear? Friday’s are the open meetings.”

Sunday morning, Paris was awakened by an incoming text message. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and saw she had two messages from Becky. The first asked if Paris was awake. The second message asked if Paris was doing anything.

‘Awake now,’ Paris responded.

‘Waking up. Not fully awake yet,’ Paris amended a moment later. ‘Need coffee.’

‘Need donuts?’ Becky responded.

‘Yes!’ Paris responded with a smiley face.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Paris opened it and Becky came in, holding a large box from King Klover Donuts. The Mordbrand, Kansas icon had been opened in 1975 by Olaf Klavershaw, who had five hundred and twelve dollars and a simple recipe his mother’s mother had given to him. In time, the people discovered a place where hot doughnuts and good coffee could be had for a reasonable price. Every year, on April 26th, the original day King Klover Donuts had opened, every doughnut and every cup of coffee was sold at the original 1975 prices. On April 26th, the line starts at 4:00 in the morning, stretches nearly seventeen miles down to the Interstate, and does not let up until 2:00 am, April 27th.

“Are they…” Paris asked and whooped when Becky affirmed that, yes ma’am, the doughnuts were still hot.

“I mean, look; the chocolate’s just melting off them,” Becky laughed, holding one hot, gooey doughnut in her hand.

Becky wiggled out of her heavy coat and laid it on Paris’s couch. A moment later, she wiggled out of her heavy bulky sweater, revealing her lush figure in tight fitting blouse and snug jeans. Paris was still in her sleepwear of Whittle College tee shirt. She’d pulled her terry cloth robe and her fuzzy socks on when Becky had knocked at the door.

Paris and Becky sat at Paris’s small kitchen table, sipping coffee and chomping their way through seven of the eighteen count doughnut feast Becky had brought with her.

“More coffee?” Paris asked as Becky drained her cup. “The, the chocolate cherry? That, that’s my favorite doughnut.”