Coup de Ville In A Cracker Jack Box
         By Cara Swann
© 2000 by Cara Swann; all rights reserved 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Synopsis: A woman is victimized by a man who turns her into 
a prostitute. When she impulsively runs from the pimp 
at a truckstop, she takes the first ride offered and finds herself 
traveling with a bitter Vietnam Vet who has his own inner demons 
to battle. Their time together on the road leads to serious personal
insights -- but soon the pimp catches up to them. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PROLOGUE

Diamond Jim Truckers Rest was a dank, dingy truckstop on the
outskirts of Knoxville, Tennessee. Past midnight, it was
crammed with truckers and various late night stragglers.

Lola Nix hadn't dreamed Bobby Willingham would alter his
grand style by stopping but here they sat -- two weary
travelers engrossed in heated, pitched battle.

Lola whispered viciously, "I will not stay with you, and that's
final!"

"Hey babe, you gotta." Bobby shrugged his burly shoulders.
"Where you gonna go?"

"I'll...I'll..." Lola seethed in silence. After all, maybe there
wasn't a way out of this ordeal. The bastard had her down cold
-- he was sitting across from her, the wrap-around booth
breeding coziness she didn't feel. Bobby was grinning, his
fleshy jowls creased in an ugly smile. His watery brown eyes
were knowing, and flashed a disgusting superiority.

Lola shook her head of curly, tightly waved coppery red hair,
her thin, angular face set stubbornly. "I'll... I'll find some way
to get by."

"And leave a sure thing, like we got? Babe, you oughta think it
over. Hell, what's a little larcenous trade?"

"Jail time, that's what! And you've already done some...but I
damn sure ain't going to! I want to split, just split!" She gazed
defiantly at him, her full lips pinched into a tight grimace.

Bobby slicked back his thin greyish brown hair with his hand.
"You're not leaving me, babe. We cut a deal, remember? Till
the end of the line...and that ain't nowhere in sight!"

"Yeah, but the deal was raunchy. You didn't lay it out straight.
I ain't sticking, got it?" Lola pushed back her cup of scalding
hot coffee and slid across the plastic seat, ready to leave.

Bobby stuck out a meaty hand, grabbing her arm. "Just a
second...you forgetting you owe me babe?" 

Lola's sky-blue eyes turned a stormy cobalt and she said
crisply, "I owe you nothing. You lied, didn't give me the facts.
I'm splitting you hear, splitting!" And she jerked her arm
away, quickly turned toward the room of leering truckers and
marched out of the seedy truckstop.

Bobby sat staring after her; then he noticed a lanky, dark-
haired man who occupied the next booth. He was looking
daggers at Bobby, his black eyes burning with fierce intensity
and his scarred face set in a hard frown of disapproval.

Suddenly, the dark-haired man eased from his booth and limped
across the room, banging out the door.

Bobby sipped his coffee, finished the last morsel of his
doughnut and hurried to pay his tab. Outside, he dodged around
the big semis and felt truckers' eyes watching him as he made
his way to a late model silver Coupe de Ville Cadillac. Lola was
leaning against the trunk, her slender arms crossed angrily
over her less-than-buxom chest. Her slouchy jeans and halter
top were hanging on her too-thin body.

When Bobby approached, she held her hand out and announced,
"I want the keys Bobby. My suitcase is in the trunk and I need
my clothes."

Bobby walked closer, peering at her face in the neon flashes of
yellow light. She was stubbornly determined, her eyes like
stone. Again she spoke harshly, "Give me my things, and
I'll...I'll..." She looked around at the many idling semis and
truckers watching the scene. "I'll hitch a damn ride with a
trucker!"

Bobby's meaty hand shot out to slap her face; then he jerked
her arm hard. "Get in the goddamn car, you whore! I ain't
letting you go nowhere!"

Lola's scream was genuine and rose above the melange of
growling diesel engines. Doors slammed, men rounded their
monstrous machines and suddenly there were several robust
truckers circled around them.

One stepped forward, his face menacing. "Say partner, what's
the trouble here? This little lady screams and we wonder
what's up?"

Lola twisted her arm, pleading, "Let me go, Bobby. I ain't
staying with you no more."

The truckers closed in and formed a tight boundary. Bobby
eased up on his grip, saying, "Hey, this here's my woman. Ain't
no man gonna step in and take part in a family squabble."

An engine was fired to life and a squeal of tires screeched
across the asphalt. A flame-colored van came spinning closer to
the group, braked sharply and stopped. A door flew open and
out came the dark-haired man, his scowl grim. "Give the gal her
things, man. She's ready to split. I'll give her a lift."

The truckers moved in, seeming to enforce the man's offer.

Bobby saw he was outnumbered and reluctantly let Lola go. He
searched his pockets for the keys, opened the trunk and said,
"Here, get 'em. But don't think I'll forget this, you whore!"

Lola was shaking, totally infuriated. She stalked to the trunk,
rubbing her arm gingerly. "Bobby, you ain't never going to see
me again. So this is past history, you bastard!" She grabbed a
small ragged-looking suitcase and joined the dark-haired man.

"Let's go stranger." She studied the truckers gravely and said,
"Thanks fellows." She slid into the van seat, her eyes glancing
back to see Bobby jump into the Caddy and haul ass. Then she
turned an angry face to the dark-haired stranger and said
bitterly, "I shoulda knowed, there ain't no Coup de Ville in the
bottom of a Cracker Jack box!"

Then she laughed self-consciously, thinking of the line from
Meatloaf's popular song, how appropriate it was for the likes
of Bobby Willingham.

The van roared out of Diamond Jim Truckers Rest, heading
into the midnight dark of a hot, sultry July Fourth night.

CHAPTER ONE

Midnight moonlight illuminated the countryside as Lola watched
the passing scenery from her van window. Beside her, the
stranger was quieter than a spooky graveyard. She bit her
fingernail nervously, chewing it down to the quick and wincing
at the sharp pain.

Shifting down through the gears, the stranger squinted at the
narrow arched lane leading onto Interstate 40; he cursed
softly and swung onto it. Silence was sickly as the van merged
onto the long stretch of interstate, swinging in between an
oncoming diesel and small car, heading due west.

Lola squirmed in her seat, stared hard at the dark-haired man,
then cleared her throat. "Mister, I'm mighty sorry to put you
to all this trouble..."

Her voice sounded like a scaredy cat, squeaking out each word
laboriously.

The man shrugged, shifted into high gear and leaned back in his
seat. He stared straight ahead, then plucked a Lucky Strike
cigarette from his shirt pocket. In the dim glow of dashlights,
Lola could see his profile -- a set of hardened features in thin
lips, dangling cigarette and frowning squint. She turned and
studied the highway with deliberate scrutiny.

The van picked up speed and soon rocked along smoothly, miles
melting away in darkness. Still silence prevailed and Lola was
growing uneasy, her palms damp with sweat. She wiped them on
her faded jeans, made a halfhearted attempt to straighten her
halter top and blurted out, "Mister, I ain't no whore!"

The man glanced at her quickly, grunted and took the last drag
on his cigarette. He tossed the butt out his cracked window and
said gruffly, "Lady, I'm not judging. I just offered the ride..."

"But, Bobby's foul mouth...I mean, his saying I was..."

"Hey, no explanations. We're just sort of in this till the
next stop. Savvy?"

Lola downed her head, the disheveled red curls falling across
her thin face. "Sure mister. Ain't no reason to give my life
story. Just drop me off at the next stop."

"I'll drop you off in Nashville, how's that strike you?" He
glanced sideways at her, his face inscrutable in the dim light.

"Nashville? How far's that?"

"Bout a four hour drive from here."

"Fine by me," she said, her eyes focusing back on the straight
interstate ahead.

Two hours later, silence was eating on Lola's nerves and she
muttered, under her breath, "I could kill that s.o.b. He's just
like all the others, no-good lying bastard!"

When no response was forthcoming from the stranger, she
exclaimed, "Ain't you even got a name?"

"Douglas Jones."

"Well, thank you mister! Ain't you the talker!"

"Look lady, I'm not a social guy. Got my own chip to carry. So,
let's just knock off this shit, okay?"

"Sorry. Boy, you sound like a bitterweed!"

Douglas swerved the van sharply, slowing and braking to a halt
on the median shoulder. He gripped the steering wheel, his face
tight with fury. "Lady, if you know what's good for you, you'll
just shut up. Man, I..."

Slowly, his hands released their vise-grip on the wheel, and he
exhaled deeply. "Look, I..." He turned to stare at her solemnly.
"It's a hell of a world, huh?"

"Yeah, a damn lousy one, if you ask me!" She had had a stab of
fear, but the tone of his voice indicated something that touched
a similar chord in her. "One shitty deal, huh?"

"Right. Now, if you don't mind, let's just not get into any
history. Keep it simple, just strangers accidentally in the same
place for a short time."

Lola ran a hand through her tangled, curly red hair, sighed and
said, "Fer sure. No need digging up old bones."

He looked to see if the way was clear, then let off his brake
and shifted into gear, hitting the interstate again. "Lady, hope
you got all your stuff in that suitcase, cause in another hour
we'll be downtown Nashville. And that's where I'll drop you."

Heavy sarcasm laced Lola's voice, "Don't worry about me, I
can take care of myself."

"Didn't look like you were doing too good of a job, back there
with that asshole." Heavy irony from him.

Lola squared her thin shoulders and huffed indignantly.
"Mister...

"Doug."

She rolled her eyes, then said, "Doug, I was taking care of
myself before I met you and I damn sure can do it again!"

He shrugged, jerked out a cigarette, lit up and declared,
"Great! Next stop, Nashville!" His foot pressed down hard on
the accelerator, sending them speedily toward their
destination.

Lola was beginning to nod off, her head bobbing against the
seat, when a loud spewing sound ripped the silence. She felt a
jostling, warped motion, and saw Doug struggling with the
wheel. 

"What...what's wrong?"

"Damn blowout!" Doug fought the wheel, braking, and shifting
down through the gears. He eased over to the median shoulder,
gaining control of the rough ride. "Man, I knew that back tire
was thin!"

Lola was holding to the seat, her alarm showing in her outburst,
"Shit, I can't believe it!"

"No use getting bent out of shape. I've got a spare, and it
won't take long to change a flat." Doug brought the van to a
complete standstill, his final words being, "Should have
changed that back in Knoxville."

Silence again intervened, only the whizzing of an occasional
lone car interrupting the quiet.

Lola fidgeted, then said, "By the way, my name's Lola...Lola
Nix."

"Lady, I told you...no history!" Doug's words were tart and
left no room for argument. He was adamant when he ordered,
"Stay here. I don't need help."

He dismissed her with a grunt, slipped from the van and
disappeared in the dark.

CHAPTER TWO

The flat tire had taken longer to fix than anticipated; as a
result, it was dawn when Lola saw the outskirts of Nashville.
She had been dozing, escaping the fiery nature of Douglas
Johnson, mysterious road warrior and unwilling savior.

Now, seeing dim pink daylight on a vague horizon, faraway
skyscrapers and puffs of sluggish grey industrial smoke rising
into a hazy atmosphere, she coughed, yawned and made a futile
swipe through her curly red hair. She tried to smooth out her
rumpled halter and jeans, then gave up the effort, saying, "I
could damn sure use a cigarette about now."

Doug made no comment, simply jerked out a Lucky Strike,
handing it to her quickly. She took it without delay, thanking
him and leaning over to accept his light.

Lola inhaled deeply, the pale light of dawn not distinguishing
anything in particular but sooty glimpses of the big city ahead.
She squirmed with discomfort from the cramped position
overnight. Finally she said, "Say, hate to uh...bother you. But, I
gotta go, if you know what I mean?"

Doug rubbed a hand over his chin, studying the sign ahead.
"There's a reststop about a mile down the road. Can you make
it till then?"

"Yeah." Lola smoked, her eyes focused determinedly on the
highway.

Soon, the van rolled into a nicely kept reststop. It had a brick
building, modern and conveniently stocked with travel
brochures, but no personnel. Lola surveyed the freshly mown
grass, perfectly spaced trees, shrubs and other greenery, then
said, "Be right back!" 

She jumped from the van, heading down a sidewalk toward the
women's restroom.

Once inside, she hastily tossed her cigarette in the toilet,
relieved herself and then looked in the mirror. Florescent light
did little to enhance her weary demeanor -- she grimaced at
the haunted, distracted look in her blue eyes, noticing the
crow's feet and dark circles beneath, the pinched lines by her
full mouth, and haggard, drawn tightness of her thin face. At
thirty, she knew her age was showing.

Lola searched for a comb in her purse, and hurriedly tried to
make shape out of her wildly fringed red hair. It was useless
and she abandoned the effort, smudging on some pressed
powder to help camouflage her distraught face. She made one
last survey of her rumpled clothing and shrugged helplessly.
Quickly, she headed back out into the dawning morning.

It was still cool, and she shivered walking toward the parked
van. Somehow, the flame-colored van was duller in gray
daylight, and she thought it looked old, maybe a '75 or earlier
model Dodge, at least ten years old. The closer she got, the
more it reeked of age and she realized the thing had been
haphazardly fixed up.

Doug was sitting in his seat, seemingly unconcerned, staring off
toward buzzing traffic on the interstate. She crawled inside,
seeing for the first time how really tacky the van was. It
wasn't even equipped with modern features in the back; only a
thin plastic curtain separated the front from back, and she
glimpsed a lumpy mattress and some rather odd-looking boxes.

Doug said, "I been thinking. Maybe you'd like to stay here.
Could catch a ride from someone who comes in..."

Unexpectedly, Lola got a good look at Doug and it shocked her.
He was older than she'd imagined, certainly well past thirty.
His raven-dark hair framed a ruggedly oblong face with coal
black eyes, cleft chin and jagged scar along his left cheekbone.
He was taller than she'd first thought, a gaunt six-footer with
shoulders hunched as though he carried a heavy weight on him.
His faded blue shirt and denim jeans were almost as shapeless
as her own clothing. And when he turned full face to her, she
saw a recognizable weariness in his black eyes, one which she'd
just glimpsed in her own blue eyes!

Doug rubbed his chin, then fingered the scar almost
defensively. "So how about it? Want to split here?"

Lola swallowed hard, staring at the deserted reststop. "It's
kinda uh...deserted."

"I know it's not busy now, but later in the morning lots of
people will be stopping."

"Guess so. I just, you know, thought..." Lola couldn't meet his
stare and looked out the window, away from him.

"You can think it over while I go to the john."

Lola heard the door slam and then saw him round the van. She
noticed that he was limping, not badly, but nevertheless moving
with a slight drag to his steps; his left leg couldn't keep pace
with the right. And somehow, it was pitiful to Lola -- his gaunt
frame shuffling along the sidewalk, his stooped shoulders
hunched forward and his haggard face averted deliberately.
He's an odd one, she mused, but his scar gave her a chill -- she
feared he was another ex-con. Where else, but in a violent
lifestyle, would he have gotten that facial slash? And the last
thing she needed was another ex-con out to destroy her life!

When he finally returned, she said, "I've thought it over.
And...well, would you mind dropping me downtown?"

"Whatever lady." He started the van, and headed for the
interstate without another word.

Doug whipped the van expertly off the interstate and weaved
into downtown Nashville traffic. Skyscrapers were now a
reality, lining the busy streets, and Lola looked desperately
for a place to stop. She finally saw a corner from which she
thought she could hitchhike a ride fairly quick. Pointing, she
said, "Over there. I'll be able to get a ride soon...maybe."

Doug hesitated, but after a long pause, pulled over. "Sure you
can get a ride here? Looks awful sleazy." He noted the low-
class bars, seedy strip joints, x-rated movie marquee and
shuffling winos, hustlers and vagrants cluttering the rundown
street.

"What's your beef? You just want to get rid of me...and now
you have!" Lola scampered from the van, hefting her ragged
suitcase down to the street. "See you in tomorrowland! And
thanks for the lift." She forced a grin and waved him away,
turning toward the bustling street.

Lola heard the clutch let out, a screech of tires and saw the
back of the van disappearing. She watched it turn the corner,
then moved to a nearby bench, slumping down. Her mind was
vaguely aware of passersby, some staring openly, some just
ignoring her. And then, unbelievably, she saw the van come
wheeling around the block, swerve to the curb and stop with a
lurch. The passenger door swung open and she heard Doug yell,
"Get in. I'm not leaving anybody in this place!"

Lola was astounded, her mouth gaping with surprise. And,
inwardly she cringed. Why was he doing this? Was it to help
her or just a way to angle in and hang on to her? Like that s.o.b
Bobby did? Lola shook her head negatively from side to side,
yelling, "No thanks mister. I'm staying right here!"

Suddenly the motor died and Doug climbed down, rounding the
van to stand on the sidewalk. He limped over close to the
bench, his darkly ravaged face peering down at her. "Let's not
get into a fight lady. It's not safe here; only an asshole would
dump somebody here."

Lola was still amazed, but declared, "Look, I can take care of
myself, like I already told you, mister!"

"Doug, remember?"

"Well, if you don't mind my asking Doug, why the concern all
of a sudden? Ain't you just looking to dump me?"

"Lady..."

"It's Lola, remember?"

Doug grunted, scratched his chin and said, "Lola, this is not
a...suitable spot to leave you. It's..."

"Squalid and dangerous? I've seen worse, believe me."

"So, you've seen worse. But, I...wouldn't be much of a man to
leave you here." He lowered his voice, sinking down beside her
on the bench. "We're being watched..."

They saw curious winos and street people beginning to collect
in doorways, staring with hard eyes at them.

Lola nervously raked a hand through her frazzled hair. "Okay,
you win. But, I'm only going with you to the next best place for
me to catch a ride."

"Agreed. Now, come on...Lola." He took her suitcase and, amidst
the curious stares of the gathered crowd, they got back in the
van and sped away.

Driving through Nashville, it was warming up and Lola rolled
down her window. "Why the act, Doug? You and me both know
I'm just in the way!"

Doug wiped his sweaty brow, saying, "Lola, I may be lots of
things, but scum, I'm not. I wouldn't drop a dog on that
street!"

Lola was silent, thinking he sure seemed genuine in his attitude.
She recalled Bobby, and several other men of similar nature,
wondering if perhaps Doug was different.

He lit up a cigarette, lowered his window halfway and asked,
"So maybe it'd be better if I took you wherever you're
headed?"

Lola gave an ironic snort. "You've got to be kidding. Doug, I
ain't got no destination!" 

Doug's own matched irony caught her by surprise again; he
announced sarcastically, "Me either. We must be two of a kind,
wanderers!"

A long awkward pause with only the wind rushing in the
windows, then he asked, "How about some breakfast?" 

Lola jumped at the offer, "I'm starved, fer sure."

Before long, they were seated in an air conditioned cafe, off
the interstate. It was a clean, respectable establishment, and
they sat munching on toast, eggs and sipping tart orange juice
as early morning sun slanted through the plate glass window by
their table.

Lola was ravenous, and ate accordingly. Her last meal had been
in the Smokies Park with Bobby the night before, since she
couldn't eat a bite at the truckstop. 

She gulped hot coffee, cursed at her impulsiveness and then
leaned back, trying to get a handle on this Douglas Jones. He
was eating slowly, having polished off two over-easy eggs,
toast, jelly and now, a final sugared pastry. His scarred face
was unfathomable to Lola; she thought he appeared mysterious,
a bit gallant but infinitely sad. Something in his slouch, his
gaunt features and his haunted black eyes went straight to her
heart. 

She sighed loudly and exclaimed, "I'm stuffed!" Then she
leaned forward on her skinny elbows, saying confidentially,
"Just between you and me, I ain't got a cent."

Doug grinned, wiping his thin lips with a napkin. "I'm paying."

"Thanks... Doug."

He leaned back, studying her quietly. His eyes were veiled, and
he looked out the plate glass window at people going about
their business. He finally asked, "How old are you Lola?"

"Ain't that a fine thing to ask a lady!"

"You're no teenager but...I'm just curious..."

"What a woman my age is doing hooked up with a louse like
Bobby Willingham?" she finished for him. "Well, I'm thirty, as
of last May."

"Hmm, about what I guessed." He reached in his shirt pocket,
pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and offered her one, which
she took, and got one for himself, lighting up with flourish.
After inhaling deeply he said, "Been doing some thinking, Lola.
How about I give you some money for bus fare back home,
wherever that is?"

Lola was stunned and almost dropped her cigarette as she was
trying to light it with his Bic. "Hey, you're pulling my leg,
huh?" She fiddled with the lighter, finally getting her
cigarette lit and puffing away nervously.

"No, I'm not. I'm serious. You seem like a lady in distress. I
got some extra dough, and there's no strings attached. How
about it?"

Lola looked him dead in the eye. "No thanks, I don't need no
charity. Been making my way for a long time and I still can."
She got to her feet a bit unsteadily, but squared her thin
shoulders proudly. "Thanks, but no thanks." She quickly spun
on her heel, saying, "I'll get my suitcase and hitch from here.
It's as good a place as any!"

Doug watched her retreating form and shrugged, grinding out
his cigarette in an ashtray and slumping in his seat.

Outside, Lola got her suitcase from the van and went to stand
near the busy highway, her thumb sticking out for a ride. She
didn't have a long wait; a black Z-28 screeched to a halt, a
door thrust open and a voice hollered, "Jump in doll, let's
boogy!" Vibrating pop music blasted from amplified speakers.

She leaned down to see a brutish older man dressed in a
freakish tiger-striped, tight-fitting jumpsuit, motioning her
inside. She shook her head and yelled, "No thanks."

To her chagrin, he snarled, "Get in, you tramp!"

She backed away, shaking her head and saying, "Hey, you ain't
getting me in that car!"

The Z-28 leaped forward, pulling to the roadside with a
furious jolt, and halted abruptly. The door slammed and a
towering giant, outlandish in his dress, came striding toward
Lola. She turned, hoping to run, and came face-to-face with an
angry Doug.

When the man saw Doug taking Lola's arm possessively, he spat
out, "Damn whore, I didn't need you anyway!" He stalked back
to his car and squealed away down the highway.

Doug said mildly, "Let's go, huh?"

Lola followed him to the van agreeably, unable to voice her
gratitude.

CHAPTER THREE

Interstate 40 west was scenic; grazing cattle or famous
Tennessee walking horses filled rolling pastures; corn,
soybeans and other plentiful crops abounded in cultivated
fields; and long stretches of flat delta land widened into
endless vistas as Memphis loomed on the horizon.

The four hour ride was a torturous endurance. Stifling July
heat forced a wary silence between Lola and Doug as the
rushing highway speed sent airblown noise through their opened
windows.

Doug was a smooth driver and kept the van moving deftly
through noon traffic on the bypass highway system of
downtown Memphis. The van swept along with the traffic,
weaving in and out, melting into the flow.

Lola was watching the skyline intently, her eyes taking in the
familiar sight. Again skyscrapers, modern highrise buildings,
clustered apartments and every sleek aspect of the big city
disgusted her. She said flatly, "Memphis is just another version
of Nashville."

"Absolutely." Doug maneuvered into the exit lane, easing the
van onto an off ramp.

"Where we going?" Lola still couldn't bring herself to mention
the earlier mishap in Nashville.

"About time for lunch, don't you think?"

"Sure, I love to eat!" Lola grinned widely, her thin face and
scant frame mocking her very words.

Doug steered sharply to the right, hooking into the stretch of
highway leading to a roadside restaurant. It was a truckstop
built in with a complex of buildings -- stores, motels, and
novelty gift shops for tourists. He braked and pulled into a
vacant parking slot between a low-slung Camero and elegant
Buick Riviera.

Switching off the motor, he said, "Let's go get some grub."

They walked together across the small lot, taking in the few
people browsing along the sidewalk. Assorted travelers were
shuffling along, looking in the shops and stores.

Inside the restaurant, they were led to a niche in the back,
settled by a waitress and assured their order of hamburgers
would be ready shortly.

Raucous noises of people nearby mixed with kitchen sounds,
diesels idling outside and vague disordered disturbances kept
them quiet until the hamburgers arrived. 

Lola bit into hers immediately, savoring the oniony taste.

Doug ate slowly, gulping his coke from thirst. Finally,
swallowing and clearing his throat, he asked, "Lola where you
from?"

Lola wiped her mouth with a napkin. "A million dollar question,
Doug. I could turn the tables... where you from?"

Doug chuckled, took another big bite of his hamburger, chewing
thoughtfully. He grinned. "You mean my accent don't give me
away?"

"Yeah, I knew you were a Yankee. Just didn't know from what
part up north."

Doug laughed aloud, his hunched shoulders lifting in a
nonchalant shrug. "Got me lady!"

"So, what part you from?" Lola dantily lifted a french fry to
her mouth, tasting it as though it was caviar.

"And, I got to ask...Missus Scarlett of the South, what part of
the Rebel Hell you from?"

Lola sipped casually on her coke. "No fair! I asked first!"

"No, I asked you first!" Doug leaned back, folded his arms
over his chest, and looked nonplussed.

"I ain't your average southerner, 'with all that charm, and oh-
I'm-so-sweet stickiness!"

"That, I can see!"

"I mean, the south is..."

Doug continued to gaze at her raptly.

"Kinda old-fashioned and lots of folks thinks it's all honey and
sugar-sweet ladies." Lola patted her gauzy frizz of curly red
hair, batted her eyelashes and evoked a breathy whisper, "I do
declare, I just don't know what little ol me is going to do
without a man." She giggled impishly, winked coquettishly and
pouted her full lips. 

"Bullshit!" She countered suddenly in a sour voice, her face
gone flat.

Doug was enjoying her parody and had to grin at her act. "Oh,
you're an actress!"

Lola snickered with glee. "Don't I wish!"

"So, you still didn't say where..." He was interrupted by a
perky waitress presenting their tab. Frowning at the bill, he
said, "Damn, for this price you'd think we were eating steak!"

Lola picked up on his ire and thought she could detect a note of
failing finances. She lowered her blue eyes to the floor, pushed
back her coke and said, "I'm sorry I can't pay. Bobby left me
broke, the bastard."

Doug shifted uncomfortably. "I can pay it, don't worry. It's
just that I won't be lasting long if..."

Lola jumped in, "Hey, I could get a job here, waitressing. I saw
a sign in the window."

Doug stared at her wordlessly, his jaw clenched.

"I done waitressing all my life, just about. And it pays enough
to get me by till I decide where I'm going or what I'm going to
do."

Doug said haltingly, "If that's what you want to do."

"Want to do? Since when does anyone do what they want to?
Ain't no job exactly thrilling!" Lola ate her last french fry,
pushed back from the table and said, "Girl's gotta take care of
herself."

"Like you was doing when I met you?"

Lola jumped up, scraping back her chair. "Hey, let's not get
into history!"

Doug got slowly to his feet, touched her shoulder and said,
"Sorry." He slid her chair under the table and nudged her
toward the counter. As he paid for their meal, the cute
waitress winked at him and kidded, "You two going to see
Graceland?"

"Oh yeah, the Elvis Presley Mansion is here," Lola said,
unaware of Doug's scowl.

"Lots of married couples come here on their honeymoon and
then go on over to see Mud Island too," the waitress rattled
on, ending with, "Have fun, you two!"

Doug's scowl deepened as they walked out of the restaurant
and across the small lot to the van. Once seated inside he said
cuttingly, "She thought we were..."

"Married!" Lola giggled again in spite of Doug's grim scowl.

He started the motor, gunned the engine, shot across the lot
and out onto the highway. He swung back onto the interstate
connection, slowing to merge with oncoming traffic.

Lola was noticing all the multi-colored billboards with tourist
attractions, and said, "I almost forgot Elvis came from
Memphis."

"And that Mark Twain made the Mississippi River famous,"
Doug added.

Lola turned to stare at his profile, seeing his self-conscious
fingering of the gashed scar. "Yeah, Mark Twain and the
Mississippi."

Rushing wind from open windows prevented further talk, and
they settled down to the rocking, swaying motion of travel. The
van had no air conditioner, and was getting hotter inside,
making their distress visible.

Lola wiped sweat from her forehead and upper lip, leaning into
the gusty wind from the open window. Doug too was angling for
air, his arm propped up on the open window frame.

Lola shouted, "Hey, I coulda got a job back there, you know!"

"Did I say you couldn't?" Doug volleyed back.

"Well...I...just don't want you to think I can't pay my way!"
Lola tried in vain to restrain her flying mass of curly red hair.

"Forget that dump. I've got some cash, enough...for now,
anyway." Doug's voice had bellowed out, and soon they would
be trying to outdo the roaring wind blast from increasing
speed.

He pressed on the gas, propelling them along the crowded
highway through Memphis. Twisting and turning, the van
weaving and mingling with cars, they followed the curving loop
that meandered alongside the Mississippi river. They watched
with silent fascination as muddy miles of river bottom lay out
in front of them.

When Memphis and the Mississippi river were out of sight,
Doug hollered, "Gonna search out a place to spend the
night...for campers."

Lola rolled her blue eyes, but couldn't protest his saving
money. And she did feel in need of a good night's rest...but not
in his bed!

*  *  *  *

Mauve twilight hovered over the wooded campgrounds; Doug
had taken his time in finding a quiet spot just off Interstate
55 in the edge of Mississippi. RUSTIC SPRINGS was anything
but modern; it bordered a small lake, and was set back in a
clustered alcove of towering maples, pines and massive oaks.

Lola surveyed the empty campsites, theirs being the only one
occupied. Earlier in the afternoon when they arrived, several
tents, pickup campers and modern equipped motor homes were
scattered about; but now, near dusk, they'd all packed up and
split.

Doug was gone; he went out to the lake, then farther into the
piney woods in search of twigs and dried wood for a fire. Lola
sat on a battered wooden picnic table, her feet planted in pine
straw. She sniffed appreciatively of the fresh, cooler night
air; at least the heat had abated.

Her thoughts were topsy-turvy, running on a retread of the
past, her dubious future and shaky present. Doug was an
enigma but she felt a bitter edge to him that perhaps covered
an inner core of terrible hurt. What was really eating at him,
she had no idea.

She didn't know how safe it was to travel in his company, but
for now, there was no clear choice. Besides, she reasoned, he
was straight...or gave a good act of being honest. And right
now, that was enough for her, especially after the past ordeal!

Looking up, she saw a glimpse of Doug's tall, gaunt frame
ambling through the woods and heard his voice yell, "Make way
for a fire!"

Doug came into plain view, his shoulders hunched forward, his
arms loaded down with wood. She jumped up, hurrying to help
him. At his side, she took some wood, helping him pile it on a
rock enclosure a few feet from the van.

"Thanks," he wheezed, his face drawn with exhaustion.

"Wow, where'd you find that load?"

"Woods are full of wood..." His tone was sarcastic, but not
unkind.

"Oh, ain't I the nut? Of course, woods..." She burst out
laughing at the play on words.

He joined her, his deep chuckle rumbling throughout the vacant
campgrounds. "Let's eat a bite first..."

"Hey, you never let me get hungry!" Lola trotted along behind
him, noting his slouch and slumping shoulders as they headed to
the battered picnic table where their supplies were covered
with a plastic cloth.

"Good thing I bought this stuff at that campground store
before they closed." Doug began unpacking canned goods, loaf
bread and reached to the nearby ice chest, pulling out two cold
cokes. "Sandwiches can go a long ways."

"Cheap too," Lola chimed in, grinning.

They prepared a quick meal of Vienna sausage sandwiches, sat
down at the table and ate in companionable silence. When
finished, they cleared away the mess and Doug got an old
tattered blanket from a box in the van.

He spread it on the ground, near the pile of wood and they sat
down. He handed Lola a pack of cigarettes, matches and then
produced a flashlight. The growing darkness was now almost
complete, and he struck a match to the wood, sending swirls of
smoke upward before a bright spark leaped alive.

Soon the crackle and hiss, the scented brush burning and the
night quiet engulfed them with peacefulness and solitary
thoughts.

Mesmerized, Lola sat smoking her cigarette and watching the
flames lick the darkness. She mumbled, "Ain't it...uh, nice
here?"

"Sure is. Real peaceful." Doug shifted around, finally lying
back on the blanket, his arms tucked underneath his head. He
stared at a gap of starry sky between leafy oaks and maples
overhead.

"God, it's pretty here." Lola sighed, her tension relieved by
Doug's relaxed mood. She suddenly giggled, "I sure could use a
bath, Doug."

Doug raised up on one elbow, eyeing her thin shadowed face,
firelight dancing through her coppery-red curled hair. He
grunted. "You know there's not a bath house here. Rustic, they
sure meant!"

Lola giggled, tossed her head back and looked up to see a full
luminous moon riding the black night sky. She sprang to her
feet, stretching her arms overhead languidly. "I'm going for a
swim...nothing like moonlight to give me a wild idea!" And with
that remark, she sprinted toward the sparkling, moon-drenched
lake.

Splashing sounds, giggles and wild yelps resounded through the
night; Doug remained on the blanket, watching the fire,
listening...wondering silently.

When Lola returned, her hair wet but her spirit refreshed, she
sprawled beside Doug, laughing. Then she turned starkly
serious. "Doug, I ain't sleeping in there." She hitched a thumb
toward the open van doors.

Doug sighed, then sat up, rubbing his chin. "And just where else
is there to sleep?"

"Right here...on this blanket, under the stars!" Lola was drying
her frazzled hair with a thick scarf she'd gotten from her
suitcase.

"Have it your way. I could sleep out here and you could have
the van, lady."

"No thanks. I...well, I just don't want you getting any funny
ideas...about us...or me."

"Believe me, I'm the last nan who'd make a move on you."

Lola snapped to attention, looked at his hard-eyed stare into
the dying firelight and saw anguish deeper than she'd
anticipated. Still, she shrugged and finished drying her hair.

He stood, snuffed out the fire and clicked on the flashlight.
"Got some stuff in the van you could use for cover, might get
cold later."

Lola got to her feet and followed him to the van, again noting
his weary demeanor and slight limp.

He raked the flashlight over boxes, lumpy mattress and stacks
of odds and ends cluttering the van floor. Lola made a dive for
one box, seeing cloth on top.

Doug was rummaging through another box, oblivious to her
prowling, when she gasped, "Oh, an old army jacket. Just what
I need, can I borrow it?"

With a swift, deliberate move, Doug yanked the army jacket
from her, buried it in another box and said angrily, "Don't be
going into my stuff! I'll get you something!" He continued to
hunt until he produced a blanket, pillow and thick sweater.

Lola was bewildered by his behavior. She stood motionless,
watching in amazement. Finally she murmured, "Sorry. But why
couldn't I use the army jacket?"

"Look, will you lay off me already? We got enough trouble
without that."

"What? What's with the army..."

"Damn stinking army! Drive a man insane, then just say forget
it, like it never happened. Teach you to kill, then just say hang
it up, put it on hold... abandon you to the wickedness, evil,
filthy memories... just..."

Lola was trembling in the heat of his fiery outrage. His face
had twisted with rage -- vicious, violent rage that went deeper
than she could fathom. She stepped back involuntarily, seeing
his fury and uncontrollable anger.

"Damn lousy assholes, send a man into jungles of death...rotten,
smelly, stinking death...see your buddies killed, eat up with
worms, moldering in the stench of..." He stopped, clamped his
mouth tightly, rubbing his scar with one hand and struggling to
regain control of himself. He paced around, his limp causing him
to curse loudly and look up beseechingly at the dark night sky.
"Why Lord, why?" He threw his arms down, letting them dangle
pitifully limp at his sides, defeated and dejected.

Lola wanted to do something, say something, but couldn't. She
was struck dumb with his wrathful frenzy, his seething
resentment for a past she had no way of dealing with.

He hung his head and said slowly, "I...please forget this...if you
can. Let's get some sleep now."

Lola said softly, "Sure. Goodnight." She went to get the
blanket, pillow and thick sweater. Quietly, she settled on the
outspread blanket, covered herself and then saw Doug climb
into the van, closing the doors after him.

Later, in the deep midnight hours, she saw Doug leave the van,
walk down to the lake and smoke a cigarette. When he
returned, she thought she heard him coughing, as though to
extinguish traces of a choked up throat full of unshed tears.

*  *  *  *

Daylight broke on the eastern skyline, coloring the lake with
pink ripples of golden sunrise. Lola watched from her blanket,
shivering underneath the inadequate cover. It had been a long
sleepless night; she now knew what she wanted to do.

In the early morning chill, Doug came from the van, contrite
and haggard. He went to the ice chest, got out milk and fixed
bowls of cereal for them both, inviting her to join him. They
ate in uneasy silence.

When finished, Doug looked off at the glittering surface of the
lake, brilliantly glinting sunshine now. "So, any suggestions?"

"I think you better take me to a bus station."

"Sure, no need to explain. Let's get our shit together and we'll
head back into Memphis."

At the Memphis bus station, Doug bought Lola a ticket for
Atlanta, Georgia. She wouldn't confirm that was her home, but
hinted she was from the state of Georgia.

It was blistering hot noon when she mounted steps to the
hulking Greyhound. She went down the narrow aisle, scooted
past a middle-aged man and sat down by the window.

Outside on the sidewalk, Doug was waiting and watching. He
looked sorrowful, his eyes cast down. Then he looked up to see
Lola wave from the bus, and lifted his hand in a farewell
gesture.

Lola felt a lump rising painfully in her throat, and swallowed
hard. She looked at her clean jeans and cotton blouse, swiping
at her frizzed hair distractedly. Suddenly, the man beside her
laid a clammy hand on her arm. "Little lady, this is going to be
one more great bus trip." He winked lewdly at her, his fleshy
jowls, brown eyes and bald head reminding her of Bobby
Willingham.

She looked back out on the street at Doug's defeated stance --
his veiled black eyes, slumped shoulders and gaunt frame
somehow safely familiar. Again, she felt the man lay his hand
suggestively on her leg.

"Yeah, a fine trip ahead," he growled.

She sprang to her feet, slapping the bewildered man hard, and
raced down the aisle, shouting to the driver, "Wait, wait! I
gotta get off the bus!"

And then, miraculously, she was on the street, running toward
Doug...catching him just as he opened the van door.

"Wait," she gasped, out of breath, "I...I..."

Doug turned an astonished face to her and she was at a loss for
words, their eyes trapped by the moment of naked
vulnerability.

Doug tried covering the awkward moment by bluffing, "You!
What are you doing here?"

"I...I...there was a screwball on the bus and I... just..."

Doug grumbled, "Damn, thought you could take care of
yourself?"

"I can, but this dude...he was..." Lola turned away, her voice
brisk, "Never mind, I'll get the next bus."

Doug took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him,
looking in her eyes. "I've got some problems, Lola...but if you
want to go a little farther down the line, I'll take you. I'm not
dangerous....if that's what you've been worried about."

Lola shrugged, her eyes lowering. "I'll return my ticket, get
the money back."

"Good. Come on, let's go."

After cashing in the ticket, they headed out of Memphis, down
into the state of Mississippi.

End Chapter Three

CHAPTER FOUR

After a satisfying, but jiffy-quick lunch of hot dogs at a fast
food place just over the Mississippi line, the van gobbled up
miles of flat delta land down Interstate 55 south. Cotton
fields were bountiful, and painted a picture of unending past
drudgery; Lola could almost visualize the stooped blacks toiling
for their livelihood. In fact, it looked as grueling as the
Georgia cotton fields, with which she was familiar.

Hours rolled by in monotonous interstate travel, only broken
by Doug's change of tape cassettes. He had told of his
fondness for country blues, in particular the music of the late
Patsy Cline. Lola had commented that shit-kicking music was the
order of the day in her hometown. But, that was the extent of
her confiding; she wasn't about to elaborate, in spite of Doug's
prying.

When the heat had become almost unbearable in early
afternoon, Lola again heard the spewing sound and saw Doug
twisting the wheel feverishly to remain in control. In due
course, they were stranded on the median shoulder, with a tire
flatter than a pancake.

Doug cursed, "Damn I forgot all about that tire! Should have
gotten the good one fixed back in Memphis, cause this old
spare just didn't hold up!"

Lola leaned out the window, her face beaded with sweat. "Ain't
no way to fix it?"

"Nope! We're stranded, stuck out here in this boiling hot sun!"
He jerked a cigarette from his shirt pocket, grimacing.

Lola gave a long loud groan, and slammed out of the van.
"What'll we do?"

Doug studied the whizzing traffic, and saw most travelers
were completely oblivious to their plight. "Don't look good,
that's for sure."

Lola nibbled a fingernail nervously. Then daringly said, "I
could hitch...ain't usually passed up."

"No, I can see where a gal could slow traffic and...get herself
killed." He took a long drag on his cigarette, smoke curling
from his nostrils.

"Mind if I have one of those," Lola asked, indicating his
cigarette. "Already finished mine off."

The sun beat down, merciless on their backs. Lola took the
offered cigarette, lit up and pushed back her frizzed red hair.
She looked up and down the busy interstate, desperately
wishing someone, anyone would recognize their helpless
situation.

And surprisingly, a battered old '65 Ford began to slow,
easing off behind the van. Both Lola and Doug couldn't believe
their luck, at once waving and starting toward the car.

When closer, Lola saw a weary middle-aged couple with several
kids cramped in the backseat. The man, a rotund fellow with
scraggly black hair, leaned out the window, shouting, "You
folks need help?"

Doug was first to announce, "Yes sir! Got a flat, and no spare."

The man pushed open the car door, unfolded his bulk and got
out with a huff. He wheezed and wiped his sweat-glossed face.
"We can't do much, but might take ya'll on down to the next
service station."

Doug was again enthusiastic. "That would be great, wouldn't it
Lola?"

Lola smiled, a flash of white teeth brightening her thin face.
"Yeah, mighty fine."

They walked to the car, and the woman inside (a tired-looking
soul with weak eyes) said, "Kids, make room for these folks."

An uproarious noise followed, but the kids did as told and soon
they were all rumbling down the stretch of interstate.

Lola was positioned in the backseat between a small girl with
white-blond hair and a cotton-topped little boy of about ten.
Doug was by the door, since the teenage boy had gotten up
front with his parents.

Lola's blue eyes were drawn hypnotically to the cute little girl,
her face so angelic and perfect, her smile so shy and tentative.
Lola wanted to hold her, tell her how adorable she was; but her
heart told her not to. It brought back too many memories;
memories she was trying to forget.

Suddenly the weary woman said, "Our name's Peterson, I'm
Emily and this is my husband, Walt. Up here is our oldest,
Hank...and back there with you folks is Lora and Eddie. We's
from way back in the sticks, little spot called Ever Springs,
Mississippi."

Lola was unable to disguise her sudden identification with the
people and said, "Sounds about like Willow, Georgia, where I'm
from. Just a speck in the road."

Walt guffawed and agreed. "Ain't it the truth! Our place is a
ways off the road, just a peaceful little nip and tuck kinda
farm."

Lola saw Doug eyeing her keenly, but continued, "I lived there
most of my life; ya'll are about like most folks I knowed. And
these are the cutest kids I ever seen!"

At that remark, the little girl piped up, "You got awful pretty
hair..." Her chubby hand reached out to shyly touch Lola's
curls.

Lola laughed, "Honey, these curls are the worst mess ever!
Wish my hair was long and blond like yours, you're a doll!" And
Lola's arms reached greedily for Lora, circling her and hugging
gently. The child felt so tenderly soft, so loving, responding
cautiously to her touch. Lola thought she would cry, and indeed
tears stung her eyes.

Luckily, they were approaching an off-ramp where a yellow
sign was suspended in the sky with GULF printed on it. Soon,
they were pulling into the service station, but Doug had noticed
the tears; he silently watched Lola, wondering.

Then, they were all out in the hot sunshine, the family was
saying goodbye and Lola was waving sadly at the disappearing
'65 Ford.

*  *  *  *

It took almost two hours to get back on the road; they'd had a
wrecker pull the van in, then get the flat fixed, mending the
spare for good measure too; and finally, around five o'clock,
set out south again on Interstate 55.

Doug inquired, "Any idea where we're heading, Lola?"

"None at all, Doug!"

"Me either, couple weirdos, out to set the road on fire, I
guess."

Lola didn't respond; her pale blue eyes were staring at a
lowering tangerine sun. Rushing wind prevented further
conversation; they seemed to have a silent partnership in
traveling to unknown parts.

By sunset, when red-burnished gold swept over the landscape,
they were nearing Jackson, Mississippi. Doug had not failed to
notice Lola's somber mood since their brief encounter with the
Peterson's kids. He bypassed Jackson, taking an alternate two-
lane blacktop through flattened fields, occasional piney woods
and rolling pastures.

Immediately after the turn off from the interstate, Lola
asked, "Where we going?"

"Nowhere in particular, just got tired of that damn interstate.
And besides, it'll soon be dark...need another campground.
Saves the bucks!"

Lola swiped a hand through her curly hair, sighing. "Wish I
could help pay...ain't right for you to foot the bill."

"Forget it. If I run low, I'll pick up an odd job or two. Been
doing that for several years now...traveling light, hanging loose,
not tied to anything, or anyone." His last words were spoken in
a loud voice, to overcome the rushing wind.

Their speed increased, and Lola was forced to remain quiet.
But her thoughts were leaping wildly: Why was Doug on the
road, was it the army thing? She froze at thoughts of his
violent temper the night before. Something was festering
inside him. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Doug's shout, "Look! A good
place to eat, way out here in the boondocks!"

Her eyes followed his pointing finger to a billboard
advertising homecooked meals at the CABIN HAVEN, five
miles up the road.

"Might be high priced," Lola suggested warily.

"So what? We need a good meal, no more of that fast food
junk, or sandwiches tonight. I want some filling stuff for this
empty belly!"

It seemed only moments till Doug was turning off on a narrow
paved road, following arrows that directed him toward the
restaurant.

Tall pines lined the highway through a narrow valley; it was
growing darker, the blue hue of twilight making it necessary
for Doug to flick on his headlights. Suddenly, his yelp
resounded through the van. "It looks great! My mouth is
already watering."

Lola saw their headlights rake over a log building with
mammoth evergreens shrouded around it. The place had a cozy
look, with hurricane lamps lighting each squared window.

Doug pulled into a graveled parking lot that only had three
other cars. Apparently, they'd hit it at low ebb.

He switched off the ignition and turned to survey the place. It
was now almost dark, but he could see the long-leaf pines, and a
wooden pier leading out into a shiny black lake. He said, "Real
homey look, and I hope, real good eating here."

"Are you sure you can...afford..."

"Hey, let's not get into a hassle. I'm starving, and you're
sitting here jawing!" He slipped from the van, and
unexpectedly, came around to open the door for Lola.

Walking across the parking lot, Lola felt tense; she stopped,
causing Doug to halt.

"What about these rags I've got on?" Her hands nervously
plucked at the loose cotton blouse and slouchy jeans.

Doug stiffened, giving his old checked shirt and time-worn
khaki pants the once-over. "If these won't stop me, surely
you're game!"

Lola had to smile; she walked on beside Doug, holding her
shoulders squared with pride. She was beginning to think Doug
was the only truly decent man she'd ever known...or was it all
put-on?

Inside, the rustic atmosphere was complimented with open
beamed ceilings, varnished log walls, and bench-like tables of
polished oak.

They were led to a quiet corner where a small flickering candle
sat on their table. It seemed oddly deserted, but the waiter
explained this Saturday night was reserved for a banquet,
which wasn't arriving until well after nine o'clock. As it was
barely seven, they could be served.

The food had to be prepared and they were left to themselves.
Face to face with no distractions, they were uncomfortable and
tried light banter for a while, but finally gave it up.

At last Doug said softly, "You love kids, don't you?"

The words touched Lola's heart and, to her dismay, she felt
tears prick her eyes.

Doug saw the tears and asked, "What's wrong Lola? I...I'm a
good listener."

It came spilling out, rapidly and without censor. "I...my little
girl, she was killed in a car wreck... I...oh god, I'm sorry. Ain't
right for me to...burden you with that tragedy."

Doug touched her hand. "Please, I...want to know."

Lola jerked her hand away as if burned by fire. "It was all
because of that damn lousy bastard too. He killed her...and
part of me too in that car. The s.o.b. was so drunk, he didn't
even know what he was doing. I told him not to take her. But
like always he slapped me around and took her anyway." Her
tears flowed unchecked, and her shoulders shook with silent
sobs. "I still...miss her," she whispered brokenly.

Doug sat back, stunned and tombstone quiet with compassion.

Lola finally stiffened and gasped, "Sorry. But he...was...just
like all the rest...no-good losers! Out to..."

The waiter was padding across the carpeted room laden with a
tray of delicious-smelling food. Lola sniffled, wiped her face
and sat straight, said quietly, "I don't want to talk about it
anymore."

Doug nodded, mutely understanding and yet not quite able to
grasp Lola's inner anguish. But he felt a kinship with her in his
heart: anguish of loss, death and suffering was their unspoken
bond as they ate in mellow candlelight.

Later, Doug located a primitive campground for low rates and
they settled down for the second night in the moonlit piney
woods.

Lola consented to sleep in the van, but insisted on a separate
corner. She dared not invite his advances; but Doug was not
contemplating seduction.

When Doug began to feel drowsiness overtaking him, he allowed
a glimpse of the past and knew he was still afraid of
commitment, love and a relationship with another woman when
he'd already hurt one so severely.

Never again, he vowed, as they bedded down with a wide
distance between them....

End Chapter Four

CHAPTER FIVE

The next morning on awakening, Lola felt prickly with the heat.
She wiped sweat droplets from her thin face, grimacing.
Across the mattress -- half off and half on, his long legs
sprawled over the van floor -- Doug was snoring lightly.

Lola crept up, parted the plastic curtain, and peeked out the
van windshield. It was a sunshiny day, too warm to be early
morning. Absently, she gazed at the digital clock on the
dashboard; it was after ten o'clock!

Alarmed, she suddenly yelped, "Gosh, it's almost noon!"
Clapping a hand over her mouth, she regretted her outburst for
Doug was groaning as he awoke slowly. He yawned groggily,
raking a hand through his dark tousled hair. Then his coal black
eyes focused sharply on Lola.

She apologized, "Oh, I'm sorry. Ain't I stupid, hollering out
like that!"

Doug was now rubbing sleep from his eyes, one hand self-
consciously touching the  carved scar alongside his left
cheekbone, still yawning widely and trying to stifle himself.
"What time is it, anyway?"

"After ten, I can't believe we slept this late." Lola had moved
back to her corner of the mattress, clutching her flimsy red t-
shirt and feeling self-conscious under Doug's alert gaze.

"I guess we were beat from all the traveling." Doug flung open
the back van doors, and direct light of day was acutely painful.
He cursed, "Damn, it's already hot!" and shielded his eyes,
scanning the empty campgrounds and cloudless sky. "Looks like
we still got it all to ourselves."

Lola had opened the doors, scooted off the edge and swung her
legs down onto the ground. She hopped out, saying, "Yeah, ain't
another soul here."

They both walked slowly over to a trash can near a cluster of
pines. Lola asked, "Reckon there's any restrooms?"

"Yes, I saw them when we came in." Doug pointed a bony hand
toward the narrow path winding through spindly pines. "It's
right up that little hill, think they got showers too."

"Wow, just what I need." Lola quickly went to get her suitcase
and set out for the bath house.

When she returned, looking refreshed in clean, but faded beige
chambray pants and matching blouse, she saw Doug had also
taken advantage of the showers. He was wearing tan khaki
pants and a short-sleeved pullover.


"What now?"

"I feel like some chow...breakfast or lunch, but not here. Let's
get moving, lady!" There was a soft glow in his black eyes, but
he quickly veiled it. He stood up in a rush.

Lola watched him lower his eyes to study the ground
religiously, then shrug and turn toward the van. "Let's go," he
announced promptly.

She followed him, aware of the limp and his hunched shoulders.
It seemed even sadder, the longer she was with him -- this man
she couldn't fathom; this man she didn't understand, but who
had a hardened facade that perhaps hid an inner wound.

After a fast brunch in a restaurant outside Jackson,
Mississippi, they hit Interstate 55. The silent miles slid by,
southern Mississippi slipping away with the rushing wind,
soundlessly shared, both engaged in thought.

Past Brookhaven, there were cattle and dairy farms lending
charm to the countryside. Then, this gave way to thicker stands
of pines, almost exclusively used for sawmilling and paper mills.

Presently, signs indicated McComb was nearby; then, the van
slipped past the Louisiana state line. Lola saw the huge marker
and shouted, "I...don't want to go any closer to New Orleans!"

Doug was puzzled at her words, and slowed the van, pulling
over to the median shoulder. He braked to a halt, turning to
her with questioning eyes. "Why?"

"I...just...don't!" Lola was biting a ragged-edged fingernail,
wincing at the pain she was inflicting in her nervousness.

"Suppose you tell me why? Otherwise, I was heading down to
glitter city...lots to see there."

"Not New Orleans, please." Lola's face was puckered into a
sour look. "I ain't got no use for that city!"

Doug plucked out a cigarette, offered her one, which she took
eagerly, and lit his own, staring off at the whistling traffic.
"Lady, I had my head set on New Orleans."

Lola inhaled deeply on her cigarette, blew out a plume of smoke
and squinted in the sunlight, her blue eyes obscured. "I ain't
going. Let me out, I'll hitch."

"Not that old song again? Thought you'd learned your lesson
back there in..."

"Hey, I'll damn well do as I please, got that?" She took
another deep drag on the cigarette, tossed it out her window
and started to lean toward the back, intending to get her
suitcase.

Doug put a hand on her arm gently. "Don't. We'll skip glitter
city." He started the van, easing back into the flow of traffic
expertly, picking up speed.

Miles once again spun away; Doug took an alternate highway
off the beaten path, heading east along the Mississippi line
until he connected with a major thoroughfare.

Hours melted one into the other; Lola smoked, watched the
picturesque scenery and silently wondered about Doug. He was
behaving in a manner she'd never known in a man --  obedient
to her wishes!

By four o'clock, they were on the coast of Mississippi and
enjoying the lovely oceanside grandeur. Stringy gray moss
swayed from cypress trees, the two-lane blacktop winding
alongside sandy beaches; bordering vegetation was tangled in
profusions of exotic flowering shrubs, trees and fringed palms.
It was glorious, fresh and intoxicating with breathtaking
tropical scenery and sweet-scented air.

Doug was quick to see Lola's fascination and asked, "How about
spending the night somewhere around Biloxi?"

"Great! It's...really pretty, ain't it?" Lola was unable to tear
her eyes away from the hard-packed beaches, rolling dark-blue
ocean waves and crowds of tourists sunning themselves lazily.

Doug maneuvered through quaint-featured Biloxi, watching for
signs to a campground near the beaches. And he found it --
soon they were pulling into a modern, well-equipped
campground only minutes from the main drag of Biloxi's
seashore.

OCEANSIDE QUARTERS had a lot of tourists, and they had
a hard time finding a place to park. Finally, Lola spotted an
empty sector, and they grabbed it quick.

It was almost sunset by the time they had settled down, gotten
their groceries from a camp store and eaten a fast-prepared
meal of grilled hamburgers.

As the last dying ember of bronzed light set in the west,
sending a spray of slivered gold down through cumbersome oaks
surrounding them, Doug asked softly, "Want to go for a walk
on the beach...catch the late breeze, cool off some?"

Lola couldn't resist squealing, "Yeah, you bet! Been a long, long
time since I was on a beach!"

Moments later they had walked the half mile to a snowy-white
Biloxi beach where deep-blue ocean waves came leaping
recklessly into shore; where a few older couples and teens still
lingered; and where they both felt the awesome power and
magnificence of time's immortal calling in the ocean's mighty
roar.

They stopped before embarking on the beach, both rolling up
their pants legs, giggling like youngsters. Caught up in the
excitement of the ocean breezes, the bubbly sensation of
freedom and total relaxation, they ran delightedly onto the
warm sand.

Lola ran ahead of Doug, calling, "Bet you can't catch me!" And
then she realized her thoughtlessness. Of course, with his limp,
he couldn't catch her! She practically bit her tongue with
regret, and turned back toward him, saying, "Sorry, I didn't
mean..."

But suddenly, Doug was moving faster than she'd imagined he
could; his limp almost forgotten, he rushed headlong at her,
grabbing her as they fell clumsily down into the sand..
.breathless and giddy with laughter.

He breathed, "What were you saying lady?"

Lola wrestled with him, finding him surprisingly stronger than
she'd thought. She squirmed, her skinny frame wriggling to get
free. At last, she untangled herself and leaped to her feet. "I
said, you can't catch me!" And she was off, running with wild
abandon along the ocean shoreline, her feet dancing in the
bubbly foam and her curly red hair flying in a frenzy behind
her.

But Doug was not to be outdone. He raced after her, shouting,
"I'll get you and when I do, look out!"

She looked behind her to see him coming faster and faster and
then, accidentally, she tripped and fell awkwardly onto the
beach, face down, sputtering and spitting out sand...cursing,
"Damn, damn...damn!"

Doug's lanky arms reached down to help her up, and his
breathing was ragged, his voice gruff as he pronounced
victoriously, "Got you Lola!"

It was a moment of utter madness, and uninhibited passion;
they were in each other's arms, feeling a mutual attraction that
engulfed them feverishly as the ocean roared, hissed and
fizzed beside them. Oblivious to others, they embraced,
tasting tentatively wet lips and hungry desire. Time was
nonexistent; they were lost to one another's feel, touch, taste
and then, a crashing wave came tumbling ashore, washing over
their feet and causing reality to explode in a sudden paroxysm
of fear at their actions.

Lola sputtered, "I...we.. oh God...no!"

Doug too was aghast. "I...never meant it to happen..." he
managed to say, amid the deafening blast of ocean waves.

And then Lola was running, running away from what she saw,
what she had felt...and Doug too, was disgusted with himself,
dragging his limping leg behind, remorsefully sitting down on a
sandy slope of beach, staring off at the darkening ocean floor,
now only a shadow of night, a hollow echo of his feelings.

*  *  *  *

Lola ran to camp, began gathering her things together and
packing her suitcase frantically. She was crying, and wiping
the tears angrily away. "Damn this to hell -- not this, not
falling for another no-good, low-down man...and one she'd only
known for four days! Why, my God, she thought with perfect
clarity, we met last Wednesday and this is only Sunday!
Sunday, for christsakes!

She was angry with herself, angry that she felt this wrenching
attraction...and the first tug of heartache. No, she wouldn't
allow this to happen! Not after the losers and users, the one's
who'd done her wrong! A man was the last thing she needed!

Lola packed her things, heaving and sighing with frustration,
futilely hoping to get control of her volatile emotions. She
finally had her suitcase stuffed and closed; it was jammed in
one hand as she headed out of the campgrounds in a swift,
determined stride.

She was walking fast, her head down, her worries preoccupying
her, when she ran smack into Doug. Before she could make a
move to run, he had her in an iron grip by the shoulders. "Don't
run. Please don't run. We at least owe each other a good
talk...don't we?"

Lola looked up into his stricken face and knew he felt her
reluctance. He pressed his hands into her pliable flesh.
"Please." It was a pleading sound and rendered her defenseless.

As they walked back toward the van, Lola was aware of curious
onlookers -- tourist-type campers. They stared in a gawking
manner, causing her to flinch; but Doug felt her discomfort and
slipped an arm protectively over her thin shoulders.

The night was oppressive, damp and moist ocean air blending
warmth and wetness into humid steam. Lola thought it almost
seemed to be a hazy glow hovering over the campsites, lanterns
flickering throughout the grounds.

Once back at the van, they sat down on a cement picnic table.
Lola sniffled a few times, struggling for self-control. Her feet
nervously dragged in the sandy ground.

Doug whispered huskily, "Lola, I'd..." He cleared his throat and
began again, "I'd like to know more about you, about your
life...if you care to tell me."

"And if I don't?"

"Then, I won't press. I..." His voice was husky and throaty,
almost a ragged edge of need. "I want to know."

"Okay, I ain't got lots to tell but, Doug, I think I..." She
looked at his sad black eyes shadowed by the dim Coleman
lantern flicker. "You seem different than any man I ever
knowed, so..."

His hand reached for hers and they touched gently, holding
hands loosely. "Why don't you start with New Orleans, why
you didn't want to go there?"

Lola's head lowered with anguish. Her curly red hair made a
halo in the lantern glow. "I...they...that is, my Ma and
sister...they were...are... Oh shit, I ain't telling it right. What I
mean is, Ma was..a...hooker there years ago and my youngest
sister Josie is there now, a stripper on Bourbon Street."

Doug was calmly staring at her, never blinking an eye. "And
you were afraid of seeing your sister there?"

"Yeah, guess so. Oh shit, I ain't being judgemental. But, I...well,
I'm afraid for her...it's a rough life there."

"Sure is."

Lola raised her blue eyes to gaze steadily into Doug's
compassionate face. "You ain't...uh...shocked?"

"No. You aren't their keepers." Doug tightened his hand,
slightly pressing on her soft flesh. "Lola, you seem very
sensitive...very...vulnerable."

"Don't say that! I ain't a sweet innocent girl! I've been
around, and then some!" She jerked her hand away, moving back
from him in a flash of anger.

"But, don't you see Lola...to me you are pure, innocent,
sensitive."

"I ain't...I'm...I've been...used, abused by men. God, how
they've hurt me!"

"Don't be bitter. I know that feeling of being used...of being
sick of the world. But, don't blame it on men. It's more of a
human problem, and a big one that covers all mankind."

"You sound...well, like you've figured out the world, sort of?"

"I don't claim to have any secret knowledge, but yes, I've got
some insight, but it didn't come without pain...and a period of
bitterness, some that is still with me."

Lola downed her head, then looked back up into Doug's sad
eyes. Had that rage inside him cooled; was he capable of
deeper self-knowledge? And that sad look in his eyes...was it
his sorrow for the world she saw there?

Doug sighed deeply. "Lola, we...are...attracted to each other.
But, it doesn't have to go any farther. I won't pressure you."

Lola was silent, her head still lowered in thought.

"I want you, I do. But I made a vow, a long time ago, not
to...hurt a woman....ever. And I won't hurt you Lola...I won't."
He stood suddenly, looked at her once again, then said gruffly,
"God help me, I care about you Lola Nix...and I don't even
know you." He let his arms hang limply at his sides, the defeat,
the dejection showing.

And suddenly Lola didn't care about the past, about the
future...only here and now mattered as she moved slowly to put
her arms around him, pressing herself to his body, murmuring,
"I want you too. And...I...care about you, Doug."

They felt an irresistible craving take control -- more than
sexual wanting, more than lustful desire, it was the need to be
cared for, a need born of wasted pasts, wounds that bled
aching need...and they fought no longer, simply went willingly
toward the open van doors.

*  *  * *

The next morning when Doug awoke, he reached for Lola...but
his arms met the empty mattress. He sat up and rubbed his
eyes, adjusting to the dim light. It was pale gray dawn, only
enough light to discern that Lola was gone.

He pulled the blanket over his naked body, crawling to the
front, seeing already what he feared -- Lola's suitcase was
missing. She had obviously slipped away during the peaceful
interlude after their lovemaking, while he slept soundly.
Quickly, he dressed.

Doug was shattered; he was feeling a powerful awakening to
something he'd been missing far too long now. As he climbed
into the driver's seat, he knew he had to find Lola. He suddenly
realized she was perhaps the only woman who would, or could,
understand about his past; his long lonesome search for
someone to hear about his ravaged, savaged nightmarish hell in
the jungles of Vietnam.

End Chapter Five

CHAPTER SIX

Doug floored the gas pedal, wheeling sharply out of the
campgrounds where no one was yet awake. He cursed as the
tires squealed; then slowed to drive along the narrow paved
road to an exit.

Soon, he was out on the main highway, sailing toward Beach
Boulevard which fronted the ocean shore. He swung east onto
the four lane, his dark eyes taking in the dawn-drenched ocean
that was restless with foaming tides. He drove onward,
occasionally passing the few vehicles out and about, his eyes
sometimes drawn to the historic antebellum mansions on his
left. It was all beautiful, but he seemed unaware of the classic,
timeless grace in his surroundings.

And then, he gasped with happiness. Up ahead, he saw a
familiar figure on the highway. The closer he got, the more he
brightened. Lola was standing on the median, her skinny frame
positioned to catch a ride, one thumb hitched in a pants pocket,
her other thumb stuck out prominently.

Doug slapped the steering wheel, hooted with glee and began
slowing, easing off the highway to a complete stop only a
breath away from Lola's scowling face.

Doug climbed from the van, hollering, "What made you run?"

Lola continued to frown, her face puckered up sourly. Her
suitcase was on the ground and she grabbed it, starting to walk
away.

Doug yelled, "Wait up. Hey...you owe me an..."

She turned and glared at him. "I owe you nothing! That's what
they all say...damn you! I don't owe no man nothing!"

Doug was now closer, and he dropped his head, saying, "Sorry,
didn't mean to sound so...possessive. I just...after last night..."

Lola rolled her eyes to the clear sky above. "I ain't... There's
nothing to explain." She looked to the ground, out at the
whizzing traffic, and then amended, "I mean, I...I'm... Shit, I
don't even know you. It was just stupid, stupid is all."

Doug suddenly advanced to her side, gripping her thin
shoulders. "Stupid...did you say stupid? I can't believe it!
After what we shared last night..."

Lola raked a hand through her windswept hair. "I...it was...just
one of those things. We got carried away and..."

"Listen to me dammit, I care about you. Do you hear what I'm
saying? I care, don't that mean anything to you?" Doug
released her shoulders, dumbfounded.

"It does, but...how do I know you really mean that?"

Doug swiped his bony hand over the jagged scar on his
cheekbone. "Look, this isn't the place to talk. Can't we go on
down the road, get some breakfast, have time to discuss..."

"What? That we..." Lola couldn't meet his penetrating stare
and sighed. "Okay, but only for a talk. I am kinda hungry."

Wordlessly, they got in the van and headed along the coastline,
deep in thoughts about their feelings.

Lola gazed avidly at the cumbersome oaks, gracious mansions
and landscaped yards of camellia japonicas, poinsettias, crape
myrtles and azaleas. Boxwood hedges obscured planter-type
houses, giving only brief glimpses of white-walled verandas
raised high off the ground with broad galleries and wide open
halls to catch cool ocean breezes.

Doug whipped in at a roadside cafe, his eyes staring at the
nearby wooden pier where yachts, sailboats and fishing sloops
were anchored. It was visually stunning in its colorful appeal.

They still remained pensively silent, entering the morning cool
of the cafe which looked inviting. A curved oaken bar,
complete with a row of tall stools and small wooden tables
clustered in a narrow alcove with wicker chairs and ceiling
fans made the place hospitable.

After being seated, a young girl came from the back to take
their orders. They both had coffee first, then acted on the
house speciality: waffles, maple syrup and sausage links.

When Lola could no longer endure the unhealthy silence, she
said, "Okay, I shouldn't have split like that...but, I..."

"You're scared, like me...huh?"

She met Doug's warmth with a small smile.

"Yeah, guess so. Ain't that awful?"

"No, it's understandable. We've only been together... what,
five days?"

"Four," Lola corrected flatly.

"Okay, four. This is our fifth though...Monday. And we've
learned something during this time together, haven't we?"

Lola finished off the last of her coffee. "Maybe. But, I still
don't really know you...your past, your hometown, nothing like
that."

"I...think I can talk to you Lola, maybe more than I've ever
talked about my past."

Lola gazed at him and saw the sadness had returned to his
black eyes. She murmured, "I'd like that, I really would."

"And if I do, will you talk to me Lola, about your past, your
hometown, your...child?"

An awkward silence stretched long and troublesome; the sounds
of crashing waves, buzzing traffic and mingled conversation
from other customers intervened. Finally Lola said, "Yeah, I
will talk to you. But...we need time. It's too soon, we need more
time."

Doug leaned forward, his face serious. "Any suggestions?"

"I...want to get a job. Ain't hard to do, with my experience.
Any place here on the oceanfront would hire me. I saw lots of
signs in cafes...they need help with all these tourists."

"Waitressing, you mean?"

"It's damn respectable, so don't look at me like that!"

"I didn't mean to look any way. You take offense easy, sounds
like a good idea to me. And, tell you what, I'll find some kind
of odd job, to tide us over too, while we're here."

Lola's face broke into a smile. "It's a deal!"

Doug motioned for the young waitress, and she brought their
order of waffles, asking, "Everything fine, sir ?"

"Just perfect."

Lola piped up quickly, "Say, I was just wondering, about that
sign you got in the window for help..."

*  *  *  *

Things shaped up smoothly; by Tuesday afternoon Doug had
secured a job with an old fisherman, ferrying tourists back and
forth to Ship Island off the coast. Chester Benchina used his
authentic fishing sloop as an attraction for those tourist who
wished to visit the scenic island; and the rates were split
60/40, giving Doug a decent salary for his daily task. Only it
wasn't a task to Doug -- he enjoyed being a guide, proudly
traversing the twelve miles of ocean with the crusty Chester,
and giving tours of the tiny island.

Luckily, on Monday after Lola went immediately to work at
Pete's Pierside Cafe, Doug had located a cheap bungalow north
of Howard Avenue. Close to the dark green bay, it was a
renter sector, somewhat dingy with timeworn cottages of
steep-roofs and brick or stucco siding. But the lovely street of
crushed oyster shells, moss-draped oaks and contrasted
sunlight and shade was irresistible. The bungalow Doug rented
was of stucco and aged to a deep russet with a low picket
fence set back in ever-present shadows of huge oaks. The
interior was well-kept but about twenty years behind modern
times. Still, Lola had adored it on sight.

Since it was furnished, they took up residence on Monday
night. Lola was beat from her first day of waitressing, and
apologizing for her aching feet, zonked out in her bedroom.

Doug, although not as tired, went to his bedroom thinking how
separate rooms were a good idea, for now.

Tuesday they'd went cheerfully to their respective jobs,
hoping to have a good talk after work.

But that night Doug was enthusiastic about his new position on
Chester's fishing sloop and told at length of his tours. When
the evening ended, they still had not openly shared their pasts.

The following days came and went accordingly; there never
seemed time to just sit and dredge the past. Both were hesitant
and reluctant to touch, or even mention their one night of
passion. They kept a wary distance, politely discussing daily
trivia as though it was the most important concern in the world,
careful not to let their feelings intrude.

But then Saturday arrived -- and they were both free of their
jobs. It dawned a gray rainy day, trapping them inside the
bungalow.

Lola came from her bedroom griping about the dreary weather;
she'd wanted to begin a tan.

Doug was already in the kitchenette, cooking his favorite: a
cheese omelet for them both. The delicious scent of green
pepper, onion and melted cheese wafted to Lola and she
exclaimed, "What's that smell...makes me hungry!"

Doug hitched up his loose jeans, yelling, "Come and get it!
Omelets for what ails you."

Lola clutched at her new housecoat, the pink color giving a
healthy glow to her cheeks. She wet her lips self-consciously,
wishing she'd put on makeup or at least done something with
her frizzed red hair. "Gee, to what do I owe the favor?"

"Just come and eat, that's all I ask." Doug held out a badly
warped metal chair to the formica-top dinette table. "I am one
fine cook, lady."

"We'll see," she kidded, slipping into the chair. With an
elaborate flourish, she took her first bite of the hot omelet.
"Hmm, it is good!"

Doug sat down and they ate in companionable silence, both
savoring the tasty meal.

When finished, Doug hastily stood and began clearing the
dishes away, saying, "Lola, since it's raining...maybe now's the
time for that talk?"

"Maybe so...but I need a shower first." She couldn't meet his
frank stare, and went to the doorway. "Be back shortly," she
called over her shoulder, disappearing into the bathroom.

Doug washed the dishes as he stood peering out a small oval
window above the sink. Downpouring rain was ceaseless.
Gigantic oaks obscured most of the street, but what he could
see was flooded, especially deep trenched gutters.

Doug heard Lola's shower stop; he went to sit on the shabby
living room couch. Making himself comfortable, he listened as
Lola walked to her bedroom; then later, she emerged from the
hallway. He saw she was all fixed up, wearing her only good
outfit -- a recently purchased cream-colored crepe de chine
dress that clung seductively to her thin, winsome figure. Her
usually plain face was brighter, the pale blue eyes fringed with
black mascara, accentuating her lashes and pale complexion.
She had even brushed her unruly red hair into a fine gauze of
gossamer that framed her face in a flattering orb. Shyly, she
sat down in an armchair adjacent to the couch. 

Doug lit up a cigarette, pulling an ashtray across the battered
coffee table. "So...you look very nice."

"Thanks." Lola fidgeted with her silky dress, fingering the lace
trim nervously.

The silence was broken only by another torrent of pounding
rain on the roof. Diffused light from the window lent an
intimate mood to the room, however meagerly furnished.

Finally Doug stood and began pacing around the small area, his
hand stroking the scar, his face grim. "Lola...I've never been
able to talk about what I'm fixing to tell you. I...I've thought
it over for the last few days, and well, I hope you're going to
understand."

He bent to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray, then continued
haltingly, "I...don't know why, but for some reason, I think you
will understand." 

Lola nodded. "It's the army thing...Vietnam, right?"

"Kinda hard to hide, huh? Especially after that... that blast of
rage?"

"Doug, I'll listen, I'll try to...understand. I know the Vietnam
war was rough on... Well, lots of folks. But if you were actually
over there..."

Doug's voice was bitter, "I was, believe me, I was. Ah Lola, the
things I saw. The cruelty, the killing, the senseless acts
of...war."

"Tell me Doug..." Lola whispered, moving to him quietly, urging
him to the couch, where they sat down side by side.

And he did. He began by telling her of his roots...that he came
from Racine, Wisconsin where he grew up in a lower-middle-
class home, the child of parents who both worked in blue-collar
plant jobs. His father, and grandfather had been veterans of
both WWII and WWI, so he was naturally indoctrinated into
the philosophy of serving one's country. And when he
graduated from high school -- an honor student -- instead of
college, for which there was no funds, he enlisted in the Army.
At the age of eighteen, he was innocent and eager to become a
real man, which he'd always thought active duty would make
him.

Little did he know that what was touted to be character-
building experiences would become, instead, his unraveling;
that his time in the Army as a paratrooper would make him, not
a man, but an embittered, enraged, wasted shell of what he
once dreamed he'd become.

Those years...two in the Army (eleven months in Vietnam) were
his undoing. He saw too much killing, suffering and worst of all,
man's inhumanity to man...the lowest level to which a man could
fall in those circumstances. And, when he returned to his
waiting, girlish sweetheart...there were scars inside himself
that wouldn't, couldn't heal overnight. Unbelievably, the Army
had expected him to re-enter society without even a breather
or orientation -- just take up where he left off...and that, more
than anything, was what blew his mind!

He told Lola of coming home, a wounded veteran, trying to pick
up the shattered pieces of his life. "It was impossible! I mean,
I'd seen too much, done too much...it just wasn't the same," he
explained with distress.

Lola looked deeply into his sad eyes. "What happened...how'd
you get the...uh, limp and scar?"

"Lola, it was hell in the Nam. A cliche, I know, but hell anyway.
I was on a jump, a real hardass case at night, and well, after I
jumped from the helicopter and did the free fall, finally
pulling the ripcord and gliding down, down..."  

He hesitated and then grunted. "I got stuck in a damn tree,
about thirty feet from the ground. The only way down was to
crash, cut the chute and hit the ground point-blank. Which I
did, and I hit hard...too hard. Couldn't move. Lay there all night
in that stinking jungle, fire fights all around -- shooting,
bombing...scary noises coming close, me thinking a gook -- Viet
Cong -- would trip over my crumpled body any damn second!
Whew, was I glad to see our infantry troop the next morning!
A medic patched me up...but, I was short anyway, just had a
couple months to do, so they sent me to a medivac for
treatment and surgery -- all the cartilage and bone was torn
from my knee. From there, I was shipped stateside, did a month
in a VA hospital, then back to Racine."

Lola reached to touch his facial scar tenderly. "And this?"

"Fire fight...shrapnel...fourth month I was there."

"I'm sorry," Lola murmured, her eyes downcast.

"Don't...don't pity me and don't hide your eyes." Doug tipped
up her chin. "Look at me...please."

Lola lifted her eyes, staring calmly into his. "I...don't know
what to say."

"Don't say anything, just listen. Lola, I saw some ugly things.
Things I've never told anyone, but need to talk about. Do you
know that lots of GI's...they had a habit of chopping off dead
gooks ears and wearing them on a string around their necks for
souvenirs?"

Lola's eyes never wavered, she simply touched his hand softly,
urging him on with her somber quiet.

"And, that...well, I saw this little guy, a little Vietnamese boy
in a village..." He stopped, grimaced, then said huskily, "I
always called him Honcho...we were sort of pals. I'd go into the
village, a neutral zone, and he'd be waiting outside the bar to
shine my shoes. I always paid him extra fine and we kidded
around..."

He swallowed hard, his eyes glazing with macabre memory.
"One day, I went into the village... saw him across the street,
waved...and watched him go on in the bar, ahead of me. I was
crossing the street when the explosion blasted me to the
ground! The little tyke was rigged with a bomb...killed four
GI's in that bar!"

Lola felt tears prick her eyes, and she hung her head. "Oh
Doug...that must have been..."

"Sickening! Just like the whole worthless war! The worst...ah, I
don't know if there was a worst thing." He paused in hideous
reflection. "It was gruesome though," he continued
compulsively. "Once I was in a bar and some GI's came in
wearing a string of ears. I was sitting alone at a table, sort of
brooding. Anyway, there was a Vietnamese whore there... she'd
been propositioning all the guys, me included. But we weren't
having any of that...cause lots of times whores were rigged
too...had slithers of glass up inside them, or carried satchel
bombs that they'd plant on a GI. Anyway, this dude came in
bragging about how many gooks he'd killed...all smug and proud.
The whore approached him...and he just went nuts. Pushed her
against the wall, shouting that he was going to kill her...maybe
screw her first, then kill her. I, well...I just couldn't stand by
and do nothing. So, I went and fought this dude, knocked him
out cold." 

He paused again, rubbing his forehead with agitation. "The
next day, the very next goddamn day, the dude was killed in
action!" He shook his head, doggedly resuming, "Now what in
hell was I suppose to do? Stand up for that woman, or let the
dude have his way? I mean, the GI was killed...and I felt almost
like I'd done it! Always a moral question at every turn... enough
to drive a man crazy!"

Lola was now paralyzed by Doug's experiences and unable to
speak.

He continued, like a flood that matched the rains outside,
furious and unchecked. "Once this GI became my friend...his
name was Willy Jenkins and we met at the enlisted men's club.
He was one helluva poker player...sort of wiry and short, but a
good solider. That is, until he went beserk. The way it
happened, I'll never forget. I'd made a chute jump, joined the
infantry troop, and we was going into a fire fight...orders to
take a Viet Cong village. The whole bunch of GI's was wiped
out...the whole damn infantry troop! I saw each one...shot, or
blasted to death with mortar...everyone but Willy and me.
Afterwards well, Willy, he just snapped. In the burnt-out
village, there were hardly any gooks left alive, but he found
this one woman huddling in a hut, sort of hid. I will never
forget the way his eyes looked so wild and fevered, savage like
a rabid animal. He raped that woman and killed her...and I, so
help me, I watched it and never made a move to stop him!"

Lola shuddered and he hung his head, shaken by total recall.
"Willy...he...looked at me then, after he'd killed her and...he
turned his gun on himself. He just done it so quick-like, before
I could stop him."

"Oh lord..." Lola muttered, powerless to conceal her revulsion.

"But the thing that really showed me how useless, how really
pointless the war was..." His words were stumbling over one
another, his face tightened with fatigued memories. "It was
when I was in the fire fight where I got my shrapnel wound in
the face. I could understand a little Vietnamese by then, and...
after the shooting, after the blasting sounds and fireworks, it
got real quiet. I was laying there face down and bleeding into
that jungle mush...anyway, I heard the jumbled up voices of
some gooks nearby... probably wounded from the battle. This
one, he calls out real loud, just plain scared and hurting bad, he
calls out for his Mama-san...and I knew...right at that minute, I
knew that war was waste...for everyone, both sides, regardless
of the cause or reason...war was just senseless, meaningless..."
He seemed to wind down like a big wind suddenly loosing
momentum, his shoulders sagging back against the couch, his
face relaxing, his eyes closing.

Lola was almost ashamed of her past worries, the sense that her
life had been bad, when his war trauma had been so
devastating. She stroked his scarred cheekbone, and her voice
was a melody of soothing refrain to him, "Doug, I can't ever
make it go away, the pain and all, and I ain't pretending I can.
But I'll always listen, always."

Doug stood and pulled her into his arms, saying simply, "That's
all I need, someone to listen, not judge, just listen...and care."
He kissed her lips softly, then led her to his bedroom.

Upon the creaky bed, they moved in unison to the pounding
rhythm of rain tapping on the rooftop, their feelings flowing as
they entwined and Doug began to lose some of the painful
torture of his anguished past.

Later that rainy Saturday afternoon, Doug told Lola about his
marriage to Marie. He and Marie were teen sweethearts; she
was the cute blond, outgoing cheerleader; he was the handsome
football captain.

They'd been an item, voted most likely to succeed. And, she'd
written him during his time in Vietnam, waiting for his release
so they could marry. When he returned, bitter and
handicapped, she still insisted she loved him. They married six
weeks after he returned.

The first year was hard; they got a furnished apartment, she
got a job as a secretary, supporting them both. He did odd
jobs, couldn't find a well-paying job because of his limp...and
he wasn't really able to search for a good position. He brooded
lots, lost in ghoulish memories, having sleepless nights of
remorse, guilt, horror reruns in his dreams.

On their first anniversary, they went to a popular movie -- a
realistic Vietnam war flick. And something came over him in
that dark theater...the sounds, the sensations of war were so
real, he just flipped out. Actually got down on hands and knees,
crawled out of the theater...fearing for his life!

Of course, Marie urged him to get psychological help. And that
furthered his alienation and rage...he lost complete control and
slapped her across the room one night in a vicious argument. To
him, it was the final humiliation. Then, to compound his
problems, he began having vivid flashbacks which hit him
unexpectedly, anywhere and everywhere.

At the breaking point, he divorced Marie, left Racine and
began traveling around the country in his van, vowing never to
let anyone get emotionally close to him. Perversely, three years
ago, his flashbacks had stopped as suddenly as they'd begun.
At thirty-six, he was now completely free of them.

Lola listened as they lay tangled together in the big bed, her
heart sad, but hopeful. She knew it was now time to tell him of
the past she'd endured.

But before she could muster her courage and plunge in, there
was a loud knocking on the front door. She figured it was one
of the girls she worked with, maybe wanting her to fill in at
the cafe.

Lola told Doug to stay in bed and padded to the door as she
slipped on her jeans and blouse hastily.

Opening the front door, she gasped, her eyes widening in alarm.
There stood Bobby Willingham...his fleshy jowls split in an ugly
grin of triumph.

End Chapter Six

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lola stared at Bobby in shock, her face gone white with fear.
She stepped outside, closing the door behind her. "How...how'd
you find me?"

"Babe, I told you I wouldn't forget." Bobby kept grinning his
sarcastic, arrogant grin, rubbing his bald head and pointing to
his Cadillac. "Let's go babe, you owe me."

Lola stepped across the porch, fearing Doug would overhear.
Rain soaked the yard, trees, and still streaked from a gray
sky.

Bobby stubbed a fat finger in her face. "Get your ass in gear,
we're headin on outa here NOW!"

Lola felt like she was strangling: her voice was tinny and
strained, "Bobby, hey...can't we just call it even and...can't you
let me go?"

"Look, we had a deal. If you ain't got the balls to tell your
latest lay, I will. Where's the sucker?" He jabbed his thumb
toward the door. "In there?"

Lola was quick to reply, "Please, don't...don't tell him about..."

Bobby grinned with satisfaction. "Tell you what Lola, go tell
the poor fucker to kiss off, and I'll wait in the Caddy. If you
ain't out here in...five minutes, I'll come in and give him the
lowdown on you."

Lola bit her lips anxiously, her eyes riveted to the door.
"Okay, be back in a jiffy. Just give me a few minutes with
him." She looked at Bobby's conceited face, wishing she could
scratch his eyes out...but he had her this time. No way would
she allow this pig to kill Doug's recently won confidence.

Bobby shrugged, grinned again and headed off the porch,
shielding his expensive suit with an umbrella as he made for the
Cadillac.

Lola slipped back inside, went to the bedroom and stood
looking at Doug's relaxed face. His eyes were closed, but
flickered open when she entered. He raised up on one elbow,
smiling at her. "Who was that at the door?"

"Uh, it's Cindy...from the cafe. She wants me to fill in tonight,
seems Jenny called in sick. She's waiting, gonna take me down
to the cafe." Lola went to get a jacket, bent to kiss Doug and
said, "Hope you don't mind, but we could use the cash."

"No, it's fine by me. Want me to come pick you up later?"

"Yeah, about midnight."

Doug smiled, his ebony eyes suffused with a warm glow. "Lola,
thanks...for listening, and understanding. I feel like a new man,
just getting that shit off my chest."

"No thanks needed, I...care Doug." Lola felt her face
reddening, but stammered, "Never forget, I do care. You just
need to talk, openly. Someone will always listen."

"I know, but not like you did." Doug winked, and said in a
teasing tone, "Next it's your turn...and I want to know it all,
Lola." Then he grew serious, "I mean, I do want to understand
your life..."

Lola interrupted, "Please, let's just...wait till I got time." She
couldn't bring her eyes to meet his, but turned toward the
doorway hastily. "See you later, alligator!"

And she was gone, rapidly moving through the house, out the
door and off the porch to slip into Bobby's Coup de Ville.

He chided, "Aw babe, what'd you lay on the fucker?"

"None of your goddamn business. You've got me, so let's go,
NOW!"

Bobby shrugged, lit a cigar and started the car, backing
swiftly out the driveway onto the road. "Whatever you say,
babe. There'll be plenty of time for talk later."

*  *  *  *

Lola lost track of time; it seemed they'd been driving forever.
Day had descended into night; miles had spun away without
direction in her mind. All she could think of was Doug's
disappointment when he showed up at the cafe to find she'd
never been there at all.

Bobby forced her to eat once, just outside Mobile. He'd
naturally stopped at an elite restaurant, his taste expensive as
usual. But she'd only picked at the food, making Bobby angry.

Later, he'd snarled, "Got to get some meat on those bones,
babe. Ain't no man gonna pay for a lay like you are now."

Lola's disgust was rising in her throat when she retorted,
"Yeah, maybe I ain't gonna make you any money!"

"Damn straight you're gonna make money...just need some grub,
that's all."

"Bobby, hey...you lied to me. Why didn't you just tell me what
you expected from the first?"

"Shit, you wouldn't of come along, that's why!" He chewed on
his cigar. "I knew you's a sure shot, first time I laid eyes on
you at the prison, when you come to visit. But now you need to
get some meat on those bones."

Lola said, "My Granny could always fatten me up."

Surprisingly Bobby asked, "So you got a hankering to go
there?"

Lola was amazed, her mouth falling open with shock. "Ain't you
the gentleman!" she snarled bitterly.

"Hey babe, I may be a slave driver...but it's for us both.
We're a team and..."

"Some team, you..." She made a rude sign with her finger, a
sour look on her thin face.

"Now babe, I...hell, I want you to look good. Besides, I got
enough dough to last while you recuperate. Hell, you look like a
dried up prune..."

"Shut up, just shut up! I ain't no young chick, you know! You
don't give a damn about where we go, as long as I can put on
some weight." Lola felt tears welling up in her eyes and wiped
them away savagely. She didn't like Bobby seeing her
vulnerable, but couldn't skip a chance to return to her home.
"I...I'd like to see my Granny, back in Willows, Georgia."

Bobby nodded, his smug grin triumphant. "You got it babe.
We'll head straight for there. I never met your old granny, not
even when I picked you up there after I bailed out of the
joint."

"I...I'd like to see her. Been awhile now..." Lola muttered,
relieved to think of a trip home, however fleeting.

"Sure thing. Just don't plan on staying in that hick town long.
Hell, they roll up the streets after dark! And don't get no
ideas about splitting, or I'll tell your ol Granny all about
her little grandbaby, and what all you been doing."

Lola had thought she might escape Bobby, but with his 
words came a feeling of being doomed. She'd never get
away from him, and felt resignation set in.

Bobby headed for Willows, Georgia. The drive was long,
tiresome and they were both exhausted when Bobby left the
interstate and drove into Willows.

Nothing had changed, Lola was glad to see. The same wide main
street, with nostalgic shops, stores and businesses lining the
sidewalk. Late at night now, no one was out on the streets. They
cruised down mainstreet then swung onto 1st Street, going two
blocks and pulling into a graveled drive, Bobby hitting the horn
once. The small white frame house was dwarfed by several
blossoming magnolia trees.

Lola sighed with satisfaction. "Home."

The porch light came on, the screen door banged open and a
robust grey-haired lady stood on the porch. She peered
anxiously toward them, pulling her chenille housecoat close.

Lola jumped from the car, waving as she hurried across the
yard. Climbing the steps, she gushed, "Oh Granny...I missed
you!" They were instantly hugging, her Granny asking, "Lola
baby, how you been? Looks like you're doing fine, in that big
car."

By now Bobby stood nearby, grinning arrogantly. "Been taking
real good care of the little babe, grandma."

Lola gave him a hateful look, then hugged her Granny again.
"Mind if we stay a couple days? I'm wore out, wanted to rest
some and see how things here are going?"

"Shore baby. Ya'll come on in, we'll make room."

They went into the small frame home, chattering about local
gossip and recent family happenings.

Bobby lingered on the porch, smoking his cigar and studying
the quiet tree-lined street. Funny to realize Lola had come
from this peaceful place, he thought, wondering how he'd ever
lucked into such a fine piece of ass.

*  *  *  *

Lola spent a relaxing, enjoyable week in Willows with her
grandmother. Days passed languidly; Lola discussed all her
family, catching up on their doings. Her sister Carly lived
nearby, had two small children and a hardworking husband;
they all seemed happy. Lola visited once, wild to see her two
young nieces.

Lola's mother, Rosy, still worked at Hank's Handy Truckstop,
and she put off her visit there until the last day. She told
Bobby that Saturday morning, "I got to see Ma...alone."

"Sure," he growled, "I'll stay here till you get back. But make
it snappy. And don't get no ideas about splitting, or I'll
tell your Granny all about you. We'll pack up and leave 
tonight. Thought we might check out some business down 
in Daytona." He grinned suggestively.

Lola slipped into some jeans, brushed her hair into a gauzy
halo, and kissed her granny before jumping into the Coup de
Ville. She sped down 1st Street, glancing fondly at the
sweeping oaks shading her passage; then swinging onto
mainstreet, her eyes noting each and every familiar place:
Rexall Drug Store, Pic and Pay Shoe Store, and Anderson's
Clothing. It made her recall childhood days spent window
shopping, and she smiled.

Then she was out on highway 20, a two-lane blacktop that
stretched five miles to the interstate junction. The Georgia
farmland and roadsides were flanked by familiar sights: peanut
fields, cattle pastures and crumbling barns.

Then she was at the truckstop, whipping in the wide paved
drive, circling to stop in front of the looming sign. Diesels were
gassing up, their motors idling; truckers were sauntering
around, their sleepy eyes drooping.

Lola could smell the greasy spoon even before she pushed open
the glass door, but once inside, it all came rushing back. Her
Ma had worked here for years...too many years!

A loud, brash laugh came from the hidden kitchen, and Lola
knew her Ma, Rosy Nix, was at work. She went to the counter,
leaned over and yelled, "Hey Ma, got company!"

There was an absence of noise; everything in the hectic kitchen
had suddenly stopped. Then her busty, redheaded Ma came
bounding through the wide doorway, yelling, "Landsakes, I
don't believe it! My little girl! Lordy, where you been? I..."

Lola snapped, "Don't lay that trip on me. You couldn't care less
where I been! I just stayed a week with Granny Lucinda."

Rosy propped her hands on her more-than-ample hips. "Might
of knowed you'd go there, always did choose her over me."

"Oh Ma, let's not fight. I just came to say hello before I leave
town again."

Rosy came around the counter, placed an arm over her shoulder
and guided her to an empty booth. "Let's talk honey. You just
got here, surely you ain't leaving so soon?"

They sat down and were deep in conversation when Lola felt an
iron grip on her shoulder. She looked up into the face of Doug
Jones, his tight smile frozen in pain. His voice was a quiet hurt.
"Why Lola? I thought...you...cared?"

Lola was stunned, seeing him out of the blue and not expecting
him ever to be in eyesight again. Her hand flew to cover her
gaping mouth and she stammered, "Doug...my God!
Doug...I...never thought..."

He said softly, "And I trusted you, thought you cared, thought
we had something."

Rosy intervened, "What's this all about?"

Lola's blue eyes hardened. "You stay out of this! You're partly
to blame...with your sorry ways...and your..."

Doug pulled Lola to her feet, saying harshly, "Stop it, just stop
it. She's not to blame, no one is. But it's damn sure time you
told me the truth about yourself...about us...about just what's
been going on..."

Lola knew it was time; she had to face the music, but strangely,
she was relieved he'd cared enough to track her down.

Yet, she was trembling visibly: what was to be done about
Bobby's brutality? Could she avoid a violent confrontation...or
dare tell Doug about the sordid mess she was entangled in?



CHAPTER EIGHT

"How'd you find me," Lola asked, as Doug firmly guided her out
of the truckstop and to his van parked in back.

"It wasn't hard...you once mentioned your home town was
Willows. I just came here, asked around and located your
mother. Then I waited. Figured you'd show up sooner or later."
Doug opened the door for her, saying, "We never had that talk,
you know."

"So we didn't," Lola agreed, slipping into the seat, her eyes
taking in the cluttered van; she thought Doug must have been
living out of it for the past week.

Doug climbed inside, jerked out a cigarette, offered her one,
which she took, and lit up. He inhaled deeply, staring out at the
parade of diesels. "Lola, why'd you cut out on me?"

Lola was growing uncomfortable; she feared Bobby would be
getting curious if she didn't return soon. "I...there...was a
reason. A pretty big one too."

"What? What made you leave like that, just when I' I'd
confided about..."

"Oh Doug, it ain't got nothing to do with what you told me.
I...there was...someone at the door. I had to go."

"Who? I thought it was the gal from Pete's Cafe?" Doug's
black eyes pierced her soul and she felt a knot tightening up in
her throat.

Moments passed in awkward silence; then Lola blurted out,
"I...can't stay and talk. I...he may get suspicious and come
looking for me! I..."

"Who, dammit? What's got you so scared and shaky?"

Lola rolled her eyes, clamped her full lips into a straight line,
then groaned. "Oh lord, he's going to kill us!"

"Who..?" Doug was at the end of his patience; he reached over
and turned Lola's face to him and demanded, "Dammit, I want
to know what you're afraid of...or who?"

A shuddering breath escaped Lola; she leaned forward, the
fight gone. Misery washed over her anguished face. "Doug,
it's...um, the guy from that night you first saw me. He...well, he
showed up there that day and I had to go. Ain't no telling what
he'd of done, if I hadn't."

"What kind of hold has he got on you, Lola?" Doug leaned close,
his face intently caring, his manner gentle, but inquisitive.

"Lord, it's a long old sad story. Goes so far back... back to
when my...little girl died."

Doug touched her hand. "Tell me, I want to know. I already
told you, I care. Nothing you say can change that...not after
what I shared about my past."

"But you were forced into that war. You didn't want to see
those things, experience those things..."

"And you may be the same way. Sometimes we get ourselves
into situations that just can't be helped at the time...so, why
don't you just lay it out?"

Lola sucked in a big breath, then exhaled, crushing out her
cigarette in the ashtray. "Okay, I been married three
times...three bad marriages. The first one, I was seventeen,
quit school to get hitched to Lonnie Baxter. That didn't last
but six months; he went out for a pack of cigarettes, never
came back. Course, it wasn't all his fault -- he was real young
too, couldn't handle being tied down, don't guess. Then couple
years later I married Larry Joe Mitchel, an ex-con. He gave
all the regular spiel -- gonna straighten up, settle down, all
that jazz. I bought the whole package. Anyway, I went to work
with Ma at the truckstop, helping support us. One night the
fool pulled a heist...robbed the same service station where my
first husband had worked, Louie's down in Willows." 

She paused dramatically, looking at Doug for signs of disgust,
but saw none and continued, "Well, I was pretty burnt out on
guys...thought they's all a bad deal. But, I was young...only
twenty-two so I still couldn't imagine life without a man. And,
since I still worked with Ma, the type of men I met here at
Hank's were losers. But when I was around twenty-five, this
real nice guy asked me out -- he was a trucker, but seemed
ready to settle down, have a family...and that's what I wanted
too. His name was Billy Haynes and I honestly thought it was
right this time...and for a while it was. We got married, I quit
work, even managed to buy us a house close to my Granny's...a
pretty smooth time for about a year. Best of all, I got
pregnant. Oh, I was so happy! And when the baby came, a
darling little girl, I named her Lucinda after my dear Granny." 

She stopped, hesitated, then explained, "My Granny Lucinda is
special, more like a real mother. Grandpa Nix died years ago,
and she'd always worked in the cotton mill, then the sewing
plant...sort of helped raise us girls...Josie, Carly and me. Ma
was...well, always off and gone, popping in from time to time,
not settled. Fact is, none of us girls knows who our Dads were.
But Granny was always there for us."

She cleared her throat, trying to remove the lump. "Well, my
little girl, Lucy, she was a doll. Growed so fast, so healthy. For
two years I was blessed...and then, it all turned sour. Billy
started drinking real heavy; I figured he was troubled. First
thing I knew, he was on the sauce all the time, lost his regular
trucking run, and I had to go to work in the sewing plant with
Granny. I was determined to raise Lucy the best I possibly
could."

Doug saw her face crumble and took her hand reassuringly,
urging, "And then...what? The car wreck?"

"Yeah." She sniffled, fighting back tears. "I begged Billy not
to take Lucy; he just beat me, like he'd started doing...took her
anyway...and he was drunk. It was raining and when the call
came, I already knew..." She was crying by now, her shoulders
shaking with sobs.

"It must have been hard on you...alone." Doug couldn't conceal
his anguish, and touched her face softly.

"Oh, it was bad alright. I lost control, had sort of a...nervous
breakdown. And later, well, I just never was the same. Couldn't
feel anymore..."

"And that's when you got messed up with this bloodsucker I
saw you with that first night?"

"Yeah, only the whole thing was weird. I went back to work at
the sewing plant, but couldn't settle in...I was restless,
brooding. These girls I ran with gave me this convict's
name...and stupid me, I wrote to him. He wrote back and first
thing you know, we's writing all the time. State prison was only
fifty miles away, so I went to see him a few times; he seemed
kinda scary -- had a bad temper. But he could be cool, you
know? Anyway, I didn't care for him. Truth is, I was just
looking for a way to forget about Lucy..."

"So, he finally got out of prison and..." Doug prodded, gently.

"Uh, yeah, he was paroled. Came to Willows, convinced me to
sell my house, travel with him...only he didn't explain the terms
of the deal." She turned her face away, looking out at the
crowded parking lot and sunshiny day of late July.

"What were his plans?" Doug waited, then urged, "You got to
tell me Lola, so I can help you."

"Doug, when I tell you...ain't gonna be no way you'll
understand."

"Why don't you tell me and then we'll see."

"He...Bobby...he...made me..." She shuddered, remembering the
first trick she'd turned in Atlanta -- tourist trade from Six
Flags.

She stiffened and said icily, "He made me into a prostitute...so
that's why I know you don't want me and won't care anymore."

Doug had expected no less, and his eyes reflected infinite
sadness. "Lola, don't you think I've seen worse? All the things
I saw in the 'Nam, do you think I could ever judge you or
condemn you? The only thing I want to know is this: do you
want to end the past and be with me, start over...have a new
life, for us both? Cause Lola...I love you, I honest to God
do...and I'll do anything to keep you, to have you with me."

Lola was incredulous; she reached a hand slowly to close cover
his. "You may be the one...the one I never thought would come
along."

"But I have, I'm here...and I won't let you get away. Now,
where's this asshole, Bobby?"

"It's not that simple. See, Bobby's a killer. I didn't know that
at first; he was in prison on an arson rap. But, he finally
confessed to killing his wife Maude. Oh, he was careful -- made
it look like a car wreck and torched the whole mess. She was
burned beyond identification." Lola slumped forward, grasping
Doug's hand. "Please, he's a dangerous man. You can't just
confront him, he...why...he could try to kill you!"

Doug very calmly prodded, "Has he threatened you Lola?"

"Yeah, lots of times. I know he's got a gun, a little handgun."

Doug removed Lola's hand and reached into a small
compartment underneath the dashboard. Sun glinted off the
shiny steel of a .25 automatic pistol. "I think this can speak
for me."

"But, but..."

"No buts. There's only one way to deal with assholes like
Bobby -- sometimes you have to fight fire with fire."

"I don't want you to get hurt!" Lola was frantic, her hands
clinched in her lap.

"Listen Lola, I been to the 'Nam...and one thing I learned was
how to take care of myself." He started the motor. "No one
will get hurt. But, he has got to know that you're not his slave."

"Just, just be careful."

"I will. Now...where is he?"

"Back at Granny Lucinda's...waiting."

"The asshole has one big shock coming to him...one he damn well
deserves!" He drove around the truckstop, onto the highway
and headed rapidly for Willows.

When they pulled up in front of Granny's house, Bobby was
pacing across the porch anxiously, his brown eyes flinty with
anger.

Doug said, "Stay here. This won't take long." He slammed out
of the van, meeting Bobby halfway across the small yard.
Quicker than heat lightning, his gun was pressed into the
rolling flab of Bobby's gut. Doug's voice was deadly sinister,
"You asshole! I know all about your wheeling and dealing, all
about..."

"Hey, what's this all about? Not that tramp Lola? She ain't
worth it man. Hell, she's a whore, a stinking whore!"

Doug shoved the gun deeper into bulky layers of flab.
"Whatever Lola has done, she done it partly because you made
her. They've got a word for men like you: pimp. And I'm sure
the law'd like to get wind of your doings...might just revoke
your parole, you old fart!"

Bobby's arrogance quickly faded into fear. "I... hey...I...shit,
take her! What do I care for a whore? The world's full of
'em!" He had a squeamish look in his eyes as he asked, "Where
the hell is my Coup de Ville?"

"It's back at the truckstop and if you know what's good for
you, you'll head there fast and high-tail it out of this town!"

Bobby grunted, pushed the gun away with a trembling hand and
said, "I'm getting the fuck outa here. You're a freak...kill a
man for a whore!"

"You better believe it, asshole." Doug's black eyes narrowed
to slits of vengeance. "Get going, and I don't never want to see
your face here again." He shoved Bobby forward.

As Bobby stumbled toward the street, he hollered, "What
about my clothes...?"

"Forget them, asshole. If you come back here, there'll be hell
to pay!"

Bobby trudged off toward town, his image disappearing
underneath the shades of oaks.

Doug watched him out of sight, then went to Lola with a modest
smile.

She slipped from the van, her face incredulous. "I don't get it!
He seemed...scared."

"Mostly, old Bobby boy was all bluff. He just needed some
real intimidation!"

"But, he was always violent, real mean..."

"With you...and probably all women. But man to man, he's a
coward."

"Yeah, but what about Maude?"

Doug shrugged. "My guess is that he made up that story to put
fear in you."

"Shit!" Lola covered her face, then stared out at the quiet,
empty street. "It ain't all his fault. I...I let it happen. I was
trying too hard to forget about Lucy and my life got all
screwed up."

"Some of it was because of your nervous breakdown...but heck,
that's in the past, remember?" Doug turned her to face him
and a creamy white magnolia blossom drifted down into her
hair. He gently removed the petal and looked deep into her
eyes. "Lola, I have a serious question to ask."

She looked toward the house and saw her Granny's shadow at
the screen door. "Can it wait? I think Granny's wondering
what's going on."

"No, it can't wait. Let me just ask, then I want to meet your
Granny."

"Okay, what?" Lola was quietly staring at his smiling face.

"Lola, will you marry me?"

*  *  *  *

It wasn't a fancy wedding, just a simple ceremony in Granny
Lucinda's white frame house. But all of Lola's family was
present, including her Ma and youngest sister Josie, who'd
returned from New Orleans to settle back in Willows.

All in all, it was lovely. The August heat didn't even faze them
when they walked the three short blocks to their newly rented
apartment. And, with promises of a visit from Doug's family,
there was a possibility of mending broken fences. 

That night, as they lay tenderly in each other's arms, Lola
asked, "Doug, remember when you said we'd both learned
something on our trip?"

"Yes..."

"Well, we did learn...lots. Mainly, we both realized we could
feel again, after all the hurts of our pasts."

"Lola, you and me had deep scars, but now...together we've
realized they can be healed."

Lola added, "And that we can be whole again..."

"Yes," Doug echoed, "whole, happy, loving adults."

A soft silence was broken only by the song of tree frogs
outside their window. Finally, Lola murmured sleepily, "I was
wrong, there is a Coup de Ville in the bottom of a Cracker Jack
box -- and I found it in you. All the others were fake prizes,
cheap imitation, but you Doug are the real thing. I just had to
look deep into your heart and soul to find love."

"And I do love you, Lola."

"I love you too, Doug." She snuggled closer, and murmured,
"We're gonna be okay...now."

The End