The Front Porch Prophet

“I would like to talk to you about buying this house,” she continued briskly. He felt at a slight disadvantage in his drawers, confused and a little unnerved, but he was raised to be polite to strangers and to women, and his visitor was both.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stifling a yawn. “It’s not for sale.” He smiled, nodded, and began to turn away.

“Maybe you should hear my offer,” came her reply. A.J. stopped in mid-turn, rotated back, and took her gaze. Her tone wasn’t unfriendly. More like pushy. A.J. hated pushy.

“Ma’am, I don’t mean to offend, but it doesn’t matter what your offer is,” he said, taking one more cut at the ball. Some people just couldn’t take no for an answer. “I don’t want to sell my house. I do, however, want to go back to sleep. Please excuse me if I don’t show you out, but as you can see, I’m not wearing any pants.” He turned once more, intending to go find some peace.

“I notice that you’re wearing a wedding ring. Maybe you should talk over my offer with your wife.” A.J. again about-faced and stood boxer shorts to business suit with Truth Hannassey.

“Lady, go away. If you want to talk to my wife, come back at one a.m. and drag her out in her panties. Wear a raincoat, because I guarantee she’ll turn the garden hose on you. But for now, go away and let me sleep.” He pointed in the direction of the highway. There was a strange dynamic at play. Truth’s hardball stare had never left him. Finally, she flashed a smile.

“Your fly is open,” she said as she turned to leave.

“That’s not for sale, either,” came his reply.

“Not interested,” she hollered over her shoulder as she sauntered across the yard. He stood there, hairy-legged and bare-chested, and wondered what in hell that had been all about.

When Maggie arrived home, A.J. discussed the encounter with her and discovered that Truth had bought several properties around the county. Maggie had acquired this knowledge while lunching with Ms. Hannassey, who had tracked Maggie down after her chat with A.J. She had apparently been unwilling to take his word on the subject of selling the Folly. This knowledge did little to enhance his regard for her, and according to Maggie, the feeling was mutual. The word on the streets was that Truth was a wealthy real estate genius who had no use for the male of the species, living or dead.

“Well, neither do I,” A.J. said, stating their common ground, amazed that Truth had hunted Maggie up. He was a small town boy and liked it that way, a hayseed by conscious choice and not just dumb luck, and he had encountered very few beings similar to Truth on his travels through the maze. Indeed, he felt he could have gone much longer without the privilege. “At least you got to wear your pants while you were talking,” he noted.

“No wonder you didn’t get along with her,” Maggie said. “She’s very intense. Definitely not your cup of tea.”

“So, did you sell the house?” A.J. asked.

“No, but it was tempting. She offered two hundred thousand dollars.”

“Damn. I would have put on my pants for that.” Maybe he had been hasty.

“She also offered me a job,” Maggie continued. “She said she liked my style, but my taste in men sucked. She wanted me to be a liaison between her and the locals. She felt that I could open a few doors.” Maggie was smiling.

“Please tell me you turned her down,” he said. He just couldn’t envision having the boss, Truth Hannassey, over for dinner. It was too much to bear, trousers or no.

“It was a very good offer,” she said. He grimaced as if he had stepped on something jagged and rusty. “But I turned it down. The money would have been nice, but I don’t think I’m right for the work. I guess I’m pretty satisfied with what I do and what I have.” He quietly exhaled the breath he had been holding. “I’ll tell you one thing, though,” she continued. “I really like her. I think we’re going to be good friends.” He coughed. The whims of fate were as cruel as November wind.

Eugene, too, had made the acquaintance of Truth. She had walked into the beer joint and offered Eugene a very respectable sum of money for his mountain, on top of which she wished to build a subdivision. Eugene liked his mountain and had no need for more money, so he had declined the offer. There was, however, a complication. Eugene had become smitten with her.

“Man, you just know she has some fine pussy on her,” Eugene drooled.

“Eugene, she’s a lesbian,” A.J. told him. “She doesn’t like boys. She likes girls.”

“Give me thirty minutes with her, and I guarantee you I’ll have her straightened out,” he said, lust heavy in his voice. He had a bad case of it.

“I don’t think it works that way,” A.J. replied. “Anyway, you’re married. You don’t get to play with the big-city girls.”

“Well, you just mark this down,” Eugene had vowed. “It’s her destiny to enjoy a little Purdue bliss.” Thus was it written. Thus was it eventually done.