These stories begin as character studies, to use a high falutin' term from the craft of writing, and involve two friends of those names. The stories will be set in the 1950's to put it back to a simpler time before the Internet and cell phones. I was not alive at this time so it will be good for me to do some research into the time and place. Anyway, the first character, who is in the first person in this small scene, is Myrtle. She appears slow and uneducated, you might say the classic blonde. However, it is my intention to keep her mechanically inept, but give hints that here cluelessness is only skin deep so to speak. Her friend Mabel on the the other hand is quite obviously not dumb. Universite educated to the Ph.D level, she is seen from the first with an office of her own, although Myrtle feigns ignorance of what exactly her friend does for a living. Both women are the hot women of their town; single with Myrtle mentioning a friend, Herb. We will see where these characters go in further stories. Here is Scene 1 if you will...
Mabel n’ Myrtle Take a Drive
A few days ago I took a drive on the county highway with my friend Mabel; we needed some groceries or other piddly household stuff, nothing to it really. Now Mabel never let me get away with my more ornery thoughts about other drivers and this drive proved no exception. We traveled down a steep hill with my car making its usual whining; when the most beautiful low ridin’ sports car came up the hill, the man inside matching the car, all sleek and sexy like.
“Why he must be doin’ ninety, my heavens!” I blurted out to Mabel, just in case she had dozed off again in the passenger seat, “Not only that he’s drivin’ in the passing lane when there ain’t no one in the driving lane, someone oughta stop him and give him a good talkin’ too.”
“Why you hypocritical legalist,” Mabel shot back, “I do think a glance at your own gauges would show a woman speeding AND drivin’ with her tach over the red line; why don’t you shift up before we burn up this car!”
I didn’t think there would be another gear, but Mabel was right, somehow that happened way too often, and we enjoyed the most lovely and smooth ride down that hill. The engine even stopped whining and it almost never did that.
To tell the truth, I felt mighty stupid just then; no wonder Herb always called it a “four on the floor” shifter. Liking the smoothness of the ride so much, I decided to always use that gear from now on. We stopped at the town red light, so named because it was always red when you wanted to get someplace, and took off as soon as it turned green. Of course, that old car lurched a couple of times and died right there in the town’s main intersection. Me and Mabel just a sittin’ there.
“Myrtle, I realize our Lord said never to call someone an idiot, but you do tempt me somethin’ fierce!” Mabel didn’t hold back, letting me have the whole cartful of her loving kindness, “I haven’t seen anyone do that since my 12-year old cousin learned to drive last month, and you at the ripe old age of 23 stalling this fine car like some kid driver. You know that greasy Clive Barker will be a comin’ over here to give us a hand even though he knows darn well that you’se jes’ stupid.”
When Mabel got embarrassed or angry, or in this case, both; her accent got worse, some thing she had worked at losing during her 6 years at that school. The sign on her office said Dr. something-or-other, I kept fergettin’ her last name since I jest called her Mabel. Sure enough the town mechanic strode across from the soda shop where he managed to waste most of each day. Six foot three and lanky, Clive Barker kept as far away from any cleaning or grooming supplies as was humanly possible. This torqued off Mabel something terrible, an’ he had a crush on her that wouldn’t quit. I knew that I had screwed up bad.
Bucky
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