Nothing to Offer

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

*****

In the stifling August heat, Brian Harris pushed the lawnmower through the thicket of grass in front of the Houghton house. The last tenants had seen Brian cutting it when they moved in, had not told him 'thank you,' had not offered him money, or a cold beverage.

The next time he cut his own yard, right across from the Haughton house, Brian had just finished putting his mower away when Moses Everhardt, the patriarch of the house stomped across the street and demanded to know when Brian planned on cutting their grass.

"Uh, I'm not," Brian had calmly told him. "I was doing that as a favor to Jim and Kathy so their house wouldn't look abandoned. Now that you're living there, you can cut your own grass."

In the four months the four males and two females did live there, they cut the grass once. They'd scrounged an oil spewing mower from somewhere and glared hatefully at Brian as they labored to push it through the tall grass.

Jim and Kathy and their daughter Britney had moved from DeGarde, Louisiana to Winter Park, Colorado, to seek treatment for Jim's disease. Jim had some sort of bone deficiency; at thirty four years of age when Brian and Barbara Harris had moved in across the street, Jim was already grossly disfigured, hobbled from the disease that was eating away at his bones. Ten years his junior, Brian took to helping the Haughtons whenever he could. Barbara took to babysitting Britney when Jim and Kathy had to travel overnight to this specialist or that hospital.

Then, eight years ago, Jim and Kathy heard of a Specialist in Winter Park, Colorado and they moved there. The neighborhood was on the decline, the only reason why a man that had just opened his own dry-cleaning business and a stay at home homemaker could afford the three bedroom one bathroom home. Because of the declining value of the homes in the area, though, there were no offers on the Haughtons' small, comfortable home. For income, Jim and Kathy rented it out to a succession of ever-worsening tenants.

Thanks to the opening of the St. Elizabeth Trauma Center, though, the value of the properties was now on the upswing.

Brian finally finished mowing the grass, and walked across the street. He sat on his own front porch and drank from the jug of ice water he'd put there earlier. Barbara was not there to fetch his water.

Barbara had not been there for six years. A few years after Jim, Kathy, and Britney moved, Barbara, who had grown increasingly dissatisfied with him, with his dry-cleaning business, with their house, with life in general, announced that she'd met someone new, she hadn't meant to, she was sorry, but even as ignorant and inattentive as Brian was, even Brian had to admit that things had not been good between them for quite a while.

It seemed that her parents, who had always harbored a deep-seated dislike of Brian Harris, had always believed that he was beneath their daughter, who sneered at his paltry little dry-cleaning business, had introduced their daughter to Glen Peters, a prominent architect. They had done the introductions, had told Barbara that a professional man like glen Peters was more to her stature, and encouraged their daughter to get to know Glen Peters, have a few lunches with Glen Peters, encouraged their daughter to leave her pathetic little husband and marry Glen Peters.

"Man, I am so sorry to hear that," Jim had mumbled; the disease by now having eaten his jawbone.

"Oh, Brian, how absolutely horrible!" Kathy had wailed through the phone.

"Mr. Brian? I'm sorry Miss Barbara's being mean to you," Britney had comforted.

Despite his heavy heart, Brian couldn't help but smile. Even several hundred miles away, the Houghtons seemed to care more for him than his own wife had.

In order to get a quick divorce, Barney Siegel, Barbara's father, had 'generously' offered to pay the expenses of the divorce. Knowing that they'd already printed up and sent out the wedding invitations, reserved the synagogue, and hired the caterer; Brian had smiled and said that he was going to insist on counseling, in an effort to save his marriage.

To make matters worse, Brian left his two assistants in charge of the business and went on a ten day cruise.

By the time he returned, Barney Siegel agreed to have Barbara sign a quit claim deed to the house, sign away any interests in his dry-cleaning business, and pay twenty five thousand in alimony.

"Fucking useless sack of shit; should have never let my Barbara marry you," Barney had spat.

"I haven't signed the papers yet, shit for brains," Brian smiled across the table. "In fact, your hurtful words have caused me such distress; I think I might have to go on another cruise."

"That three month one we were talking about?" Sophia Coutre asked her client.

"Yeah, it's real nice; you get off in Ireland, spend about a week there, then..." Brian agreed.

"What more do you want, you God damned pissant son of a bitch," Barney had screamed, outraged.

"Wow, now I'm not signing anything," Brian smiled.

"Sir, what would it take," Jay Richards had asked, trying to calm his own client down.

"An apology and oh, I don't know language like that? Another twenty five thousand," Brian had smiled, playing with the pen, thoroughly enjoying Barney's agitation.

"I ought to beat the living shit out of you, you little..." Barney snarled.

"Bye," Brian said, got to his feet and left the room.

He let Barney get the first punch, made sure it happened right in front of Sophia's receptionist, and in front of the security camera. Then Brian delivered three punches. To Barney Siegel's face.

"You saw that; I simply defended myself," Brian said, using a handkerchief to staunch his bloody lip.

"Uh, yes sir," the horrified girl said.

Now, six years later, Brian Harris was polite whenever he saw the Siegel's, polite whenever he saw the Peters. In fact, when Kathy called to let him know that Jim had passed away, he had called Barbara and told her of Jim's passing.

"Who?" Barbara had said.

"Jim. Jim and Kathy Houghton? They lived across the street from us?" Brian had said.

"Huh? Oh, oh yeah! Had that cute girl, Courtney or something like that," Barbara had said.

"Britney, but never mind," Brian had said, actually disgusted with his ex-wife.

Shortly after Jim's funeral, the tenants across the street had pulled a midnight move, just packing up what they wanted, leaving piles of debris and rotting food, and departing.

So Brian was cutting the mid-calf high grass. He'd emptied the mailbox, tossing 'Occupant' into the trash can, and writing 'Return to Sender' on the other pieces of mail.

He knew where the key was, underneath the extremely heavy cast iron flower pot, which no longer held any plants; it no longer held dirt, and entered the Haughton house.

The tenants had taken even less care with the interior of the house and Brian used his cell phone to record everything that he saw, gathered up and threw out the food items

He actually felt dirtier having to walk through the house, than he had by sweating through the yard work.

"I don't know who y'all used as your rental agency, but they need to track down them tenants and sue the hell out of them," Brian said, then forwarded the pictures to Kathy's cell phone.

Brian looked up and down Batio Street and nodded with satisfaction. Out of the twelve houses on their block, only one other one needed to have its grass cut and TAB Properties would be doing that on Monday, the day they did this particular area.

He didn't know where the name 'Batio' came from, but Brian delighted in telling people it used to be masturbation street but the 'Mastur' and the 'N' had blown off in a powerful hurricane.

It still stung Brian, the divorce. It still bothered him that Barbara had told him he had nothing to offer her. It bothered him that the Petition for the Dissolution of the Marriage claimed that Barbara Siegel sought none of the marital assets; the marital assets were of no value to her.

A few years ago, Joanna Siegel, Barbara's mother, had swept into the small dry-cleaners and smirked as she presented a small lace comforter to be cleaned; it was the same comforter that had graced Barbara's baby bed. It would seem that Glen Peters was offering them their first grandchild.

"Yes ma'am, that's wonderful; you and Barney must be very proud," Brian had said graciously.

"Yes, Glen does have something to offer, after all," Joanna had said haughtily.

"Okay, please stay right there while we open this and examine it," Brian had requested.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, I don't have time to just stand here and..." Joanna had snapped.

"Ma'am, this comforter has been in storage for twenty five years," Brian had said, forcefully. "You will stand there while I unfold it, or you will take it with you."

Brian and his assistant made notes of the dry rot damage to the lace in nearly each crease. Then, Brian loosed the last fold and a live mouse scurried out.

Joanna had screamed as Brian gathered up the baby mice and disposed of them while his assistant captured the momma mouse.

"And, that, Mrs. Siegel is why I wanted you to stay," Brian had snapped at the now chastened woman.

But Brian had done a masterful job of restoring the comforter to its former glory, and had even provided Mrs. Siegel with an airtight neoprene sheath to store the comforter in.

"No charge, consider it a gift for the baby," Brian had said, knowing that it would irk Barney and Joanna to know end, believing themselves to be in his debt.

Brian still drove the 1972 Chevy Malibu he had driven when he was dating, and when he married Barbara Siegel. Once, when filling it up at Huvall's Texaco, Barney had just completed filling up his Audi, looked with a sneer at Brian's car, and commented that Glen had just bought Barbara a brand new Lexus.

"Wow, those are nice," Brian had said politely.

It seemed to irritate Barney that Brian wasn't impressed; him almost t-boned a school bus as he pulled out of the gas station.

"I'd have to buy my wife a Lexus if I had a tiny dick too," Brian said and smirked at the pale, sweating face of Barney Siegel.

But, six years after the abrupt announcement that he had nothing to offer, and she found a real man, Brian contented himself with caring for his small house, tending to his flowers, maintaining his now classic automobile, and operating the three dry-cleaners he now owned.

It was Sunday, on Sundays Professional Dry-Cleaning was closed, but even if it had been open for business, Barbara Peters would not have noticed as she drove past the third, newest location.

Humiliated and outraged, Barbara Peters pulled out of the Super One Foods parking lot.

The clerk had been very gracious, had been quiet about Barbara's credit card being declined.

"Happened to me just last week," the girl had smiled sympathetically. "Me and my boyfriend went to that Backyard Barbecue; ever eat there? And the woman comes up and says my card's been declined. Turns out I was one day late mailing it in. One day! Believe that? One day! You got another card?"

Barbara used her American Express card and the girl smiled sweetly and helped Barbara load the cart and told Josette Peters bye-bye.

Barbara put Josette into her car seat, loaded the groceries into the trunk and drove home.

In his home office, Glen Peters grew more agitated as the cocaine wore off. He knew he did not have any more in the house, and he knew Barbara would not be inclined to believe he had urgent business at the office, where he had a little coke in his desk drawer.

After his unfortunate little fling with Cindy St. George, his personal assistant, Barbara wasn't very inclined to believe any of Glen's excuses.

It was an unfortunate dalliance, unfortunate that they got caught. Cindy St. George had been an absolutely gorgeous blonde with a tight, young body and a filthy imagination. Plus, she had a good source for good cocaine and didn't mind giving her connection a little pussy to help pay for at least half of the buy.

Glen had to snort at the idea of his current assistant, Rita, giving anyone a little pussy. As unattractive as Rita was, she should be giving out coke to entice men to have sex with her. But all the girl did was spout out Biblical phrases and quotes and denounce nearly everyone as sinners damned to the fires of Hell.

Glen logged onto their bank account and grew even more agitated. They had less than a hundred dollars in the account and he had no prospects of new income in the foreseeable future.

His bitch of an ex-wife, Stacy Falgout, had let him know that he had failed in his bid to procure the Lopez Properties account, despite putting in what Glen had thought was a reasonable bid. Anita Lopez was just a college kid, for God's sake; she would need a seasoned, professional architect to assist her.

But Stacy had let him know that he did not get Ms. Lopez's business. Ryan Thibodeaux of TAB Properties had also circumnavigated Glen's bid for designing a storage unit facility.

"Glen!" Barbara's shrill scream cut into Glen's brain like a thousand knives.

The slamming of the garage door was another assault on Glen's already frazzled nerves.

"What?" he screamed, close to rage from coming down off of a short-lived high, paranoid about their finances, and angry with Barbara Peters.

If she would get off her fat ass and go get a real job, they wouldn't be in this nightmare. Despite what Big Butt Barbara liked to think, going antique shopping with her mother was not a job. Going to the Hardington Acres Country Club for lunches was not a job. Forgetting to have the oil changed in the Lexus and burning up the motor in the expensive car was not a job. Dressing their snotty whining brat in the latest Osh Kosh b'Gosh outfits was not a job.

"My Master Card was declined," Barbara snarled, barging into Glen's sanctuary.

"And? I sent in the payment, did a bill pay on-line," Glen lied.

"Wen, Glen? When?" Barbara shrilled. "Huh? When did you pay it? Because, right there, right in Super One Foods, little bitch at the cash register told me it was declined. Right there, in front of a hundred people, little bitch tells me my card's no good."

"I don't know," Glen said.

"Pull it up, Glen, pull it up and show me," Barbara demanded. "Because right there, right in front of everybody, girl said my card wasn't working; it was declined. You have any idea how humiliated..."

Glen prayed to a God he had not believed in for several years for his computer to crash, for money to miraculously appear in their account, for Barbara to have a fatal heart attack, for an earthquake to suddenly hit. Anything but for Barbara Naomi Siegel Peters to see that there was only seventy four dollars and seventy two cents in the Peters' account.

But God , if there was such a deity, God decided to let Glen Douglas Peters suffer through one of an unreasonable Barbara Naomi Siegel Peters' tirade.

"God damn, Glen! Really? How in the hell am I supposed to, oh my God! The Autumn luncheon is this Wednesday and we're already committed to five hundred dollars, please tell me there will be five hundred dollars in that account by Wednesday," Barbara shrilled.

"What? Why in the fuck are we committed to five hundred, what do those fat ass bitches need five hundred dollars of my money for?" Glen spat.

"For the synagogue! The temple needs..." Barbara yelled.

"The temple needs to realize that there are more important things than giving a bunch of fat ass whining bitches some God damned place to park their pasty white asses so they can all just kvetch about the evils of the world," Glen barked.

Barbara's reaction was to continue loudly and shrilly demanding money to somehow magically appear; she certainly was not going to endure the humiliation of telling their committee that she, Barbara Naomi Siegel Peters, was withdrawing her pledge of five hundred dollars, did Glen have no idea how humiliating that would be? Did he not love his daughter, his own flesh and blood? Did he want Josette to be known as the kid whose parents couldn't pay a measly five hundred dollars to the synagogue?

Glen had long ago learned how to shut Barbara's voice out and mentally began humming the theme song to 'Jeopardy' in his head, wondering how long she would stand in front of him screaming.

Josette decided that crying would be a good idea; her diaper was full and she was also hungry.

"Now you see? Now you see?" Barbara screamed at Glen, as if Josette being hungry and needing a clean diaper was somehow Glen's fault.

But it gave Glen the excuse he needed to make a break for it.

"I have had enough of your shit," he snarled. "I'm going out."

"Where, Glen? Where are you going? We don't have any money for you to be going anywhere!" Barbara shrilled.

"None of your fucking business, all right? That's where I'm going. To none of your fucking business," Glen thundered.

**..**

Brian Harris watched as a few trucks that bore the magnetic signs of 'Robichaux Construction' on their sides pulled into the Haughton driveway. He waved in greeting and drove out of the driveway.

They were still there when he returned for a quick dinner and a quick check of his mail. The Robichaux trucks were just pulling out when Brian came back out of his house and drove to the newest one of his three stores so that Sally could go home for the day. As much as he hated to do it, he'd had to fire the last assistant hired for that store, fired her for helping herself to the petty cash till.

Super One Foods grocery store was packed; which made Brian a little sad. He'd passed Early's Grocery Store on the way from his house to the Professional Dry-Cleaners and their parking lot only had a few cars. Tommy Collins, the manager of the grocery store, had offered Brian a very sweet deal on renting space inside the building. But Brian saw that the traffic needed would be very hard to come by.

"Hey there, Boss-man," Sally said, grabbing her purse. "Don't know whether to thank you or kick you; my girl's calling me every ten minutes because her brother's driving her nuts and I got to go home and kill them both."

"Well, you get any blood on them clothes, you know where to bring them, right?" Brian smiled.

Brian had met both of her children and, at sixteen and fourteen years old, they really were very well behaved kids. It was more likely a case of the sixteen year old boy wanting to play games on the television instead of letting his sister watch what she wanted to watch.

Brian had said it before, but one young woman, probably about twenty one or twenty two, proved him right; dry cleaners were invisible unless you were looking for a dry cleaner. Right in front of his window, she looked around, determined that no one was looking, and pulled down her shorts to scratch a patch of stubble on her crotch. Then she pulled her shorts back up, turned and walked away.

"Next time try waxing it," Brian wanted to open the door and yell at her, but decided to just enjoy the chuckle she'd given him.

From six o'clock until nine o'clock, he had eight walk-ins; not a great night, but certainly one that paid the rent for the day.

In between customers, Brian did what he would certainly reprimand and likely fire any of his employees for doing if a second reprimand was necessary; he surfed for porn on the store's computer.

When Barbara had left him, Brian had surfed for some extreme sites. He had loved the sites that showed brunettes getting fist fucked, especially anal fisting. But that had only lasted a few weeks.

When Mrs. Siegel had swept into his store and informed him that his ex-wife was pregnant, Brian had surfed for pregnant bdsm sites.