Ugly Things

Arnold walked the mumbling, stumbling woman to the swimming pool.

"Arnie, it's too cold; I don't want swim," she whined.

The ice cold water did revive her slightly. But in her drugged state, she could not fight Arnold off as he jumped in, fully clothed, and pushed her under water.

He stood on her long flowing hair, stood on her hair and held her under the pool's surface. By now, she was fully awake, struggling to reach the surface.

But his weight on her hair held her prisoner. She twisted and turned, trying to break free. Her last vision was of his emotionless face as he watched the light disappear from her eyes.

Arnold stood, holding his wife under the water by her long, beautiful hair until he was sure his teeth would break from chattering in the frigid cold. When he simply could not stand the cold any longer, he pulled Gloria by a handful of her long hair to the steps and pulled her out of the water.

Then, trailing water through the house, he walked to the kitchen phone and dialed 'O' for the operator.

Chapter 3

April Boudreaux applied for the job of personal assistant to Arnold J. Prentiss. She was a chubby, bubbly girl of nineteen, with long brown hair, big brown eyes, and size 34DD breasts and a deliciously rounded backside. She had absolutely no typing skills whatsoever, her Cajun accent was so thick that Arnold barely understood a word she said; many of his clients could not understand her either.

But the nineteen year old girl did like to fuck. She also taught Arnold Prentiss how to eat pussy.

"Man, cher, want me putting that t'ing in my mout'? You puttin' your mout' on mine too, hear?" she said.

Four months after being hired, the four foot eleven inch girl came into Arnold's office, closed the door and looked at him.

"Well, we done got me all pregnant yeah, what we doin' 'bout t'at?" she asked.

Arnold offered to marry her and April stared at him for a long moment.

"I made me one mistake; ain't 'bout make me two of t'em," she said.

"How I even know it's mine?" Arnold challenged, angered at her refusal.

"How you know it ain't?" she challenged.

April quit working for him that day. Six and a half months later, she gave birth to Robin Michael Boudreaux. Arnold saw him three days after his birth and knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he was the father. Robin had the same long eyelashes and same dark curly hair that Edward Prentiss had possessed. Even his lusty cries sounded like Eddie's wails.

And still April refused to marry Arnold.

Savannah Mortensen came into Arnold's life the same way April had; applying for the job of personal assistant. She was a tall, long legged beauty with long red hair and pneumatic breasts. The hair color came from a bottle and the breasts had come from a skilled surgeon but Arnold didn't mind either enhancements.

Because April was costing the miserly man twelve hundred dollars a month, Arnold and Savannah agreed, they wanted no children. Arnold had a vasectomy performed and Savannah took care of him while he recuperated.

The twenty four year old beauty smiled as Arnold whined about his discomfort and wondered if she should tell him that she'd already had her tubes tied on her twenty first birthday.

She decided there was no point to telling him; after all, it was in the past.

Savannah wanted no kids, she'd never liked kids, and Savannah resented Robin Boudreaux, Arnold's son. A vasectomy ensured that once she got Robin out of the way, Arnold's wealth was hers and hers alone.

Getting rid of Arnold would be no problem. He was diabetic, taking oral insulin every day. He did not cut sugar, carbohydrates from his diet, though, claiming that this was what insulin was for. He had high blood pressure, yet refused to cut sodium from his diet. He suffered from cholesterol as well, joking that his blood was the consistency of toothpaste.

April took one look at Savannah's cold eyes and refused to let her son be alone around the woman. This was fine by Arnold; he really had very little time for the child. He had an automobile empire to run. Since the state of Louisiana had relaxed its blue laws and he could be open on Sundays, Arnold usually worked seven days a week.

This was fine with Savannah as well. Not having to babysit her husband's smelly brat, and not having to spend time with her husband meant she could indulge in her favorite past time, spending Arnold's money.

One of her expenses was one Arnold thoroughly approved of. Savannah adored silk lingerie, relished in the feeling of silk stockings against her long legs. She loved the feeling of silk caressing her bald mound, silk gently rubbing against her fat nipples.

Another expense Arnold wholeheartedly agreed to was Savannah increasing her 36E breasts to a G cup.

The same skilled surgeon also added collagen to her pouting lips, tightened the skin on her neck and throat, and performed a chemical peel.

Arnold laid out several thousands of dollars in his wife's improvements, but it would be weeks before the tenderness had worn off enough for him to enjoy the improvements.

"God damn, could have got me a new TV as much as that shit cost," Arnold complained the first time Savannah begged off giving him a blow job.

"Uh huh, but a new TV wears out in time," Savannah mumbled smugly. "But these tits are forever."

In 2004, a day after Robin's eleventh birthday, Savannah was having another procedure performed, nothing major, when she had a reaction to the anesthesia. Savannah was right; her tits will last forever. Long after the worms have gnawed her flesh, long after her bones have succumbed to the ravages of nature, her implants will survive.

Even with his wife gone, Arnold did not find time for his child. He just sullenly continued to mail the monthly child support checks to April.

Chapter 4

Robin's father smugly informed the young man that he had not gone to college, but he had managed to build a name for himself. Robin Boudreaux agreed, but placated his father by pointing out that text book knowledge, coupled with instinctual skill would be a benefit to him and to his father.

Arnold gave very little encouragement, gave no assistance to his son. If anything, his resentment toward his son festered.

Because Robin was going to college, Arnold was required to continue sending April his hard earned money. At least his son had finally accepted that Arnold was a busy man, had no time for spending time with him.

Arnold did celebrate the day Robin graduated from the University of Louisiana at DeGarde with a degree in Business Administration. Arnold did not attend the ceremony. Nor did he give Robin any graduation gift. There was no check from him, no watch or cuff links.

There was a phone call, a voice mail on April's voice mail gleefully announcing that her ride on the Arnold Jerome Prentiss gravy train had finally come to an end.

"Arnold! Really!" Terri had snapped, pretty face twisted in displeasure.

"What?" Arnold had snapped at his wife. "It's not your God damned money."

"No, but that is your child," Terri replied. "Seriously. We have a child, you going be like that with her?"

"Him," Arnold sneered.

He grabbed his crotch.

"Ain't nothing but boys in these boys," he said, conveniently leaving out the fact that he'd had a vasectomy.

A few weeks after that small argument, Arnold looked across Highway 19 with displeasure. There was some new construction going on, stirring up dust and dirt. So, every evening, after the men across the street stilled the heavy machinery, he had to pay four college girls to stand out in the summer heat and wash and wax his cars, clean that day's dust and grime from them. The four cheerleaders from U.L.D. did attract attention as they washed and waxed and playfully squirted each other, parading about in their string bikinis. But it was still an expense Arnold would rather not have.

A few weeks after the construction had begun, it ended. And then the sign went up and the long line of trucks began.

"What the fuck!" Arnold screamed as he saw 'Boudreaux Ford' in bold letters.

At twenty two, Robin did not have the experience to qualify for a franchise with Ford, but his mother did. April Boudreaux happily filled out all the forms, happily signed all the papers, then appointed Robin Boudreaux as her General Manager.

"Hi Dad, come to test drive one of the Mustangs?" Robin cheerfully greeted Arnold as the man stormed into the brand new showroom.

"You son of a bitch!" Arnold snarled hatefully at his son.

"Really? And Mom always calls me 'you son of a bastard,'" Robin smiled.

"I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing here, but you're going to lose, you hear? I'll crush you like the cockroach you are, you hear?" Arnold screamed.

"God! Who's that?" Arnold heard a customer ask one of the attractive sales women.

"That? That's Prentiss; owns the place across the street," the young blonde chuckled. "Want to buy a car from him?"

Arnold ground his teeth and glared at his son. He then turned and stormed out of the showroom.

"See you, come again," Robin called out, then turned and greeted a potential customer that had come in just as Arnold was leaving.

Arnold watched as potential sale after potential sale went across the blacktop road. His own sales were still good, but Arnold saw every car that pulled into Boudreaux Ford, every new car that pulled out of Boudreaux Ford as a sale that he'd lost.

Arnold's Endocrinologist told him he needed to get better control of his diabetes, his blood sugar normally hovered in the two hundred range. His general practitioner urged Arnold to exercise more, lose some weight.

"Arnold, you're a prime candidate for a stroke if you don't get that blood pressure under control," Dr. Farbacher said.

"And that sludge you call blood? I'm surprised your heart can even function at all," the young doctor continued.

"I'm surprised he has a heart," Terri said and even Arnold had to smile at her witticism.

Arnold made no changes, however. His only form of exercise was a ranting, screaming tirade at every sales meeting, railing against Boudreaux Ford.

While Arnold was at work one day, Terri drove her Corvette to Babbage's Department store in Bender, Louisiana. Personally, she hated the lingerie, the undergarments her husband insisted she wear.

"Arnold, whores wear that kind of stuff," she'd protested.

"So? Be a whore," Arnold demanded.

She'd put a run into another pair of stockings, so thought she'd replace them. She preferred pantyhose, but Arnold hated them.

"The garter straps cut into my legs whenever I sit down," Terri tried to explain.

"And pantyhose is in the way," Arnold countered.

"Damn, that is nice; that a twenty fifteen?" a handsome young man asked as Terri got out of the Corvette.

"Yes it is," Terri smiled sweetly at Virgil Arcenaux. "Do you have one?"

"Yeah, right," Virgil laughed. "No, that's my bad ass Corolla right there."

"Ooh, a Corolla! I've heard they can go from zero to forty and ten minutes flat," Terri lightly teased.

"And they get great gas mileage while doing it," the unemployed man said.

That was his purpose at the exclusive department store. First Union Bank had caught some suspicious activity on his station. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time looking at accounts that had not been active in twelve or more months. Heidi Moek, the branch manager found this reason enough to let Virgil go.

From there, he had gone to work at St. Elizabeth Parish Trauma Center, in Accounting. It did not take Paula Lambert, the CEO of St. Elizabeth's very long to figure out that Virgil was an expert at looking busy while doing absolutely nothing at all.

From there, he'd been fired from Abdul's jewelry counter; he'd let a friend 'help' himself to a Rolex watch. They had already managed to snag a Cartier and a Cross and three Seiko watches. Street value on the expensive watches was good, good enough to pay Virgil's rent for three months.

Because they could not find anything that tied Virgil to the friend, Sandy was the only one arrested for the theft, but Virgil was out of yet another job.

Virgil had just had an interview with Brian O'Neil, head of Security at the trendy department store. Now, he was grateful for his sunglasses as he stood talking with the attractive woman. Her chest was phenomenal, but Virgil was sure she would not appreciate him openly ogling her chest.

"So, uh, trade you?" Virgil offered.

"Oh, I don't know," Terri teased as she walked away.

Virgil turned and walked with her, stride for stride.

"Not doing anything right now," he said glibly. "Dying to see what a Corvette driver buys here."

"Think you'll be pretty disappointed," she smiled as he held the door open for her.

With a young man standing there, Terri did buy sheer stockings to replace her damaged ones. Then she also purchased a pair of red ones. Noticing his interest, and the sizeable lump in his suit trousers, Terri also bought a pair of black ones, the kind that had the line up the backs of them.

"Nope, not disappointed at all," Virgil said as he carried her small package for her.

He then handed her the package when they reached her car.

"I uh, hey, you ever eat at Clark's?" Virgil asked.

Arnold actually loved Clark's Drive-In restaurant and Terri was sick of the burgers there.

"Actually? Sick of the place," Terri admitted. "You ever eat at Saladelights?"

"Salad, I love that place," Virgil lied.

Terri drove them to the small restaurant and ordered herself a grilled tofu mixed greens salad with a raspberry vinaigrette. Virgil hemmed and hawed, and finally ordered a cranberry and orange salad with ranch dressing.

He put on his best smile, used his wittiest remarks. He made sure to denigrate her husband, lightly and nodded with satisfaction when Terri did not come to Arnold's defense.

When Terri suggested a power walk to work off the calories consumed, Virgil pointed out that he was hardly dressed for such activities.

So Terri drove him to his apartment and watched him undress.

Just like her husband, Virgil had a slightly scrawny physique, a sunken chest, slightly protruding belly and spindly legs.

But Virgil did have a six and a half inch cock, compared to Arnold's nearly four inch wobbly erection.

They did not go on the power walk. And after Virgil fucked Terri, she drove him to his Toyota Corolla still parked in Babbage's parking lot, then drove away.

"Fuck yeah," Virgil laughed to himself. "Piece of ass like that? I'll eat fucking salad every day!"

Two and a half months later, Virgil walked up the two flights of stairs and found the anticipated eviction notice taped to his door. Glumly, he unlocked his apartment door.

Just as he went to push the door open, two large men shoved him, hard, into the door.

The force of their shove swung the door open and Virgil stumbled and fell to the floor of his apartment.

"Hi Virgil," one of the large men said cheerfully as he kicked the door shut.

"Hear you like fucking women you ain't married to," the other man said cheerfully as he pulled Virgil up by a handful of Virgil's receding hair.

"I what? She never, I didn't know she..." Virgil lied.

A punch to Virgil's face stifled his words. Then the two men slowly, methodically beat the sleazy man, breaking nearly every bone in his body. Every time Virgil passed out, they would splash cold water into his face until he came to. Then they'd beat him again.

"Next time, might want to keep your dick in your pants, huh?" one of the men finally declared and then the two men left.

Three hours later, Virgil managed to crawl next door and weakly bump against the door until the neighboring man opened the door.

"Madre dios!" the man cried out, seeing his bloodied neighbor.

Chapter 5

It was a closed casket for both Arnold Prentiss and Terri Prentiss. There were also very few that attended the memorial or the funeral itself. Terri did have friends prior to her marrying Arnold. But Arnold's mean disposition and controlling nature had driven Terri's friends away.

Robin and his mother did attend. Neither shed any tears; Arnold had been a cold, controlling, and distant man to the mother and son.

Arnold's employees did put in token appearances, but none shed any tears either.

"So, what happens to Prentiss Chevrolet now?" Robin asked his mother.

"Man, I don't know me," April admitted. "But it a franchise yeah. They probably take it back, I guess."

So Robin did contact General Motors about continuing the franchise. General Motors agreed to a temporary order of continuation until they could have their accounting team go over the books of Prentiss Chevrolet.

The day after his father and step-mother's funeral, Robin put on his best suit and drove to Prentiss Chevrolet. He gave a little wave to his own showroom, then yanked open the door of Prentiss Chevrolet showroom.

A group of salespeople were standing in a corner. Robin waited but the five men and two women did not approach him. A young woman with quite large breasts sat at a desk and smiled at Robin. She flipped her long red hair back then looked dejected as Robin approached the throng of salespeople.

"Excuse me," he said calmly.

"Yeah, yeah, be right with you, Junior," a large man said, not even looking at Robin. "And then the old man says, 'Hey! Who the hell shaved off my beard!'?"

The audience laughed.

Robin walked over to the red headed woman.

"Hi, help you?" she said brightly.

"Yes, the guy in the sky blue jacket; who is that?" Robin asked.

"Him? That's Guy; he's the sales manager," the girl said, cute face twisted in apparent dislike.

"And which desk is his?" Robin continued.

"That one, right there," the girl said, pointing a highly polished fingernail at a desk.

"Hey, uh, help you?" Guy demanded as Robin sat at the man's desk.

"Be right with you, Grandpa," Robin said as he typed on Guy's keyboard.

"Sonny, need get up right now," Guy said.

It was obvious that the sales manager was used to using his size to intimidate people. Robin could guess that thirty or forty years earlier, Guy had been a high school athlete, probably football. He'd had dreams of going to the pros, had most likely never dreamed of becoming a car salesman.

"Okay, Guy, you can get your things out of your desk now," Robin said, standing again. "Your services are no longer needed at Prentiss Chevrolet."

"Do what?" Guy roared, wrinkled, saggy face blanching.

"The same goes for the rest of you," Robin said loudly. "I walked into your showroom; only one greeted me is the young lady at the desk. Well, if standing around, telling each other jokes is more important than a customer? Sales is not where you need to be."

"Now, who the hell do you..." another salesperson bellowed.

"Robin Boudreaux, representative of General Motors; doubt my authorization to fire you? Call Steve Crowley with Franchise Licensing," Robin said loudly. "I have his number if you don't already know it."

With threats of violence and threats of lawsuits, the seven salespeople left. The entire time, the red headed girl sat at her desk, frozen in shock, in fear.

"By the way, what's your name?" Robin asked as he watched the street through the plate glass windows.

"Mattie," the girl said. "Mathilda Bryan, but everyone calls me Mattie."

"When do the other salespeople usually get here?" Robin asked.

"They don't," Mattie said. "You just fired all of them."

"No shit, huh?" Robin laughed.

ZipRecruiter had a listing up within an hour. Indeed dot com also had an advertisement posted. LinkedIn followed.

"Mattie, you're the new sales manager," Robin said after sitting back with a satisfied sigh.

"Thank you, sir," Mattie said. "Um, who are you?"

"Robin Boudreaux," Robin said.