Page 1 of York

CHAPTER ONE

York

“Why does Calvin have Cherry’s bra on his head?” I asked as I glanced out the back window to see the old man sitting with his legs in the pool, his mostly bald head getting pink in the unyielding late afternoon sun.

“Tequila. Tequila is the reason,” Dixon said, waving an empty handle in the air.

“His wife is gonna be pissed.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, gesturing back to the window.

I turned.

And immediately wished I hadn’t.

Because there was Calvin’s wife, Maud, jumping off the diving board. Topless. In nothing but her giant parachute panties that came up under her boobs.

I mean, I was all for everyone feeling comfortable with their bodies, but seeing eighty-year-old tits hadn’t exactly been a goal of mine. Until I was eighty, maybe. And I damn sure didn’t know that not only did Maud have a bright red boob tattoo of a rose but she’d also pierced her nipples. Something told me those were new additions.

When we’d first met Calvin and Maud, they’d been typical grandparent types. You know the type: khaki pants, sensible bright white shoes, tucked in shirts, hankies in their pockets.

I mean, I’d literally heard Calvin say shit like “heavens to Betsy,” and “I’m so mad I could spit nails.”

They played bridge and bingo and read the obituaries for fun.

But then Calvin started coming over to the club with some of his buddies. Drinking, partying, looking at the half-naked club girls. Until, inevitably, Maud would come storming over, grab him by the ear, and drag him back across the street to the retirement village, while giving us all an ear lashing about his medications, heart, age.

Apparently, when I wasn’t paying attention, she’d had a real change of heart. A tit-tattooing change of heart.

“When’d this happen?”

“She joined that horny lady book club over there.”

“The book club you routinely do yard work half-naked for?”

“Yeah, that one,” Dixon, shameless, admitted. “Guess one of the books got her heart racing. She dusted off the cobwebs, grabbed a bottle of gin, and decided to start living the last decade of her life instead of surviving it.”

“Oh, not just any of the books,” Velle said, coming down from the back staircase. “Wanna take a wild shot in the dark what sub-genre of romance she got into?” He walked over to a woven beach bag tied with a floral silk scarf and dropped a paperback on the counter.

On the cover was a half-naked couple on a motorcycle.

“Biker romance,” he said with a chuckle.

“Shit,” I said, shaking my head. “Might wanna make sure you keep your keys hidden. Those two might sneak off for a joyride when no one is looking.”

“And do some… joyriding while they’re at it,” Dixon said. “Calvin was telling me all about this new prescription he got from his doctor.”

“Didn’t need that mental image,” I said with a laugh.

“Eh, it’s sweet. I hope I still want to fuck the shit out of my wife when we’re both wrinkled and saggy,” Velle said.

“What wife?” Dixon shot back.

“Hey, way these guys are getting scooped up, I figure it’ll be my turn sooner or later.”

“Better you than me,” I said. Though part of that was bluster. Yes, I was having fun being free and fucking around all I wanted. But I was older than these guys. And the idea of finding someone to settle down with was starting to have more and more appeal.

“If this club is anything to go by, wedded bliss will come for us all sooner or later,” Dixon said.