Men of All Seasons Box Set Read online

  With his purchases in hand, Stone left The Basket Grocery Store. Xi and Pai waved their goodbyes with friendly smiles, and off Stone went, continuing to be productive in his day.

  * * * *

  Plimpton had been under a snowstorm warning. Between Stone’s short travels from The Basket Grocery Store to his next stop, Finnegan’s Floral, the falling snow had thickened. Whirlwinds of the whiteness made it difficult to see just five feet in front of him. Some would have called the current state of the weather a whiteout, but Stone didn’t want to jump to that extreme thinking, telling himself that the snow falling from the white-blue heavens was temporary and nothing that would prevent him from carrying out his day’s errands prior to the book club function.

  Finnegan’s Floral sat on the other end of Plimpton, next to Turn the Page Books. Stone could kill two birds with one stone, pun intended. He could pick up Lance’s early birthday lilies and a stack of barely used and inexpensive Robert Riley paperbacks for the book club guests.

  On the drive from Elmerstein Way to West East Road, his cellphone buzzed. He snagged it from the middle console, pressed a button, and held up to his right ear.

  “This is Stone.”

  Nothing. Dead air. No one answered. Dammit. Such annoyances were happening a lot lately. Half of him believed it to be Jack Panda being immature and ludicrous, still angry over The Cat Breed. Their recent fight centered around a certain client named Miss Jacqueline Showalter. The sixty-year-old woman had three pristine and majestic shorthaired snowshoes: Canaan, Babel, and Eden. Miss Showalter loathed Jack Panda, though, and probably knew he enjoyed kinky restroom sex along Interstate 79 with random, unhealthy men, most of which were hairy truckers. She wouldn’t dare have the man even look at her pussies. Instead, she chose Stone Daye to assess her felines for future showings.

  Bottom line, Jack held a grudge about losing Showalter as a client and probably felt pissed off at Stone for stealing business away from him. Filled with much hate, what better way was there for Jack Panda to celebrate such drudgery than with random calls, hang-ups, and heavy breathing?

  Whatever. Stone had a busy day ahead of him, and nothing would prevent him for doing his errands, including Jack and his childish pranks. Important things had to be done for a fun-filled evening. So, to hell Jack Panda and his immature hang-ups.

  Finnegan’s Floral included an all-glass building the size of a shoebox with every imaginable flower nestled inside its humid shell. Finnegan Reach opened the place four years ago when he turned thirty-four. The business had been a gift to him from his wealthy parents, Rowan and Maeve Finnegan, who had made their fortune by owning and operating seven beer distributors throughout the tri-state area during the last three decades.

  Finnegan and Stone had a past, of course, and one that could never be construed as smooth. Finnegan, a truck-sized ginger, and hairy, which Stone loved about the guy, had once banged Stone’s ass like a gold-winning Olympian. Finnegan used quick and hard strokes to Stone’s rear, pleasuring them both. Stone dated Finnegan prior to Jack Panda. Although Finnegan wanted to have a long-term relationship, calling Stone his boyfriend/lover, Stone learned that Finnegan had a severe drinking problem and suffered from alcoholism. Therefore, they never really hit it off as a couple.

  Fortunately, Finnegan decided to find the antidote for his alcoholism and attended AA meetings at least twice a week. Stone only knew this because Stan Marshall, his next door neighbor and alcoholic, attended the same meetings as Finnegan and violated AA bylaws/rules talking about Finnegan.

  Stan did not give Stone a week-to-week update on the Irishman, but he sometimes did say to Stone when seeing him in his paved driveway, “That friend of yours. The one who looks like a roid-induced leprechaun, he’s a nice guy. I just wanted you to know that, and he’s recovering well. I rather like him.”

  Yes, Finnegan had always come across as a nice guy, but he liked his alcohol a little too much, always drunk, which Stone really didn’t want in his life. Maybe Stone acted too selfish or didn’t want the leprechaun’s baggage in his world. Or maybe Stone simply wanted to remain single, unable, or unwilling, to attach himself to another man, even though he believed in a happy-ever-after story with someone other than the drinking ginger. God only knew. Stone certainly didn’t. Yet another mystery he noted in his strange life of wonders and unpredictable challenges.

  After Stone entered Finnegan’s Floral, not even a patron for more than two minutes, the charming Irishman slipped up to him and pressed his left palm against Stone’s bulky chest.

  “I missed you, guy. Give me a kiss for old time’s sake, stud. What do you say?”

  Stone backed away from Finnegan’s reach and replied, “You’re sexy as hell, Finnegan, and you were always good in the bedroom, but you know a relationship will never work out between us. We’ve been there and tried that. Let it be the way it has turned out.”

  “Trust me, I’ve got the drinking under control now. I’m sure your neighbor told you that. Stan Marshall’s in everyone’s business, including mine, which sort of pissed me off. But that has nothing to do with you.”

  “He’s told me enough about you. I’m glad you’re doing well, Finnegan. Life is hard, and we never know what is going to be thrown our ways. It’s good to know you can handle your balls.” Stone regretted the use of balls as soon as he said the word. Whatever, though.

  Finnegan chuckled, hearty, open-mouthed, and wide-eyed. “I could handle your balls with care, Stone. You know I always liked them.” He asked, “So what do you say about asking an old friend, who is now clean and sober, out on a date?”

  Stone ignored his question and said, “I’m here for the lilies I ordered.”

  “A dozen,” Finnegan said, coping rather well with the immediate rejection. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you just blew me off about a future date.”

  “The flowers, Finnegan. Can you put them on my credit card?”

  Finnegan had a copy of the card in his files. Stone maybe should have been afraid of someone stealing the card’s numbers or his identity, but he was a risk-taker by nature, except for dating handsome men with ginger hair and massive, bear-like chests who had a history of drinking too much.

  Finnegan grumbled something Stone couldn’t hear as the Irishman fetched the dozen lilies. The ginger bear vanished into a cooler, returned a few seconds to Stone’s side, and presented the bundle of lilies to Stone. “Is it true you’re hosting the book club meeting tonight?”

  Stone rolled his eyes. Finnegan was a huge fan of Robert Riley’s writings. Finnegan could name every title the author wrote and what year each book came out. Plus, he could give facts about Robert Riley no one else in the reading group could.

  “You didn’t invite me again, Stone. How many times have I asked to be a part of your group? Oprah would be upset with you, and Robert Riley would, too.”

  Frankly, Stone never intended to invite his ex-boyfriend to his reading club. Why should he? They were over as a couple, unbound and single. Even if they both enjoyed Riley’s books, Stone didn’t want to feel awkward having the ginger around his other reading friends. No rules or laws applied to the situation, but Stone just didn’t want to feel uncomfortable during his own gathering. Too bad for Finnegan Reach. Sometimes the cookie crumbled that way.

  “There’s no need for a reply, Stone. I understand exactly when our relationship ended. Don’t think I’m a fool who is living lies. You don’t want me as a book club member, and I have to respect that.”

  The guilt-layered comments didn’t work. Stone simply whisked away from the man and said over his shoulder while exiting the flower shop with his arrangement of flowers, “Don’t forget to bill my card, Finnegan. I will see you soon.”

  * * * *

  After putting the flower arrangement in his vehicle, Stone ventured into Turn the Page Books, considered the dust mite capital of Plimpton with its Leo Tolstoy hotels, Tom Wolfe mansions, and Nora Roberts trailers. There were very few hardbacks in the place, s
ince paperbacks sold better. The business encompassed an eight hundred square foot area filled with shelves, local artwork on the walls, a few unseen cobwebs, and multiple racks of children’s books. One wall, from floor to ceiling, had been covered in used paperbacks. Lighting suffered in the place, and the wooden floor creaked with every footstep. Some patrons called the place a docile wonderland while others thought it should be condemned in the world of e-books and handheld electronic reading devices.

  Tender Reese, the owner, could have been Lance’s best friend on various levels, which entailed mostly good times and a few bad ones. Stone thought the two young people had accidentally slept together once and tried to see if couplehood would work, which it didn’t for them. Neither were ever seen entwined in public. Besides, Stone knew his nephew had a string of boyfriends in the past year, sleeping with an arrangement of one-night stands. Although cute and sweet-looking, Tender had a few extra pounds around her middle.

  The woman practiced Tai kwon die, as Stone called it, and could be a badass motherfucker when pushed. When she wasn’t kicking someone’s ass, she used her olive skin tone, beautiful brown eyes, and curvaceous frame to obtain exactly what she wanted sexually from her female companions. For a woman who had just turned forty-two, a decade older than Stone, Tender had all her ducks in a row, which included her finances, business, personal life, and other everyday, status-reared things of importance concerning a tax-paying citizen of Plimpton.

  When Stone entered the book store, he couldn’t help being scrutinized by Tender’s two kitties, Blackie and Whitey. The felines spun around his feet, snapped the tips of their tails, mewed a few times, and approved of him as a well-liked and regular paperback shopper. Although Tender wanted to show her adorable felines for monetary prizes, another business adventure in the young woman’s life, she couldn’t. Blackie and Whitey were exceptionally beautiful British Shorthairs with mundane coats, odd-shaped heads, and a few paws with six toes. Because of these impurrfections, as Stone called them, the furry duo lived in the bookstore with Tender, their happy clients, many books to choose from for reading pleasure, and two sandboxes that were well-kept, always scooped out on a regular basis.

  When Turn the Page Books ended up for sale in the spring of 2010, Stone counted his pennies and debated whether or not to purchase the business. Unfortunately, the world just so happened to be geared by electronic thing-a-ma-jiggers called Nook and Kindle, which inevitably changed his mind. Rarely, if ever, did he see anyone in Plimpton carry around a paperback mystery, thriller, or horror novel for enjoyment while they waited for a bus or sat in Plimpton Park, relishing the fresh air off Lake Erie. In the end, he had an uncanny feeling about purchasing the bookstore and passed on the opportunity, giving Tender rights to scoop it up with a wad of cash, money that had been given to her by her wealthy grandmother, Edna Steer-Reese. As far as Stone knew, the bookstore could never be a million-dollar-making property, but it did allow Tender to pay her duplex’s mortgage and supply food for the woman.

  “Mr. Daye, I have something special for you today,” Tender said, lifting books here and there, moving piles of receipts, and a stack of magazines. Eventually, she came upon what she had been searching for and presented it to him.

  As Blackie and Whitey continued to spin around Stone’s ankles, purring contently, Tender cordially (with smile and all) handed him a hardback novel by none other than Robert Riley. The green leather novel was four hundred pages long, had gilded pages, and sported a beautiful red ribbon marker that looked like its tongue. The pristine book felt heavy in his hands, almost perfect except for one battered corner that looked as if Blackie and Whitey had snacked on it.

  Excited, admiring the book, Stone asked, “Where did you find this, Tender? I’ve been looking for years to get a copy.”

  “You do know what it is, right?”

  He nodded. “A limited and signed edition of Pearls of Vixen designed by a very small press called Paxtonian Books in Barefoot Beach, Florida. From what I understand, there were only five hundred printed and numbered. Two are in circulation that are signed twice by the author.”

  Tender glowed with a smile. “You do know what it is. I knew you would. You’re an expert on Riley’s novels.”

  “What number is this one?” he asked, feeling nervous and hot by just feeling the exclusive novel in his palms.

  “Fifty-two.”

  Perspiration built on his forehead, and he chirped, “How much is it?”

  “I’m selling it at cost to you, since Lance sometimes lives with me. He’s my best friend, and because he’s your nephew and I feel that the two of you are part of my family. I wouldn’t feel right charging the thirty percent finder’s fee that I usually bill others.” Tender then shared a price with him.

  “Thank you for being a wonderful human being, Tender. And thank you for being my nephew’s best friend. He’s quite the handful sometimes, and I know you steer him in the right directions.”

  “I actually love being his confident. We are truly meant to be together, just not in the bedroom.”

  Stone handed the book back to her, removed money from his wallet, adding thirty percent to the cost of the novel for Tender to make a profit. “Don’t argue with me. You’re not in business to give books away.”

  No, Tender wasn’t in such a position. She smiled at him and accepted the money. After placing the short stack of twenties in her register, she said, “I have your box of paperbacks. Twelve in all.”

  “How much, Tender?”

  She looked up at the badly illuminated ceiling and mumbled something, obviously doing addition in her head. With her math complete, she said, “Forty-two dollars.”

  He handed her forty-five dollars and told her to keep the change. When she passed him his small box of paperbacks, he said, “You know you’re still invited to join us this evening, right?”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” she said. “You know how I am.”

  Indeed, he did. Tender suffered from a very different and awkward social phobia that caused her to feel as if she were a know-it-all among other people. The last thing she wanted to do was become the queen of the reading group, embarrassing herself, and overcome with anxiety, talking too much. Stone really wasn’t sure about the psychological and professional term for her condition, but he was quite aware that it had a very long name, a weaving tongue-twister he probably couldn’t even pronounce.

  Stone had always wanted Lance and Tender to have an affair, basking in each other’s skin like the youthful characters in Riley’s Pearls of Vixen. But maybe Lance couldn’t handle Tender that way, fearing that Tender might use her tai kwon die on him, afraid to live with the woman on a full-time basis, a nonparticipant in sharing romantic affections with her. Maybe Lance kept a distance from the plump warrior because they made better friends than lovers. But, if Tender decided to put the moves on him, which Stone clearly doubted happening, it could have been a scene of romance for Lance, or a death wish comprised of street fighting techniques. Who knew?

  Ending his visit at Turn the Page Books, Stone carried his box of twelve paperbacks and the limited copy of Robert Riley out of the store, calling over his right shoulder, “I do know you, Tender. Trust me when I say you will be missed this evening. If you change your mind, join us.”

  Tender shook her head, waved goodbye, and continued her workday as her two felines attempted to trip her, swirling around the woman’s feet.

  * * * *

  Stone had learned from a demised friend that gifts to people were to be more personal than a kiss. At first, he felt appalled by such a practice, but as he had grown older, a whopping three decades, plus two years, he had learned that a gift had turned out to be a way to touch the human heart that made it burn with joy, love, and a searing sensation.

  And so Stone set out to find Lance Bangle the perfect birthday present. It had to be a certain piece of jewelry that clearly had some spunk to it and melodramatic symbolism. Since Lance had the life of a yo-yo, doing unthinkable tricks
to stay alive through his infiltrated tragedies (drug and alcohol use, homelessness, and the suicide of his mother), Stone wanted the piece of jewelry to state hopefulness, remembrance, and survival of all things in the past, present, and in Lance’s unfamiliar future.

  To find such a piece of jewelry, he decided to shop at The Diamond Abyss, a jewelry store on Cullen Avenue in downtown Plimpton. The store sat approximately four blocks away from Turn the Page Books. After dropping off his collected box of books inside his BMW, he walked the four blocks to the jewelry store, needing and wanting the exercise.

  Snow and wind brushed against his face. The extreme chill started to freeze his system, reaching through his North Face jacket. He exhaled a plume of what looked like smoke, resembling a dragon. His pace quickened as he walked through the winter wonderland, caught up in the icy weather. Stone enjoyed winter, but didn’t want to lose a limb from gangrene because of the low temperature and wicked wind. Everything about the day felt biting and like a frozen tundra, which caused Stone discomfort with unclear thoughts.

  As he trotted down Cullen Avenue, keeping to the right on the sidewalk, strolling more than walking, he recalled that his nephew, Lance Andrew Bangle, had had a unlucky life ever since he was a young boy. Stone’s twin brother, Samuel, had met Trina Bangle, Lance’s mother, at the age of twenty-two during Samuel’s senior year at Dartmouth. Trina was thirty-seven at the time, divorced, and just so happened to be raising a teenaged Lance at the time. Trina had no association with Dartmouth in the slightest, except for almost running Samuel and his bicycle over with her VW Bug on Dartmouth property. Thereafter, Samuel, suffered from minor cuts and bruises. Trina, having learned to be careful on her bike, decided to date Samuel sporadically, became lovers with the man, and married him three years later.

  Lance confessed to Stone numerous times that his mother and Samuel fought almost twenty-four hours a day during their two years of marriage. Name-calling was primal and unending in their relationship. A few cheek-slaps, cheating on each other, and deceit were all common traits in the marriage.