Ultimately he wanted to work with the FBI, CIA or GBI, but was happy just to have the part time job with the local library for now. Great job for a student, quiet, not much to do once the books were shelved and the tables and chairs straightened. He even managed to get a few hours every shift to work on his studies. Looking at his watch he mentally calculated how many hours he had before work and what he had to get done before then.
The balance of the class period lapsed without any further incidents. Seymour stood and stretched his frame, bending right then left and a couple toe touches for good measure just to get the kinks out. He stood six feet tall, was not overly muscular but toned, with sleek, well-defined muscles; his dad said he was ‘wiry’. Hours on the basketball and racquetball courts not to mention the unending hours on the farm slinging bales and pulling weeds helped to keep his physique in top form. This had not gone unnoticed by the young co-eds that blushed and giggled when they saw him coming down the hall. Girls had been a bit of an enigma for Seymour, sure he’d had a few girlfriends over the years but the commitment level required in most cases was more than he could give, so he, for the most part, just tried to ignore them.
He’d been raised with Southern gentleman values, respected women, tried to see them as an equal partner in all respects, academically, intellectually, and so on. This was not to say that he did not find the feminine form appealing, on the contrary, he had days when he could think of nothing else, however, he did find it odd that he often found himself thinking and daydreaming more about the instructors and administrative women rather than the young, nubile bimbets bouncing about campus. In either case, he generally kept his distance in an effort to focus on his studies, after all tuition was expensive and his funds were limited.
Seymour was a likable character and had plenty of friends of both sexes; he was quick on his feet with always something witty or insightful to say and didn’t mind poking fun, even if the finger was pointed directly at him. He knew when to have fun and when it was time to buckle down and get things done. The teachers had grown fond of Seymour in his short time at Valdosta University. The ladies often talked of his charming style and the tilted grin that sported a small dimple in his left cheek. Certainly he would be a catch for any of the young women on campus but they respected his choice to put school first, especially considering the challenges he’d overcome to get there.
CHAPTER THREE
Blanche was allowed a reprieve from working the late shift on her first day, so at 6:30 p.m. she gathered up her few personal items and left the stately building in anticipation of a quiet night curled up with her latest romance novel. The humidity wasn’t as thick as it had been at noon so there were couples taking advantage of the beauty of the day, walking with fingers interlaced or arms around one another with the occasionally wandering hand drifting lower to cup a rounded bottom. Blanche sighed as she watched the young lovers move about the downtown area, wishing she could find someone who was thoughtful, caring, but with a hunger to match her own. For now the daring young World War I pilot fighting to free the lustful French maiden from the hands of the barbarian Hun would have to fill the void. Walking away from her first day on the job she felt a sense of both relief and satisfaction.
“I think I’ll do okay here,” she thought, standing on the sidewalk looking up and down the street for the closest bus stop. “Screw it, I’ll walk and enjoy the evening as well, even if my pilot ace isn’t here to walk with me.” She turned on her heels and headed in what she hoped was the direction of Caroline’s establishment.
Finding herself in a section of town that could be perceived as unsavory, to say the least, was not what Blanche had bargained on. The sun was setting and a much rowdier crowd was filling the streets, headed for local bars and eateries. Her feet ached from the days work and the miles she’d walked, most likely in the wrong direction. With cell phone in hand, she remembered that her service would not be available until tomorrow at the earliest so she slipped it back into her purse just as an old, rusted out impala with dark windows slowed to almost a stop and cruised by her, very close to the curb.
“Lookie here now Missy!” floated over the breeze in a deep Southern drawl.
Blanche jumped; startled that someone was behind her. She turned to see an elderly black man sitting on his porch, a short stone throw away. “Excuse me, were you talking to me?”
“Yessiree, ya’ll oughtent be out here all by yosef. Bad things be happinin’ to a raght pertty little thing like ya’ll if’n ya ain’t careful,” the older fellow uttered, from his perch on the porch.
The exact dialog was lost on Blanche but the message was abundantly clear. “I’ve been looking for a taxi but haven’t had much luck.”
He chuckled and shook his head, “Ya ain’t gonna be findin’ any cabs dis pawt of town ta night.”
“Great, that’s just great,” she fumed, scuffing her soles on the rough concrete like she was five years old again. “You wouldn’t happen to have a phone would you?”
“We sho nough got a phone, but ain’t had no powah to it fer some time now. My boy, Jasper, could hep ya with a lift. Where ya’ll be needin’ ta go?” he said, waving his hand and motioning Blanche up onto the porch.
Blanche could feel her anxiety level rising like mercury in a thermometer on a hot day. Wishing not to be impolite, she slowly started to decline, moving her head side to side, when she noted that the Impala had flipped around at the end of the street and was now pulling to a slow stop, engine idling.
“Well, you know what, maybe I’ll take you up on that offer if it’s not too much trouble,” she said, making her way quickly up the sidewalk to the relative safety of the porch.
“You sho is a pertty little thing missy, what be yo name?” the dark skinned gentleman said, extending his bony hand and baring his large yellow, coffee stained teeth.
“Delaney, I mean, Blanche, Blanche Delaney,” takes his hand in hers surprised by the power in his grip.
“Pleasure to be meetin’ ya Miss Delaney, I’d be Rufus and my boy Jasper could sho nough get ya home. Ya cum on in now, ya hear.” He pulled the rickety screen door open and ushered Blanche into the dimly lit living room.
Stepping into the tidy space, an aroma reached her delicate nostrils, not unpleasant, but also not definable. Rufus pointed to a couch with a large afghan thrown over the back, leaned into the doorway of the kitchen and hollered down the stairwell.
“Jasper, Jasper, listen up boy! Cum on up here. Got a job fo ya.”
Moments later, the unmistakable sound of someone lumbering up a flight of stairs, then a giant of a man filled the frame of the doorway, dwarfing his father.
“What you need pops?” Jasper boomed, his deep voice reverberating in Blanche's chest.
Reflexively she moved her hand, lightly pressing the area just above her cleavage. The motion drew Jaspers eyes to meet Blanche’s, and then dropped to the exposed tanned flesh, her breathing accelerated.
“Jasper, dis here is Miss Delaney. She be a bit lost and needin’ a ride to her place. Ya do that for us, ya hear.”
“Miss Delaney,” Jasper nodded his large head in her direction, Blanche responded with a nod of her own, pulling the top of her shirt together in the process.
Her breath continued to come in quick intakes, her head very light now; she reached for the arm of the couch and plopped down on the seat.