THE RITUAL ~ Chapter 3 (cont.)

Welcome to the conclusion of Chapter 3. Got here without reading what led up to this point? Use the landing page here to navigate to where you left off.

What happened last:

After getting through the funeral, the boys approached Lucy Malbourne in the hope she will fill in as a short-term barber. Charmed by their sincerity, she agrees.

Chapter 3: Contact With The Invaders
Part Two

The boys and Mrs. Malbourne went to Sheriff Kline’s office and explained their case. It was easy. And in less than a week, Mrs. Malbourne had inventoried the shop and stepped in as Bennie’s replacement. All the teenage boys of the town came around like dogs picking up the scent of a trail. They all sat in the chair and let her shampoo their heads, run her fingers through their hair, press her body against them as needed; they stared face to face into her bosom and thought they had seen God. They all left with monster erections and more than a handful of them would go straight home to masturbate.

In the next weeks, the rest of the male population began to come in. The married men gave their wives the excuse “She’s all we got, honey”. Some wives came to sit and watch while their husbands were serviced. Just to be sure. Some of the older men were dead set against it, considering the idea of a female barber to be unthinkable.

“Well,” Mrs. Malbourne said when she heard. “They’ll either change their minds and come around...or they’ll trip over their beards!”

Scott was pleased Mrs. Malbourne was so clearly enjoying herself.

“I had planned to open a shop of my own, anyway,” she had confessed to him. “My husband is working on a history book, so I must leave him alone for hours on end. I thought a shop would keep me busy. But then this came along. And I get a lot more traffic and social contact than what I was planning, anyway.”

She looked at Scott and said with such adult candor: “It’s lonely, sometimes, to be married to a writer.”

Once again, Scott heard a suggestion behind Mrs. Malbourne’s words, and he silently berated his over-active, adolescent mind. He really needed to grow up. But he wondered if he was hearing it because, somewhere, he wanted to. Saving himself for A.J. wasn’t easy. And this woman—

Ridiculous, Scott told himself. This woman doesn’t want a fling with a teenage boy. And I don’t want a fling with her. I love A.J. And even though he believed it with his whole heart, his crotch told another story: swelling and throbbing at the slightest thing Mrs. Malbourne might do or say; even at the thought of her. He was out of control. He would have to keep his distance.

Barely three and a half weeks had passed when the Brothers found themselves at Pops at their usual table. It had become their usual table as they had begun to hang out there since The Place was no more. It wasn’t private, but they kind of felt like they owned the table in the corner. Everything had turned out well, they had concurred. Mrs. Malbourne was enjoying her fill-in job as tonsorial caretaker and maybe she’d even stick it out for the long term.

Randy was late and the other boys had already ordered malts when Robert brought up one, unsolved issue.

“We never did figure out what was in those boxes upstairs.”

Scott and Alex looked from Robert to each other, hating how he had reminded them of the one remaining potentially creepy thing without a harmless explanation. But he was right. Whole boxes of live animals in a dark room seemed kinda weird.

“Are you sure there was something alive in them?” Alex wondered.

“Of course, I’m sure. Whaddya think: I’m retarded?”

“Well, maybe,” Scott jumped in, “there was just loose stuff that moved around a bit. You know, like the contents just settled a bit when you got close.”

Robert got that defensive look on his face. “I know what I heard. Randy heard it to.”

“What’d I hear?”

They all turned to Randy who had finally arrived. It was clear why he was late. He had been paying a visit to Mrs. Malbourne. His long, golden locks were gone. Now his contagious grin was framed by nothing but ears. He was sporting a clipper cut with just a splash of curl over his forehead.

“Oh, my god!” Alex gasped.

“Holy shit!” Robert said.

“What happened to you, Wiltowsky?” Scott asked—as if he didn’t know.

“Nothing. I just...you know…whatever.” He sat down. They were all staring, grinning. “What?”

Robert pointed an accusatory finger, saying “You swore you’d never, ever let anyone cut your hair!”

Scott confirmed it: “Yeah. You said you hated clip shops.”

Randy was befuddled. “I did! I mean, I do! But…”

Alex finished for him: “You like the barber!”

Randy blushed, speechless. Then, he just shrugged his right shoulder a bit as if to say: Well, so what?

The other boys all cracked up. Scott had to play big brother. “Just remember she’s married.”

Less brotherly, Robert added, smirking “Yeah…and twice your age!”

Randy’s smile faded a bit. Alex saw it and felt bad. The poor guy was sensitive.

“I can still like her, can’t I?” Randy asked the table.

Alex smiled. “You bet you can, Randy. You just caught us off guard.” Randy looked up and caught Alex’s eye. Randy’s smile came back. Scott watched and thought: Well, all right, Alex. Good work.

Scott joined in. “Yeah. We’ve just never seen your face before. Who knew you were so ugly!” He winked at Randy and Randy punched him in the arm.

A.J. brimmed with stress at how busy the diner was. She barely got time to glance at Scott for all the customers needing attention. Thank God he and his friends were taking up a table and not needing any service. She could have used a few more tables like that.

“A.J.!” Mrs. Curson bellowed. “Table four needs their drinks.”

“I know!”

“Well, get a move on, girl!”

A.J. thought, I should move on, all right!

Mrs. Curson moved over to the table where Scott and the guys sat. “You boys can’t just sit here all day, today. It’s busy and I need the table.”

“We’re paying customers,” Robert said.

“And you’re done.”

“I was just going to order a piece of pie, actually,” Randy said. Mrs. Curson looked at him. Randy was never a trouble-maker. But the boys were all secretly thrilled he had broken out of his goody-two-shoes shell for this one shining moment.

Less sure of himself, Randy said, “Well, I was.”

Mrs. Curson glared. Then, she muttered, “Fine. What kind?”

Randy was on the spot and hating it. “Maybe apple?”

“Fine.”

Mrs. Curson turned and moved away.

“Well, all right, Wiltowsky!” Robert said holding up his hand for a high-five. Randy obliged and they smacked hands across the table.

“Apple pie on seven, A.J.” Mrs. Curson yelled as she marched back to the cash register. And, after a glance at the cook’s window, she added “And there’s hot food up!”

“I know!” A.J. said.

“Well, hustle! What do I pay you for?”

Not be yelled at, A.J. muttered. The old bat was really pushing it today.

“Did you say something, young lady?”

A.J. got close enough in passing to stop for a beat and say softly, but pointedly: “You should hire an extra person for the weekends.”

As she moved on to grab the food in the window, Mrs. Curson snapped, infuriated: “Don’t tell me how to run my business, young lady!”

A.J. failed to keep the adrenaline from raising her ire. “Well, don’t tell me to go any faster than one person can go!”

By now the restaurant was quieting down; the patrons were all listening to the verbal brawl behind the counter. Scott watched with particular concern, his face reddening with a growing anger. He wanted to jump to A.J.’s defense but respected her need to fight her own battles. He hoped he made the right decision by staying in his chair.

“Ms. Tyler,” Mrs. Curson said, getting that holier-than-thou-attitude adults love to get with younger people. She aimed for a professional tone, but it reeked of pissiness. “As your employer I expect obedience and respect. And I expect you to follow instructions willingly and without sass! Is that clear?”

“Yes,” A.J. said. It was suddenly very clear. She began to undo her apron.

“What are you doing? Mrs. Curson said, unbelieving.

“I’m removing my apron. Because you’re right. Your employees should respect you. And I don’t respect you, Mrs. Curson. I think you’re rude and obnoxious and I wouldn’t work for you again for a hundred dollars and hour! I QUIT!”

And she threw her apron to the ground, grabbed her purse from behind the counter and marched for the door. The patrons burst into screaming applause, rising to give A.J. a standing ovation—which only made her face even more red. Scott was shaking his head with pride as he watched her storm out the front doors. He wanted to go with her, but it would look too obvious. He’d call her tonight.

“You’ll all be sorry! See if you get your food, now!” Mrs. Curson tried to turn the crowd to her side of the story. But she was drowned out by the laughter and chatter. She looked around and saw her destiny—forever surrounded by kids who hated her. She sat down at her cash register and realized what she always knew. Her husband had been the people person. He had run the place and she just took care of the ordering and accounting. When he died, she knew she could either sell it or try to keep it going. And she was a fighter, so she chose the latter option. But she was not a people person. That would never change. Now, she hated the business more than anything.

She looked around and saw the new generation around her as they applauded behavior she would never have dared to exhibit as a child. They all thought she was a miserable woman. They were right. Worse, she didn’t see it ever changing. So perhaps it was time for her to go.

She walked into the back. Andy, her cook, saw her and said, “What’s up?”

“We’re closing early.”

Thank you for reading! I’ll be adding new installments every Saturday, so use the following link to the home page to navigate to the latest chapter:

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