Romance

TRAINING MANLEY

The Stakeout. Note, that some matters are omitted from the story here, but you can always pick up a copy of the "Manley book," it's listed among my books above as "How to train a wild puppy dog named Manley."

Dec 17, 2024  |   10 min read

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TRAINING MANLEY
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Chapter Twelve: The Stakeout.

Several days would have passed without us seeing each other, that's Libby and me. The hunger built up within me and burned hot. I knew I had to go back and try to see her, but how could I go without an invitation? Oh well! I knew just the right thing to do, I had a plan.

"I'll go and stake her out. Stake out the points where I knew that she frequents. Where she's most likely to be seen, like, where she's most likely to walk on by while I'm sitting there."

I sat in my car, just a block away from the diner. One stoplight away in a far direction from where she usually approaches. The park is just across the street from the diner. So, whether she chooses to have her meal there in the diner or the park, either place will be right smack in front of my eyeballs. I wasn't there more than a minute before she showed up, and both venues were good just as I had thought.

She came walking briskly and purposefully through the park. Walked across the street and continued straight into the diner. I moved the car up a bit closer, just passed over the intersection, and stopped. I then sat in the car with the motor running and watched through the rolled-up tinted window.

She was at the back of a line of five or six other people, her arms folded across her breasts. She was looking over her shoulders periodically as if she was expecting to see someone.

Bubbles: "Could it be that she's looking for you, Buddy?"

"Butt out, will you?" I rebuked him.

She looked over this shoulder and then that, and at one point. I'm sure I saw her looking at the table where we had sat when we were both inside there sometime before, and that was more than just a lingering glance. For some unknown reason, at that point, I felt a rush of warmth deep down in my stomach. I pulled out of the space and went searching for a proper parking spot. Parked the car and fed enough money for an extra half hour into the parking meter, and then, walked briskly back towards the diner. She saw me on the approach and turned full-faced towards me with her still folded arms across her chest as she waited. With a sneaky look and a thin smile plastered on her face.

"Hi, Libby."

"Hello, Mr. Woodhardt," she greeted me with a homie, long-time-pal sort of a hug. Harbinger of things to come, perhaps. Hmm.

Bubbles: "Wow, what did you do for that one?"

Libby: "What's up with you, where, have, you, been?" those words came dropping in on the front of my shirt.

Me: "Around; been busy. How have you been doing yourself, are you okay?"

"Hmm-um," she nodded and shook her head. "Just was a bit concerned about you when I did not see you in these last few days."

I was just about to say: why didn't you call me? But just then I was to have recollected that we hadn't gotten that far as yet, not so far as to have exchanged numbers. With those people still there around us who'd just witnessed the warm familiar type of embrace we'd just engaged in. I didn't want to spoil it and leave them puzzled, as to what might be going on.

Libby: "I was just about to grab something to eat. Should I order for both of us? Pizza as usual I suppose?"

"I'm good with that, you know me just a little too well." We laughed.

We sat down at the table, just like we did on the very first occasion there. The only difference this time was that she didn't have a pile of books in front of her. However, she seemed just as focused and purposeful as ever. Was she focused on the task of getting to know me? I mean, to really get to know me this time, "I'd hope so."

"So, what have you been doing?" She asked me again.

"As I have said, I've been busy with work and studies, work, more so than studies. Did I not tell you about the gig I had to go and do at the techno center last evening? Thought I did."

"Yes, you did mention it, but I didn't know it would be taking you that long."

Bubbles: "that long? She misses you, dude."

"So, what happened at the Techno Center? Did you say that something occurred there that - " "I don't want to talk about it," I interrupted her. I didn't think that we were at that place yet. I wasn't sure how she would view the whole thing. Would she think I had something to do with it, like, in leading the woman on? Thinking that I was flirting with her or something?

I didn't want her to see me like that. But then again. Would that view of me as seen through her eyes, like, of who I was? Or of how I would behave in such events, in her mind! Would that be a misrepresentation of the facts? Maybe my fame had gone on ahead of me and would have featured prominently in the madam's decision to hire me. In this case, I couldn't deny the accuracy of her assessment of the whole mess. But for once in my life, I didn't want this person, (this woman with the heavenly glow and vivacious energy,) to see me in that light. It had suddenly dawned on me that this one, for some strange reason, mattered to me, a lot.

My mother used to say in the old days: that only the vain and clueless man is led to believe that his whole life's purpose and vocation is to make his woman happy. "There's much more to life than that," she had said. But since meeting up with this woman, Libby Dahoust, I'm not sure anymore man, I'm just not sure. But I'm willing to go out of my way to at least try to make this one woman happy. If not to piss my mother off, maybe to get a chance to see where things lead from here, with Libby and me.

Not quite sure where Mom stands in this regard when it comes to Amy and other female folks. She would probably say the very same thing, with just a bit of alteration of the gender parts of those sayings to make them fit. But as for Norm and me? She never fails to remind us of this; her version of what the truth in the facts of life is or is supposed to be.

Chapter Thirteen: Exes, O's, and Horse Riders.

On my birthday, I got the most unexpected, sweetest voicemail ever, followed by a follow-up call later that evening. From whom did you ask? None other than my beloved ex-wife. What was she up to this time, hmm? When it rains, it pours.

"Just called to wish you a happy birthday dear," she said. But it was obvious that that was not all she wanted to talk about.

"Maybe we should have tried a little bit harder to make our marriage work when we had it," she went on to say. "Maybe it was not all that bad after all. Maybe we could take another kick at the can," can we?

An awful lot of maybe, maybe, maybe. Ain't it?

"It's a bit late for that now don't you think?"

"Well, we all have made our mistakes, nobody's perfect, but mistakes can be corrected, can't they? What can one do with perfection?"

"Not much," I replied sarcastically. "How is your husband doing these days?" I asked, emphasizing the "husband." Silence, "uh, uh!"

"Just as I thought," I said before ending the call.

Dan Ryder was the champion jockey that year and was vying for a second straight year in the enviable position. But then came the big fall. He was riding the big mount: Run-for-joe, who was vying to become the horse of the year too. They were in slot number three of seven in the Gold Cup race.

Run-for-joe was no doubt the two-to-one favorite. But strong challenges were expected from the likes of Rude Boy and Jeremy's Pet. Dan Ryder's friend and competition jockey, Wayne Martin wasn't riding in the race. Since he was not in the running for any big prizes, like, trophies, or top honors that time around, there was no doubt that all his support was behind his friend, Danny.

The stands were jam-packed with race-watchers and spectators of all stripes and colors. As the horses burst out of the starting gates. Run-for-Joe broke nicely and quickly staked out her favorite position to the far left of the field. Miracles and wonders then broke into the lead ahead of Jeremy's Pet, and Holiday-Season. Followed closely by Rude Boy, Simplicity, and March Break bringing up the rear.

As they approach the halfway mark. Run-for-Joe was in the lead, but Rude Boy began to find his footing and pounced ahead of the rest of the field to sit in the second position. Jeremy's Pet was sitting in the catbird seat at third, poised and ready to pounce at any moment. The race was between those three. Meanwhile, March break, surprisingly though it seemed to many, was putting on a gallant challenge up the middle.

As the finish line approached, it was Rude Boy, Jeremy's Pet, and Run-for-Joe. Coming down to the wire, look, it's Rude Boy and Run-for-joe, Rude Boy, Run-for-joe. Run-for-Joe just knocked Rude Boy right over the finish line for a photo-finish win. But that was not all that happened there and then. It would have appeared as if the last-minute push to the finish line by Run-for-Joe was just a bit too much on the horse's legs and caused her left front leg to snap and break at the joint just above the horseshoe.

The animal stumbled and fell right through the finish line to secure the win for her owners and supporters, but as for the horse herself, she did not fare quite as well. The horse's leg wasn't the only thing broken there that day. The fall was much too powerful on the animal's neck which hit the ground first, they had to put the poor beast down. Some folks I know, though, thought that they should have put the injured jockey down too, right there and then.

The jockey was carried away on a stretcher with a broken left leg and a fractured hip, never mounted up on a horse again, at least not in a professional capacity. I've got a funny feeling that he has been having trouble mounting up on some other beastly things too, other than the feline kind. Based on the evidence that has been showing up lately, even on the phone line. His beloved wife, (out of the blue,) remembered my phone number and called me up. She called on my birthday to wish me a happy birthday.

I've been doing quite well in the happy department of my life of late, I told her. When I needed your wishes, your thoughts, and your actions for my happiness, it was never forthcoming. On the contrary, you went out of your way at every juncture to ensure that the opposite was true for me. But that was then, I said, this is now. She sure seems to be putting in some extra time on the task of working her way back to me, with a burning love inside of late. One can always hope, I suppose. Can't they?

One will always need to be spell-specific when referring to him and when calling or writing his name to separate who Dan Ryder is, from what he does. Whenever they call him, by his name: Ryder, one is never quite sure if it's Ryder, the name he'd inherited from his father, or if it's "Rider" the jockey.

They were buddies from school days, that's Wayne Martin and him. When Wayne Martin quit Secondary School and went on to sign up for jockey school, his friend Dan Ryder wasn't far behind. I ended up dating his sister, we were married not long afterward. We were both young and still very much in love. We were both in college at the time, and our parents agreed that we could share living facilities, alternating between her mother's place and mine.

My mother had given me the basement at home, I eventually got it fixed up and made it as comfortable as I could. It wasn't the Ritz Carlton, but it was our home, and we were in love, or so I thought. Everything seemed set for us to take off and flourish. But then, those two started showing up more frequently and were busily showering everyone with gifts and goodies. She wanted that type of lifestyle for herself; easy access to cash and kinds too, I'd guessed.

I couldn't afford to give it to her, yet. But I kept on reminding her that our future was looking good. "Things will get better soon," I told her constantly but, she was in the "now" frame of mind. The future was way too far away for her. Discontent set in next and then came the blame and the complaints.

At 29 I was still living in the basement apartment at my mother's place because I could not afford the rent and bills which accompanied an independent lifestyle. I even ended up selling my car at one point because I couldn't afford the fuel, upkeep, and maintenance, and then, I committed a faux pas that turned out to be the blamed catalyst for the final breakup of my marriage.

I'd picked up a gift for her at one of the pawnshops I used to frequent. A bad gift it was. Don't ask what it was though, I can't tell you that. I started searching for better, I was to find my calling in the world of the computer. All things to do with computers, among a few other things, yes. She moved out of my place back to her mom's place. "Just wanted to be alone for a while to figure things out," she'd said. She never came back. The divorce was easy, she wanted it, so I let her have it, I didn't stand in her way. And we didn't have anything to split up since we didn't have anything, yet.

Two years into the marriage, I started working the night shift, you know? The real dark, wild side type of night shift. Walking on the darker side of the street, one might say.

It was the culmination of several things that had brought it about. I'd just gotten sick and tired of depending on my mother to bail me out financially. The wife was upping the ante, becoming more and more discontented. I couldn't just sit there and twiddle my thumb; I had to do something. So, I got a brand-new toolkit and went to work. From car theft to home invasion, whatever gets me the bacon to take back home, that's what I'd do.

The pawnshops around town all knew my face. I was a regular in and out of those joints, and on both ends of the deal. When I was not selling, I was buying. At one of those places, I'd picked up a gift for her (the wife) on her birthday. A very inappropriate gift for a birthday present, from a loving husband to his wife, one might say. But then again, what can a poor boy do? Not enough, obviously.

That was when she moved out of my place and went back into her mom's. "For a while," she'd said. As it was to turn out? It was a very short "while." She did call me up again though, at least one more time.

Out of the blue, she called. The raindrops were pitter-pattering on the windowsills. What calming effects it had on me. It gets to me every single time. It could as well rain every day for me for all I cared, if it was only for this (and yes, a few other reasons.) But then came the interruption.

"Hello," I answered the ringing telephone.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm planting tulips."

"Planting tulips? In this weather?"

"Yes, it's the best weather, the best time, and the best season for that, didn't you know?"

"For planting tulips?"

"Yes, for planting tulips, as in, not one, but two, lips."

She hung up. Never did call back. I couldn't suppress the laughter, no matter how hard I tried.

It was raining there too, I was sure. Right there where she was, behind the doors, and it was having those sorts of effects on her mood. Yes, those. She needed some company, the right kind of company, that was why she'd called me up. Sorry, Missy, those days are long gone.

To be continued.

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E. Lloyd K

Dec 19, 2024

A taste of Jamaican #yardcore #romance for you.

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Surah

Dec 19, 2024

Nice

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E. Lloyd K

Dec 19, 2024

Thank you.

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