Friday, May 13, 2011

FURTHER ON UP THE ROAD (#fridayflash)

Please click play for some mood music

She met the putz on his leave.

It was few years past the Armistice in Korea and when they were on their first date, Bobby admitted to Lori Beth that the only reason he joined the Navy was because "all the real fighting was already done."

How brave... Lori Beth thought to herself. A real winner. First dates were the do-or-die time to impress a gal and here he is all but inadvertently admitting what a coward he is.

Bobby fiddled with his rum and Coke. "Besides, I figured I'd beat Uncle Sam to the punch, huh?"

She smiled politely and looked out the window, unsure if if he was just nervous or just a complete ass. For the time being, Lori Beth chalked it up to him just being nervous because on their way out, he somehow managed the bravado to knock out some hopped up hooch hound who was a little too hot in the zipper.

"Respect the lady..." her sailor told the creep.

Her perception of Bobby changed. For the next week, they spent every waking hour at a hot pillow joint the next town over until he shipped back for his next tour.

One night, as Lori Beth joked about all the girlfriends he has abroad tucked away in love huts, Bobby laughed, told her how unglamorous life was on cramped aircraft carriers and tossed her the keys to his 49 Mercury.

"Watch her for me," he said. "I'll be back before you know it."

# # #

The six months went by fairly quick. In between her job at the concession stand at the drive in and writing Bobby letters every weekend, it wouldn't be long before they were together again.

But it was long.

The rumor was that he was making time with some roller derby hussy two counties away. She wouldn't have believed it if it wasn't for picture proof in the local rag. There he was on the society page with "Payne Mansfied," the so-called blonde bombshell of the regional derby. They were engaged.

Her blood boiled.

She decided to sign up for the derby that afternoon. Forget the fact that she couldn't skate -- all that was important was that she had her name: Blocky Marciano. She originally wanted to go with Rita Hateworth but figured the former sounded more vicious.

But that wasn't good enough.

Lori Beth needed more revenge so she did what any red-blooded American woman would. Much to the chagrin of her mother, she found that skimpy two-piece from last season and washed Bobby's Plymouth in the front yard with the radio cranked and flirted with every fella that strolled by.

The hottest Saturday afternoon of the summer, she made sure everyone saw her. Word needed to get back to Bobby - written or otherwise - that she knew what a crumb-bum he was and more important, she was selling his car. The '49 Merc.

Oh she sold it alright. Little did she know that her future Mr. Right was only 345 smackeroos away.

Music: 'Further On Up The Road,' by Bobby Blue Bland. It can be downloaded HERE.


  1. What a winding road to happiness. Plunk down the cash, lady.

  2. So funny the dating dynamic that went on leading up to, during and after WWII and the Korean War. My parents met when my dad was just back from WWII but my mom heard stories about his previous girlfriends. You've captured the sense of the time very well.

  3. What a frisky, energetic character Lori Beth turns out to be. I was, what, about ten years old when this story takes place, and I'm pretty sure I was one of the neighbor kids secretly ogling her while she washed that car.

  4. I'd say she got the better end of the deal, and should keep that pretty figure out of the skate ring. Payne Mansfield, indeed. Good one, Anthony.

  5. Another fine flash, Anthony. Love the way you write these and this one has a great ending. Well done, mate!

  6. A woman scorned as they say. It's so true but to piss off a man is a certain death. Women keep you alive to torture you and you could only wish you were dead. 

  7. A woman scorned as they say. It's so true but to piss off a man is a certain death. Women keep you alive to torture you and you could only wish you were dead. 


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