…continued from Savannah Banana.

It was almost a year since Judy Jackson asked her husband to move out. Their relationship had deteriorated to bickering over the mundane, or having no conversation whatsoever. She and William Buford Jackson Jr. agreed on a trial separation, which now seemed inevitably permanent.

Judy stayed in their house in Mt. Pleasant with their 16-year-old son, William the 3rd, while her husband took up bachelorhood in an old brick townhouse in downtown Charleston. It was walking distance from Jackson-Beauregard and what it lacked in family, it made up for in charm and convenience.

And so it was that Billford, as his friends and family called him, was waiting for a client at the Southend Brewpub on East Bay, two days before the new year. This was not one of his regular lunch spots, but the borrower was from out of town and enjoyed the trendy tourist venues.

Billford was neither early nor late for the meeting and undecided as to whether he should get a table or wait for his guest at the entrance. Hell, he thought to himself, every other banker is in the middle of a holiday on a sunny island in the Tropics. And with that conviction, he went to the bar and ordered himself a Scotch.

His company driver was dispatched to pick up the client at the airport, so Billford rang him to check on their progress. He was advised the borrower’s flight had not yet landed, so he motioned to the bartender for a second drink.

The bar was filled with holiday visitors and Billford did not notice the college age girl with the flaming red hair, sitting on the bar stool next to him.

***

Despite her shock of red curls, Priscilla was never the most beautiful woman in the room. But she was not unattractive, and her outgoing and assertive personality got her wherever she needed to go. Behind her back, her girlfriends called her “flirty” and their boyfriends fantasied about her.

On this afternoon, she was at the bar in the Southend Brewpub drinking Coke and complaining to her friend Jill, the barmaid, about her louse of a boyfriend, Kirby.

Priscilla was not-in-fact a college student, having abandoned a liberal arts degree at Trident, in favor of a full-time career as a waitress. That was six years ago, and at 25-years-old, Priscilla still had little planned for life, except to have money. Her personality earned her tips, far more generous than her service deserved, but she had little in the way of savings.

Priscilla liked to have fun. She liked to party, and she loved to spend money.

“Your problem is you keep dating boys,” Jill offered during a brief lull between pouring drinks.

Priscilla had to consider this as fact. Kirby was five years her junior, and not even old enough to buy her drinks. Not that he cared – there was no minimum legal age for purchasing marijuana. She stared into her Coke as Jill was off to the other end of the bar to top off a beer.

“He says he doesn’t want to go out for New Year’s Eve!” Priscilla blurted out when her friend was back in earshot.

The thought of sitting home on this highest social holiday was more than she could bear.

“Where do you want to go?” the stranger next to her offered. “I will take you anywhere.”

Into his third Scotch, Billford noticed the red head, and could not help but eavesdrop on her predicament. And even though she was half his age, he could neither help himself from making his open ended promise.

###

This story continues with John Doe.

2016 Kirt Van Buren