Dancers & Other Short Stories

By J. R. Oneal

Dancers - Snap and Fiona cruise a low rent juke joint for a night of fun and games. Their gullible mark, Eddie seeks revenge when he's sucked into their game. "I'll not be made a fool of, by you or anyone else," Eddie cried.

Cross Country - A hapless student pilot takes a bucket of bolts airplane for a cross-country flight and suffers a meltdown when things go horribly awry.

And what really happened down at the old wash hole?????

A collection of ten short stories. Dancers, Rocking at the Store, Cross Country, Hootchie Cootchie, Plum Branch Wedding, Wild Woman from Borneo, Disaster at the old Wash Hole, Civics Lesson, The Question, and The Fight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. R. Oneal
• Release date: Feb 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311797957

J. R. Oneal

J R Oneal was born in South Carolina and spent many years in the Pee Dee Region of that state. After retiring from the corporate world and venturing into the world of small business and part-time teaching, Oneal finally settled in South West Virginia to pursue his lifelong ambition of writing.Oneal writes fast fiction and short stories and is currently working on a novel of life in nineteenth century South Carolina. He has published a book on his family history and a biography of his work life. This is Oneal's first publication of short stories.

Book preview

Dancers

& Other Short Stories

J. R. Oneal

Copyright 2015 J. R. Oneal

Smashwords Edition.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dancers

Rocking at the Store

Cross Country

Hootchie Cootchie

Plum Branch Wedding

Wild Woman from Borneo

Disaster at the Old Wash Hole

The Question

Civics Lesson

The Fight

About The Author

DANCERS

Fiona stared out the window at the park across the street, watching people walking their dogs underneath the streetlamps. She turned up what was left of a gin and tonic and finished it off; then walked across the room to the bar and mixed another.

You want anything, Snap boy? she asked.

No, I'm good. Still working on this beer.

I'm bored, she said as she crossed the room and flopped down on the couch. She stretched her arms over her head and said, I want to do something.

I ignored her as I tried to change channels on the TV. I pointed, clicked, tried again, and then slapped the remote. Batteries were probably about dead. Finally, the channel changed and I clicked again. Thomas Magnum, PI crept stealthily along the beach advancing on some bad guy. I clicked again. Gray static this time.

What's that noise? I asked, already knowing the answer.

Fiona's ears perked up as she heard a furious rustling sound coming from the kitchen.

That had better not be what I think it is, she said as she leapt from the couch and crossed the living room in three long strides.

Biscuit, she shouted. Get off of that trash bag. Fiona stomped her foot on the linoleum floor trying to get the dog's attention. The rustling continued. A yelp came from the kitchen followed by growling and snarling as Fiona tried to pull him off the plastic bag. Then more thrashing. I heard a loud snap as Fiona finally attached the leash to Biscuit's collar.

A minute later she emerged from the kitchen, short blonde hair in disarray, wearing a too small and faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt, pink drawers, and old rubber flip flops. She was dragging a small black bundle of fur struggling for all it was worth. The dog's toenails dug into the hardwood floor making an intolerable scraping sound as she tugged at the leash. She pulled him to the back door, opened it, unsnapped the leash and pushed him outside into the night.

You stay out there until you can calm down, she yelled.

From the kitchen, I heard a string of curse words followed by the sound of cans, bottles, paper, and other items being stuffed into a new plastic bag. Fiona went outside and put the bag into a large garbage bin. A couple of minutes later she came back in and headed down the hallway to the bathroom with those damned flip flops slapping the floor and cursing underneath her breath.

Biscuit was a neurotic and sexually obsessed Pekingese that would hump anything in sight. He was especially fond of trash bags. When I first encountered him, I thought he was cute, frisky, and playful. Over time I grew to despise the dog. His dark brown eyes looked at me like I was a lesser being and I was convinced that his soul had prowled the netherworld before he was sent to make my life miserable. Now, don't get me wrong. I love dogs. Just not this one. It was kind of like meeting a beautiful woman only to find that she had a personality that was rotten to the core. I pined for the day when Biscuit would disappear, never to return. In fact, I often fantasized about taking matters into my own hands.

You need to get that dog fixed, or put down, I said.

She yelled from the bathroom, I'll get you fixed. Or maybe put down. I know some people who wouldn't think twice about it and they don't charge much.

I took a sip from the Coors bottle and picked up an old newspaper. I flipped the pages, scanning the same articles I had read a dozen times. I put it back on the end table.

I'm still bored, she yelled like a petulant child.

So what? It's almost ten o'clock, I replied.

I want to go out.

For the tenth time, that day, I wondered how I had become the roommate of a crazy woman. Not just funny crazy, but seriously insane - at least from my point of view. Her personality was like a dark shadow that changed with the wind. Sometimes playful and full of fun, other times full of spite and hatred. The alcohol abuse did not help things. Each day seemed to reveal a new version of herself. Most of the time the changes were minor, but I had seen some things that I'd rather not remember. I wondered how many personalities she might have. We got along OK but there were times when I felt a vague unease. Something that told me to move on.

She was pretty selfish for the most part. Her needs and desires always took priority over everything else, especially the desire to be rich. She had an obsession with money and celebrity. But there were times that she could be very giving. A few months ago when I needed a place to stay for a few days she moved me into her house with barely a second thought. Those few days had become a couple of weeks, then a month, and now almost seven months. Each time I was ready to move she had found a reason that I should stay.

Staying was easy. I liked the small house. It was comfortable, close to work, and easy to maintain. I could stay there forever if it weren't for Fiona and Biscuit. On Fiona's bad days, she and Biscuit seemed almost mirror images of one another.

I'm serious, she said, coming back down the hall. A second later she was standing in front of me, hands on her bony hips, looking down at me with derision. I'm bored. I want to go out.

You need to put some clothes on, woman, I said.

I will when we go out.

I realized that this was going to be another one of those nights where there would be no rest for me. When she wanted to do something, she wouldn't let it go.

Finally I gave in. I'll fix her Little Red Wagon, I thought with a devilish smirk. I saw a little night club just north of town the other day. Dancers, I believe it was called. Let's go over there.

Great, she said. I'll get ready.

A small voice inside my head said, You should be ashamed of yourself.

I got up, stuck my bare feet into black loafers and put on a clean long sleeve blue shirt. I left the tail out and