The Plan: A Bulldog Tale

By Patrick Hoza

Bulldog Carter was a talented musician and successful businessman. He was a self-made man. After his young son dies tragically, he's grief ridden and spirals out of control. Fueled by drugs and alcohol, his life takes a deadly turn. A turn which lands him in prison. As an atheist, he flounders in the cesspool of prison life until a benevolent warden places him in a KAIROS Prison Ministry weekend where he meets God in the flesh. His life changes dramatically.
He emerges from prison with a "PLAN" to reclaim his life. Within days, he begins meeting men he'd known on the 'inside'...men who've formed a Christian rock band aptly named, CONVICTED. To satisfy an old debt, he agrees to help them in a 'one-time' event. Later, when his friends tell him he needs to join the band, and he refuses, his plans fail. Once again, he begins a downward spiral until his mentor reminds him he's left Jesus sitting in the blood stained cell waiting to be paroled back into Bulldog's heart. Then, his young son, standing in Heaven, reaches down with a lesson about true unconditional LOVE.
Does Bulldog learn the lesson?
Does he begin to follow God's "PLAN" for his life?
What about the men of CONVICTED?
Are they headed back to prison?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick Hoza
• Release date: Feb 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370303243

Patrick Hoza

Patrick Hoza is an ex-atheist, seventeen years into a thirty-five year prison sentence in the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. He is currently housed at the William G. McConnell Unit in Beeville, Texas. In November of 2004, Mr. Hoza experienced a life-changing weekend with the KAIROS Prison Ministry, and has been walking with the Lord ever since. He has previously authored three other Christian books relating to the KAIROS Ministry, entitled, “Keep An Open Mind,” Volumes 1, 2 and 3. This is his first foray into a full-length novel. Since his conversion, Mr. Hoza has earned a Bachelor’s in Divinity and a Master’s in Nouthetic Counseling. He is hoping to be able to complete his Doctorate in Theology once released. He is currently hard at work on his newest novel in this series, “Busted Plan  A Bulldog Tail.” Look for it soon!

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The Plan

A Bulldog Tail

Self-Published at Smashwords with assistance from

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The Plan  A Bulldog Tail Smashwords edition

Copyright © 2015 by Patrick Hoza

Cover design by Patrick Hoza

Cover Art Copyright 2015 by Jeffery Len Jackson

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data pending

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are totally from the imagination of the author and depict no persons, living or dead; any similarity is totally coincidental.

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Dedicated to the Memory of Hans Paine, Sr.

On Palm Sunday, March 29, 2015, the gates of Heaven swung open wide as 10,000 angels sang. The Lord’s words, Welcome home my loyal and faithful servant, echoed throughout the Heavens as Hans walked humbly in.

For Ms. ‘C’

A prudent person does not take in a pregnant feline…a soft touch always does. Thanks for being that soft touch.

Wanna hear God laugh?

Tell him what YOUR plan is.

1

The August heat and South Texas humidity hit me hard as I stepped down from the bus. I’d forgotten just how oppressive both can be at this time of year. Each stifling to my senses. Then the diesel fumes assaulted my nose. I liked that smell...It felt like an old friend come to greet me.

I retrieved the suitcase I’d bought an hour ago. It looked old and worn in spite of its newness. Opening the doors of the terminal gave me little respite from the heat. It was apparent the AC unit wasn’t able to keep up.

The clock on the wall said 9:30am. It’d only been an hour since this journey’d begun. It was time to start life anew.

I stood amid the noise and chaos of the terminal simply taking it all in. The room was full of travelers either arriving or waiting to depart for somewhere else. Their appearances varied greatly. Most had tried to dress in nice clothes, while others wore the faded apparel of the working class and down-trodden. It seemed only the poor rode buses.

Standing amid the chaos made me smile. The noise didn’t bother me. I was used to the continuous roar of noise generated by men who had no respect for others. It simply made me smile even broader as I realized I now controlled the noise.

I walked through the lobby and out the front door, getting into the first cab in line.

Where to? The cabby asked.

Citizens Bank...5600 Bellaire Boulevard.

He responded by jerking the arm on the meter down and the gear selector into drive, pulling out into the flow of traffic. I sat back as he navigated through the ballet of organized confusion.

In twenty years since I’d last seen this city it’d changed drastically. Gone was the beautiful Gothic, Doric and Classical architecture which had made this area so popular; replaced with sterile looking concrete and glass walls. Modernism wasn’t a welcome sight to me.

It became apparent twenty years hadn’t been kind to the area. Twenty years. A long time. A lifetime for some. More than that for others.

That’ll be forty dollars. The cabby announced.

I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t realized he’d stopped. I handed him two twenties and a five...he muttered his thanks.

With the twenty-five I’d spent on the suitcase and now forty-five on cab fare, I was down to my last thirty dollars. Money sure doesn’t go as far as it used to. I hoped I wouldn’t have trouble here.

The bank’s AC unit was certainly working well. My glasses fogged from the extreme temperature difference. I sat the case on the floor and pulled the tail of my t-shirt out to wipe them. Once they were cleaned, I took in the bank lobby. While the downtown area might have changed drastically, this place hadn’t. The grey marble shone brightly from the years of countless shoes shuffling over it. The walls still the same dark paneling polished to a high sheen.

Scanning the lobby I noticed the guard watching me intently. He stood, hips askew, favoring his left leg. Probably an old knee injury. One good kick to his knee and he’d go down. He wouldn’t be a problem.

From memory, I walked to an area surrounded by a short wooden banister. The bank manager’s office.

A very pretty young blonde girl sat primly at the desk. Her face was oval and she had smallish lips with light pink lipstick slathered on them. She wore a white sleeveless blouse over a tan pencil skirt. The look really wasn’t her. It appeared she was attempting to look sophisticated, she didn’t. Instead, it made her look out of place.

May I help you? She asked.

I’d like to speak to the manager please.

I’m sorry...he isn’t available just now, she stated very matter-of-factly.

I was told he’d see me when I came. Please tell him I’m here, I stated in an equally matter-of-fact manner.

Is there a problem Miss Lacey? The guard asked from behind me. I turned to my left so I could see him. One swift kick, across his body, he’d go down and wouldn’t be a problem. While I’d expected to have some trouble, I hadn’t expected to have it this soon.

Just tell him I’m here...let him decide.

Just who are you then? She queried impatiently.

Bulldog.

All right pal...let’s see some I.D. Demanded the guard. I stood rooted to the floor staring intently into her eyes.

The blonde thought better of it, picking up the phone. Good girl I thought. She spoke in a low tone. Her brown eyes crinkling at the edges as she eyed me. Her face suddenly changed to disbelief. Her eyes widening as she began nodding her head as if the speaker could see her.

Yes, Sir, she sputtered as she held up her hand toward the guard to calm his aggressive behavior. It’s all right, Peter.

She had huge brown eyes and blonde hair. One of them wasn’t natural. I suspected it was the hair.

Please have a seat Mr...ah...Bulldog? She said gesturing toward the two visitors chairs against the bannister. Mr. Rosen will be with you in a moment.

The guard ambled over to an empty reception desk and watched me warily. It was the name—got’em every time.

Bulldog was a moniker I’d worn since I was a small child. A name which meant different things to different people. Mostly though, it meant not to mess with me.

Rosen came out of his office tentatively. While he’d been expecting this encounter, he didn’t quite know what to expect. He was a small man with a ring of grey hair encircling his round head. The hand he extended to me was wrinkled and spotted from age.

Mr. Carter? He asked quietly.

I go by Bulldog, I stated firmly.

Well yes...Mr. Bulldog. I’ve been anticipating your arrival but I wasn’t certain exactly when you’d arrive.

No ... just Bulldog. I wasn’t exactly sure when I’d be here myself.

Well, let’s see what I can help you with, he said as he turned and led me into his office. The grey marble gave way to plush grey carpeting at the threshold. It felt good under my feet. He gestured to an equally plush chair in front of his desk. I eased my frame down into the softness. My stiff back and tense shoulders found the softness comforting. It was going to take some time to get used to the softness. I had the time.

From a drawer he pulled a file and sat it in front of him. Taking a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his pocket he sat scanning the pages quietly.

It’s rather unusual an account will go this long without any activity, but I see in the past sixty days several transactions have taken place. Quite unusual I must say.

You should’ve been informed by my attorney, Mr. Sawyer, the reasons why.

Exactly what do you wish for me to do? He asked rather suspiciously.

I need to convert my business account into a personal account...and I need access to some funds to be able to get my feet on the ground.

This is most unusual. I must get approval from my superiors before I can go any further with you, he remarked almost snidely. I’d only been in his presence for ten minutes and already I didn’t like him. Luckily, he picked up the phone and asked to speak to the bank president.

Once he’d said Mr. Leonard, I knew it was going to turn out bad for him.

He spoke in a rapid staccato for a moment and suddenly his complexion paled and he began nodding his head vigorously. At last he said, Yes, sir, and placed the receiver back into its cradle.

Mr. Leonard said to tell you he’ll be right down. Can I get you something to drink? He asked rather humbly.

I almost chuckled at his transformation. It was evident I could have him drive across town to get me a lemonade from the Citrus Shack if I wanted. It was the name. It did it every time. I declined the drink and waited for the storm.

I didn’t have to wait long. The door burst open and in came charging my old friend, Mike Leonard. Mike is a bear. While he stands just above six feet, he’s got broad shoulders and hulking arms. I noticed his hair had greyed but was all still there. It framed his square-jawed face and intense blue eyes.

BULLDOG! He virtually screamed as he charged at me engulfing me in a massive bear hug. Man when did you get back? He asked as I extricated myself from his grasp.

His excitement making me feel warm.

Grabbing his wrist, I turned it to read the dial of his watch. It read 10:25. Less than an hour ago.

He grabbed me in his massive arms again and shook me. Man...it’s good to see you. How’ve you been?

His enthusiasm was welling up and out of him. The sound of his voice brought back memories of the times we’d visited together. The years came flooding back for both of us and I had to stop him from crushing me again.

He’d been a young loan officer at the bank when I’d come in to open a business account. For some reason we’d become fast friends that day. My shop was only across the parking lot from the bank and he’d seen me, and the guys in my band, practicing one evening as he’d left work. He’d ambled over and listened as we tweaked songs for an upcoming gig. When we were finished, he and I’d sat around drinking beer and talking. Turns out he loved country music and turned himself into our unofficial roady. He was really good on sound equipment and had helped us put on great shows.

He was single so it had worked out well for him as there’s always a stray girl looking to get close to the band.

What do you need? He asked. I explained what I needed. He strode to Rosen’s desk and scanned the file asking, How much do you want?

Ten thousand.

Whatever he needs, he said to Rosen who seemed to be frozen in place. You give it to him. He’s been a valued customer of this bank for over thirty years and we’re here to serve, he stated in that no-nonsense way of his.

Rosen scurried, rather than walked, to the door and disappeared.

Mike moved to the corner of the desk as I sat back down in the chair. He had a sadness in his eyes. Man...I’m so sorry about what happened. I’ve thought of you every day these past twenty years.

The angst in his voice told me his feelings were genuine. That’s one thing which could always be said of Mike. He was a genuine guy. There was no pretentiousness to him. I’d missed that trait in people.

It’s okay Mike, I said as I raised my hands in surrender to the situation. Listen, there’s nothing you could have done to prevent what happened...don’t let it eat you up...I don’t. The words coming out of me in a sincere tone. Really Mike ... it’s okay.

What are you going to do? Concern in his voice. Are you going to open another wrecker service? He asked.

Truth was, I had a plan. A plan I’d been developing for years. One where every detail was thought out to the most minute degree. My coming back hadn’t been sudden. It had been something which I’d dreamed of constantly for many sleepless nights.

I’ve got some irons in the fire. And, lots of things to catch up on, I said. Truth was everyone had either died off, or moved away family wise. There really wasn’t much for me here, yet I was determined to get my old life back. What I could of it that is. There were some things I could never get back.

Hey man, whatever you need, I’m here for you. I can’t wait to tell Sandy you’re home. Sandy was his wife. She’d marched up to him at one of our concerts and had completely taken control of him. They loved each other fiercely.

Thanks.

Rosen scurried back into the room with a pretty brunette, in a very short bright green dress, following him. The hem of her dress fell about four inches above her knees. I thought it was long. I liked to be able to see a woman’s legs. I had a thing about eyes and thighs. The more thigh the better...but I liked a pretty set of eyes, too.

I need your signature on this withdrawal slip so we can process your request. I also need your driver’s license, he added in a very smug tone.

I handed it to him. Looking it over he turned to Mike saying, This isn’t a driver’s license.

That’s all he needs, Mike already knew what it was and simply waved his hand at Rosen saying, Just process the request.

Frustrated he handed the card to the clerk.

As she looked it over, I saw her focus on the word INMATE emblazoned in white on a deep red background. She looked up at me and I saw understanding in her eyes. Must know someone who’s locked up. Nodding at me, they left to finalize the paperwork. Mike and I were alone again.

Where’ll you be staying?

I still own the house and it’s been vacated for me. I’ll be staying there.

If you need anything...I mean it...anything at all, you just ask, that genuineness back in his voice.

Well, now that you mention it. I’m gonna need the name of a moving company to get my things from storage.

He grabbed the phone from its cradle and told whomever answered, Get me Pete over at Three Brothers Moving. Tell Pete I got a job for them. Looking at me he said, Guy owes me a favor. When you gonna need ‘em?

Tomorrow at nine if I can get them that fast.

The call connected and he related the details of what I wanted and asked for the address I needed them. I relayed it to him and he set it all up.

All set.

Just then, Rosen and his aide returned. I signed several forms then the clerk bent over the desk to count out my money.

I was mesmerized by the view. Her legs were trim and toned. The contours firm yet still feminine...the skirt rising up her thighs in an erotic manner. She knew I was watching too.

Once she’d finished counting out the money, she handed me what looked like a credit card. I took the liberty of issuing you a debit card so you won’t have to worry about carrying large sums of cash, she said proudly.

What’s that? I asked puzzled.

It’s like a credit card except only you’re not charging anything. It comes straight out of your account. Almost no one uses checks anymore, and it’s just easier this way. This is your PIN number, she said as she handed me a slip of paper with numbers on it. You use it to get money from an ATM.

I nodded like I understood. I didn’t. I’d need Danny to help me get a handle on this stuff. Too bad he wasn’t here now.

I put the two cards in my pocket and counted out two thousand dollars, stuffing it in my pocket as well. Looking to Mike I asked, You got a place I can stash this while I take care of some business? As I pointed at the suitcase.

Sure...I’ll put it my office and you can pick it up later.

Great, I’ll come back before you close.

He grabbed me in his massive arms again. Man...I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve been praying for you and I feel like my prayers have been answered.

Prayers, huh.

I know you’re an atheist and all...but...I have been praying for you. His comment made me marvel at his faith.

For twenty years, he’d waited patiently for the answer to a prayer. It was gonna be fun to watch as he discovers just how it’d been answered.

Leaving Rosen’s office, I spied Peter, the guard, eying me harshly. He was standing straighter and had his hand on his weapon. Lucky for him I didn’t want it. I could tell by the way he stood watching me that Rosen had told him I was an ex-con. My anger started to rise so I just kept on walking.

I heard the click of her heals on the marble floor behind me. I stopped and turned to face her. She had an impish grin on her face.

Bulldog is a very interesting name, she cooed.

I’m an interesting guy.

I’ll just bet you are. A pinkish color rising in her cheeks.

Hmmm...I’d have to see about working her into the plan.

From the front door of the bank to the front door of my old shop was one hundred and twelve steps. The same as it’d always been. I was glad it hadn’t changed.

I stepped up to the counter and read the name on the manager’s shirt. Craig, I asked. Is the owner available?

He eyed me a short moment, nodded his head yes, and stepped back to a doorway. I was too far away to hear what he was saying.

He came back to the counter as an older gentleman came out the door, heading in my direction. He looked tired and weary. He walked with a weariness borne of turmoil.

As he reached the front, he reached for my hand. How can I help you?

Are you Mr. Guidry or Mr. Larson? I queried.

Guidry...Larson isn’t an owner any longer. Who wants to know? Suspiciousness in his voice.

You don’t know me...We’ve never met, but I was the previous owner. I wanted to know if you still have the wrecker service operating.

I don’t. Larson and me couldn’t get along so he took it as his portion. He didn’t seem sad about the parting.

Well...I’m going to need a wrecker to move a couple of cars and such...so would it be possible for you to give me his number? The suspiciousness hadn’t left his eyes but he reached into a drawer, under the counter...handing me a card for Larson’s Wrecker Service.

Is your name Bulldog Carter? He asked shyly.

Yeah...that’s me, I confessed.

His eyes lit up like Roman candles. When I first took over, he said excitement in his tone. It was an everyday thing for someone to come in and ask about you. I figured that was normal given I’d just bought the place and all. But it went on for years. In fact, just last week someone asked if you was here. Didn’t they, Craig?

Craig just shook his head and eyed me again. I took it all in, but there really wasn’t much I could say. It did warm my heart to know there were still customers who remembered me.

Let me ask you a question. How’d you get your customers to love you like they did? I tried everything under the sun and it just ain’t the same. How’d you do it?

Simple, really...I treated them like they were family. I treated them like I loved them and they loved me. In truth, I did too.

He stood, hands flat on the countertop, eying me like I’d lost my mind. Well I’ll be danged...just like momma told me to do, laughter erupting out of him. It was the laughter which caused me to feel a twinge of nostalgia.

Mind if I look around?

I’d be honored if you would. He stepped to the far end of the counter and lifted it so I could pass through.

Craig stood eying me stoically. He didn’t appear to be nervous—he should’ve been.

I followed Guidry out into the din of noise and confusion which is a mechanic shop. The sound of air tools and smells of oil, gasoline and engine exhaust filled the air. I remembered smelling the exhaust at the bus terminal and knew why it’d felt so welcoming...Why it’d felt like home. I’d smelled those odors everyday for ten years in this place.

Guidry talked incessantly but I wasn’t paying attention. Memories of years gone by were flowing through by brain like water through a sieve...none staying long enough to really latch onto. When we reached the north end, we turned and faced the center.

It was tough at first, he said as we started walking back toward the office. Guidry was a slight man and reminded me of the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. I could tell he’d never fully gotten to love this place. It seemed to weigh heavy on him. But I made a go of it. He said that with a degree of sadness in his voice. It seemed like he was trying to convince himself he was successful. I felt bad for him. I’d never felt that way when I owned this shop. Each day brought me happiness and a peace I found comforting. I only hoped I could find that type of peace again.

Guidry needed to find that type of peace or it looked as if it might kill him. I said a silent prayer that God would ease whatever burdens he had and give him happiness.

Looking through the glass windows, into the office, I noticed Craig on the phone speaking intently as he eyed me openly. Our eyes met and he shifted his body to turn away from me.

The tour of the shop complete, we stepped back into the waiting area where he handed me his card and said I was welcome anytime. We shook and I turned to leave. My hand was on the glass door when he stated firmly to my back, It’s for sale...ya know.

I stood rooted to the floor for a long moment before I turned to face him asking, What’s for sale?

The wrecker service.

Oh, yeah, I said as I pushed through the door and back into the oppressive heat and humidity. I hadn’t expected that, but it was something to think about.

***

The Broiler Burger was two blocks north and one block west of the shop. I’d taken my time simply looking at the changes. Most of the old buildings were still intact but had been renovated with modern facades. It wasn’t hard to see them as they’d been.

After ordering, I’d taken a booth in front so I could watch the traffic go by. It felt good to be able to simply sit and watch as life went on around me. It felt like my brain was seeing all I’d missed in twenty years.

I sipped the cold Coke as I waited for my order to be cooked. The carbonation burned my throat as it went down. That was a good feeling. Good because it was cold. It’s very seldom you get anything cold in prison. If you bought a Coke, from the prison store, it was hot.

The waitress delivered my order. A triple meat burger with no lettuce, no tomato and no onion, and a double order of fries. The first bite made every taste bud on my tongue stand on end. Prison food is worse than hospital food. No taste and no texture. I’d gone the first three weeks without eating anything. It was all mystery meat— no matter what they said it was.

Before I knew it, I had taken the last bite of the burger and was dragging the last two fries through a pile of ketchup. I stuffed them into my mouth...savoring the tangy sweetness of the ketchup. I’d have to learn to eat all over again. I’d have to learn to slow down and savor the food...to actually taste what I was eating.

Suddenly I realized I’d violated the plan I’d made about what my first meal would be. I’d always said it’d be a steak so large it had its own zip code, broiled over a hot coal grill and seared to perfection...laden with tons of sautéed onions. That was the stuff you dreamed of. I’d better get back on the ball and back to my plan. At dinner that’s what I’d have.

As the waitress walked by I asked if they had a payphone. She pointed to the back of the restaurant. I mumbled my thanks and went in search of it.

Hanging from the back wall it didn’t look like the ones I was used to. It had a slot on the side that seemed to take a credit card. I thought of the one in my pocket. I wasn’t sure I could make it work so I fished out a quarter.

I was about to drop it in the slot when I noticed it said fifty cents. They’d doubled up on the price. Ma Bell must be making a killing now days. I added another quarter and dropped them into the slot...got a dial tone and punched the numbers I’d memorized years earlier. The electronic tone caught me by surprise and I hung up. The coins dropped into the change slot. I pulled them back out and stood contemplating the phone for a moment. Finally dropping them back in. It was the same tone again only this time I waited and sure enough someone said, Bellaire Realty, how may I direct your call?

Dianna Langley, I said.

Hold please. The voice said and I was suddenly immersed in Barry Manilow’s voice as she placed me on hold.

I’d never really liked old Barry. Too nasal if you asked me. Kind of unsettling.

This is Dianna.

Ms. Langley, this is Bulldog Carter calling. I’d like to know when we can meet so I can gain access to my house.

Well... she said uncertainly. I can be there...oh, say five. Is that all right with you? She asked nervously.

Yeah...that’s fine. I’ve got some things to do so I’ll meet you there at five, trying to sound disinterested. It’d been twenty years since I’d been home, I was anything but disinterested. She didn’t need to know that though.

I’d never met her. She’d taken over the account when the original realtor had died suddenly. She made sure the taxes were paid, and the upkeep done properly, while keeping tenants to pay the bills. It hadn’t been hard to do. In twenty years it had only seen four different sets of tenants. The last ones were the longest at eight years. A young couple who’d taken it in stride when I’d cancelled the lease and asked them to vacate within sixty days. I’d made it worthwhile and they’d left happy.

The clock on the wall said I had five hours to kill.

I stepped back into the oppressive heat to find a cab. I noticed a Bellaire police cruiser sitting in the back of the parking lot...the engine idling roughly.

As I started to walk away, I heard the transmission clunk into gear. I stopped. Might as well get this over with. He pulled up next to me. Put it in park and got out.

Excuse me, Sir. May I see some ID? He asked very politely.

Why officer? I haven’t done anything wrong.

It’s a crime in Texas to refuse an Officer’s request for identification. He had me. I knew the law so I reached into my pocket and handed it over. He didn’t flinch as he eyed it.

When you get out?

Today.

Where you headed? He asked.

Listen, I just got out today and I live here. Have for years. I live on South Rice Street and that’s where I’m headed. I had to work hard at keeping my temper in check. I couldn’t figure out why he was hassling me. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Then it hit me. Peter the Guard. I’d have to have a talk with him.

Just then he got a radio call and keyed the mic clipped to the epaulet on his shoulder. Ten-Four. He handed me back my ID and looked me up and down. Keep your nose clean. He turned around and got into his car and drove away.

I was at odds with myself. Anger and frustration gnawing at my innards. Here I was out only three hours and already ‘Johnny Law’ was hassling me. Ex-cons just can’t catch a break.

Just then, a cab rolled down the street and I hailed him. I told him to take me to the Galleria Mall over off of Westheimer, and settled back to watch the traffic go by, lost in thought.

The Galleria mall is huge. It encompasses four square blocks of land. It’s three stories tall with an ice skating rink in the center of the first floor and balconies so everyone can watch from all levels of the concourse. It’s an upscale mall and a tourist attraction and was the first mall of its kind in Texas.

I needed a phone so I headed to the electronics store.

Finally finding what I needed, I sat down on a bench to look it over. When I’d left, they didn’t have phones like this. I’d only ever seen one in movies on TV. They were so small and could do almost anything. I found myself wishing I had Danny Klein here to help me.

Danny was probably the smartest guy I’d ever met in prison. He had an intelligence level which baffled everyone of us. But he didn’t flaunt it. He was quiet and laid back. If you needed information, about anything, Danny was the guy to ask. He could have me using this like a pro in no time. Too bad he wasn’t here. I’d gotten the young sales clerk to show me some things but I didn’t want to appear too stupid so I’d cut him short. I’d talk to Mike about it when I picked up my case. I needed everything so I set out to do some shopping. The jeans and t-shirt I was wearing were all I had.

The next two hours went by in a blur as I bought a new wardrobe. Everything from boxers and socks to a suit and tie. I’d even kept playing with the phone and was beginning to get the hang of it.

Maybe I could master this technology thing. Perhaps old dogs could learn new tricks. I knew this dog would like learning some. I’d hate to be the last one in the kennel ‘cause I couldn’t roll over and play dead. I had to chuckle at myself over the quip. It felt good to laugh.

***

The cab ride to the house had been short. I piled all of my bags by the door and walked out into the yard to look the place over. It was a large house...forty two hundred square feet...not counting the garage or the Mother-in-Law apartment over the triple garage. It was Greek revival architecture with large white columns across the front supporting the roof. There were two large picture windows on each side. One set peering into the formal dining room and the other looking into the formal living room. It had double etched leaded glass doors. They’d come from a house my mother had purchased in an estate auction for her antique store. It’d taken me three months to talk her out of them. The look they gave the house was one of refinement. They made you look at them like a painting done in perspective where the eyes seem to follow you as you walk by. The doors had that type of presence. They drew you into them.

I heard the car pull into the drive behind me. Turning I watched as a smartly dressed brunette with long legs got out and headed towards me. Extending her hand she said, You must be Mr. Carter.

Everyone, I said as I took her hand in mine softly. Calls me Bulldog. I could see she was ill-at-ease so I let her hand drop.

Looks like you’ve done a great job keeping it up.

She smiled. A great smile if I must say so. She had light grey eyes and chestnut colored hair. She was fit and trim and looked like she worked out some. Her legs were shapely and I was reminded of pin-up girls from years ago. She would have been very popular in that field. I was impressed.

She produced the keys from her purse and handed them to me. I opened the door and stepped into my past. The foyer was Italian marble and had a pink tint to it. It always captured people’s attention as the pink manifested itself. But, it was the deep emerald green carpeting, purple paisley quilted fabric, which was attached to the lower half of the wall and a stark white wainscoting framing the pink upper wall which was so startling. I’d seen many people simply stop in their tracks as it presented itself.

Can I ask you a question?

Yes ma’am.

How did you come up with this scheme? she asked as swept her arm through the air indicating the room as a whole.

I’d seen something similar in an old plantation I’d been to in Louisiana. It just stuck.

Well...it’s certainly beautiful. I’ve had numerous comments on it every time I’ve shown it.

I’d done all of the work myself. My grandfather’d been a carpenter and had taught me many things when I was young. I loved woodworking and it had always been something I could do to just relax. To simply let my mind fall away from any worries I’d had. It had that soothing effect on me.

In the kitchen, we stood at the breakfast bar. She pulled several forms from her briefcase and laid them between us. You do know that the property values in this area have gone up in recent years. I’ve had numerous inquiries on this property. Might be something to think about. Her tone was professional.

But, this was my home. If I sold it, I’d have to find someplace else to live. I liked this place. The memories were here. My life was here. I’ll keep that in mind, I said. But I doubt seriously if I’ll sell.

She nodded and we discussed the money left in the escrow account on the house. I told her to leave it there and to take her commission until January. I wanted to reward her for the job she’d done. She thanked me then left.

Suddenly I was all alone. Alone in the place I’d dreamed of for so long.

I wandered the rooms simply letting the sights and smells invade my senses. Getting used to the look and feel of home.

As I slid the glass door, to the backyard, open I had to smile. The pool was crystal clear and the banana trees which framed the yard on all three sides were full and lush. The leaves swaying lightly in