(Hey there.  Is this your first time here?  Grab a cup of your favorite beverage {adult, if that’s your preference}, and click onto They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1), where our story begins {it’s the July 16th post on the calendar, or click the lowest numbered post and scroll back, or click archives}.  For those returning, I really appreciate your visits and aim to keep entertaining.  Every day.  We continue the saga below)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( viii )
     “THAT WAS QUITE THE ANIMATED CONVERSATION you were having,” Belle Pennington remarked, “I could hear you from the sun room. Who was that?”
     “New York. Guattiano’s,” her husband muttered, pouring a Glenfiddich 18 over ice.
     “Oh yes, your little statues,” she smiled, “how’s that going?”
     “Still a work in progress,” he said, as he stirred the ice with his index finger. The Little Emperor with blue collar roots.
     “Not to your liking, I gather?” she asked; she knew his code for projects with obstacles that weren’t resolved as quickly as he liked.
     “Belle, it was easier to get an audience with the President, for Christ’s sake.”
     He sat down on the sofa, leaned back and jiggled his drink; the ice made dull clinks against the crystal in his hand. She moved behind him, squeezed his shoulders, bent down further and whispered in his ear.
     “Well, you two were drinking buddies, long before he spent eight years in Washington.”
     Pennington chuckled and leaned his head against hers. They settled into a familiar warm place with each other. A couple, yet one, joined forever it seemed. They had faced the lean beginnings, Lee started out as a young oil maverick, one of the last in a dying breed. Passing years brought trials, success, security, and finally affluence. Their roles in each other’s lives hadn’t changed, just weathered with time. He was still the spitfire, ready to whisk her on adventures. She was his rudder, and kept the course.
     She extended her right arm and patted his ‘little Buddha belly’.
     “When you want something, you hang on like a bull- terrier until it’s yours,” she said.
     “That’s how we ended up together, darlin’,” he reminded, and gently covered her hand with his.
     “Excuse me,” the maid said, as she entered the living room, “the attorneys are here, sir.”
     “Thank you, Betty,” he answered, “I’ll meet them in the kitchen.”
     The moment had passed, what they felt always lingered. Pennington rose and turned to his wife.
     “That new field I’ve been negotiating,” he said, “time to sign the papers.”
     “Was that another work in progress?” Belle asked.
     “Yep, but they came around to my way of thinking. It’s a done deal now,” he said, clapping his hands, “got a feeling it’s gonna be a real producer.”
     “The attorneys. In the kitchen?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
     “I’m hungry,” he replied, leaving the room with a skip in his step. It was a gait she knew all too well.
     Just like a bull- terrier, she thought.
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