All characters are over the age of 18.
This is a very special story to me. But rather than hold up the story with that explanation, I'll go into that in my author's notes at the end, so you can skip it if you've a mind to.
My Beautiful Debbie
My father got me into building model cars when I was around ten. It was something he'd enjoyed as a boy and as it turned out, I did too. So, he'd buy up kits all year at yard sales and flea markets for a quarter or a half a buck, then when the Long Island weather would turn to shit, he'd drop them on a bench in the basement for me, so I had loads to do all winter.
We moved to warmer climes when I was thirteen and one of the first things I did was find the local hobby shop about four miles from the house.
Hobby Haven was a nice place, if a little stuffy and overcrowded with all sorts of stuff. It was owned by a grumpy old son-of-a-bitch named Carl Miller. Carl was the sort of guy who thought anyone under the age of twenty was a thief out to steal him blind and anyone younger than thirty didn't have enough life experience to be interesting. Carl was a soft sort of guy, with grey hair and a pallid complexion, somewhere in his early sixties.
He had a group of friends that would often hang out in his shop, and they'd talk about model trains or bullshit about whatever was going on in the world. There was an enormous model train layout on one side of the store that Carl had been working on for as long as I'd been going to the store.
I'd go in there with some frequency, I'd find what I needed and buy it all under his watchful eye. My dad could have gone in there, received a handshake and a 'good to meetcha,' and even called him Carl. But
I
... had to call him Mr. Miller and be treated like a felon.
By the time I'd turned twenty, I'd spent hundreds of dollars there, but I knew that if you put a gun to his head, he wouldn't be able to tell you my name.
***
In early 1988, I'd finished my second year at a community college, working toward an AS degree in Criminal Justice, when I got my sponsorship approval from the local Sheriff's Office.
My dad held it in his hand. "Wow.
The
police academy. That's pretty cool, Rob. Great job." he said with a measure of pride in his voice. "Says here, it's gonna start in May. Are you going to do another semester before it starts?"
I shook my head with a smile. "Nah, I'll try to catch some more hours at the car wash." Things are different now, I know, but in 1988, you could own and insure a car, and take nine credit hours a semester at the local community college, all on not much more than a minimum wage job. If you were thrifty.
***
Winter in Florida is the optimal time for exercising outdoors if you've a mind to. I had been an avid cyclist since I was in my mid-teens. At first it was just an escape from my home life, but I really came to enjoy it. I'd travel twenty miles or more on any given free day and did local tours of up to sixty-two miles. They called it a metric century which was one hundred kilometers. I was in pretty decent shape. I had nearly as much money tied up in my bike as I had my car.
One afternoon, a couple weeks after New Years, I chained up my bike out in front of Hobby Haven and walked into the store. I knew immediately that something had changed. For one, it smelled better, and it was cleaner. A lot cleaner.
"Good morning!" came a female voice.
I turned to see a vision of loveliness. Sitting on the stool that Mr. Miller's ass usually occupied, was a beautiful blonde woman. She wore a lovely blue sundress, and it was pulled demurely over her legs. She smiled and waggled her fingers at me.
I must have been staring for a while because she finally said. "I won't bite. I promise."
I started from my reverie and walked up to the counter. There were a lot of things I wanted to say. Like "am I dreaming" or "are you real?" but they seemed too much like pickup lines to me, no matter how honestly, I might mean them.
"Was the store sold or something?" I asked, hoping it would force an introduction.
She laughed and I swear it was the most heavenly sound. Her makeup was light and understated. A little pale blue eye shadow and dark eyeliner with light pink lipstick on her bee stung lips. I'd never seen a pair of lips I wanted to kiss more. "No, Carl's just off fishing today." She held her hand out to me. "I'm Debbie Miller."
I shook her hand lightly and finally said what I was thinking. "Please tell me you're his much younger sister."
She laughed loudly once again without releasing my hand and I smiled at her. "Sorry to disappoint. I'm
Mrs
. Debbie Miller. Carl's my husband."
I must have looked quite the fool with my eyes wide and jaw slack. She released my hand. "And you are?"
I regained my wits just in time to keep from acting as foolish as I looked. "I'm... umm... Robby. I'm one of those young people that your husband always thinks are stealing the store from under him."
She chuckled and grinned at me. "So, you're a regular here then?"
I nodded and told her of my hobby. "Mrs. Miller, I've been coming here for seven years. I never even knew he was married. Where's he been keeping you? Some castle tower?" I'll admit I was trying to come off as charming. She gave me no clue if I was succeeding.
"Oh, no. I just sold my travel agency last week, and since he's too cheap to hire someone, I decided to cover the store for him while he takes a much-needed trip to the east coast for some deep-sea fishing."
I was dumbfounded. The idea of that old curmudgeon married to a gorgeous angel like this just floored me. She had a lovely curvy shape, full in both breast and hip. The dress had a flat neckline that went from collarbone to collarbone. Her modest heels were hooked on the bottom rung of the stool.
"Please, call me Debbie. What brings you in today?" She looked down at my sweat covered body. I was wearing Lycra cycling shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. "I wouldn't say you're dressed for model building."
I looked at her and answered honestly. "You know, I don't exactly know. I was out for a ride and trying to figure out what to do for the next few months until the police academy starts. I saw the store and thought I'd see what new kits you have." I shrugged.
Her eyes opened wide. "Police academy?"
Before I knew it, she and I were in a conversation all about what I wanted to do with my life. At some point she walked from behind the counter and walked me toward the shelves with the model kits. I perused them as we talked. She asked questions and then listened patiently as I rambled on like only a twenty-year-old who's trying to impress a girl, can.
