Victory Tour (Part 246)

"Good morning, dear," Grandma said as Ccookshack's open sign flickered on. "How's your shoulder?"

"The trainers think it was just a pinched nerve," I said, moving to hold the door for all the ladies. "It feels much better now. I should be able to play next week."

"That's nice," my grandmother said as she entered the restaurant. "The referees should've thrown all those boys out of the game last night. I've never seen such dirty play. They were intentionally trying to hurt people!"

"Well, we came out of it mostly healthy," I said. "More of their guys had to be carried off."

I followed the women inside where Becky was at the counter waiting for Arlene.

"We've got it all ready," Becky said. "That's 15 pounds of brisket, three pounds of sausage and two pounds of smoked turkey breast plus three quarts of beans, two quarts of potato salad and a quart of slaw."

Good lord. How many people was she planning on feeding today?

"I'll get this, Arlene," Grandma said, shouldering her way forward with her credit card in hand. "I'll add the desserts. I've heard a lot about the coconut cream pie here and need to check it out."

"Would you like a taste, ma'am?" Becky asked, to which my grandmother immediately agreed.

A plastic spoon was dipped into a slice large enough that a sample wouldn't be missed and carefully handed over. I don't know what kind of reaction I was expecting, but it definitely wasn't the one we got.

My grandmother got a faraway look in her eye for a moment, then snapped back to the present.

"How do you know Miss Maisie?" she demanded, sounding like Mrs. Robinson getting onto a misbehaving student.

"Who's Miss Maisie?" Becky asked.

"Maiselle Walterscheid led our 4-H food group out in Buchanan County when I was a girl," Grandma said. "She taught me her secret recipe when I was 10 years old with the stipulation I never share it. Not even my daughters know it. I won the dessert division at the county and district food shows three years running with it until I moved up to the senior age group."

"You said Maiselle Walterscheid?" Becky asked. "My granny's maiden name was Walterscheid! Musta been a cousin ’cause none of her sisters was named Maisie. All the women in that family were great cooks. I learned the recipe from my granny, who got it from her granny."

"Just so you came by it honest," Grandma said. "I'll take two pies if you have them. Now, what other choices do we have?"

I could feel my teeth starting to rot as Becky recited a list of pecan, chocolate, buttermilk chess and key lime pies. Then she started on the cobblers. Followed by the puddings. I almost choked when Grandma added a quart of banana pudding and an entire chess pie to the order after discovering more of Miss Maisie's secret recipes, along with single servings of everything else. Becky's dessert selection was nearly half gone before the place had even served another customer.

This couldn't all be for my girlfriends and the linemen helping me with Mr. Osborne, I thought. Unless maybe Grandma meant to get enough to cover our Sunday football watching, as well. And I had no idea where we'd gather for that. I'm not sure there was a TV in the Osborne house.

"Gary, if you'll please start carrying this out to my car," Grandma commanded in her Grandma-sweet tone. "The back seat's been folded down to give you room. One of these girls can open the tailgate for you."

The meat was distributed among four foil-covered pans, which I took to mean five pounds in each. Even with my shoulder, I ought to be able to manage 10 pounds at a time.

Both Jo and Lupita followed me as I carried the first two pans of meat, Marie not too far behind with two sacks of sides. At least the first two didn't fight over who had the right to open the tailgate. Jo did the work while Lupita stayed close to me, like she was afraid I might fall or drop the meat or something.

Grandma came out with the rest of the sides as I headed back for the rest of the meat. Arlene, despite her "delicate condition," was allowed to carry the bread. I think there was at least four loaves, maybe five or six.

Maybe we were feeding the Tri-Star folks in addition to everyone on my list. Those guys had certainly earned it after last week.

"You better get to your house, Gary," Grandma said as I put the last two pans in the back of her Range Rover. "Someone will come get you when it's time to eat. I need to have a quick word with Becky and Earl about their recipes."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, getting a hug.

I don't know if the rest of my companions were intimidated by my grandmother or what, but that was the only hug I got. Arlene and Marie gently herded Lupita and Jo to the Jag, leaving me to get in the Beemer and get on with my day as Grandma went back inside.

"See you at lunch, Sugar," Arlene called out as she cranked her car.

"Lookin' forward to it," I smiled, hoping the redhead didn't know my tell, knowing it was a forlorn hope.

If my grandmother was involved as deeply in this as she appeared to be, I could only imagine what awaited me at lunch. I had seen firsthand how I would have absolutely no control once my grandparents stepped in. Not that I was going to have any control, anyway, since my girlfriends were the ones who started this whole thing to begin with.

I followed Arlene back toward her house for a few blocks before I managed to not make a stoplight that she did. That allowed me time to text Jed I was on my way and that my grandmother was in possession of our food. By the time I reached the redhead's hacienda, her garage door was already closed and the ladies were inside getting ready to give the house a good cleaning as soon as my other girlfriends arrived.

I pulled around the corner and into the alley, seeing Jed's pickup parked outside the French windows of his lovenest. I took the spot Karen had parked in Wednesday night next to Mrs. Osborne's back gate and went around front to unlock the front door. I think the key worked for both front and back after getting a look at it in the daylight.

I briefly thought of going inside to wait — it was still rather cool this morning — but decided I'd better try to be productive.

It proved to be a wise decision because Jed, Keri and Erin B. showed up as I was taking a look at the garage door, which was locked. I was about to go inside to see if I could get at it from that direction when the other guys began arriving. A few stuck their heads through the doorway to get a look and seemed impressed, which anyone should be in this neighborhood. This wasn't some shotgun shack.

"You get my dessert, boy?" Marshawn asked.

"My grandmother got at least one serving of everything," I told the linebacker. "Pies, cobblers, puddings, whatever strikes your fancy."

"Well let's get to work, then," he cackled. "I skimped on breakfast this mornin' just so I'll have room!"

"What all we doin' here?" Kenny Oliphant asked.

"Helping the owner's son move out whatever furniture the family wants to keep," I said. "He should be here soon."

A few others showed up, including Chuck in the passenger seat of Kelli Thornton's Mustang. Then Hunter Reynolds arrived with Callie Dawson. The fact that I'd at least kissed all four girls in attendance — and had three of them naked and panting — made me a little nervous. At least none of their boyfriends became violent when the girls gave me friendly hugs.

Good thing Erin was the only one I'd actually fucked. I still wasn't sure of the nature of her relationship with Jed — were they still just sharing Keri or had it become a full-blown three-way? — but I didn't want to be accused of trespassing on another guy's turf.

I made sure everyone knew not to park in the driveway and pointed out the available space in the alley when one of those big U-Haul box vans pulled up, followed by a very fancy dually pickup towing a 20-foot flatbed trailer.

A 30-something guy got out of the U-Haul while an older couple exited the pickup. The older man approached us, giving us a searching look.

"Which one of y'all's Robinson?" he asked.

"That would be me," I said, stepping forward and extending a hand. "Mr. Osborne, I presume."

"Bob will do," he said, giving me a quick shake. "Looks like we both brought some extra help. This is my wife, Pam, and our oldest boy, Brad."

"Nice to meet y'all," I said, nodding acknowledgement. "These are some of my teammates. Thought we might could use some muscle."

"Beats doin' it all myself," Brad muttered. "What'd ya do to your arm?"

"Pinched a nerve last night," I said. "The trainer just wants me wearin' the sling as a precaution."

"Used his shoulder as a lethal weapon on some dudes," Jed laughed. "He always manages to get banged up when there's work to be done."

"I can still help with small items," I protested, "lamps, end tables, things like that."

"Well, let's get to it," Bob said. "Pam, ya got that garage door opener? Then ya can head inside and start taggin' what we wanna take."

The garage door raised to reveal a warehouse worth of boxes as Bob followed his wife inside. There was absolutely no room for a car, which made me wonder how Gladys Osborne got around. Of course, she was of an age that not driving might not be a bad idea. And from what I'd learned of the place she was moving into, she wouldn't need to drive. They'd either take residents shopping or go get anything that they needed.

"This is supposed to be mostly clothes," Brad said. "I think some of it's got extra bedding, but I don't know what beds they go to. We can just set that stuff to the side and let my mom decide."

Guys started carrying boxes out and setting them beside the U-Haul to await Pam Osborne's verdict. That revealed stacks of stuff like old magazines that I'd probably just toss in the trash, but figured I'd better let the Osbornes make that call. A good portion of that was stacked on one of those big wooden desks that looked like it was a perfect fit for the home office.

"Just what is this?" I heard a female voice demand as I looked over the desk.

"We're movin' some of my mam-maw's stuff out," Brad said. "She's sellin' the house and movin' to a retirement center."

"A sale hasn't been approved by the HOA," a pinch-faced 50-something woman who exuded an aura of self-importance said as I stepped out to see what was going on. "It hasn't even been brought up that I'm aware."

"Are you with the HOA?" I asked upon arriving on the scene, already predisposed not to like this person.

"My husband's the president!" she stated imperiously, as if that settled everything.

"That's nice, but it's not what I asked," I said. "Are you with the HOA? Do you hold an office? What authority do you have to interfere with Mrs. Osborne's business?"

"Who're you?" she snapped.

"The buyer," my grandmother's voice asserted from behind me, which started all kinds of fun.

"How can a little twerp like him afford this house?" the woman demanded, which was not the right thing to say to Millie Robinson about her favorite — OK, only (known, anyway; Dad wasn't admitting to anything) — grandson.

"Oh, I can assure you, he can," Grandma said icily, "along with every other house in this neighborhood. Including yours, Hazel."

"Do I know you?" the woman asked.

"We've met once before when my husband and I looked at some houses around here this summer," Grandma said, still sounding rather icy. "That one meeting convinced us to look elsewhere. Meredith, here, put us on to a much better deal."

I looked back to see Bethany's grandmother flanking my grandmother, both with steely expressions. I might oughta move outta the line of fire, here. I don't think this Hazel person knew what she was up against.

"This house hasn't even been listed," Hazel said, trying to regain control of the situation.

"My grandson heard it was about to become available and made a very fair offer first," Grandma said. "Pretty astute of him, I'd say. The officers of his corporation thoroughly reviewed the deed restrictions before approving and moving forward. You don't have a thing to complain about."

By now, Bob and Pam had arrived to see what all the fuss was about.

"I will not have a bunch of hooligans using my neighborhood for their wild parties!" Hazel spat contemptuously.

"That's not gonna happen," I cut in with a little heat. "These are my teammates and they're here to work. We're in the playoffs and I don't think any of them are stupid enough to throw that away. We'd all have to deal with Coach Tucker, who will probably make regular visits just to make sure there's no funny business going on. I'm not sure I'll even be the one living here, at least not right away. I just thought it'd be a good investment."

"My husband will hear about this!" Hazel snapped, spinning on her heel before stomping off.

"He already has," Bob Osborne called out. "We're meetin' with ’im Monday mornin' before we close."

That just seemed to make the woman stomp harder as she made her exit. Bitch better not cause any damage to my front lawn. I might feel the need to file a complaint with the HOA.

"Sorry ’bout that," Bob said. "I thought Momma woulda warned ya ’bout her. Said she had everythin' straight with the HOA folks."

"Maybe with Mr. Thackeray," Meredith snorted. "I'm sure he had a good enough reason not to let his wife in on the matter. That gal is a piece of work."

Pam Osborne made the first move toward reconciliation by inviting Grandma and Meredith in to look at the house and help her make some decisions. She didn't know how much I planned to move in and she couldn't put everything in her house.

The rest of us were told to get back to work, which my teammates and Brad interpreted as "ask Gary a shitload of questions" while we worked.

"You really got enough money to buy every house in this neighborhood?" Brad asked, beating my teammates to the punch as we returned to cleaning out the garage.

"I wouldn't say that just yet," I hedged. "I have enough for your grandmother's. There's some litigation pending that could boost me into a higher tax bracket, but it'll be at least a year before that's resolved unless we convince them to settle."

"Buncha tabloids called ’im a kiddie fucker in print," Jed volunteered, much to my displeasure. "My dad's a lawyer and figures he's got about a hundred mil comin.'"

"I thought your dad didn't talk about that stuff," I snapped, trying to maintain control of my emotions.

"Not to me," my buddy said. "Heard him and Mom talkin' when they didn't know I was around. Then he made that crack about gettin' a job with ya. Figured ya must have a little saved up."

"Nothin's done just yet," I said. "George Patterson is overseeing investments for me."

"Wouldja be interested in investin' in farm implements?" Brad asked.

"Hadn't really thought about it," I said, hoisting another (light) box. "Whatcha got?"

"Me and the old man run a farm supply business up near El Reno along with a couple sections of wheat pasture," he said. "He's been talkin' ’bout retirin' and takin' it easy. I get first shot at buyin' ’im out, but linin' up financin' ain't easy.

"Couldn't hurt to take a look," I mused. "Mr. Patterson's supposed to swing by this afternoon if ya don't mind hangin' around for a few hours. Worst case, put together a business plan and send it to him at The Patterson Group."

"You gonna let us watch football here now?" Marshawn asked the next time we crossed paths. "That couch in the livin' room looks a lot more comfortable than your apartment."

"I'm not sure that'd be a good idea," I said. "You know that woman's gonna be watchin' this place like a hawk."

"Aww, Miz Uptight-Can't-Be-Too-White just don' want any of us 'ethnic types' lowerin' her property values," the linebacker snorted. "Ain't like I'm plannin' to move next door. Gotta get my first contract ’fore I do that. And I'll make sure no wild parties break out. You was right about Coach checkin' up on us. He'll prolly claim one o' them recliners next to the couch."

"If the Osbornes don't take the couch and recliners," I said, bursting another bubble for Mr. Taylor. "Those were the first things I thought of as gone when I saw ’em."

"Man, you just suck all the fun outta life," Marshawn pouted.

At least none of the guys asked about bringing their girlfriends over on date nights. The only guy doin' the nasty in my house better be me. I hadn't even brought my own girlfriends over yet! (Karen didn't really count. She was more my aunt with benefits.)

We got the garage cleared out except for the desk and a bunch of empty boxes that we decided to hold onto just in case. I'd actually be able to park the Beemer in here now. Better wait and see if Karen planned to live here first, though. She might want a place for her Mercedes.

A check of the attic above the garage showed nothing but empty space. It appeared Mrs. Osborne was content to just pile stuff in the garage rather than lug it up that pulldown ladder.

Arlene's comment about converting the space to a little apartment came to mind. That would require all kinds of extra work, such as an exterior entry, plumbing and access into the house. At least I'd found the convent for the Matamoros girls.

Now, it was time for the big stuff. Those of us on garage detail went inside while Pam Osborne started looking through the boxes we'd placed around the U-Haul. Her son stayed out there to lift the keepers into the truck. I couldn't blame him. We had enough beef to handle the heavy lifting.

As I expected, the matching recliners had been claimed by the Osbornes, but they were leaving the couch. Bob Osborne was determined to take his dad's chair and Pam wasn't averse to accepting his mom's. They'd find something for Gladys after she moved into the retirement center. They needed to know how much room they were working with first. Didn't want to pay for something that didn't fit.

The couch, though, was just too big for their living room. They were already going to have to move things around to get the recliners in there.

But first, we had to get things from the upstairs bedrooms. The chairs would be among the last things loaded.

Upstairs had four bedrooms with each pair on opposite sides of the house having connecting bathrooms. I hadn't seen the master suite yet, but Morgan shouldn't have any complaints about three full baths with me being relegated to the three-quarters job in the office, which I was already thinking of as "my room."

The bedrooms were spacious, each containing two queen beds. It would've been a tight squeeze, but all 16 girls from Matamoros could sleep here if they doubled up. I just didn't want to think about eight girls fighting over a bathroom every morning. They'd have to bathe in shifts, evening and morning.

All of the lamps and end tables upstairs were hauled to the U-Haul, but they were taking only one bed and a matching dresser. Bob and Pam had a tween granddaughter (I never was real clear on if she was Brad's or not) who was getting old enough to require more grownup furnishings.

I carried two lamps outside (see, toldja I could manage small items) to find Brad furiously digging through boxes of bedding in search of a Winnie the Pooh set that had been his favorite when he visited Mam-maw in his youth. It'd be perfect for his little boy. If one of his cousins hadn't already snatched it. Brad never trusted that guy.

I returned inside to find Marshawn stretched out on the couch.

"Comfy?" I snarked.

"Very," he sighed contentedly. "Just tryna figure out where you need to put a TV. The rest o' y'all can sit around on the floor. Just don't block my view."

"Hmm, block Marshawn's view or spill his dessert," I mused. "Which one will get him back to work faster?"

"Man, you worse than Coach," Marshawn groaned as he rose to his feet. "Bad ’nough he threatened me with 50 gassers ever'time I hit yo punk ass this week. You betta learn not to get in the way o' my dessert! I might decide 50 ain't so bad."

"Whatever you say, Marshawn," I snorted.

Two more trips got the rest of the lamps from the upstairs bedrooms. Morgan was waiting for me as I set the last two down with the others.

"We're ready to eat," my first official girlfriend said. "Hurry up. Everyone's waiting."

I thought she just meant my other girlfriends. What I saw on Arlene's patio would have made me run for the hills had the little elf not blocked my way.