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BINGO BOY - post 52
The air was chill and clear. Marge sat back in the warm limousine and listened to the music. It was nice, but it was classical, so she didn't know the name... But it was nice. They passed out of the pine forests and approached the beginnings of 'the shore.' She saw cute, little towns with names like Absecon, Northfield and Linwood, boasting jewel-box streets lined with cottage-like houses and neatly trimmed evergreen hedges. Some homes, accented by tiny bee-lights, twinkled in the early dusk. Yuletide comes to the coast.
The driver turned off onto a causeway cutting through the marshlands and crossing the bay. He stopped to pay the toll and slowed down as they entered the streets of the town. 'Welcome to The Downbeach' the sign said. Marge looked out through the slightly tinted glass, taking it all in. She'd been to the shore many times before, to Atlantic City, or to Wildwood, but this was her first time to the 'private' shore, to the small, neat towns between the tourists that most folks never see.
" Where are we?" she asked the driver. "Margate, ma'am,' he said. She mouthed the word to herself and gazed out at the stylish, well appointed houses set upon small, manicured (even in winter) gerdens. She saw cozy shopping districts with tastefully decorated windows and warm, inn-like restaurants, with glowing hearths and soft lighting.
Then they came to a street lined with holly trees, fine homes and shiny cars. The driver proceeded down a bit, til she saw him. Jimmy was outside snipping imaginary imperfections from a perfectly trimmed hedge. They pulled to the curb and stopped. The temporary gardener ditched the shears, as he raced down to open her door.
"Welcome home," he said. At first she was speechless. He helped her out. Her chin quivered. She said, "What?" Jimmy kissed her and whispered, "I bought it for us. For the kids too. What the hell. We got room." Then he took her hand, led her up the brick steps onto the blue-stone patio and opened the door.
Now the inside is straight out of a magazine. Gleaming, pegged oak floors. Pale, sandy walls. Crown molding. A piano..... a baby grand piano. Carriage trade furnishings, a tree in the den, plus a kitchen Julia Child would gladly die for... a second time.
They sat by the hearth and talked, happy and 'young' once more. He poured some wine. They drank. The driver brought in her things and arranged them in the sumptuous master suite. A few minutes later she went upstairs to freshen up, for Jimmy had reservations at the best place in town, a colonial bastion dressed for the season and fronting the bay, known as Steve & Cookies.
People looked as they walked in. Such a handsome couple. Doesn't he favor Burt Reynolds? Couldn't she pass for Goldie Hawn, or perhaps that Melinda Dillon?
Tomorrow, or the next day, the kids would come.
Money changes everything..... and candlelight adds the magic.
______________________________________________
The air was chill and clear. Marge sat back in the warm limousine and listened to the music. It was nice, but it was classical, so she didn't know the name... But it was nice. They passed out of the pine forests and approached the beginnings of 'the shore.' She saw cute, little towns with names like Absecon, Northfield and Linwood, boasting jewel-box streets lined with cottage-like houses and neatly trimmed evergreen hedges. Some homes, accented by tiny bee-lights, twinkled in the early dusk. Yuletide comes to the coast.
The driver turned off onto a causeway cutting through the marshlands and crossing the bay. He stopped to pay the toll and slowed down as they entered the streets of the town. 'Welcome to The Downbeach' the sign said. Marge looked out through the slightly tinted glass, taking it all in. She'd been to the shore many times before, to Atlantic City, or to Wildwood, but this was her first time to the 'private' shore, to the small, neat towns between the tourists that most folks never see.
" Where are we?" she asked the driver. "Margate, ma'am,' he said. She mouthed the word to herself and gazed out at the stylish, well appointed houses set upon small, manicured (even in winter) gerdens. She saw cozy shopping districts with tastefully decorated windows and warm, inn-like restaurants, with glowing hearths and soft lighting.
Then they came to a street lined with holly trees, fine homes and shiny cars. The driver proceeded down a bit, til she saw him. Jimmy was outside snipping imaginary imperfections from a perfectly trimmed hedge. They pulled to the curb and stopped. The temporary gardener ditched the shears, as he raced down to open her door.
"Welcome home," he said. At first she was speechless. He helped her out. Her chin quivered. She said, "What?" Jimmy kissed her and whispered, "I bought it for us. For the kids too. What the hell. We got room." Then he took her hand, led her up the brick steps onto the blue-stone patio and opened the door.
Now the inside is straight out of a magazine. Gleaming, pegged oak floors. Pale, sandy walls. Crown molding. A piano..... a baby grand piano. Carriage trade furnishings, a tree in the den, plus a kitchen Julia Child would gladly die for... a second time.
They sat by the hearth and talked, happy and 'young' once more. He poured some wine. They drank. The driver brought in her things and arranged them in the sumptuous master suite. A few minutes later she went upstairs to freshen up, for Jimmy had reservations at the best place in town, a colonial bastion dressed for the season and fronting the bay, known as Steve & Cookies.
People looked as they walked in. Such a handsome couple. Doesn't he favor Burt Reynolds? Couldn't she pass for Goldie Hawn, or perhaps that Melinda Dillon?
Tomorrow, or the next day, the kids would come.
Money changes everything..... and candlelight adds the magic.
______________________________________________
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