Chapter 39
During the next week, David would call and text Chantelle, usually four or five times a day. Of course he was always concerned about the larger fillet d’ or (‘golden fillet’ in French), as he code-named it in the texts and calls. She told him that she just left the slender, black-bagged gold nugget right where he placed it. She felt it was safest there – in her car – as her roommates often went through her room, just as she did theirs. Additionally, she had placed an old, brown, bath towel on top of the black bag.
The week actually passed fairly quickly. Chantelle got her vacation to start on Sunday, July 8th, but she was only able to get three days off, not the whole week. She wondered: Should I just ditch this job now? No, not yet; I don’t have any cash flowing out of that golden boomerang just yet. It’s still just a curved, yellowish, heavy-ass rock.
After working the first shift on Saturday, she left for Raleigh, right from the Monkey Junction Super Wally World parking lot at 4:08 PM. She had packed for the trip the night before; her cerise suitcase was in the back seat. She reached under the passenger seat as she rolled out of her parking space; the gold had not been stolen. Dieu merci, il est toujours là. [‘Thank God, it’s still there.’ in French]
As she headed north-northwest on I-40 West through the virtually flat lowlands of pine stands and crop farms of eastern North Carolina, her mind drifted like a texting motorist. This should be an interesting few days. Very exciting. I’m driving right through the pages of my future novel. I just hope he doesn’t drug me, tie me up, and keep me as his sex slave. No, he’s not like that. Well, if he tied me to the bed and … mmmm … Just me and David in his house. Maybe one day I’ll live with him as his wife. That would be so nice. Oh, I am getting way ahead of things. I bet that he’ll use the money from the gold to pay off his mortgage. Wait, that might look suspicious. I think they’re watching him. Maybe me, too. Who knows? I need to play it cool, too. Maybe he will just sell his house and move somewhere else. I guess I will find out his future intentions over the next few days. Can’t wait to have sex with him on his bed. Going to wear his rod out. I’ll reduce his staff to a smoldering nub. His balls will be sore for days. Going to go super-freaky on my bone boy. I wonder how big his bed is. Probably a king size. I can’t wait to experience the gold-melting and mold-pouring procedure. This should be fun and informative. I’ll use it in my novel. For sure.
Chantelle pulled off at Exit 303. The sign read: Jone’s Sausage Road. Bone’s sausage. She chuckled to herself.
Her throat was parched. She drove to Burger Thing and got a strawberry smoothie at the drive-thru. It hit all the dry spots, even froze her brain for eight seconds. Youch!
She composed a text to David before leaving the parking lot; it read:
I’m only 11 miles away. Get
ready, loverboy. I hope you
took your blue pills. xoxox