Chapter 1
Shortly after graduating college at 23 years old I came into a reasonable inheritance. I used the money to pay down my student loans and buy a rundown house in the suburbs. The neighborhood was one of those where most of the houses had families with kids or older couples whose kids had moved away. You know the place; I live on a cul-de-sac across the street from Leave-it-to-Beaver who lived next door to Mary Tyler Moore.
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I tossed the trashy romance novel I'd bought onto the coffee table. Here I was, all alone, my son out with his father in California for the summer and what was my plan for Saturday night? To sit, all alone, and read a book.
I sighed, got off the sofa and wandered down the hall to the bathroom. I turned on the light and looked at myself in the mirror. I was only 42 years old and I didn't have some of the wrinkles the girls I worked with had at my age.
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On June 22, 1975, Jaws, the first summer blockbuster movie, opened nationwide in 409 theaters. Earlier that day, under a dazzling blue sky filled with great puffy white clouds looking like immense sheep dogs at play, I packed my 1971 Ford Pinto with a sea bag stacked full of uniforms, a duffel bag filled with neatly folded civvies and several cardboard boxes of books.
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My parents had prepared a welcome home party for their Marine Sergeant son coming back from a tour of combat duty. It was a food and booze feast attended by various relatives, neighbors and family friends wanting to hear war stories.
As glad as I was to be home among relatives, I had a problem that overshadowed all feelings. I was horny, extremely horny after a year of living in a hostile land, masturbating to keep my sanity.
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Mrs. Khanna ran into Mrs. Sorabji as the latter was stepping out of an exclusive shoe store at Nariman Point in Mumbai.
"Hi Yasmin," exclaimed Mrs. Khanna," haven't seen you in ages! How are you?"
"Very well, thank you. And you?"
"Oh, vadhiya ji vadhiya," said Preeti Khanna jovially, then her eyebrows knitted into a frown, "you are a clinical psychologist, right?"
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Mrs. Lachlan. Jimmy’s mother. And our neighbourhood’s MILF. You could hear the gasps emerging from every teenage boy (and some grown men) when she glided past. She had the kind of melons you felt like you could wedge yourself between and survive for days in the middle of the ocean. And the kind of mouth you thought could swallow an apple whole, or, alternatively, the kind of mouth you thought you could unload into until you were dizzy and nauseous. She was a real piece of meat. Prime rib.
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It had been a long day and I was happy to see the line growing short. I love book signings, but I'm usually pretty happy when they wind down to the last few stalwarts and I know I can finally stop being "on". I surveyed the line and only saw five more people and knew the end was in sight. The third to last person handed me the book and said, "Hi Mister M. Will you sign my book?"
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I could have sworn she was about my age.
I'm 21 now, making me a dedicated observer of girl's asses and legs for the last eight years or so. I can detect the slightly-too-slender look of a hot little piece of jailbait, or the subtle signs of impending cellulite that brand most older women.
So as I walked along the beach perhaps 30 feet behind the bikini-clad brunette, I never would have guessed she was old enough to be my mom.
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Stephanie breathed a deep sigh as she once again sat in traffic on the interstate. Yet another commute in a life full of them. It seemed that this was all her life had been since her divorce five years ago. Commute, work, commute, sleep, commute, work and so on and so on. At age forty-six she needed a change, but the rut she was stuck in was so deep it seemed that climbing out would be impossible. Today was just like any other day except it was Wednesday, not Tuesday or Friday or even Monday. It was just another day in a string of days that seemed to never change.
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My name is Jack Maltan, I’m a private eye.
Heh, sounds pretty good huh? Actually I am a private eye, but you wouldn’t know it to look at me. I was only 20 when I got into it. So it works out that my father, a career cop, gets the boot from the force for knockin’ around some kid that waved a gun at him and ran off. Funny thing, anyone else would have done the same, or worse. Anyway so my dad goes nuts, without the force he’s nothing he lasted a while, then he offed himself about two years ago.
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