UNDER CONSTRUCTION, CHAPTER 1

 

          Electric tools and a radio turned up high filled what had once been a very quiet and peaceful plot of land on the edge of the lake with noise, loud noise. The sound of human voices added to the cacophony that filled the air and spread out over the lake.

Suddenly, the sound of tools and music stopped. Everyone in the clearing looked toward the power pole that provided electricity. Standing there, the end of the extension cord in his hand was a stranger. He was tall and slim, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt with a head full of riotous blond curls. He wore sandals covered in mud that had splashed up his calves. The look on his face was grim and she initially wondered if he’d suffered an electric shock.

Into the silence, he began to shout and wave his arms about. “I demand to talk to Charlie Ridgeway. Of course, he’s probably not here, being the big boss and all, and if he isn’t, then I want to talk to the foreman. This has to stop. This unceasing noise has to end. Now, Today. Immediately. Now, where’s Charlie Ridgeway?”

One of the taller individuals moved toward him and came to a stop within his personal space. “I’m Charlie Ridgeway. Exactly what the fuck’s your problem?”

Shocked and surprised, the man stepped back. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was a woman wearing boots and jeans that looked as though they had been painted on. The tank top she wore, barely tucked in was wet with sweat. She wore sunglasses and a ballcap with a pony tail that fell out the opening in the back. He couldn’t think of what to say.

“So, what’s the problem. I thought you wanted to talk to me? Oh, I get it now, you thought I was a man. That must be why your fists are clenched. What were you going to do, belt me one if I’d had a pecker? Well, go ahead and belt me one. You’ll find yourself flat out on the ground before you can pull your hand back. I may be a woman, but you don’t want to fuck with me. Got it? Now, time’s money so What. Do. You. Want?” Charlie spaced the last four words out for emphasis.

“Oh, well, um, well. Now, I sent you several letters asking to purchase this property and you never responded. Now you’re here, probably planning to cut down the entire grove of these lovely trees and build some monstrosity. Why can’t you just sell me the property and move on somewhere else?”

“I got your letters and I didn’t respond because I don’t want to sell this land. I’m building my home here and it will not be a monstrosity. Of course, I have no idea what you think a monstrosity would be, but that’s what’s happening.” She turned away and called, “Okay Tom, go ahead and plug back in. I want to get those forms finished today.”

Immediately, the radio began to blare and her visitor moved over and yanked the plug again. “Look, you have to be a lot quieter if you’re going to work here. I’m a writer. I have a deadline and I can’t work with all this noise.”

“Well, that’s too fucking bad. Hey Tom, plug back in and give this guy a packet of earplugs.”

Once again, the plug went in only to be yanked back out. “Look, I only need another week or two of silence. Why can’t you leave and come back then?”

“Look, I’m not leaving. As I said, time is money. I have deadlines too. We’re here only eight hours a day, so why can’t you write the other 16 hours when it’s calm and quiet.”

“That’s not my schedule.”

“Really, you don’t look as though you’re so ancient and so set in your ways you simply can’t change.”

“That’s not the point. I write mornings, break for lunch and spend another four hours in the afternoon. I need quiet to do that.”

“Well, sorry, but there’s nothing I can do besides suggest you change your schedule. I simply cannot change mine because I have all these employees whose schedules are set for every day, 8:00 am to 5:00 pm. Majority rules.”

The man ran his fingers through his already mussed hair and tried again, “Look, I have to have quiet….”

“Look yourself. You’ve taken enough of our time. Now either leave, or I’ll call the sheriff and have you escorted back to wherever you came from.” Charlie pulled her phone out of her back pocket and held it up, poised to dial 911. “Well, are you going or not?”

Tom plugged the cord in again as the man turned and stomped away. His hands were again clenched and his back so straight and rigid, Charlie was sure if she had been a man, he might have decided to take a chance and punch it out. She glanced at him one more time before turning back to the project. She did have to admit that he was extremely attractive, but so full of himself. Like the world should just stop because he was writing. She wondered what kind of stuff he wrote, but since she didn’t even know his name, it didn’t really matter. She shrugged, smiled at Tom and Doug and picked up her hammer. Time for her to add to the noise she thought with a wicked grin.

Stomping wasn’t actually the best way to walk through the woods at the edge of the lake. He was so pissed off on his way over he hadn’t paid any attention, but, now, on the way back, the first time his foot landed in a pool of water, the resultant splash soaked his thighs and shorts all over the front. He looked down and was grateful it hadn’t happened on the way there. It appeared he had peed himself.

Back at his cabin which was small and old, originally built by his great-grandfather and updated by himself, he stripped by the back door as his outdoor shower water heated up. By the time he’d soaped and rinsed and grabbed a towel, he wasn’t quite as pissed off as he had been, but he was curious, very curious.

Dressed, he filled a big container with water from his very own well. It was always so cold that sometimes his teeth ached if he took a huge mouthful. Then, he sat at his computer, thankful once again he’d been able to pay for having a great connection to the outer world and in particular to the internet.

He opened his browser and typed in Charlie Ridgeway.  He wondered why he hadn’t done that before and then realized why. He’d thought it was a man and finding a woman, his curiosity was aroused. What came up first had nothing to do with construction for the most part. She was apparently tied into every social media app possible. He clicked on the one he thought would give him the most personal information and choked on his water when the photo filled his screen.

He wouldn’t have mistaken her for a man ever. It was a full-body shot that showed every single thing about her. The dress was red and fit like the proverbial glove with small spaghetti straps over her shoulders. He didn’t understand how such small strings could possibly hold up the bosom displayed. The dress ended just above her knees with a side slit that almost reached her hip. The heels she wore were red too and must have added another three or four inches to her height and she was already tall. Her dark hair fell in waves and curls over one shoulder and must have reached the middle of her back. Her mouth held a wicked little smile, as though she had a secret she was dying to share. And her eyes, good God, her eyes. He hadn’t seen them earlier, but here, they were beautifully made up with long dark lashes surrounding eyeballs the color of good turquoise. They were so unusual, he wondered if she was wearing colored contacts.

The photo held his attention for a time and then he paged down to the written information. He wondered if she’d written it herself or if someone else had.

“Charlotte (Charlie) Marie Ridgeway was born in Atlanta Georgia, the only child of Simon and Althea Ridgeway. Her father was a contractor and her mother a homemaker. Ms. Ridgeway excelled throughout her school career both academically as well as socially. She attended Georgia State College for one year before transferring to the Georgia Institute of Technology where she majored in Industrial Engineering with a minor in Business and Social Sciences. She graduated with honors and was preparing to study for her Masters in Industrial Engineering when her father suffered a serious heart attack.

“It was at this point Ms. Ridgeway gave up her studies and took over her father’s construction company, The Ridgeway Construction Company: Only one way to do it right, the Ridgeway Way. Over the last seven years, she has brought the company into the 21^st Century with the utilization of environmentally friendly designs and construction products as well as providing the company’s employees with a very beneficial pay structure, health and pension plan and the opportunity to become a shareholder in this family-owned business.”

There was more information about the various organizations she belonged to, projects she supported and the usual variety of information found in a report like the one he’d chosen to view. Next, he turned to Facebook, then Instagram and finally Twitter. Charlie posted something almost every single day on one or all of those sites. Usually, her post dealt with her company’s current construction project. Many times, the posts contained information about the products she was using and/or endorsing.

Finally, he looked up the company itself and was amazed by the wide variety of projects she and her company undertook. The photos of homes and business buildings were stunning and he found he could click on the photo and obtain information about the design and the products. The same architect, a Terrance Field, appeared to be Charlie’s favorite choice, and in most cases, she herself was listed as the designer.

No where could he find any information about Charlie’s marital status or personal life. Everything he’d found was related in some way to the company. He wondered if she had a personal life. He wondered what it would be like to take her to dinner. Would she talk construction the entire evening? Would she dress up and look more like the photo he’d first seen? Except for that one photo, most of the shots he’d seen showed her as she’d been dressed that day.

He drained his water bottle and pushed away from the computer. Here he’d wasted hours trying to obtain quiet and then ended up devoting time to finding out about his neighbor. He’d just have to suck it up and try writing after the noise ceased. He wasn’t so old he couldn’t change his habits. He’d just have to put off his whiskey reward until he’d gotten some writing done. And sure, he’d be eating and drinking late, but he could always sleep late. At least if the noise didn’t wake him, but he’d always been a good sleeper. His mother used to say the world could end and he wouldn’t wake up. He guessed he’d see if that was true come the morning. The world wouldn’t end, but the interesting Charlie and her crew would be back and fill the air with the same racket he was hearing right now.

As he refilled his water container, he gazed out the window and wondered what kind of a house she was building herself. He seriously hoped she wouldn’t be cutting down any of the gorgeous trees. He didn’t know anything about construction, but he kind of thought if any trees were coming down, they’d be taken down before any construction began. Maybe once he’d finished his latest book, he could make a little surreptitious trip over there in the evening to see exactly what she was doing.