Fiction

The Key to Paradise, Wisconsin

Paul Lewellan

After each concert, Titus Welsh savored a pint of Blue Bunny French Vanilla ice cream in his Winnebago Vectra Grand Tour while the Slaughter House Four, his backup band, trolled local bars for anyone under thirty with breasts. Even before he hit the cover of People, Titus didn't need to cast for women. Women leapt into his boat.

Titus heard a knock on the RV door. "What's the problem, Feron?"

Feron Bullock opened the door and inserted his head. "A pretty lady says she needs to see you," the security guard shouted over the screaming teenagers at the door. "Older chick. Claims to be the mayor."

Titus perked up. "A tiny thing? Five-two, brown hair, big chest, short leather skirt, killer green eyes?"

"Didn't notice the eyes."

Titus scanned the Winnebago. Clean dishes were stacked in the sink. The blue plaid curtains his mother made were slightly parted. The lamp table beside the small red love seat was tidy. "I'm always ready for company."

"Then I'll go get her." Feron lowered his voice. "You okay? No surprises?"

Titus bristled at Feron's reference to Chippewa Falls. Why did he have to bring that up? "Just show her in."

Feron turned to face the mob of girls pushing to enter the RV. "Right, boss."

Titus looked down the hall and noticed the bedroom door ajar. He closed it so the mayor wouldn't see the mess on the bed. Titus checked his straight black hair in the full-length mirror screwed onto the narrow closet door.

Moments later the screams escalated as the mayor squeezed through the door. "Hello," Titus shouted. The door slammed shut. "Hello," he said again, and this time she heard him.

"They tried to tear my clothes off, rather than let me in door." Titus watched silently as she adjusted her clothing. "This is embarrassing." She stepped away from the door and flashed the smile that had won the mayoral race. "I need the key to the city back."

"'And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven . . ..' Matthew 16:19."

"Something like that. I'm not very good with Bible quizzes."

He smiled. Titus memorized three verses from the King James Bible every night to help him focus on the Lord. "May I ask, Mayor Ridge, why you want the key back? Or should I call you Mrs. Ridge?"

"Most people call me Reverend Ridge. You can call me Cassie."

"Reverend Ridge?" He looked at the slender woman in the tiny leather skirt and the satin blouse. She was no teenager in a tank top, but she didn't dress like a reverend neither. Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh, he reminded himself. Lately flesh lusting had been a major problem for Titus.

"I serve three Lutheran churches like a circuit rider. My last stop is Paradise, so I live here. I'm a single parent. Being mayor pays some bills."

"And you need the key back?"

"Yes." When he didn't immediately offer it, Cassie added, "Technically there is no key to Paradise, Wisconsin. Someone stole it at the County Fair last year. What you have is my house key."

He grinned. "Why that's interesting . . .."

Cassie heard pounding on the tinted RV picture window. "Titus! Titus!" a young voice squealed as a slender hand waved a lace bra. "I love you, Titus!" Suddenly, a pair of bare breasts mashed against the window. Titus closed the curtains.

Cassie stared at the window. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Most every night since 'Broke Down in Aberdeen' made Billboard's Top 20 Country Singles. My stardom left us short-handed on toddler patrol. Feron's crew barely keeps 'em from crawling into the Winnebago." Titus locked the door. "We had an incident in Chippewa Falls . . .." There it was again.

Cassie waited for details Titus didn't offer. "I'm not a reporter," she assured him. "I'm more like a priest."

"You don't dress like a priest." Titus smiled. "But, I'm not complaining."

She shook her head. "That's the kind of thing my late husband would say."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It isn't. My husband was a ferret and an adulterer."

"I'm not like that, ma'am. I have a clean spirit and a pure heart." Cassie flinched at the term "ma'am." She wasn't old enough to be a "ma'am."

When Titus shifted his weight, Cassie noticed the way his jeans hugged his slender body. "You catch what you're fishing for," she said. She picked up the copy of People Magazine from the table by the love seat. A bare-chested Titus filled the cover. "What do you reel in with this bait?"

Cassie pointed to a picture taped on the RV door—Titus in a rain drenched t-shirt and tight jeans. "My teenaged daughter sleeps with that poster facing her bed. I'm surprised she isn't outside the trailer with the rest of her friends."

"I work the crowd I play to. If a posse of senior citizens rushed the stage, I'd put on adult diapers and play to them, too." The Winnebago started rocking. Cassie grabbed the love seat to steady herself. "It'll stop soon. Feron doesn't let them rock the bus." Titus rode it out.

"Is this what the crowds were like in Chippewa Falls?"

Titus looked her over, head to heels. "You're a pastor?"

"Born a Lutheran; raised a Lutheran; ordained a Lutheran." She pulled a small cross on a gold chain up from between her breasts. "Don't have my diploma with me," she said sarcastically.

Cassie hadn't dressed up to spend the night ministering to another lost soul. She'd hope to . . .. Well she wasn't sure what she'd hoped for. "Look Titus . . .. May I call you Titus?" He nodded. "Lutheran's are all about grace, not about judgment. Nothing you could say would shock me. Plus it would all be confidential. What you tell me stays in this RV."

"We should sit down." Titus sat in the large green chair opposite the door and motioned her to the love seat. She carefully sat down and crossed her legs. She sizzles like a pan-fried perch, he thought. "My folks are Baptist. Don't know what Lutherans believe."

"Neither do my parishioners."

"What I'm trying to say is . . .." Titus got agitated. "I mean, if told my Baptist pastor about Chippewa Falls, he'd book me a ticket to Hell."

"Some Lutherans might, too. My father, for example."

"Your father . . .?"

"He's a minister. Serves a mega-church in the Twin cities. Wouldn't let me date until I was seventeen. I didn't see a man naked until I was twenty." She watched Titus's face. "Maybe this is more than you want to know?"

"It makes you more human."

Cassie felt very human. "My parents sent me to a church school because that's where they met. I met my late husband at Augustana, too. I worked part-time at the food service. Jason was an over-the-road trucker. Our first kiss was on the loading dock. Rachel, our daughter, was conceived on a pallet of bananas. When I got pregnant, I left school and . . .." Cassie noticed Titus staring at her breasts. "Are you listening?"

He looked up and blushed. "Sorry, Reverend Cassie." He got up suddenly. "Would you like something to drink?"

"A cold beer? Maybe a Wisconsin Amber?"

"I've got grape, root beer, orange, or cream soda pop. I don't drink alcohol."

"Grape would be lovely." When Titus returned with the sodas, he sat down beside her. He'd put straws in the bottles. She wondered what else he might have put in her drink. "You were telling me about Chippewa Falls . . .."

"Actually you telling me about fornicating on bananas."

"Fair enough." She took a sip of pop. What would a date rape drug taste like? Cassie wondered. "My father stopped the tuition checks and demanded I return home. I sold everything I couldn't put in a suitcase and went on the road with Jason."

"What did your father say?"

"Nothing. He spoke only to God. My mother sent money for an apartment deposit. Jason bought tires for the Peterbilt instead. Then she didn't speak to me either." Titus switched off the overhead light. Illumination came from a small lamp on the end table. Cassie shifted slightly.

"Are you uncomfortable, Reverend Cassie?"

"It's a little warm." She set the pop on the side table. If she drank any more she'd have to pee.

"We lived in the truck, the three of us. My girlfriends were truck stop waitresses and parking lot whores." Titus finished his cream soda with a slurping noise and put the bottle down by his boot. "When Rachel started school, we got a small apartment in La Crosse. I asked my father to baptize his granddaughter, and he agreed on the provision that we let him marry us."

"That was nice." Titus stretched his arm across the back of the love seat, brushing Cassie's shoulder.

"Not exactly. In his wedding homily he compared Jason to Hosea and me to Gomer, the prophet's wife."

Titus laughed. "'The Lord said, "Go take a wanton for your wife . . .." So Hosea went and took Gomer, a worthless woman; and she conceived and bore him a child.'"

Cassie stood up. "Do you have the whole damned Bible memorized?"

"I don't get out much." Titus leaned back on the love seat. "I've had one girlfriend, Dorothy Mulligan." He smiled. "She's a preacher's daughter, too." He stretched out his legs. "And wild. Like you."

"I just want my house key," she said uncomfortably. "I'm locked out . . .."

"Doesn't your daughter have a key?"

"I don't know where she is. Plus, I promised I wouldn't check up on her tonight. I don't want to tie her down the way my father did me."

For a moment, Titus imagined the petite pastor bound to his bed. "You don't want to make his mistakes," he offered sympathetically.

"Precisely. And . . .." She pointed to the clock radio on the end table. "At midnight I turn thirty-five. That's why I bought this outfit." Cassie tugged at the hem of her skirt, but that only drew his eyes from her breasts to her legs. "I haven't dated since my husband died. My daughter thinks I'm a spinster. And my parishioners want me to be a nun. I just want one night out before I'm too old to turn a young man's head."

Titus stopped staring at her legs and made eye contact. "You've come to the right place." He patted the love seat beside him.

Cassie hesitated. "I'm old enough to be your mother."

"Almost." That wasn't the response Cassie had hoped for. "My mother is thirty-eight. She was seventeen when she gave birth to me in the cab of a stolen F150. She named me after the State Trooper who did the delivery." Titus leaned over and stroked her leg. "Not that you look like my mother. She's a social worker now and wears frumpy pants suits."

"That's how I usually dress."

His hand stopped just short of her hemline. "Nothing wrong with . . .."

"Cut the bullshit, Titus." Cassie stepped out of his reach. He was so damned young. He leaned back and tapped the love seat. She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Well then, maybe I'll just keep the key to Paradise, Wisconsin."

"You wouldn't . . .," she started to say, but then she saw the look on his face. He'd do a lot more than that.

"You tell me how you got to be a preacher, and I'll give your key back."

Cassie realized that was the best offer she was going to get. "Deal." She sat down in the green chair facing him. As she sank into it, she could feel her skirt rising up her hips.

"I waitressed at Denny's while Rachel was in school. Jason acquired a string of truck port girlfriends and wasn't home much. I helped with a church youth group and took classes at UW—La Crosse. When I graduated, I applied to seminary."

Titus reached over and turned off the small lamp. Only a nightlight in the kitchen illuminated the RV. Cassie pretended not to notice. "When I told Jason that Rachel and I were moving to Chicago, he beat me so badly I was hospitalized for six weeks. After I filed charges he got drunk and flipped a gasoline tanker off a hundred-foot embankment in dense fog near Ironwood, Michigan. The insurance settlement paid for seminary."

"Isn't that a bitch?"

Titus blatantly stared at Cassie's chest. She stared back at his. She thought of Titus's poster taped on Rachel's wall. He's wearing too many clothes.

He got up, reached into his tight pants pocket and pulled out her key still attached to its Lutheran Brotherhood keychain. "A deal's a deal." He dangled it, but made no move to hand it to her.

"A deal's a deal," she repeated as she extricated herself from the overstuffed chair. Cassie took the key and tucked it into her waistband. Titus leaned down and kissed her most insistently. She kissed him back. When he pulled her closer, Cassie struggled to keep her balance in the heels. She was used to wearing sensible shoes.

Titus nibbled her neck, and then nipped playfully on her ears. He shifted his hands from her waist to behind her back. "You've got a great little ass," he whispered as he kneaded it.

Cassie pulled at the mother of pearl snaps on his western cut shirt exposing his bare chest. She tugged the sleeves off his arms. Titus pulled her skirt to her waist. He struggled to find the waistband of her panty hose. "It's been so long . . .," she mewed. Cassie unbuttoned her blouse. Titus fell to his knees and tore at her hose. Suddenly she felt his tongue between her legs. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!" she called out.

Titus stopped. He quickly reviewed his lawyer's admonitions on rape laws and consent. Cassie caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror—her blouse hanging open, her skirt bunched around her waist, her panty hose tattered. "I'm not ready," she said breathlessly

"You're joking, right?" He took a breath. No need to rush her. He'd set the hook. Let out some line before you reel her in. "We've got plenty of time," he assured her. "My Winnebago doesn't pull out until six."

"Good. I mean . . .. I need a minute." She sat down on the love seat, slipped off her heels, and removed her torn pantyhose. He watched it all. She wanted him to ravage her tonight, but first she needed to know, "What happened at Chippewa Falls?"

"I promised my lawyer I would never . . .."

"I'm a pastor. Everything you confess is confidential."

"I could call him . . .." Titus stared at her cleavage pushed up by her black lace underwire bra.

Cassie took off her blouse. "Tell me what happened and I'll give you my bra to add to your collection."

"Deal." He got off his knees and took a seat in the green chair. "But you have to promise never, ever bring this up again."

"I promise." Titus stared up her skirt. She resisted the temptation to tug at it. She flashed a big smile when he looked up. Maybe I'll ravage him. She crossed her legs. "Tell me about Chippewa Falls."

"It was three weeks ago. Bookings were red hot. Big market towns were screaming for us, not just cheesy little town's like . . .."

Cassie laughed, "Paradise isn't Tulsa."

"Ain't that the truth." He wanted to trust her. And in a way, it was a relief to talk to someone. "People Magazine hit the stands the day we played Chippewa Falls. I phoned my girlfriend Dorothy, to share the news. She called me a 'skirt-chasing weasel.' People said I was 'breaking hearts in every backwater town.'" Titus shook his head. "Dorothy and I dated since we were thirteen. She was my first . . ." he stopped. "You know what I mean."

"I can fill in the blanks."

"She called me a fornicator. She said that she was going walleye fishing at Thunder Bay with Brad Hoffman, and that I could go to hell."

"That sucks." It didn't come out very comforting. Cassie felt strangely jealous.

"Dorothy always talked like that. Claimed I cheated on her. Lectured me on the Sixth Commandment and all that stuff in Deuteronomy. Not like she was pure and all . . .." Titus leaned towards Cassie. "She went bass finishing with Brad while I was in Nashville."

"How did that make you feel?" That was the only counselor question Cassie could think of. She uncrossed her legs. He looked up her skirt again.

When she caught him Titus lowered his eyes. "I got real mad. I opened the trailer door so she could hear girls screaming my name. She hung up on me."

"And that's the whole story?"

"Not exactly." He looked back up at her. "Feron brought me this sweet young thing, Cyndi Fleepek, who wanted an autograph. He said she'd perk me up."

"Perk you up?" Cassie noticed the enormous bulge in his jeans. "Is that a Biblical term?"

"Well, those weren't his exact words. 'Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth.' Ephesians 4:29"

"You know, that's a very annoying habit."

"Dorothy said that, too. Said if I quoted one more verse, I'd have to tie her down to keep her." Cassie shook off that image. "But this girl Cyndi knew all my lyrics, and she wanted an autograph. By the time her parents got past Feron, I'd autographed her breasts, both butt cheeks, and I was working on the inside of her thighs . . .."

"How old was she?"

"She was wearing a beer bracelet, so I figured she was twenty-one. Turned out she was fifteen. She'd flashed some guy her tits to get the bracelet." Titus watched Cassie's face. "I know there are laws . . .."

"It's called lewd and lascivious conduct with a minor."

Titus shifted uncomfortably. "How do you know that?"

"Not all my parishioners are saints."

"Hell, I'm barely twenty-one myself. I did right by her. I agreed to pay for her college education. I made her sign an agreement."

Cassie got up from love seat. "You fondle a child, trade autographs for sexual favors, then buy off her parents . . .. And you're worried about bad publicity?" She reached behind her and unclasped her bra. "You're a real piece of work, Titus!"

"I didn't have sex with her!" He struggled up from the green chair. "There was no penetration!"

She slipped her bra off and threw it in his face. "Oh, that makes it okay!" She looked around for her purse, forgetting she'd left it in the car. "Look, you better deal directly with God on this one. You're not getting any sympathy from me." She picked up her blouse and started putting it on. "That teenaged girl could have been my daughter."

"Cassie, listen to me . . .." He reached out to help her button her blouse, but she slapped his hand away. "Are you always this quick to judge?" he asked.

She considered the question.

"Lady, you came to my trailer, not the other way around." She tugged at her skirt trying to cover herself. "Reverend, I'm still wearing my underwear." The way he said it surprised her. There was a mean spirit in his voice.

Cassie decided that if she was going to get laid tonight, it wasn't going to be by Titus Welsh. "I don't expect you to understand . . .." That's when Titus remembered the mess on his bed. "I believe baptism makes us all one family. I teach this to my confirmation kids. You might be able to come up with the verses . . .." Titus shook his head.

"Sex isn't a private matter, even when it's between consenting adults. It's communal. It affects everyone. So, despite my concupiscence . . ." The word confused Titus.

She stopped and tried again. "Despite my desire to get fucked for my birthday, I have to think of my flock." She leaned up and kissed him. "Thank you for the offer, though. Now I'm taking my house key, and I'm going to look for my daughter." She walked over and unlocked the trailer door. "One piece of pastoral advice about Chippewa Falls."

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't bring it up again. Your lawyer sealed the settlement for good reason."

Cassie opened the doors to the screams of the crowd and pushed her way past Feron who closed the door behind her.

"Shit." The squeals increased. Titus looked out the window. "Maybe they'll rip off the rest of her clothes?" He played with that image for a moment. Shit.

He thought about her naked breasts and her skirt wrapped around her waist. I screwed the pooch. He kicked the end table, knocking off the clock radio. The time was 12:01. "Happy birthday Reverend Mother Cassie." She might as well be a nun.

He picked up the clock and put it back on the table. Outside someone was pounding on the picture window again. He walked back to the bedroom. "Cassie, it's after midnight. Do you know where your daughter is?" He opened the door.

The mess on the bed was exactly as he'd left it. The covers were bunched at the bottom and the underwear he'd worn for the concert was hanging on the bedpost. Tied with blue bandanas to the four corners of the bed was a young girl in a tiny pink bra and teddy bear panties. Autographed across her belly was his name, Titus Welsh. "You know, Rachel, you weren't truthful with me."

"What do you mean?" she asked defensively.

"You said you were eighteen. A college student." He pointed to her UW-La Crosse t-shirt laying on the floor. "Turns out that's untrue." He walked over and sat beside her. Rachel wasn't sure what he was going to do to her now, although earlier she had made some suggestions.

Titus shook his head. "'For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against . . . those who . . . suppress the truth.' Romans 1:18." He reached over and untied her right leg. "Plus, you told me you were the pastor's kid, but you didn't tell me you were the mayor's kid." He untied the other leg. "I'd hoped your momma might join us . . .."

He was tempted to stroke her thigh because he knew she wouldn't object, but Titus decided against it. "So, what we discussed doing earlier, you know, after I finished my bowl of ice cream, turns out to be illegal in this state."

"Sucks to be you," she told him as he loosened the last two bandanas and untied her hands.

He nodded. "Tell me, has your momma set up a college fund?"