Jacob stalked over to the side of the driveway and stopped, two feet behind the daffodils that flanked the winding terracotta-colored paver path to the front door. Lining up the tips of his shoes with the seam in the stone, he swung his nine-iron and whacked the head off the miniature lawn statue. For as long as he could remember, he’d hated the thing. His soon-to-be ex-wife was a fan of ornamental landscape décor and now that she was gone, he no longer needed to tolerate the kitschy vulgarity. The gnome’s hooded head took flight, the resounding whiiiip a red blur slicing the air above the large expanse of his manicured lawn.
On any other day, he would have been proud of his smooth stroke. And he would have been proud today, had it not been for the triangular projectile’s unfortunate encounter with the windshield of a passing BMW. The skid marks left on the pavement by said BMW would surely give the street cleaner something to fret over come Monday morning.
“What in the actual hell was that?” Curly black hair splayed out in all directions as the woman slammed the driver side door while exiting her conspicuously-consumed vehicle. She continued her tirade as she barreled toward him. “You could have killed me!” Her head twisted side to side, her glare ping-ponging between Jacob and the midnight blue car.
Jacob set the end of his club next to his shoe and leaned on the handle, taking careful stock of the stern-faced beauty as she came to a halt in front of him. Her fists clenched with indignation. She was decidedly not a red blur, certainly not a skid mark, but damn, he’d definitely love to consume her. He pushed the inappropriate, hedonistic thoughts from his mind, considered offering an apology, but instead remained silent, poised on his club, face expressionless. It was the correct response if he’d wanted to infuriate her, as it seemed to work quite well in that regard.
The windshield hadn’t been shattered, only deeply divoted, the scar large enough to make driving troublesome, if not downright hazardous. The woman, however, was a hazard only to him. Her beautiful green eyes threatened to pop out of her head and lance his skull when she pointed to the imbedded severed head.
He blinked. “But I didn’t kill you.” He watched as she blanched, appalled at his nonchalance. The rise and fall of her chest distracted him, and damn if he wasn’t inappropriately turned on by the volume of heaving he witnessed. Those had to be D’s, at least. Double-D’s. Chrome-gnome double-domes. Her tight white blouse’s buttons certainly had their work cut out for them. His head shook before the avalanche of crude, lecherous thoughts racing toward his tongue could articulate themselves.
With much effort, he willed his voice to remain calm. “I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience,” he offered, this time in earnest. “I can arrange to have it fixed for you today. I know a guy.” In fact, he’d been on his way to meet that very guy before he liberated his golf club from its caddy and unleashed his fury on the unsuspecting lawn ornament. His best friend happened to be in the auto glass industry, and owned a shop two miles away. His ringing phone reminded him there was no way they’d make their 9 AM tee time. Without looking down, he swiped and depressed the speakerphone button.
Jacob’s eyes remained glued to hers as she squinted at him, miffed at his thinly veiled indifference. “Were you seriously golfing in your front lawn? Do you not take into consideration that cars, other people, children, could be seriously injured by your recklessness?”
His gaze fell, and he lost a few seconds while he gripped his club tighter.
“Hello? Jacob? Hell-ohhh…” His friend grew irritated as a more feminine yet pissed off voice broke his reverie.
“Excuse me, my eyes are up here.” She pointed, with both middle fingers extended, to the top of her face. “Fricken pervert.”
“Jacob? Jacob! Is the Bitch back to bust your balls?” The woman’s face twisted as his friend taunted him.
He fumbled with the phone before lifting it in front of his mouth. “Hey, Jer, it’s not the Bitch. Listen, can you replace a windshield of a …” He glanced over her shoulder. “BMW 328i, like, now? I won’t be able to make our 9 holes today.”
The woman with the wild hair, the flaming cheeks, and oh, yeah, her eyes are up there stood gaping at him as a slow smile spread across his face. It infuriated her.
“Yeah, I can. Should I come pick you u– “
The woman interrupted. “For your information, Jer, I’m not a bitch. But your friend here is the asshole who now owes me a serious apology. And a new windshield.” With that, she turned, strutted back to her car, and disappeared inside. Jacob’s eyes fell again, though not to her chest.
Perhaps the double Bloody Mary he’d sucked down for breakfast was a blessing in disguise. He’d never heard of anybody getting arrested for Putting While Intoxicated. The BMW’s owner approached him again, cell phone in hand and bullets shooting out of her eyes. The poor judgement he’d used thanks to the buzz he drank for breakfast may have saved him from getting behind the wheel, but it left him with the distinct feeling he was now in front of a one-woman firing squad.
(Top Image: Bobby Bridge, from https://www.coventrytelegraph.net/news/local-news/gnome-massacre-kingsbury-water-park-12871903)