Twinkle Fiddles

Chapter One

The John Boy and Billy Big Show that had kept Dylan's attention for the past hour was fading quickly to background noise on the radio. His piercing blue eyes took quick glances to the Styrofoam to-go plate, on the worn passenger seat next to him. The remaining potato skins, from his meal the previous night, smelled far too good to ignore.

He sang along to Van Halen's Jump, playing the air keyboards across the dash of his white Jeep Wrangler. The open flap of the soft top rattled in the July heat. The back panel was gone, a mesh pirate flag harnessed in its place. Wind from the interstate blew through the missing doors. During the classic rock chorus line, Dylan popped the to-go box, and grabbed the closest potato skin. He slurred the lyrics as hard flakes of cheese, and a chopped bacon square, fell into his lap. Still singing, he swiped the droppings to the sandy floorboard near his calloused bare feet.

Despite his tight haircut, Dylan's appearance didn't lend itself to his status as a respected retail consultant. He still looked the part of a college student as he neared the age of thirty. The grease he was leaving on his right pant leg didn't help mature him. He licked his fingers and wiped them again on his beige, off-the-rack, khaki trousers. The pant legs were pushed above his knees, exposing his shins and calves. He pounded the dash above the radio as his solo instrumental on air keyboards continued.

Since college, he had built a strong resume. That document protruded from the copy shop bag on the passenger floorboard. First days on a new job can be intimidating, but Dylan embraced the drive from his home in Beaufort, South Carolina, to his newest corporate office near Charlotte, NC. As cheese and bacon spun in the open breezes of his Jeep, Dylan watched the liter spin in the free air to his papers. The resume bag rippled in the windy currents. It was anchored in place with a coil of heavy, spun, cotton rope, and a rusted segment of iron.

Julie wasn't a fan of office meetings, especially sessions introducing help for projects she hoped to lead. Not long out of college herself, she had risen quickly from an intern to a full buyer position. Her white cubicle was the first in a series, located slightly beyond the third-floor escalator, before the larger glass enclosed senior executives.

Julie kept her dark brown eyes low as a small protest when Walter, her vice president, walked in with who she suspected was another corporate suit. She sat at her cubicle, attempting to ignore the commotion. She twirled her light brown hair over her left shoulder. Being on the shorter side of five feet in height, her roller chair was cranked higher than buyers in adjacent office spaces. She casually typed on her laptop with her single right hand. Several loose, fabric, braided bracelets rotated around her left wrist, as she continued twirling that hand through her hair. Stacks of vendor catalogs were fanned neatly on her side desk.

Dylan stood tall, slightly over six feet. His established tan gave an illusion of someone who enjoyed play more than work. A white golf shirt, highlighted with The Masters' logo embroidered on the left chest, reinforced that belief. He slapped Walter on his back as they passed through the reception area and in front of Julie's cubicle. "How's the fairways been treating you?" the new hire asked.

Walter shook his head. "Okay, I'm on the 14th, playing the Valley, right. I hit a squirrel. Who hits a squirrel, really?"

"So, do you mulligan that? What's the drop rule on a squirrel?" Dylan was laughing as he motioned an arm length and hand release.

"Oh, I dropped him all right." Walter closed his eyes, threw his head back, and stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth, as he made a toes up stance with his hands.

"That's awful!" Julie surprised even herself when she inadvertently joined the conversation. Dylan and Walter both looked her direction.

"Dylan, let me introduce you to someone." Walter leaned against Julie's cubicle wall. "This is Julie, one of our regional buyers."