Love, Money, and Revenge: "I Have Never Made Love Before You Are My First" "You Are My First Too"
514
Love, Money, and Revenge: "I Have Never Made Love Before You Are My First" "You Are My First Too"
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Overview
Love, money, murder, and revenge all play a big part in this exciting novel by Robert Cory Phillips.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781490749952 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Trafford Publishing |
| Publication date: | 10/30/2014 |
| Pages: | 514 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 1.03(d) |
Read an Excerpt
Love, Money, and Revenge
"I Have Never Made Love Before You Are My First" "You Are My First Too"
By ROBERT CORY PHILLIPS
Trafford Publishing
Copyright © 2015 Robert Cory PhillipsAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4907-4995-2
CHAPTER 1
Trash And Treasure
Part 1
Throw it away, We'll get a new one Another day ... Look Dad, what I have found, It was just lying on the ground. That's money, son. That's not trash. We'll take it home And polish the brass.
Guyiser Blackman, a self-made billionaire, was taught by his father to think outside of the box.
As a shy, quiet, poor young man, at the age of seventeen, he would watch his father go through the streets and alleys picking up what others had thrown away as trash. His father would spray-paint things gold or silver and give them new life. Then he would sell these chairs, picture frames, jars, flowerpots, bricks, shoes, lamps, and anything else he would find. Guyiser and his father would take some money and go to garage sales all over town to buy things. They would bargain for things left over. Then, they would take their things home, fix them, paint them, and resell them for a small profit.
Counting money at the table at night, Guyiser would hear his father laugh and smile and say, "Get it at the bottom, sell at the top." Guyiser would go to sleep at night with the moon's glow coming in his window and the sound of his father's voice echoing in his thoughts.
In the early morning's sun, Guyiser would dress in his plaid shirt and bibbed overalls and go to his peaceful place on the thirty-five acre farm. There he would climb a tree and sit on a board seat he had made watching their two cows and the birds. His tree house was like an island in the middle of the ocean. A small leather pouch hung from a limb. Once a week he would climb the tree and put pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, and a few dollars in the pouch. This was his money that he had earned helping his father.
As time passed, the money in the pouch grew. Guyiser would run to his tree, kicking and smiling. He would scramble up the tree and sit down to count his money. "Thirty-one, thirty-three, thirty-six dollars and forty cents." With a big grin on his face, he would think about getting another leather pouch. This was his secret, and not even his father knew about the tree or the pouch.
The 35-acre farm was mostly tall skinny trees on rolling hillsides with gullies where creek water ran. The few acres on the flat land had corn that grew to be sold at the market place. Guyiser's mother always had a garden with tomatoes and green beans and strawberries that she would preserve and make jam and jelly. She loved to make marmalade from the apples she would gather from the six apple trees. This was a way of life that had been passed down to her from her grandmother to her mother and to her. Guyiser loved to sit at the kitchen table and watch her. She would take a spoon of jam and say to Guyiser,
"Taste this. Is it good?" She would smile her warm loving smile and say, "Guyiser, did you make your bed?" Guyiser loved to hear her soft voice.
And when she died, Guyiser could see changes happening. The smell of the kitchen disappeared. The garden vanished. Apples fell to the ground. His father would sit and stare and drink cheap wine. The corn fields died. He saw his father almost giving up. Feed the cows. Feed the chickens. Sit, stare, and drink cheap wine. The old farm house would never be the same and Guyiser knew that.
Guyiser did have many great memories of his mother. The way she would stand on the porch and wave to him when he left for school and she was always standing there when he came back. But that was then, and this is now.
Guyiser woke up to the smell of breakfast, it was a beautiful warm sunny morning. Putting on yesterday's bibbed overalls and water on his hair, he wandered into the kitchen where his father sat at the table. "It's about time. You going to sleep all day?" He said "Sit down." Guyiser looked at this man with an old wrinkled face and dirty fingernails, a shirt with missing buttons, boots with broken shoestrings, and food on the table. The old man is still trying, he thought. "I'm going into Nashville later, you wanta come?" To Guyiser, it was a great time to get away from the farm and Centerville. Centerville only had twelve stores and a road around the courthouse. So to go to Nashville was like going to another world even though it was only forty-two miles away. The Grand Ole Opry, country music, country singers, city people, bright lights, and stores of all kinds lured him.
"I'll wear some clean clothes, comb my hair, and clean the mud off my boots," Guyiser said excitedly.
"Yes sir, I really want to go."
Nashville, Tennessee, was growing like no other city. New homes were being built. Old roads were being widen and paved. There were jobs for everybody. It took about an hour and a half to drive to the big city in their old truck. Mr. Blackman wanted to buy some cow feed that Centerville didn't have. Plus, it was cheaper by the pound in Nashville.
As they rode down the bumpy old road, all Guyiser could think of was the big buildings, the city people, cars, and a life he could only imagine. All of a sudden, there it was — a sign on the side of the road, "Nashville City Limits." Guyiser's heart beat fast as he pointed to the sign. "Look, Pa!" It was a six-mile drive into Nashville to reach the courthouse where the feed store was.
Mr. Blackman laughed as Guyiser waved to people he did not know. "You like it here in the big city?" A big smile on Guyiser's face said it all. "Yes sir, I wished we lived here."
The smell of the cattle stockyard and feed store was strong in the air. As they parked the truck Mr. Blackman said, "Well, we're here. You wanta walk around while I see about the feed?" Guyiser jumped from the truck with a boyish smile. "But don't go far. I'll need your help, you hear me?" Guyiser stepped on the sidewalk. His head was like a doorknob, turning in all directions. So much to see! Country music stores, clothes stores, guitar stores, eating-places, a bicycle shop, and boot repair shops. People looked like country singers with their western shirts and boots. There was a car with horns on the hood and a truck with a shotgun hanging in the back window. This was not Centerville at all. He walked up one side of the street and down the other. Then he saw another street. Actually, it was an alley. Being an alley cat like his father, he decided to walk down it. A dog barked, but he kept walking. Trashcans were full, empty boxes were piled up. A cat ran in front of him. Then he saw something that made him walk faster. It was a pile of bicycle frames behind the bicycle shop. Some were bent. Some were broken. Some had missing parts. Guyiser saw a gold mine. He ran down the alley, turned the corner, and went to the bike shop. He stood looking in the window. The sign over the door read, "Gibson's Bicycle Shop." His eyes were glued to a bike in the window. It was a black bike with chrome fenders. It had a horn and colored streamers hung from the handlebars. The shiny whitewall tires made it stand out. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Blood rushed to his head, his heart pounded, and as he stood there, an unusual feeling came over him. There was something telling him to go in. It took a few minutes before he opened the door.
A little bell tinkled as the door opened. A jolly older man wearing an apron and small glasses walked up to Guyiser. "Hi, young man, my name is Gibson. Can I help you?"
Guyiser just stood there looking at all the bicycles. There were bikes in all colors---big ones, little ones, and tricycles.
"No sir, I just want to look, if that's all right. But, I would like to talk to you."
Mr. Gibson just smiled. "Help yourself. Look all you want, and there is candy in a jar on the counter over there." He turned and walked into a back room. Guyiser looked at the glass counter. It was full of parts, locks, chains, horns, streamers, and handle bar grips. He walked to a bike and touched it. He looked to the back room. Mr. Gibson was working on a bike. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the bicycle. He could feel the speed and the air rushing past him. This is for me, he thought. Then he looked at the price tag hanging from the handlebars. The price was sixty-eight dollars. Guyiser thought about the leather pouch. He didn't have that much money. He stood looking at the bike.
Mr. Gibson came to him.
"Too much for you? Tell you what. I'll make you a good deal."
Guyiser kept looking at the bike. "Sure is a beauty, but no sir. Mr. Gibson, I saw a bunch of bikes in your alley. Are they free or for sale?"
Mr. Gibson laughed. "No son, they're scrap and parts I use sometimes. But, if you want to fix them up, I'll sell you some. You'll have to work hard to make them look good. I don't have time to fix them."
"Sir, that's what I'm good at, fixing things. Guyiser thought for a moment. "It's a deal. Mr. Gibson, but I don't have the money with me right now. It's in the tree, but I'll buy them. Consider them sold."
Mr. Gibson was puzzled at Guyiser's answer, but patted him on his shoulder.
"What's your name, young man?"
"Guyiser, Guyiser Blackman, Sir."
"You know, Guyiser, you'll need some parts."
"Yes sir, I looked them over. They need a lot more than parts, a lot of work to ... Sir, I'm so excited! My dad will bring me back and I'll get them then. And pay you too ... Is that all right with you?"
"Sure Guyiser, they're yours."
Guyiser left the store feeling like a new person. Excitement swelled in his chest. Like his father, he was now a businessman. He had just made a deal and could not wait to tell his father. Make a plan; work a plan was his thought. I' ll fix a place in the barn to work on the bikes. I' ll make a big sign saying, "Guyiser's Bike Shop." I' ll buy cheap and sell high. I' ll buy at ten dollars and sell at forty dollars. No, I' ll buy at three dollars and sell at thirty dollars. I' ll be rich!
Mr. Blackman had just finished paying for the grain when Guyiser ran into the feed store. "Dad, wait till you hear!"
"Help me load this grain in the truck."
"I will Dad, but just listen."
"Now boy, it'll be dark time before we get home. We'll talk later."
It was a long ride home. Guyiser sat looking out the window as the truck went down the road. The sun was setting in their eyes as Mr. Blackman spit out the window. "So what's all the commotion about? You meet a girl?"
"Better than that. I made a deal. I met a man. His name is Gibson. He owns a bike shop, and we talked and we made a bicycle deal." Guyiser laid out his plan to his father. "I'll do all the work. I'll do all my chores on the farm and work all summer on the bikes. I know I can sell 'em, I know!"
The ride ended at the barn. Mr. Blackman turned to Guyiser, "You're a smart boy, Guyiser. Maybe it'll work. Tell you what, I'll help you any way I can. How's that?"
"Thanks, Dad. Could we pick 'em up next week some time?"
With a nod of his father's head and a smile, he opened the truck door. "Let's get this feed unloaded. Those cows and chickens are hungry."
The weekend came and went. Guyiser and his father had worked hard at the swap meet and were happy with their sales. It was late Sunday night as they sat around the kitchen table talking and laughing about the customers. Mr. Blackman pulled out his brown paper bag and poured out all the money on the table. He spread it out as Guyiser watched. "You count the change, and I'll count the bills. The count should be better than last week's."
Guyiser took out a black notebook from the drawer. "I counted eighteen dollars and fifty cents. How much you count?"
Mr. Blackman looked at Guyiser, and then at the stack of dollar bills. He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. "We did real good. Put down in that book that we made three hundred seventy-two dollars and fifty cents. Your share, I figure, is fifty-six dollars." Guyiser didn't know how he figured this out, but he was happy. As Guyiser counted his money, he thought about the alleys they had worked in. He looked at the cuts on his hands from broken glass and the trash he had plowed through. But it was now all worth it. He looked at his father drinking cheap wine from the bottle. "Can we go back to Nashville soon? I want to pick up some of Mr. Gibson's old bicycles."
Mr. Blackman looked at the almost empty bottle, "I think about Wednesday, yeah, Wednesday."
It was eleven o'clock Sunday night. The movie had just ended on T.V., and the news was coming on. Guyiser lay on the floor counting his money and watching a woman reporter. "And now, to our local news. Nashville is growing faster than any city in Tennessee. New jobs for more people, more housing, and more children mean more schools, and more buying power for stores ..." Guyiser looked at his money. Kids need bicycles.
Monday morning Guyiser opened the barn doors and looked at all the mess. Where to start?
His mind was whirling: A large work area, a storage area, a sales area, -- make a plan, work a plan. He could see bikes over there. An office over there. A work area here. It's perfect. It's perfect!
Guyiser worked all day in the barn cleaning out cow shit and moving chicken pens. With scraps of boards and planks, he nailed up holes in the walls. Some paint would look good in here. A rack for the bicycles. A four by eight sheet of plywood would make a good worktable, and I'll hang tools on the wall. All night he worked. Tuesday morning he woke up in a haystack in the barn. So much to do. All day he nailed things, made things, shoveled stuff, raked stuff, and painted walls. The sun was almost down. Guyiser sat on a bale of hay looking at what he had accomplished. He was pleased and wanted to show his father his new bike shop.
Standing outside the barn, Guyiser and his father looked over the double doors of the barn. "This is where my sign is going. Now I want to show you my bike shop." With pride, Guyiser swung open the large doors. "Come on in and check it out." As they walked through the barn, Guyiser did not say a word; he only looked at his father's face. "You know there's a leak over there. It leaks over here too, but we can fix them."
Mr. Blackman smiled from ear to ear, "I'm proud of you, boy. You did good, but where is my office?" Guyiser punched his father's arm. His father punched him back, and soon they were hugging. "We'll go into town tomorrow and see your Mr. Gibson."
"Thanks, Dad, I love you."
Wednesday morning's sun came brightly over the hills of the farm. Guyiser sat in his tree as the cool morning air gave him a chill. The day's sun became brighter and brighter. Guyiser sat looking at his leather pouch. He now had over forty-five dollars. He counted it out. With what his father had given him, he had one hundred and one dollars and eighty cents. He didn't know what the bikes would cost. I hope I can buy maybe five bikes and some parts and some paint. He climbed down the tree and ran to the house. Mr. Blackman was sleeping on the couch as Guyiser came in.
"Wake up, Dad. It's Wednesday, and we got to go to town."
After some coffee and biscuits with honey and syrup, the old truck was on its way down the bumpy, dusty old road. They were singing as they rode along, "We'll be coming 'round the mountain when we come, we'll be coming 'round the mountain when we come." Guyiser broke into his own version: "We'll be hauling some old bicycles; we'll be hauling some old bicycles, when we come." They both broke into laughter.
Mr. Blackman spit out the window and turned to Guyiser, "Now whatever you do, don't spend all your money. Save some for a rainy day. You might need something you don't even know about, you hear me?"
"Thanks, I'll remember that." It wasn't long before they reached the top of the hill of Nashville. Guyiser stuck his head out the window and read the sign, "Nashville City Limits." "Yahoo! Yahoo!"
Nashville streets were busy as they drove into town. Guyiser could see the sign of the bike shop.
"There it is Dad, there!" Mr. Gibson was sweeping the sidewalk as they parked. "Mr. Gibson, good morning, sir. You remember me?"
"I sure do. You're Guyiser Blackman. How are you?"
"I'm fine, sir. This is my Dad."
"Mr. Blackman, nice to meet you. You have a smart young man here. Ya'll come on in." The little bell tinkled as they walked in. "So, what can I do for you today?"
Guyiser smiled at his father and at Mr. Gibson.
"I want to buy some of those bicycles out back. I got a place to work on them in our barn. I want to fix 'em up and sell 'em like you do."
Mr. Gibson looked at Mr. Blackman and at Guyiser. "So you want to be my competition; well, competition is good for business." Mr. Gibson grinned, "What do you need?"
Guyiser was ready for his questions, "Sir, I would like to start with five bicycles, two girls' bikes, and three boys' bikes. How much would you charge me for the frames and parts I need? Your bikes sell for sixty to eighty dollars new, so your old bikes should be at least half that."
Mr. Gibson was surprised at Guyiser's answer. He looked at Mr. Blackman and laughed, "You do have a smart boy here. Well, let me think, Guyiser. Why don't you go out back and pick out what you want. We'll see what you need, and I'll come up with a price for you. How's that?"
Guyiser shook his hand, "Yes sir!" Guyiser was excited. He ran out the back door and started looking through the bikes.
Mr. Gibson turned to Mr. Blackman, "I never saw a boy wanting to fix and sell bicycles. Most boys just want to ride 'em."
Mr. Blackman smiled, "Well, he's kind of an unusual boy."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Love, Money, and Revenge by ROBERT CORY PHILLIPS. Copyright © 2015 Robert Cory Phillips. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Epigraph, v,Acknowledgments, vii,
About the Author, ix,
Love, Money, and Revenge, xi,
Chapter 1: Trash And Treasure, 1,
Chapter 2: The First Sale, 22,
Chapter 3: Television, 78,
Chapter 4: The Factory, 124,
Chapter 5: Death, 171,
Chapter 6: The Murder, 200,
Chapter 7: "News At Eleven" New Home, 232,
Chapter 8: "News At Eleven" Retreat, 256,
Chapter 9: "News At Eleven" The Date, 308,
Chapter 10: The Conflict And The Power, 349,
Chapter 11: The Interview, 396,
Chapter 12: The Give-Away, 459,
Chapter 13: The Dark Find, 481,
Conclusion, 499,