Secrets, Lies and Dragonflies

Chapter 17

Maybe this afternoon won't be horrible. Our destination alone is intriguing enough to keep me hopeful.

Chuck Conner lives on an old southern plantation just outside of Landry. His parties are legendary, so I'm told. Thanks to the Lindsey connection, we made his exclusive invite list.

Lindsey locked in on Chuck like a snake charmer does a cobra the moment she ran into him at the Supernova concession stand last summer. We just happened to be spending the afternoon at the roller rink at the same time the new skate park was sectioned off for a big celebration. It was a sea of blue. Blue balloons. Blue streamers. Blue t-shirts worn by every partygoer with "Team Connor" printed on the back, one of which Lindsey stole.

People came from all over to congratulate the graduating star quarterback, who brought Landry High four consecutive championships. As soon as a crystal blue metallic Jaguar XF came rolling onto the scene, Chuck's graduation gift from his father, Lindsey vowed she'd be the only girl he would want in his passenger seat.

The Connors are diehard Tar Heels fans. So naturally, he was destined to play for the University of North Carolina. Sadly, he sustained a career blowing knee injury that ended his college stint. So now he's a college dropout riding on the coattails of his high school notoriety, looking for high school girls who will follow him around like lost little puppies.  

He also happens to be very rich. Somewhere along the line, someone invented something and someone else invested some money in something really good. No one really knows what, but it didn't matter or change the fact that the Connors are stinkin' rich.

With his radio blaring out of the windows, Chuck turns the truck off the highway and onto a dirt road. Moss hangs from fat oaks hovering over the long, winding driveway like curtains on a stage. The anticipation builds as we weave through thick, surrounding forest until we finally reach the grand stage. And the place does not disappoint.

An authentic piece of history that looks at least a century old is unveiled. On the main stage is a building that seems as big as the White House; its girth covered in clean, white siding with classic black shutters flanking every window and door. A full length balcony lines the second story, summoning guests to become spellbound by the splendor of her domain. My interest is piqued.

"Oh, Chucky. I love your place. It's so...so...retro," Lindsey says all gushy and gross.

I'm convinced she's been body-snatched.

"Yeah, and huge," Abigail almost shouts.

We can hardly hear Lindsey and Chuck from the back of his double cab pickup over the music he's blasting.

"Yeah, I know. It's actually the second biggest house in Landry," he yells back. "The Fenninger's have the biggest, but we have way more property than they do. My great, great, great grandfather had everything built by slaves," he says. "Party's around back," he explains, driving down the side of the mansion.

He follows the road to a second, much smaller house with a collection of single room cottages huddled around it.

"How cute. It's like a little party village back here, Chucky," Lindsey says.

"This used to be where the slaves lived. That bigger house over there was the overseer's place," he says with an air of pride. 

My stomach churns while he narrates as if he's reading off a museum brochure.

Lindsey's lapping up his every sentence, running her hands through his greasy, brown hair. Apparently she's into the ignorant, bulky football player types who can't get enough of themselves.

The whole place is crawling with people. When we pull up to the Overseer house, a small mob swarms our vehicle like fire ants. The thumping music coming from the truck is turned off, replaced by equally loud music from a DJ set up on the corner of the porch.

Chuck jumps out. "Hey ya'll. Brought us some more company!" he yells, gliding over toward Lindsey's door, slapping people on the shoulders along the way.

Lindsey whips around to face us, her yellow-green eyes flickering as if she were about to have a seizure from too much excitement. "Oh—My—Gosh. Seriously? I can't believe we're here. Come on!" Her door flings open and she pops out, tucking herself under Chuck's arm.

"So I'm guessing there will be no tour today?" I dryly say to Abigail, feeling like raw meat being dropped in the middle of a pack of wolves. The pickup truck next to us is backed in with its tailgate down, silver beer keg canisters the size of trash cans are lined up in the bed. Eleventh grader Jeffery Lewis grabs one, puts it on the ground and fills his plastic cup.

"Hey, look.  We're in luck.  I see a couple of cute guys here." Abigail's staring down two much older men throwing horseshoes at stakes by one of the little cottages. 

It makes me giggle. "Nice. I get the one on the left with the facial hair that's out of control. Overalls and rolled up cigarettes in the sleeve? That's hard to resist."

"Awe. No fair. I wanted that one. I was already planning our wedding. Please take the other one. You know how much I hate camo and he's bathing in it," she says, smirking. "Okay. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I say.

Abigail boldly enters the ant colony and I follow closely behind like a kid hiding behind her mother's skirt. We venture toward the source of the tempting aroma coming from the hog roasting on a spit. A collection of Landry High football players are manning the ill-fated creature. I don't particularly like seeing my dinner all sacrificial-looking, but somehow it seems less disturbing with all these people unaffectedly standing around the open ground fire.

Jeffery Lewis hands us both a yellow tinged beverage.

I do as Abigail does and accept the offer, secretly freaking out.  I've never tasted beer.