by Unknown
“Fred needs a nap,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. She laughed, a bright sound, as she closed her eyes, listening to him breathe as they both drifted off.
* * * *
“She’ll have the egg white omelet, no onion, a small orange juice, and a side of fruit.” Rick smiled up at the waitress. He glanced over at Laura, resting her chin in her hand and looking dreamily over the railing at the clear water below. She lifted her face to the breeze, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment.
“Do you want coffee, baby?”
“Nuh-uh.” She opened her eyes to him with a bright smile.
“Did you want water with lemon?” the waitress asked him. It was the same blond girl from yesterday, wearing yellow today, a sarong and matching top, but Rick hadn’t looked twice at her.
“Sure, thanks,” he said, his gaze on his wife. The girl took their menus and left. Rick slid his hand across the table and he took Laura’s hand.
“How’d you like to go for a walk on the beach after breakfast?” He turned her hand over and traced the lines on her palm. “I think we’ve got time before we’ve gotta be back in Bedrock.”
“Mmmm,” she said with a little laugh at his Flintstone reference.
“Are you cold?” His eyes moving over her outfit—red bikini top and red flowered sarong. She looked like the girls down on the beach.
“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head, squeezing his hand and feeling flushed as she remembered his hands on her last night, the things he did when he touched her…
“You’re beautiful.” He squeezed her back.
She just smiled, turning her eyes back out to the beach that they were going to be strolling along after a leisurely breakfast. She couldn’t believe the difference twenty-four hours had made.
* * * *
“So, what kind of difference did twenty-four hours make?” Gazoo asked, holding the microphone out toward them.
“It was amazing.” Rick took it without hesitation. “It took us… me… a little while to get the hang of it. After I made her apologize yesterday at dinner…”
The audience around them started clapping and cheering again at that. Laura flushed, but she was smiling.
“We had some practice in our room that went… pretty well, I think.”
Gazoo looked at Laura. “Did he take care of you?”
She nodded.
“Did he let you go hungry, or walk in front of a bus?”
She laughed and shook her head.
“Do you trust him to make a solid decision with your best interests at heart?”
Laura felt tears coming to her eyes. She looked over at Rick, and he saw the expression on her face as she nodded and put her hand in his. He looked like he felt ten feet tall.
Gazoo nodded, looking satisfied. “I think that look said it all. Sounds like your practice was a success. Give them a hand, folks. It isn’t an easy exercise.”
The sound of applause made Laura flush again as The Great Gazoo moved on to another couple who had undertaken a practice yesterday.
Laura leaned in and whispered in Rick’s ear, “So, Fred… do you still think he’s an asshole?”
He chuckled, shaking his head and turning his mouth to her ear, whispering, “No, Wilma. He’s no dumb-dumb.”
Cat Lover
By Selena Kitt
There was only one good thing about living with Katie in that little basement apartment—it was cool in the summer. Otherwise, it totally sucked. We could hear everything in the whole house. We knew someone had a dog, because he barked like a rabid Cujo every morning at seven, and of course, my first class didn’t start until ten. Plus, they used the back stoop and its very small area of grass as a doggie-toilet. It was really gross, and the landlord knocked on our door one morning (again, before nine—couldn’t people respect a college guy’s schedule?) demanding to know if we were the one with the dog.
It wasn’t us. The landlord was one of the few on campus who allowed pets. I didn’t even want to own fish but Katie insisted on cats. If it wasn’t the dog barking upstairs, it was the whine of the can opener from our kitchen. Every morning, six a.m.—reer-reer-reer—followed by a hundred thousand thumpity-thumps from every direction, accompanied by a cacophony of meows.
The other thing about the basement that sucked was that we lived next to the laundry room. The noise wasn’t bad—it was better than the cats and that damned dog—but it was the flooding that was the issue. Once in a while, a sock would get stuck in the wash tub and it would overflow during the rinse cycle. Someone’s brilliant design idea in re-vamping this old house as a rental had placed another door to our apartment between the machine and the drain. The carpet always had a faint mildewy smell to it.
One morning long before I should have been awake, I heard Katie doing that “here, kittykittykitty” run-on that cat lovers always used—like the cats ever came when you called them? She would have had better luck bringing the can opener. I was thinking all of this with the pillow pulled over my head to block out the light. There was one other good thing about our basement apartment—we seemed to get less light through the little windows near the ceiling.
“Bad kitty!” I heard her admonishing, but it was when I heard the splashing and knew the tub had overflowed again that I groaned and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Sebastian to the rescue! I just needed a super-suit. My bare feet squished on the soggy carpet. I was trying to remember where I’d put the box fan we used to dry it out while I pulled on a pair of sweat pants and opened the door to the laundry room.
The sight wasn’t a bad one—it could have been much worse. The floor was completely flooded, all right, but there was Katie wearing boy shorts and a tank-tee, half sprawled across the rumbling washer, reaching behind it for something. Her feet were wet and the water dripped down her legs as she grunted and wiggled on top of the machine. I stood in the doorway for a moment, admiring the view, until she slid off the washer into a puddle with a frustrated sigh, blowing a piece of dark hair out of her eyes.
“Hey,” I said, startling her. I sloshed my way through the flood, over to the tub, reaching in to find the culprit. “Whose load of wash is this?”
“I don’t know. Probably Cujo’s.” She sighed. “But Sassy’s stuck behind the washer.”
I held up the pair of pink panties that I’d pulled from the tub drain. “Hmm, nice!” I wrung them out and held them up. “At least Cujo’s owner has good taste in lingerie!”
“Sebastian!” She rolled her eyes, grabbing and tossing them behind her onto the wet floor. ust help me get the cat!”
I sighed. The tub problem had been solved. The water was going nicely down the drain again. Aside from the wet carpet in our apartment, which I would have been happy to deal with after another two hours of sleep, my worries were over.
“Please?” She leaned over the washer again, and I got a glimpse of her ass as her shorts rode up. “Just help!”
“Okay, okay.” I stepped up behind her, peering over the washer. I could see the luminescent eyes of a white cat glowing up at me, ears pressed flat against its head. Sassy saw me and hissed. “Does that one have claws?”
“Yes!” she scoffed, all horrified. Katie was one of those—altering an animal was horrible, blah blah blah. I didn’t know if it was cruel—I just knew I would have preferred picking up a soft-pawed cat to a fully loaded one. We had some of each kind.
“You know I can’t keep them all straight…” I edged around the other side of the washer to see if I could move it. I thought I could, without breaking any connections or pulling any hoses. Enough, anyway.
Katie peered anxiously over the washer. I noticed the way her pink tank-tee pulled over her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples were hard. Probably from having wet feet and standing on the cold basement floor, but still—it was a nice view. Made me want to bend her over the washer right there, but I knew better than to try. Katie wouldn’t have any of that. I leaned over to turn the wa
sher off and my hand brushed her shoulder. She slipped back off the machine, slanting her eyes, watching me.
I grabbed the washer with both hands, rocking it forward a little at a time. The cat hissed and suddenly bolted. Luckily, Katie had shut the door at the top of the stairs and it was trapped there. She ran after it, and I heard her cooing as she carried the cat back down toward me, cradling it in her arms.
“Thank you.” Her smile lit up her whole face in such a way that it even made me forget about her ass and I remembered again why I’d agreed to move in together in the first place, in spite of the fact that sex with Katie was minimal at best. “My hero.”
I pushed the machine back, turning it on. “Do I get a hero’s blowjob then?”
“Sebastian!” Katie blushed, nuzzling the cat’s fur.
“Just a suggestion.” I opened the door to our apartment, herding the four or five cats crowding the doorway, looking to escape. I could smell the mildew already. “I’m going back to bed. Don’t you have class?”
The cat in her arms was purring now, its eyes half-closed. “In an hour.”
“Still time for that blowjob…” My dick was hard watching her walk around in her tank and little shorts as I climbed back under the covers. The cats were everywhere, as usual. I had to shove them out of the way to make room in bed. I think at last count there were fifteen. It was a lot of damned cats.
Katie stood only half-facing me, still rubbing her cheek against the cat’s ear. “Sebastian…?”
“Hmm?” Damn my dick was hard. A guy should get a little reward for a rescue like that, I reasoned. But Katie knew I’d do anything for her, no matter what. She had me wrapped, although I’m not sure she knew it.
“Are you ever going to like cats?”
I groaned. “You know I’m not good with them.” My eyes were back on her ass, where the water from her feet had made little wet spots on her shorts when she was hanging over the edge of the washing machine. I was about to make one of my usual jokes about liking cats ‘braised in light cream sauce’ and then I remembered the way she had looked sprawled across the washer.
“Come here.” I reached my arm out for her and she sat on the edge of the bed, letting me slid my hand up under her shirt in back. “I may not love cats, but I love you.”
She smiled, just a little, letting the cat jump from her arms onto the bed. I winced—the damned thing just barely missed my crotch. But Katie was letting me rub her back, and I dared to slide my hand around to cup her breast, so nice and firm, her nipples still hard from standing in her bare feet on the wet basement floor.
“Mmm.” She sighed, closing her eyes, and for a moment my cock was sure we were going to get lucky. Then she opened them again, hopping up from the bed. “How about I make you a nice ‘thank-you’ dinner tonight after I get home from work?”
“No blowjob?” I reached for my crotch, imagining her mouth on it. She didn’t do it often, but when she did, oh fuck… my cock stood up at full attention just at the thought.
Katie smiled over her shoulder, on the way to the bathroom for a shower before class. “Mayyybe tonight…”
“Tease!” I raised my eyebrows but I was grinning. “Hey, don’t forget, the show’s tonight.”
“Oh right. Well then we’ll have to do dinner tomorrow.” She threaded her way through a congregation of mewling cats. I couldn’t help watching how her hips swayed before she closed the bathroom door, feeling my cock swell to bursting in anticipation.
* * * *
We were doing “Cléopâtre,” and although she kept saying how much she wanted to hear me perform, Katie had missed it twice. This is her last chance, I thought as I paced backstage, my jaw working, teeth grinding.
“Ready for the big finale?” Anne’s speaking voice was as soft as her singing voice was loud. I’d never heard a woman who could project like she could, especially when she started out with something that seemed so small.
She smiled up at me, already in full costume, her eyes heavily darkened for the role. For a while, I thought she and I might hook up, but it didn’t work out. Performers had big egos, and they got in the way. Anne was too much of a diva for me.
“Sure,” I said, stopping in mid-pace. “You?”
“Look what Theo gave me.” She arched her neck, lifting a small pendant on a gold chain. “He told me you should go see him.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Finale gift?” Theo was known for his prudence when it came to putting on shows. My entire costume had been acquired from a Salvation Army thrift store.
“Sort of.” Her eyes were bright. “He’s got boxes of stuff in his office he’s giving away. He doesn’t want the university to get any of it.”
“Holy shit!” My eyes widened and I laughed. “He’s retiring isn’t he? Sly old fox.”
She just smiled. “Go see him.”
I shook my head, heading back toward his office. He growled a “Come in!” when I knocked.
“Hey, ol’ man,” I said, crossing my arms and surveying the stacks of boxes in his office. “I heard you wanted to see me.”
“Sebastian!” He poked his head up from behind his desk. “You talked to Anne?”
“She didn’t tell me a thing.” I grinned.
“Good!” It came out ‘Goot.’ Theo’s English was ‘goot’ but his accent was still very German, and he often slipped back into the language when he was angry. We’d all been berated in German more times than we could count—I was probably the only one, though, who had been called a “verfluchter hurensohn” and knew that it actually meant some approximation of “stupid son of a bitch!”
“Anything you want.” He nodded at the pile of boxes. “You choose.”
“I’d rather have you stay,” I said, meeting his eyes.
He shrugged one shoulder at me. “Can I help it if Italian men are opinionated?”
“Ah.” I poked through the box closest to me. It was full of the props we had used for Don Giovanni. “Sal wants to go back to Italy?”
Theo sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking off his round glasses to rub his eyes with his thumbs. “Europe isn’t what it was.”
“Nothing is.” I sifted through another box. God, the memories. These were the props from my very first performance as a freshman in Le Boheme, as a lowly Studenti. I went over to his desk and sat on the edge, swinging my Marc-Antoine sandal. It looked great under the toga.
“Truth is…” He put his glasses back on. “They’re bringing in someone else. An upstart—some kid—they want to modernize, the dean says.”
I frowned. “Great. We’ll be doing Carmen using cell phones and wearing leather chaps. They think modernizing means cultural rape.”
“Preaching to the choir.” Theo waved his hand at the boxes. “Anyway, it’s done. Take what you want. I wanted you and Anne to have first pick. After that, it’s to the vultures.”
“I don’t want anything.” I slid off his desk. “Just glad next year is my last.”
“Maybe you can come to Italy?” Theo asked and I glanced back at him. Singing at Teatro alla Scala? I could only dream of it.
“If that’s an offer, I’ll take it.” I noticed a sandal very similar to the one I was wearing sticking out of a box in the corner and I went over to investigate.
“If I can make one to you, I will,” Theo replied, standing.
The box looked like rejected props from “Cléopâtre”—there were all sorts of Egyptian relics piled in with gold headdresses and jewelry.
“Where’d this come from?” I lifted the box and tilted it in his direction.
“Curio shop in town.” He leaned over to look out the window. It was still an hour until show time and the parking lot was empty. “Just junk we couldn’t use.”
I investigated further, past the tangled gold chains and vases decorated with hyrogliephs and little gold pyramids made in China. At the bottom, I found a small statue of a svelte cat. It had a winged figure carved on the front. I turned it over, looking for its “Made
in Taiwan” sticker, but saw the word “Bast” carved into the bottom. It was perfect for Katie—I knew the minute I saw it that she would love it.
“I’ll take this.” I held up the little two-inch figure between my thumb and forefinger.
“Whatever you like,” Theo replied, his gaze still scanning the parking lot. “Ah, here’s someone. Our finale will at least have an audience.”
I saw the car and knew it was Katie. I headed for the door, smiling at his words, the cat figure still in my hand. “Isn’t that the best we can ever hope for?”
* * * *
“Malcolm, you’re an ass!” It was Katie’s voice, and she sounded—well, scared. I hesitated just a moment outside our door, wondering what in the hell her ex-boyfriend was doing in our apartment. I knew the guy by name and reputation, but we’d never actually met. “Get out!”
“All right, doll.” A guy’s voice. Obviously Malcolm. “Take it easy. I’m going.”
The door opened and I found myself face-to-face with Mr. Testosterone. This guy was twice my size, which would have been formidable enough, but he was also wearing leather chaps and chains and resembled a younger, less gentle Grizzly Adams. He didn’t even look at me as he shoved by, using his shoulder to knock me out of the way as he headed past. I stared after him as he clomped down the stairs, straight-arming the screen door on the way out.
“Sorry.” Katie apologized from behind me and I turned to look at her. She was hugging herself like she was cold, although it was still eighty degrees.
“Are you okay?” I frowned back at the door. I suspected Malcolm was the reason Katie was scared of everything all the time—especially sex. Having now experienced him in person, I started fantasizing about buying myself a gun. “What was he doing here?”
She shrugged, heading to the stove. “He just wanted some old stuff I still have of his somewhere. I told him I’d try to find it. I think we put it in that closet in the laundry room.”
Whatever she was cooking smelled even better in here than it did outside. I should have been used to the cats—they were everywhere—stretched out on the sofa, curled into those little cat towers, there was even one lying belly-up in the middle of the kitchen table. But after six months, it still annoyed me.