THE BIG BANG! THEORY
A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind
by
Debra Salonen
Copyright © 2013 by Debra Salonen
Smashwords Edition
Cover art by Kimberly Van Meter
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Book 4 in The Screw Senility Series
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
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CHAPTER ONE
"I'm calling this the Moooove Your Mammaries exercise. Press your elbows behind your back. Then reach across your body and punch. Left. Right. Repeat. Mooove those Golden Boobies, ladies."
Judy's throat hurt from shouting over the Pink song blaring from the speakers. "You gotta get up'n try. Try. Try," she mouthed with every punch.
She had yet to figure out the P.A. system at the gym. Her top priority this week had been timing her routines. Twice, she'd gone over the allotted hour and, boy, did she hear about it from the dozen or so sexagenarians who attended the newly created Judy Banger's Golden Sneakers Workout.
Nobody watches the clock more attentively than old people, Judy thought, silently counting the number of repetitions.
She'd learned two important rules when leading a class: count correctly--if her mind wandered and she lost track of the reps, someone would call her on it--and never, ever, cause her Sneakers, as they called themselves, to miss the bus back to Heritage House, where the majority of her class lived.
Two weeks earlier, when Judy admitted to her fitness coach Kelly that she'd lost her job and would need to cut back on expenses--including the cost of her gym membership, Kelly had suggested Judy start leading a class of her own. "You're a natural, Judy. I'm a qualified trainer for the AARP Senior Fitness program, but with my college class schedule, I don't have time to take on any more sessions. I'll train you, but it will be up to you to build a following. You could make huge brownie points with the boss if you recruited people from the Old Folks home where you used to work."
Ron and Bev, Judy's former employers at Heritage House, would have been appalled to hear their beloved independent living center called an "Old Folks home," but Judy understood. To someone in her mid-twenties like Kelly, anyone Judy's age--fifty-four--was far enough over the hill to be nearly invisible.
"Stretch, ladies. Make a fist. Deliver that knockout punch. Push yourself. Use those muscles or lose 'em."
Judy couldn't believe how many of Kelly's kitschy rah-rah catch phrases and bumper-sticker slogans insinuated themselves into her jargon once she started operating at the head of the class. "Five. Four. Three. Keep going. Done." She gave her students two thumbs up then motioned for them to put away the weights they'd been using. "Grab a drink of water before cool down. Great work, everybody. How do you feel?"
"Good."
"Exhausted."
"Horny."
Judy zeroed in on a familiar voice. Prudence O'Riley. The only one wearing hot pink Lycra capris with a baby blue sports bra and white tank that read: Perfectly Fine Bad Example.
"When do you leave on your trip?" Judy asked her best friend.
"Tonight. We're taking the red-eye to Reykjavik."
"Iceland?" one of the other members asked. "Are you going with a tour?"
"Nope. An ex-lover named Gerald. I call him The Great One. And, yes, by the way, he is. We split up a year ago when he got swept off his feet by a blond bimbo porn star named Dewi." Pru chortled with obvious glee. "But from now on, she'll be known as Don'twe."
Judy snapped her fingers to get everyone's attention. "Hustle, ladies. You don't want to miss the bus. Straddle your chairs, sit up straight and inhale deeply."
After months of working out with Kelly three mornings a week, Judy had this part memorized. She could call the moves without thinking about what came next. Unfortunately, freeing up brain space triggered a slideshow of the recent events that landed her in this part-time, minimum-wage job. Buddy Fusco's naked body stretched out dead in her bed. Jed Blassingame wearing only his tool belt, a few brush strokes of Sunrise Alabaster--her bedroom's new paint color--and a condom. Pru, in a leopard print push-up bra and thong cracking a whip named Gerald above the heads of Lewis Fusco--Buddy's son who'd threatened to sue Judy for his father's wrongful death--and Officer Fletcher Canby--completely out of uniform and looking at Lewis as if he were a lollypop that needed licking.
How the heck did my life get so complicated?
"Exhale completely. Twist to the right. Hold."
Buddy. Lewis. Fletcher. They popped into my life and turned things upside down...and then poof! Gone. Every one. Even Pru was leaving. And here I am. Broke. Career in the toilet. Alone.
"Okay," she cried hoping her voice didn't crack from the emotion building in her chest. "Extend your arms then reach around and pat yourself on the back. Well done, everyone! See you Monday."
She watched the dozen or so women in their late-sixties and early seventies collect their water bottles and purses. Judy had been delighted by the response to the flier she’d posted at Heritage House. Most of the women were bored to tears with retirement and welcomed the diversion. A few came at their doctor's behest, some because their insurance paid for their gym membership and they'd be damned if they'd pass up something free. Judy could see herself in their shoes in the all-too-near future. Although, she had to admit, the more she worked out the younger she felt.
The real trick, she realized, would be finding a job that covered her living expenses while still allowing her time to teach this class.
"Pru, I'll be in the office checking my email," she told her friend, who was chatting with a young bodybuilder. Did it matter that, Gerald, the so-called love of Pru's life, had returned with apologies and tickets to Iceland? Apparently not. Pru never passed up a chance to ogle eye candy.
"Cool," Pru cooed never taking her gaze off said jock. "I'm getting taped, remember?"
Judy had to force herself not to roll her eyes. Pru didn't have an ounce of extra fat on her body. And she was far too ADD to work out on a regular basis, but Judy supposed the idea of someone proving on paper how perfect she was for her age held a certain appeal. Judy still hadn't allowed herself to be taped. Maybe after I drop another pant size, she thought, tugging on the surprisingly loose waistband of her workout pants. This exercise thing seemed to be working.
She plopped her slightly less bulgy butt on the padded stool behind the chest high counter and pulled out her phone. She'd emailed at least half a dozen resumes in the past week. She'd also interviewed for a desk job at a small construction company Jed had recommended. The people were pleasant enough but the work seemed tedious, at best. Not that she'd turn down a decent offer, but a part of her was convinced they'd only agreed to see her as a favor to Jed--and because they wanted to check out the older w
oman in Jed's life.
The older woman who used to be in his life.
Jed hadn't made their split official, but from his texts and calls Judy sensed someone new had caught his fancy. Someone in Reno. Or Tahoe. Judy couldn't remember exactly where he was working. And that was okay, too. She'd always known their relationship was temporary. In fact, as harsh as it sounded to admit, the transitory aspect might have been the best part. She adored the man, but the nine-year gap in their ages sometimes felt like a lifetime.
She tapped her email app and waited. Her knock off phone surfed the telecommunication satellites at three-legged dog speed compared to Pru's hot-off-the-Chinese-black-market greyhound version. The woman had an uncanny ability to choose men who couldn't wait to provide for her every need and whim.
Ping. Three new emails.
Her palms tingled. She tried crossing two fingers but couldn't get the first email to open that way. She didn't recognize the addy.
With good reason, she thought stifling a sigh. A reprimand from her credit card company. She'd sent a token payment. Apparently, too late and too little to satisfy their greedy, attention-to-detail needs.
"Damn." She'd be making up for this blow to her credit rating for years to come. Hell, her bad credit reputation would probably outlive her. Something her mother once predicted. "If you don't learn how to handle what little money you're going to make in your life, Judy, you'll wind up in the poorhouse."
Not if I move in with you and Nancy. Judy's older sister--the perfect one--and her equally perfect husband, Pete, lived in the Bay area--a comfortable three-hour drive that none of them made on a regular basis.
The thought brought up a sour taste from deep in her gut. Judy hadn't spoken to any member of her family since this whole Buddy Fusco fiasco began. Partly out of embarrassment, but mostly to avoid giving Mom and Nancy the satisfaction of being right. "Didn't I always tell you Judy would never amount to anything?" she could picture her mother saying. "You did, indeed, Mommy. And how right you were," her sycophant sister would reply.
I have nothing to feel guilty about, Judy told herself. Phone lines went both ways. They hadn't called her, either.
She opened the second email, saving the last--a name she did recognize--for last.
"Dear Mr. Bangur, thank you for your interest in our company. We are not currently hiring account representatives, however, if you'd be interested in joining our independent owner's program, we offer service plans with easy, affordable, no money down buy-ins."
"No, thank you," she muttered, clicking the delete button with relish.
The final new message came from sweetthang666@hotmail. She grinned at the obvious nod to her repeatedly calling Fletcher "Officer Candy," instead of his real last name, Canby.
"So, what's happening in your new world, sweet thang?" she murmured, tapping the open button. She'd only managed to skim the first few lines of Fletcher's message when the sound of the door opening made her look up.
A tall, lean man in a dark gray suit stepped across the threshold and looked around. His patrician posture and thick wavy silver hair brought instantaneous recognition. The judge. Fletcher's dad. Holy shit.
Judy fumbled her phone, nearly dropping it.
His gaze zeroed in on her and he walked toward the desk with the confidence and self-possession of someone about to accept an Oscar.
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, it's him. Judge Canby. She shoved the phone into her purse and jumped to her feet. Now, what?
"Hello...again."
That voice. Deep and cultured. Sean Connery without the accent. Wait. Did that even make any sense? Probably not. Sean Connery without an accent would be that lean cowboy actor with the handlebar mustache whose name she couldn't remember.
"If you're looking for Fletcher, he isn't here."
"I didn't presume he would be."
Presume? Who the f-ing hell presumes? Was his word choice a clever ploy to make her feel dumber than dirt? Guess what? It worked. Well played, Judge Wilson Canby.
He stopped a few feet from the desk. Well outside cootie-range, she figured. He couldn't have looked more out of place if he were dressed in drag. The fit of his suit hinted that it cost more than her monthly house payment. The material--a wool blend, she presumed--invited touch. She bunched her fingers around her faux leather purse and focused instead on his pale blue shirt and red, gold and navy striped tie.
Tasteful but boring. The thought actually released a tiny bit of tension from her shoulders. The man might look like Zeus's go-to-guy on Earth, but the mortal wasn't perfect. He couldn't pick a tie for shit.
"The place hasn't changed much," he said, looking around. "I used to come here before Fletcher was born. It had a boxing ring in the far corner...until the owner got busted for taking bets."
His completely off-the-wall comment left Judy momentarily speechless. Granted her only encounter with this man had lasted under sixty seconds...under the most awkward circumstances imaginable after he burst into a hotel room occupied by four fairly naked people--his son and Judy among them, but she never would have pegged him as a gym rat. Not that he didn't look trim and fit for a man who spent his days sitting on a bench. Or behind it. Or whatever judges did.
He took a step closer. The horrible unflattering overhead lights should have made his skin tone sallow, as it did Judy's and everyone else, but no. His healthy tanned glow made her wonder if he kept a yacht docked at the pond in City Park.
And why did he seem taller than she remembered? The guy had been in her dreams every night for two weeks and now she figures out he's got four inches on her?
Pru's shoes. Of course. The rhinestone-accented f-me platforms Judy had been wearing that night had leveled the playing field when they faced each other eye-to-eye--except when he was staring at her ginormous naked boobs.
She unconsciously pulled back her shoulders and inhaled deeply. As if caught in a tractor beam, his gaze dropped. Even compressed and hermetically sealed into an extra-large sports bra, her Double-Ds could activate a Level Green testosterone alert. "How can I help you, Judge Canby? We're running a special this month. Second membership is half price for you and that special someone."
Was there a special someone? She'd have to ask Fletcher. Texts and emails didn't make for the best gossip. And Fletcher had an uncanny way of avoiding topics he didn't want to discuss. Judy didn't have a problem with that. They were friends, not confidants, lovers or related. Thank, God. They'd been naked together in the same room...on the same bed. And while she and Fletcher hadn't had sex, close scrutiny of the evening carried a high eiouw factor given their ages and the number of sex toys scattered about them.
The judge looked up and their gazes locked. Oh, shit. His eyes are bluer than I remembered. Why? Why? Why does he have to be a walking, talking wet dream? Can't I get a break just once?
Although it made no sense at all, Judy couldn't suppress the sudden anger that bubbled up like molten lava. Those electric blues had been an integral part of her dreams for two full weeks. She'd manufactured a fantasy lover around those eyes. Wise, humble, caring, attentive to her every need. A man who got her jokes. A lover beyond compare--even taking into account the mind-blowing sex she'd had recently. He'd become her Dream Man who just happened to look like Judge Wilson Canby... Damn. She wasn't ready for that particular fantasy to become squashed beneath six-feet and a hundred and eighty pounds of harsh reality.
She glanced at her non-existent watch. "Oh, dear. Gotta run."
When she opened her purse to search for her keys, she knocked over her ridiculously oversized water bottle. "You need to drink half your body weight in ounces every day," she said, grabbing the handle before water spurted all over the floor. She'd gotten into the habit of repeating Kelly's mantra even though Judy doubted even a parched camel could drink half of her body weight in ounces. Judy'd never come close.
"I came here to apologize."
She double clutched the water bottle, pulling it to her chest. "To me?"
He nodded. His silver hair looked like freshly minted dimes. Thicker and sexier than men half his age. Which, thanks to a website that listed a gazillion facts about sitting judges, she knew to be fifty-five.
"My son is an adult. His partner...ex-partner, Clarice, convinced me Fletcher was in trouble. That he'd been coerced into a compromising position by someone who would blackmail him, to get to me."
Blackmail. The word had come up that night but not with Fletcher's name attached to it. Hell, he hadn't even appeared in any of Judy's best- or worst-case scenarios until he showed up in Lewis's hotel room with a pair of handcuffs and a gleam of lust in his eyes. "If that someone was me, I didn't know Fletcher's father was a judge," she stated truthfully.
His unblinking stare seemed to penetrate to the deepest corner of her soul. Judge not lest you be judged. Her father's words. Too bad Cecil Banger died before he could teach Judy's mother that motto. Mom was by far Judy's harshest critic.
Wilson Canby probably saw the best--and the worst--in people every day. She didn't want him looking at her soul, comparing it to the scoundrels and troublemakers who frequented his court. She tried to look away but couldn't. Her heart rate shot up to the dangerous range.
"Judy," a familiar voice cried. "Guess what? I'm perfect."
Pru skidded to a stop a few inches from Fletcher's father. In a under a millisecond, her wide smile switched from "Well, hello, handsome" to "Holy fuck, it's the judge."
"I've been telling you that for years, Pru," Judy said, relieved to be released from the man's powerful hold.
Pru shot her a black look--probably because Judy used her name in front of the judge.
"Gotta dash. Iceland awaits. I'll send you some reindeer jerky. 'Bye."
Judy put out her hand, remembering too late that the reason she couldn't find her keys was because Pru drove that morning. "But...I rode with you. Wait...." The door closed with a morose sigh.
The Big Bang! Theory - A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind Page 1