The Big Bang! Theory - A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind

by Debra Salonen

  She'd decided her language needed work. Not because she had the hots for a sexy judge. Not because the last company she sent her résumé had those fishy Christian symbols in the wallpaper of their Facebook page.

  Cleaning up her language went hand-in-hand with the "life overhaul" she had in mind. Step One: eat better. Hence, the oatmeal. Hopefully, someday she'd learn to like it without maple syrup, walnuts and bananas. Step Two: get more exercise. Fortunately, she'd been getting great feedback at her Golden Sneakers class. As long as she had a full class, she'd make enough to buy healthy food. Step Three: put the brakes on her runaway train sex life.

  The last should have been the easiest--just say no when...if...Wiley called. Unfortunately, that meant waking in a tangle of sheets, pussy pulsing from dream sex with Wiley Canby. Her thinking brain may say "No, no, no," but every other part of her shouted, "Bring it on, baby."

  Why does life have to be so tough?

  She got out of her car and took a deep breath. Her armpits tingled. Summer on the cusp? Hormonal spike? Or nerves? She looked around. Her brother-in-law's pick-up truck occupied the designated parking spot for Mom's unit. Nerves. Definitely.

  She paused at the edge of the tiny concrete slab each first floor resident of Heritage House euphemistically called a patio. The screen door was propped open with a battered olive green Army locker. Dad's. Judy had begged to take it with her to college, but Mom had been appalled by the suggestion. "No normal person would want this smelly, dented old thing in her dorm room. Absolutely not. We'll run to Wal-Mart and pick up something girlish. First impressions don't come with second chances, Judy. You'd be smart to remember that. But you probably won't."

  "Morning, Judy," a deep voice said from behind her.

  Judy jumped sideways, nearly twisting her ankle on an exposed root from the magnolia tree. Buddy had hated the messy tree and used to threaten to cut it down in the dark of night and blame it on vandals. "Oh, hi, Pete," she said, giving her brother-in-law an awkward hug given the moving box in his arms. "Thought I spotted your truck in Mom's spot. Need help unloading?"

  His San Francisco Giants ball-cap swung from side-to-side laconically. Judy always said the only way anyone could survive in a household made of up Nancy and Mom was either alcohol--her father's escape of choice--or earplugs. In her brother-in-law's case, chronic ear infections in childhood left him partly deaf. When tensions got too high, he'd switch off his hearing aids and zone out. "Last box. It's light. I just returned the dolly back to the office. Furniture got delivered yesterday. Your sister hired some guy who works here to haul it."

  Hector, she figured. "Okay. Good. Any bites on your house?"

  "Won't go on the market for another week or so. Gotta do some fix-ups. Nanc has been watching some house-hunter shows on cable." He rolled his eyes.

  She knew that look. The acid in the pit of her stomach started gurgling again. She made an ushering motion. Pete grinned. "Naw. Ladies first." They both knew how close Judy was to sprinting in the opposite direction.

  "Don't you want to see what it's like to be the golden child for a change?" he asked.

  She couldn't ask him to explain his cryptic question because a second later her mother's voice pierced the warm morning air. "There you are, Judy. Finally. I was starting to think you abandoned me, too. Bad enough your sister kicks me out and moves me half-way across the state, but then I find out you don't work here anymore. What's wrong with these people? You were loved. I've heard a dozen people singing your praises. Do I need to have a conversation with that Ron person?"

  Judy's throat clenched. Not a conversation. Mom's word for shredding a subject so finely no trace of the original fabric existed. "Your mother's a loony tune, Judy," Shawn told Judy after his first--maybe, only--"conversation" with Mom. "We'll see your family at major holidays, but I will hold you personally accountable if I ever get stuck talking to that fruit cake again. Are we clear?"

  How had she laughed off that offensive attitude at the time? Had she truly possessed so little self-esteem she couldn't raise a single defense on her mother's behalf? Or did she remain silent because he said exactly what she'd thought for so many years?

  "Hi, Mom. Are you getting settled? Please don't bother Ron on my account. I've got a couple of good job prospects in the works." A lie. The only one that looked even halfway promising was managing Fletcher Canby's sex club. And that sure as heck wouldn't happen as long as she continued to lust after his father.

  "What's to settle?" Mom asked, her tone bitter and sarcastic. "I go from a four-bedroom ranch to a one-room--oh, excuse me, they call that itty-bitty toilet area a room--a two-room apartment with practically none of my things. Look at this ridiculous excuse for a kitchen."

  Judy had heard similar complaints from new residents over the years. She blamed their negativity on fear of change--a universal human condition. Seeing her mother react so typically surprised Judy. She automatically delivered her canned spiel, as she would have with a stranger. "Have you seen the Heritage House resident's kitchen, Mom? It's a gorgeous, full galley just down the hall. All the pots and pans you'd ever want. You can bake, steam, broil, grill...anything but flambé. Open flames are highly discouraged."

  Mom blinked her watery gray eyes. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Judy honestly couldn't remember seeing her mother speechless. She quickly turned to Nancy, who'd continued unpacking dishware as if someone had a cattle prod up her butt. The sour expression on her face spoke volumes.

  "Hi, Nanc. Sorry I couldn't get here sooner. I had my first job interview via Skype this morning. I kinda like the high-tech approach--saves time and money. And you only have to look nice from the chest up," she joked.

  Not a flicker of a smile.

  "Where do you need me to start?"

  Nancy, a taller, thinner version of Mom, shrugged. "Maybe you can get her to hang pictures. Mom's terrified of putting nails in the wall. She wants Pete to go to the store and buy some of those stick-up thingies." Nancy returned to her job but not before rolling her eyes. Judy swore she could see smoke coming out of her sister's ears.

  "Mom," Judy said, grabbing a hammer from the table, "residents are encouraged to pound as many nails on they like. Heritage House wants you to make the place feel like home. When you leave, they hire professional painters to putty and paint. It's factored into the non-refundable part of your cleaning deposit." She picked up the box of brads and looked around. "Where should we start?"

  Mom glanced from Nancy to Judy and back. She must have been confused by the paradigm shift. Usually, Nancy spoke with the voice of authority--even on subjects she knew nothing about. "Are you sure?"

  "Sending Pete to the store would waste a lot more money than filling in a couple of holes. Let's hang your watercolors first." A few years back, Mom had gotten a wild hair to explore her artistic side. She'd taken classes at a junior college. Most of her completed pieces wound up as gifts to family members. Judy's still-life hung in the spare bedroom/slash junk room. No one ever complimented her on it.

  By biting her tongue--a common method of sublimation around her mother, Judy managed to hang four paintings, but the dozen or so framed photos of family members remained a source of contention. "Only the girls. Forget the rest," Mom said.

  "What about your wedding photo?" She held out the old-fashioned frame bearing the sepia image of two young strangers. Had her parents once been happy and in love?

  Mom shook her head.

  "You want to hang the group shot we took last Christmas, don't you? Remember what a headache...um...challenge we had getting everyone together? But it turned out nice." And cost so much I couldn't afford to order a copy. "You said you love it."

  "Loved," she stressed sourly. "I don't want to be reminded of someone's imperfunity."

  "Imper...what?" Judy looked at Nancy.

  "She means perfidy. She spent one whole day with a thesaurus looking up words for betrayal, which is what she thinks I've done to her."

  "You
have," Mom snapped. "You sold me down the river. Lucky I have a second daughter to look after me."

  "She's welcome to you," Nancy muttered under her breath.

  She stretched to place a soup bowl on the shelf, but the dish slipped from Nancy's trembling fingers to tumble into the sink with a sickening crash.

  "You broke that on purpose," Mom shouted. "Now, I don't have a full set. You ruined it. You ruin everything."

  Judy could see her sister fighting to keep from breaking into sobs. Was Judy tempted to revel--even for a moment--in her sister's fall from grace? No. She set down the framed eight-by-ten and rushed to the kitchenette. "Don't cut yourself, Nanc. Let me get those shards with a paper towel." Once she disposed of the pieces in the trash, she turned to her mother. "For heaven's sake, Mother, Nancy didn't mean to drop the bowl. It was an accident. Are you blind to the fact your daughter is sad and upset?"

  "She should be. She sold me down the river. "

  "So you said. Which river is that, Mom?" Judy asked clamping her hands on her hips. "The one you sold me down fifty-odd years ago?"

  Mom staggered, one hand pressed to her chest for dramatic affect. "I did no such thing."

  "Maybe not while Dad was alive. But once he was gone, you never had anything good to say to me...or about me. Not that I can remember. But, guess what? I finally figured out that hard feelings are like excess weight." She grabbed the steadily shrinking muffin top at her waist. "You can carry that baggage around forever or you can work it off and move on. Today is what counts, and I'm not going to let you use me as a weapon against my sister."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about. Your sister--"

  Judy interrupted--a first! "My sister--Saint Nancy--let you live in her house, rent free for, Lord, most of her married life. Did it never occur to you that married people like their own space? Maybe that went unnoticed when the girls were home, but now she and Pete want to enjoy their empty nest--only it won't be empty with you there."

  Mom's face went from shock to anger, but Judy didn't pause. "You don't get to give her a hard time because she's ready to scoot you out of the nest, Mother. You want to play the martyr? Go right ahead. But don't use me to try to hurt her. I won't play that game."

  "This isn't a game. It's my life. I'm too young to be cast off into some old people's home." Some of Mom's bluster diminished as fear pushed past her defenses.

  Judy's inherent compassion tempered her anger, but she refused to back down. "A lot of people in this building think their children abandoned them. You can spot them right away because they're mean-spirited, self-absorbed curmudgeons. They suck the joy out of any conversation. The people who look at Heritage House as a scheduled stop on the train track of life take advantage of all the great activities available. Regular trips to the library, theater and casinos. They meet for book discussions and play bingo, Bunco, canasta and bridge. Some take the Herry Bus to my workout class every morning." She shrugged, amused to see both Mom and Nancy staring at her in mute surprise. "Your choice, Mom. Either way, Heritage House is your new reality."

  She checked her phone for the time. "I hate to pound nails and run, but I've got another job interview." A lie. She had a lunch date with a to-die-for-judge, but they'd never believe that. She gathered up the framed photos her mother planned to discard but paused at the doorway to say, "By the way, this place is rife with gossip, so let me set the record straight. I lost my job because I fraternized with a resident. Unfortunately, he died. The coroner called his heart a ticking time bomb. Does that make me feel any better? Not really, but I learned a long time ago sh...stuff happens. You just have to roll with it."

  She pivoted on one heel without checking to see how far open their mouths were hanging. Dirty laundry exposed...check. On my own terms. That's gotta count for something. Would Wiley approve?

  "Judy. Wait," Nancy called, running after her. "Just for a minute."

  Judy wiped the ridiculous tear that had formed in the corner of her eye. Highly charged emotional encounters shook her up. Always had. Rarely, did she walk away from an emotional skirmish feeling good about herself. Until now...unless her sister ruined it.

  A bit breathless, Nancy hesitated for a millisecond then wrapped her arms around Judy and hugged her fiercely. "Wow. I can't believe you yelled at Mom. Did you grow a set in the past few weeks or what?"

  "Maybe. I'm trying to be a grownup. I have a new role model. I'm seeing him for lunch. He's a judge," she added with a tiny squeal.

  "Is it serious?"

  "No. Of course, not. We're talking me. Judy Banger. What would I be doing with a judge?"

  "Whatever you damn well please, I'm thinkin'. You are so much stronger than you used to be. You should have seen yourself in there, Judy. I'm sorry Pete didn't videotape it."

  The praise tasted bittersweet. Her sister's opinion meant a lot, but having her mother's respect was the one thing Judy would never see. "Do you think she'll adjust?"

  Nancy nodded. "I wouldn't leave her if I didn't believe with all my heart this was the best thing for all of us. She's grown too dependent on me. She stopped driving six months ago. Never said why. She's scared. I get that, but I can't go from soccer mom to geriatric taxi service, taking Mom to all her appointments: hair, dentist, and medical. I just can't, Judy."

  Judy squeezed Nancy's shoulder.

  "Thank you for your support in there, Judy. Pete and I both appreciate it. But you have to promise me something."

  "What?"

  "You won't let her bully you anymore."

  "Anymore?"

  Nancy's eyes filled with tears. "She's always bullied you. And I wasn't much better. I never realized how bad we treated you until I went to a workshop at the girls' school about bullying. I saw my whole childhood flash before my eyes...and it wasn't pretty." She sniffled. "I don't know why you don't hate us."

  "I guess I hated myself, instead." The truth stunned her.

  "I'm so sorry."

  Before she could formulate a reply, Pete called from the doorway of Mom's apartment, "Nancy. We need you."

  "Have a good lunch. And don't worry about Mom. She's too cussed mean to give up. She'll be fine."

  ~~

  "Judge Canby, so good to see you again. Are you meeting someone?"

  Wiley greeted the hostess with a smile. Tall, willowy, available. She'd made that clear by flirting with him non-stop any time he came in alone. He'd considered asking her out. Now, he was glad he hadn't. "I am. Her name is Judy. Do you have a table under the canopy?"

  "For you? Of course, right this way."

  She hid her disappointment well, chattering about the weather as she led the way through the urban-styled restaurant that could have served as an art gallery given the dozen or so modern paintings on the wall. "New crop?" he asked.

  "Yes. The owner got these on loan from an artist's co-op in the city."

  San Francisco. One of his favorite places on the planet. Maybe he'd take Judy there this weekend or next. They'd stay near Union Square and walk everywhere. Have dim sum in Chinatown.

  He missed what the hostess said.

  "Pardon?"

  "Coffee today or herbal iced tea? It's pomegranate/blueberry."

  He pictured Judy with her huge water jug. "Water to start. We might try the tea later. Thank you."

  She lingered--mostly out of habit, he assumed. Wiley tried to be polite but was relieved when she returned to her post. He needed to try to get his game face on before Judy arrived. Normally, this was not a problem. He'd had years of practice being serious, sincere and pensive. His job required it. He heard arguments, weighed the facts as presented, balanced conjecture and emotion against the rigid interpretation of the law, and made thoughtful and, hopefully, rational verdicts. He held people's fate in his hands. He'd never once phoned in a decision--until this morning.

  Thank God, the defendant changed his mind and grabbed the plea bargain within minutes of hearing the prosecutor's opening salvo. The guy was guilty. He'd been caught with
drugs in his pocket and in his blood stream, along with a list of deliveries he would have made...if he hadn't run a red light.

  The deal got him into a drug treatment program and helped him avoid a second strike. It kept Wiley from zoning out on the bench--or worse, sitting there with a hard on. Maybe I'm the one who needs some kind of treatment. Having sex with Judy Banger was all he could think about.

  He took a big gulp of water at the same instant she walked in the door.

  "Wiley, hi," she called, completely ignoring the hostess who did not rush to seat her the way she had with Wiley. Judy wound her way through the tables, not once glancing at the artwork on the walls. That blinders-on focus said more to him than all the fawning compliments and flirtatious glances he'd ever received. She was there to see him, not art.

  Impulsively, he stood and flipped a twenty on the table. "Change of plan. I'm playing hooky from work." He put his finger to his lips. "Don't tell anybody. Are you free to join me?"

  She glanced around, as if expecting someone to jump out and cry, "Surprise." After a second or two of thought, she shrugged. "Having my afternoons to myself is one benefit of being jobless...until the next round of bills come in. But I am kinda hungry," she added. "Family drama triggers a need for comfort food."

  He led the way to the exit, glad to see the hostess was busy behind the register. "Oh, we'll eat. Just not here. I'm thinking of some place a lot less stuffy. Does that work for you?"

  "Anything works for me," she said. He thought he heard her add, "If I'm with you." Or maybe he imagined it. Either way, her answer was the one he wanted to hear.

  Forty minutes later, they sat across from each other on his shady patio. The dappled light from the eucalyptus added a scented ambience that beat the heck out of the restaurant. He unpacked the sandwiches, sides, vinegar and sea salt chips and chocolate chip cookies he'd picked up at the deli.

  "That's quite a spread for two people," Judy said, nibbling on a chip. "Are you expecting company?"

  "I'm a sucker for leftovers." Plus, if things worked out as he hoped, they might need a midnight snack. He'd texted his clerk to cancel court, blaming his absence on bad sushi. He doubted anyone would question his lie. He'd been the epitome of responsibility his entire career.