BODACIOUS

by Sharon Ervin

  “We couldn’t turn up a doctor or dentist that worked on him in any of the towns around there so we’ve got no medical or dental information to go on. No one got a tag number off his motorcycle. He paid cash for purchases, no credit cards or checks. We don’t know where he came from and damn sure can’t figure where he went. If he gets a haircut and a shave, he’ll blend and be gone for good.

  “It’s a good thing he’s not considered a fugitive because what we’ve found out about your friend Bo makes us look really stupid.”

  Sara smiled at the telephone, then her expression turned melancholy. Watching from his desk next to hers, Stanton frowned with uncharacteristic concern.

  “What’s wrong, honey? Can I help?” he asked as soon as she hung up. Sara shook her head without speaking. “Which is it? Did they find your boyfriend or didn’t they?”

  “They didn’t. And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my best friend. The best friend I ever had.”

  “They tell me you don’t even know his name.”

  She acknowledged the statement with a glower. “That was in my story in our newspaper, Rezabec. They didn’t tell you that. I did.” She hesitated. “You don’t have to know someone’s name for him to be your friend.”

  Rezabec lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “They say you slept with him--and I didn’t get that from your story.”

  “Well, I’m sure they would know. Did they say I enjoyed it?”

  Raising his eyebrows, Stanton leaned back in his swivel chair and propped his foot on the empty bottom drawer of his desk which he left open for that purpose. He locked his fingers behind his head and studied his moody co-worker.

  “Okay, Loomis, I want you to tell me exactly what this guy’s got that I haven’t got?”

  Looking into Stanton’s serious face, Sara smiled crookedly before the smile dissolved into giggling and a shake of her head. He rocked upright in his chair.

  “He’s about six feet tall, right?” She nodded. “I’m about six feet tall. He’s got brown hair. I’ve got brown hair. He’s the strong, silent type. I’m pretty strong.”

  Sara’s laughter ruptured through her tightly clasped lips. Several other people looked up. Stanton planted both feet firmly on the floor and leaned forward.

  “What the hell is so funny?”

  “You are.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well just wait until I get you alone in the dark. That’s when you’ll get your full enjoyment out of me, sweet pea.”

  She continued smiling broadly. “Is that some kind of evil threat?”

  He sobered. “I really do want you to tell me about this guy. What makes him so special?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed and gazed wistfully at a blank wall.

  “Didn’t it bother you that he couldn’t talk?”

  Sara twittered, the laughter again burbling up in her throat. “I found that refreshing. That, Rezabec, is the main difference between you and Bo. He’s quiet and completely unassuming. You ain’t either one.”

  Stanton grimaced and turned back to his own desk, bested, for the moment.

  Leaving the building that afternoon, Sara smiled to herself. Stanton talked big but was invigoratingly harmless. His continuous kidding was helping her recover, luring her back to her old officious self. It felt good, being able to laugh out loud again. It had been too long. She had been too glum, had cried too much.

  Slowly Sara began to accept what she’d known all along. She was going to be all right; not happy maybe, but all right. Eventually, when Krisp lost interest, got caught up in another case, she would begin her own search for Bo. She would start with military hospitals, inquiring about soldiers with vocal chord injuries or diseases, men discharged from active duty two or three years ago but who might be receiving follow-up treatment.

  She would talk to Mrs. Johnson, find out the name of Bo’s hot tamale, his Mexican girlfriend, see if the girl knew where he had come from or where he might have gone.

  Originally, Sara had forgotten to mention the girl to Krisp. Apparently the Johnsons hadn’t said anything about the hot tamale either.

  Sara even prepared herself for the possibility she might find Bo with his girlfriend. If so, she could console herself that if he were happy without her, she could pursue her own happiness. Her fingers traced the shape of the hickory ring concealed beneath her sweater. Until then, she felt bound by a peculiar loyalty, like someone might feel toward a mate, she supposed.

  But Bo wasn’t her mate. They had taken no vows. She fingered the hand-carved hickory ring dangling from the chain around her neck. Neither had she mentioned the ring to Krisp or anyone else. She had replaced the strip of nightshirt with a thin gold chain from a piece of costume jewelry. She never removed the ring, although she was careful to keep it hidden.

  * * *

  “Want to catch a burger and a movie?” Stanton whispered the Friday afternoon before Christmas. “My treat.”

  Cutting her eyes from the monitor, Sara flashed him a teasing smile. “And people say you’re as tight as two coats of paint.”

  “Well, I didn’t think you’d want to go if you had to buy, but I’m easy.”

  Sara looked hard at him a moment, then shrugged and smiled. “Why not? I’ve got no place to be. My Christmas shopping’s done with nearly a week to spare.”

  “What’d you get me?” He raised and lowered his eyebrows.

  “I’m going to let you feed me and treat me to a picture show. That’s my Christmas gift to you, Rezabec.”

  Pretending to be offended, he glanced at Crownover who was laughing behind the afternoon paper, then at Libby, and around the office to the faces of other staff members at other desks, all of whom, as if on cue, threw newspapers in front of their faces to hide their reactions.

  “What’s this, a put-up job? You told them, didn’t you? You knew I’d ask. You told them you were going to say yes this time. And they all knew it but me.” He pretended to be piqued. “It’s a damned conspiracy. No wonder I’m paranoid.”

  Sara grimaced. “Does that mean you’re canceling? And I was really looking forward to going out with you.”

  He sobered quickly. “No, ma’am, it does not mean anything of the kind. You said you’d go. They all heard you. That makes it a legitimate date.” His chest swelled, and he stood, and strutted several steps.

  “Persistence pays, little people,” he admonished the room at large. “Do what I do. Dare to tread where I tread and you, too, will succeed at every significant endeavor.”

  Sporadic boos, hisses and hoots filled the newsroom. Sara laughed out loud at Stanton’s boasts. He leaned close to her ear. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Do you know where I live?”

  “Yes, I do-do.”

  She giggled again. “I hope you can calm down a little by then.

  “Question is, can you get a little more excited about it by then. This is a date, doll. Get ready to be swept right off your size sevens.”

  Sara coughed and laughed at the same time. “I think it’s your shy, backwoods manner that wows me, Rezabec.”

  “Well, I knew something about me would get to you sooner or later.” He arched his eyebrows like the villain in a melodrama, “just as I will make you mad about me sooner or later, my innocent pet.”

  Sara’s amusement ebbed to an uncertain smile.

  Seeing the change, Stanton became serious.

  “Don’t worry, Sara. I’m all bark and no bite. We’ll have a blast. You won’t be arm wrestling for your virtue this night.” He raised his voice to make it easily audible around the room, “unless you come on too strong and force me to defend myself. I don’t want any of these fine people to think I can’t handle a wildcat like you.”

  Sara’s languid smile freshened and she nodded. “See you at seven.”

  * * *

  Stanton was on time, clean shaven, and wearing a seductive cologne. He wore his age well at night, suave, debonair, more Cary Grant than his daytime Jim Carey.

 
Sara gave him an easy smile. “You smell marvelous.” She beckoned him into the apartment and got her coat. “Where are we going?”

  “To Chez Vernon, where they know me and treat me nice, and on to the Rhinestone Cowboy for a romp around the dance floor. Do you have a VCR?”

  She nodded and handed him her coat. Smiling, he held it for her. “Then back here for ‘Miracle on Thirty-fourth Street.’ It always makes me cry. I want to show you my feminine side, the tender shy me I keep hidden beneath this garish facade.”

  “The shy you is really well concealed, you know.” She turned on another lamp. He flinched at the additional brightness and she smiled. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

  Stanton received celebrity treatment at Chez Vernon and proved to be an able two-stepper at Cowboys. They got back to her place at ten-twenty. Sara stopped him at the door and glanced at her watch. “It’s too late to start a movie now, don’t you think?”

  “Late, hell, woman, it’s the shank of the evening. It’s nine hours until sunrise. You can rest when you’re old.”

  Smiling, Sara relented.

  He set up the VCR while she warmed hot buttered rum for two. He pressed the play button as she eased onto the sofa beside him, allowing enough room for another person between them.

  “Do you still miss him that much?” he asked, lowering the volume on the movie.

  She thought about asking who he was talking about but she figured they both knew. “Yes.”

  “Call him.”

  She smiled bravely. “He doesn’t have a phone.”

  “Go to him.”

  “I don’t know where he is.”

  “Hasn’t he contacted you?”

  “No.”

  “Will he?”

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  Stanton put his empty cup on the coffee table, shifted closer and put his arm on the back of the sofa behind her. “Will I do? Pinch hit until he shows?”

  She smiled. “You’ll do fine.”

  “What do you mean?” The question had a note of urgency. “As a lover or a friend?”

  “For which position are you applying?”

  “Which one’s open?”

  “Right now, until we get through the holidays, I need Christmas cheer. You’re the best guy around for stimulating laughs.”

  “I can stimulate a hell of a lot more than that.”

  “Just for now.”

  “And later?”

  Her smile faded and she regarded him soberly. “If or when that time comes, I might need...”

  “Help? What kind of help? Financial, psychological, what?”

  She grinned sheepishly and looked at the floor, reluctant to pursue this.

  “Come on, what kind of help do you think you’ll need? I’m available, yard work, painting, what?”

  “Bo helped me, well, he helped me...” She stalled out. “Maybe we can talk about it another time.”

  Stanton eyed her seriously. “Sexually.”

  The word was not a question but a statement. Sara felt guilty. “Bo took things slowly. He seemed to know the right buttons to push and when to push them.”

  A rolling chuckle bubbled from Stanton’s throat. “Like I said, I’m available. I’m a quick study. I work cheap. And,” he lowered his voice suggestively, “with me, the customer’s satisfaction is guar-an-teed. Can’t beat a deal like that. I can start whenever you’re ready. Just say go.”

  It was Sara’s turn to laugh and she looked at him with new appreciation. “Thanks, I’ll let you know.”

  They chatted along, commenting through the film. Eventually he held her hand. She started to object then didn’t. He didn’t press for more.

  “I love a happy ending.” Stanton stared at the TV as credits blipped over the screen.

  “Me too.”

  He settled a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe we’ll have one of our own.”

  She shifted position, moving just beyond his reach. “Rezabec, how old are you?”

  “Why? Does it matter?”

  “I guess not. You’ve been married, haven’t you?”

  “Not so’s you could tell.”

  “It didn’t work out?”

  He pretended to scowl. “She didn’t work out. I was perfect.”

  “Of course.”

  He stood, picked up his overcoat which was tossed on a chair at the dining table, and strode slowly to the door. Sara followed.

  “I had a really good time, Rezabec. It was a great evening.”

  “I figured you’d say that, once I got you alone.”

  She laughed lightly.

  At the door, he turned and leaned toward her, his arms at his sides. He touched his lips to hers. It was a quick, innocent kiss. Looking smug and satisfied for the moment with that, he swung around and opened the door before he allowed his eyes to rest on her again.

  “Took me a hell of a long time to get you to the bargaining table. I don’t want to overwhelm you right off with my superior technique.”

  She nodded shyly, running the fingers of her hands between one another. “I appreciate your making it easy.”

  “Just keep that in mind later, when we get down to...” She flashed him a warning look. He winced and swallowed his next word, obviously changing his mind. “...to knocking heads. That’s all I was going to say.”

  “Right.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sara and Stanton went out for dinner again Saturday night. At her apartment door, he suggested he come in for coffee but she put him off.

  They attended a pops concert at the college Sunday afternoon and went to the office Christmas party Tuesday evening where people twittered and raised their eyebrows, obviously discussing the twosome.

  His good night kisses at the door grew more intense and Stanton seemed particularly piqued when Sara didn’t invite him in after the office party.

  “Attentive but not pushy” was the way Sara described his behavior when she spoke about him to Libby, who quizzed her nightly.

  “Doesn’t it hurt your feelings for him not to come on with you a little stronger?” Libby asked, obviously puzzled by Sara’s reticence.

  Sara eyed her new friend and confidante. Libby was younger than Sara. Only two years out of college, she was probably twenty-four, Sara guessed. Libby was short, on the pudgy side, blonde with bright blue eyes, and a cherubic grin which generally elicited responsive smiles.

  “No. His approach is just fine. It makes it easy to hang out with him, knowing he’s not in a big hurry to hop into my bed.”

  Libby wrinkled her nose and gave Sara a sidelong look. “Oh, yeah, well that’s not how he got his reputation. Mr. Rezabec has left broken hearts in his wake all over the great southwest. Just watch out, sweetie. We don’t want yours to be one of them.”

  Sara smiled knowingly. “I don’t see that happening. I’m holding out for someone special.”

  “Like Bo?” Libby wrinkled her nose again, this time to display her distaste.

  Sara smiled a secretive little smile. “Like I told Stanton, Bo knew the right buttons to push. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Meanwhile, what’s going on with you? Who’s the man of the moment?”

  “What makes you think there is one?”

  “Libby, you change men when the Emporium announces its flavor of the week.”

  It was Libby’s turn to flash a secretive smile. “Not this week. A new hunk’s in town and I am into week three for this sweet baboo.”

  Sara chuckled. “Oh, yeah? Where’d you find him?”

  “Right here in our own building. Moved in two weeks ago yesterday. Right next door to me, in two-twelve, the apartment you snubbed. Thank heaven.” Libby stood and twirled in the middle of the room. “Sara, he is gorgeous. His eyes are so dark, you feel like you’re looking into midnight. Those eyes are wicked. He’s real tall and built like the proverbial brick outhouse.”

  Eying Libby’s five-foot stature, Sara sputtered. “Libby, everybody’s tall to you. Where’s he taken you
? Why didn’t you bring him to the office party?”

  Libby shook her head, her puzzled expression matching Sara’s. “He’s shy.” She raised her eyebrows up and down for emphasis. “I think he’s a sleeper, laying behind a log, waiting to jump my bones.”

  “What’s he waiting for?”

  “I’m not sure. I met him in the laundry room. He asked me a lot of stuff about myself. I even told him a little about you. Not too much, you know. This is my find.

  “I took him chicken enchiladas Saturday. Wanted to get inside his place, check him out. He does not have one female’s picture in his whole apartment. Not even his mother’s. Is that good news?”

  Sara laughed lightly and went to the kitchen to heat some water for tea. “Sounds like it is. You don’t think he might be in the closet do you?”

  “No, he is definitely hetero.”

  “Maybe he’s on the rebound.”

  Libby rubbed her hands together and grinned suggestively. “That’s the way I like ‘em best. Injured.” She slurred the word for emphasis then dropped her voice to a whine. “Looking for comfort. I provide a great shoulder-to-cry-on.”

  “Is he buying it?”

  “Not yet, but he is very mannerly, very appreciative, said he’d return my dish in a day or two.”

  “But he didn’t come on with you?”

  Libby looked puzzled. “Nah. That was a shocker.”

  Sara nodded her understanding. “Most guys do hustle you, don’t they?”

  “Me? In a man’s apartment, alone, practically salivating? Indeed they do.” Libby screwed up her face, obviously baffled. “But he made it clear he wasn’t ready--yet. Did I tell you he’s tall. And he has this Greek god’s bod.” She shrugged. “I think I may have mentioned that.”

  Sara nodded as Libby bopped into the kitchen and leaned on her elbows to watch Sara dunk tea bags in both cups at once.

  “Okay,” Libby sniffed at the tea, “so maybe he’s not into small, blonde, angelic types, but I’m not worried. He’ll learn. Especially with me right next door to run off any predatory females who might try to stalk him.”

  Libby paced back into the living room, still talking. “Sara, I cannot describe what those eyes do to me. Chills race little fingers up and down my spine. Oh, lord, it’s like he’s looking right through my clothes.” She sighed. “I promise you, x-ray vision isn’t necessary. I’d have taken my clothes off for him in a heartbeat. But,” she collapsed onto the sofa and slouched against the pillow back, “he didn’t make a move. Didn’t even say anything suggestive. I’d have given ten bucks for one slightly off-color joke.”