by Bill Orton
“You don’t know how many boys dere’s gonna be,” said December.
“Again, really,” said Lori. “All the more reason.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
Lori looked at December, and her face seemed to lose its resistance.
“Dere’s gonna be so many boys.... Dere are just gonna be... so many. I can’t go out dere alone. Please,” begged December. “Please, really... please.”
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” said Lori.
“Oh,” said December, jumping, “I got dat covered.”
.
Though the top and bottom came from different suits – of the fifteen bikinis December packed – and the top was designed for a woman whose body was clearly of different shape and proportion, the promise December made was easily kept, as Lori – broad shouldered and toned – looked burning hot alongside the soft glories of Miss Milkshakes, in her candystripes.
Larry stood in long, baggy trunks. “I’ll be in the jacuzzi.”
“You said eleven,” said Lori. “It’s after eleven.”
“Dat’s what I told the boys,” said December, putting on lipstick, and dropping SPF 45 lotion and a bottle of water into a small tote bag. “Dey’ll wait. Makes for a bigger entrance.”
December and Lori walked to the main pool, one carrying a tote and the other a backpack. Perhaps thirty young men had gathered at the corner of the pool furthest from the jacuzzi. December, in a steady voice, said, “Okay, Blondie Girl, here we go.”
“No problem,” said Lori.
In the crowded corner, a single lounger was empty. Lori put her backpack on the lounger and stood over a teen on the other side. “We’ll need that. Move!” Lori ordered another teen to bring four towels. Applause broke out.
“Me and Blondie need more air,” December announced, waving at the wrist for the crowd to recede, which, swiftly they did. “No cameras, sweeties, or the hotel’ll toss us.”
Lori pushed the lounger with the backpack close to December’s and pointed to a glass table. She snapped her fingers sternly and it moved without a word. She loaded everything onto it, spread out her towel, and lay flat on her belly, showing a body with no fat, no lost muscle, no imperfection, no surrender, no suggestion of decline or reason to despair of it.
“You got something to show, Blondie,” said December, as she straddled Lori’s ass, took out a bottle of sunscreen and began working it into Lori’s back, leaning deep to get the arms and shoulders, her 32FFs heavy in her top, swinging, brushing across Lori, mooshing into Lori, as December breathed slowly and took her time. “Legs? or flip?”
December became the back-facing cowgirl, creaming Lori’s incredibly toned legs, as the young men watched in silence. From the far corner of the massive main pool, Larry van der Bix’s view from the jacuzzi was both distant and blocked by more-than-could-be-counted cave boys, packed tightly like guilty observers at a gang-rape crime scene. Lori’s front was as incredibly tight, toned and pliant to December’s fingers as the backside. Deep breathing could be heard as December’s hands slid across Lori’s body, her fingers briefly disappearing under the waistband or top.
Lori sat upright, holding the strings to her top, which December tied. Lori looked to December. “Is it your turn?” The question was met by a cheer.
.
When Larry returned to the Presidential suite, he was greeted by a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door handle. Sliding his key card, the door would not open due to a latch thrown from inside. Larry knocked. He heard December’s voice. “Hunny, could you come back in a little while?”
Larry went to the coffee shop.
.
Lori and December, each smiling and laughing easily, found Larry at the restaurant, and sat down. Soon, all three had coffee.
“I feel like some f-o-o-d-!” said December. A waiter approached with three menus and, seeing one on the table, set down two. December immediately offered, “Oh, we’re definitely ready.”
Lori casually picked up a menu and scanned the pages.
“I’d like the filet mignon,” said December. “The twelve ounce.” She ordered a chopped salad, with oil and vinegar. “I like the watermelon lemonade, but it’s so big....” Lori suggested they each order club soda, and one lemonade between them, so they can make watermelon spritzers. December added a club soda with her lemonade.
Lori closed the menu. “I’m going breakfast,” she said, ordering a Mediterranean veggie omelet, with tomatoes as the side, a club soda, and a bran muffin.
Larry began reciting his ranch hand breakfast order of the previous day, but stopped. “No,” he said, “no, I’ll have… the baseball-cut top sirloin and eggs. And cottage cheese?”
“Absolutely,” said the waiter.
“Can you check that it is the full cottage cheese? Not the one-percent or non-fat.”
“I’ll check on that.” The waiter looked up from writing. “Any starch?”
“Belgian waffles?”
“For this table, anything,” said the waiter, whose clean-cut good looks and slight sunburn suggested his having been at the pool earlier.
.
“The reviews are in,” said December, to Lori. “Fans want more of you and me fighting.”
Lori drank her coffee. “I’ll wrestle. That’s fine.”
“No, baby,” said December, “they like the slapping and pushing.”
Lori put her mug down. “After making sure my friend is alive, yeh, I could slap, but, hey, I don’t fight unless I’m in a fight… and I don’t go looking for fights.”
“No, you have to,” said December. “The fans can always tell.”
Lori poured lemonade into her club soda and set the tall glass back near December. “I don’t do things for fans,” said Lori, sipping. “I’m not some WWE actress.”
The waiter approached and leaned toward Larry, while eyeing December and Lori.
“The cottage cheese is non-fat.”
“Skip it then,” said Larry. “Nonfat’s just texture.” The waiter left.
“Won’t’chu do it for me, baby?” cooed December.
“Dee, why would I slap you?”
“Oh,” said December, in a huff, “you couldn’t if you wanted to. No one slaps me.”
“I don’t know,” said Lori.
“Don’t’chu wanna do more shows with me? Please?”
“Whatever.”
“I’m gonna make u like it,” said December, “and u know u r.”
PART TWO – CHAPTER SEVEN
The Shining Tower
“Jeeze,” said Larry, turning on his phone for the first time in a day-and-a-half. December folded several bikinis, and set them in her open suitcase, atop a mix of cables, a router, the video camera and other equipment laid carefully atop neatly folded clothes. As four of the bell staff waited to help the Presidential suite guests carry bags to their car, December looked through a mesh-net bag filled with bras, panties and other lingerie, before placing it in her suitcase. Every few moments, she would turn, sometimes smiling, towards the young workers. She closed her suitcase and snapped the TSA-approved padlock.
December stood up abruptly, causing most eyes in the room to also spring upwards. “Be careful,” said December. “It’s heavy, but see if you sweeties can get that into the trunk, won’t you?” One bell staff carried the bag and and another got keys from Lori. “We’re okay, now,” said December, waving with her hand. The other two bell staff left.
Lori lay on the bed. Larry sat on the opposite side. “So, is it hitting you, the being rich thing? How much is it again? Two hundred million?”
“Two thirty five,” said Larry.
“That’s a lot,” said Lori. “Are you, like, freaked out or anything?”
“Naw,” said Larry, “cuz I don’t have it, yet.”
“Good way to think,” said Lori.
“Okay, sweeties,” said December. “I’m ready.”
“Lori, can you have them add it up for me to sign. I’ll follow
you guys out,” said Larry. “I’ve got to clear some of these missed calls. I’ve got like 4O-something.”
.
“Oh, jeeze, man, Lawrence, I am so sorry,” Larry told me over the phone, on Tuesday, the day after we were supposed to meet in Sacramento.
“Yesterday, I went and looked at trains,” I told Larry. “Trains.”
“W’ull, hey, that’s good, cuz they got a train museum in Sac, if you really like trains,” interrupted Larry.
“Larry, this vacation could cost me my job,” I said, doubting the point would register on the most selfish, socially inept guy I’d ever known. “Can you tell me now what this is all about?”
“Over dinner tonight,” said Larry. “See if you can get a table for four at Morton’s.”
“Why are you doing this to me, Larry? And why are you calling me by my name?”
“I’m very sorry, Lawrence,” said Larry. “Honestly, I forgot it was Monday yesterday. It’s been quite a weekend.”
“Alright,” I said. “Four at Morton’s. Okay.”
“Nine o’clock,” said Larry.
“See you at nine o’clock, Larry. Tonight, Larry. Nine o’clock tonight.”
“What? Do you think I’d forget about steaks at Morton’s?”
.
After clearing the 28 missed calls from Lawrence and erasing junk voice mail, Larry took two messages from a man whose voice somehow reminded him of his grandmother.
“Hal-lowww,” echoed the voice, as Larry carried the phone into the bathroom. “This is Tres Von Sommerberg, a film director, from Denmark. I am with my colleague touring the United States on a project that I believe you would find interesting. We are searching for someone named Emma Mathilde van der Bix.”
Larry pushed the red button on his phone, ending the message.
.
“I think we can do this in two hours,” said Larry, as they approached Sacramento. “The Lottery Building is supposed to be close to the Capitol and also by a river.”
December leaned her chair back. “Oh, come on, silly. Gimme the address.” December’s iPhone soon added a third female voice to the cabin. Siri’s instructions deposited the convertible and its crew at the base of a gleaming, mirrored seven-or-eight story building, with a front that was curved in such a way as to suggest a great cruise liner somehow beached on the banks of the American river. It was just after four o’clock.
“Oh,” said Larry. “I wasn’t ready to be here so fast.”
Lori parked. She and December each got out and Larry exited, sliding out back-first, having to steady himself with one hand on the pavement until he could pull out a leg, and then stand.
“Let’s go get your money, hunny,” said December.
A mirrored building with little signage becomes a stimulant or frustrating mirage. Upon December finding a doorway, opened a crack as she approached, Larry’s frustration melted into a slight smile. Lori led the way in and Larry followed December.
Looking over their shoulder as they entered, they could see that the glass that outside had appeared to be a mirror was perfectly see-through from the inside.
At the far end of the large chamber was a long marble counter, behind which sat a young women with very pale skin and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders like ropes.
“Hello,” the woman said.
“Hi, I’m Larry.”
“Nice to meet you, Larry.”
“I... I....”
The woman with red hair sat quietly, looking upon Larry with a gentle smile, as he stammered.
“I won the lottery,” said Larry, quickly.
“Well, isn’t that wonderful,” she said. She slid a panel of the marble counter aside to reveal the same “Are You A Winner?” machine found in retailers selling SuperLotto™ and MegaMillions™ tickets. “Would you like to check your ticket?”
“I don’t put tickets in a machine,” said Larry. “I compare numbers to numbers.”
“Oh, of course,” said the woman. “What was the date of the draw?”
After Larry gave the date of the Saturday, three days earlier, the redhead suggested Larry back up a few steps, and as he did so, the front of the counter glowed as a holographic depiction of the drawing of five ping pong balls and a mega number ball flickered before them. Larry sneered and waved his hand through the image.
“No,” he said, sharply. “Please, this is the ticket,” and he placed it on the counter.
“Sir, wouldn’t you like to sign your ticket, and complete the other information?” She handed Larry a pen.
Lori looked around and saw, outside the building, a pair of middle-aged women scanning the exterior of the building, running their hands over the glass, like mimes.
Larry signed his name, gave an address and phone number and printed his name and date of birth. “Thank you,” said Larry. “You really helped me out there.”
“We still don’t know if you are a winner, sir,” she said, routinely.
Larry reached again for his wallet and – a zip and pop later – had the slip of winning numbers. “These are right, right?”
The redhead checked the numbers and said, yes, they had been for the previous Tuesday’s MegaMillions™ draw.
Larry dropped his ticket onto the counter in an inelegant dribble from his fingers, and, like a professor giving a closing argument to the jury, he got flustered, but reasoned, “So, if the numbers are right, and the numbers match, how much is it? I think two-hundred-and-thirty-five million dollars.”
The woman with pale skin waited for Larry to conclude. “Perhaps so,” she said, “but let’s make sure.” She handed Larry his prize ticket from the previous Saturday and the slip of winning numbers from the Tuesday drawing. He looked confused.
“But this is for my jackpot,” said Larry. “I won a bunch of money.”
“On what date, sir?”
“Saturday night. My ticket was for Saturday.”
“I’m very sorry,” the woman said, “but based on Saturday’s draw, your ticket is not a winner.”
.
Larry’s father, Calvin, lay buried under the sand, or stood, as the case may have been, entombed by his son, who had recruited four of the half-siblings that Calvin had fathered with Candy to help in the digging operation. Once Calvin was buried to the neck, and the other kids wandered off, Larry had dug a long moat that snaked to the water and, with the tide coming in, began bringing in water that first slowly splashed its way up the moat and finally, as the tide rose, began filling the area around Calvin’s neck. Larry leaned in close to his father’s head. “Here’s another wave,” said Larry.
“Yer not winnin’ the lottery today, boy,” said Calvin, spitting salt water from his lips, as the receding wave sucked away the flow of water around his neck.
.
“What’ta’u mean, it’s not a winner?” said Larry.
The woman handed Larry an official printout on official lottery orange-and-white paper from a machine that made official-sounding dot-matrix sounds for the few seconds it took to spit out a line of numbers and a list of how many people won the past Saturday. The pyramid of winners was topped with a “-0-” for those who had 5+Mega. Larry picked up the oil-stained slip containing a line of numbers that matched his ticket’s third line. Orange flakes fell from the paper.
“W’ull, what’ta’bout these?”
“They are correct numbers from last Tuesday’s draw, a week ago tonight,” said the woman. She produced an orange-tinted slip showing the Tuesday line that also matched his third line of numbers from Saturday’s draw.
“But that means I didn’t win,” said Larry, now holding four slips of ticket paper, each worth nothing.
.
Calvin squirmed his shoulders, first in a horizontal twist, and, when a wave brought more water – which Larry announced in an excited whisper into his father’s ear – with an up-and-down motion, attempting to dislodge an arm, or rise to get traction under a foot, and thus free himself from what wou
ld surely be the end, since only his head rose above the sand, and Larry leaning in close guaranteed no one would see Calvin die.
.
“W’ull, if I didn’t win the lottery,” said the professor to the jury, “what’ta’bout this ticket?”
“That’s for tonight,” said the woman with ropes of red. “Good luck.”
Larry looked at the slips in his hand. He politely handed them to the woman. “Could I give these to you?” he asked.
“Certainly,” she said, taking them from Larry’s hand with a touch so gentle as to have been almost imperceptible. He looked at the ticket in his other hand and showed it to the woman, who said simply, “tonight.” He folded it and placed it carefully in his wallet, behind his VISA card.
“Oh, and thanks for the pen,” said Larry.
“Of course,” said the woman.
Lori put her hand on Larry’s neck and the other on his shoulder and she hugged him briefly from behind. She stood at his side and put her head on his shoulder. He leaned his head against hers.
“Poor bracito,” said December, opening Larry’s hand, and holding it. “Poor baby.”
.
Calvin’s head lolled in the water, as two lifeguards furiously dug until they each could use the underarm as a leverage spot to pull the unconscious man high enough that he was no longer under incoming tidal waters. A lift by the two and the timing of a wave resulted in Calvin, like a dolphin, squirting up from the water, and landing in the foam of the sea; but, unlike a sea mammal, his landing was flat on his stomach, and yielded a projectile expulsion of seawater, one small fish and a long stream of diluted vomit. Calvin coughed.
.
December squeezed her arms together and shifted so her body enveloped Larry’s arm, marshmallowing it in the glowing warmth of her cleavage. “I’m sorry you didn’t win the money, hunny,” she said. “It’s been fun, tho, hasn’t it?”
“It’s okay,” said Larry, limply.