by Vicki Batman
“I am. Day after day, I get up early and go home late. The same thing the next day and the next. Pretty boring in my book. I hardly have any time to sleep.”
Needless to say, I had little sympathy for him. “So, your life is boring, and you aren’t getting much sleep. Too bad. Maybe I should play a whiny tune on my teeny weenie violin.”
“I’m thinking I need to take a break from work.”
“You’re in charge of your own destiny.”
“I have a great idea.”
“I bet you do.” Look what his last brilliant one brought me. My forehead rested on his shoulder. I never want to leave him.
“Your perfume smells like the one you wore the other night. It’s driving me crazy. Did you splash some on just for me?” He snuggled his face into my hair. “How about we check on Lucky?”
Ordinarily, I would have appreciated this kind of suggestion, especially considering the almost wild, almost sex. Appalled, I slammed my hands against his chest and pushed him away. I punched his bicep. “You aren’t taking care of Lucky?”
“Ow! You slug hard for a girl.” He rubbed his arm. “I could file police brutality charges against you.”
“Don’t change the subject! I could take care of him.”
A mischievous grin glinted in his eyes. “Not that kind of lucky.”
I caught the joke. “You’re a-a pill.”
“Yep, my mom says the exact same thing.” His psychic capabilities were eerie. He hugged me tighter.
Horrified, I made a half-ass attempt to twist and turn from his grasp. “We’re in a courthouse. There’s no hanky-panky here.”
“I’m not aware of any rules about prohibiting kissing a pretty girl in the courthouse hallway.”
“Really?” I stopped wiggling and regarded him in disbelief, crooking my head and squinting my eyes. “Exactly how do you know?”
“I just know.”
“Sounds as if you’ve tried to make out with other girls in the court house before.”
“Nice probing technique. However, there has been no one else. Maybe if you’d shut up, you’ll be the first.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” I raised my head and closed my eyes to receive his kiss. When his huff blew across my cheek, I knew he’d lowered his face toward mine. A few moments passed.
Nothing. Nothing-nothing-nothing. My brows twitched.
Once again, A. Wellborn’s cell phone went buzz, buzz. My eyes flew open. Unbelievable. This cannot be happening again. I took two steps backwards and sighed. “Not again. No way.”
“Shit. I’m getting tired of interruptions.” He pulled the phone from his pants’ pocket. “Wellborn.”
Me, too. My dedication to his job was way beyond the call of his duty. I walked toward the wall in frustration. With my shoulders propped against it, I overlapped my arms. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t make the caller wait. Instead, he had to be the conscientious, Mr. Always Perfect Policeman, ever prompt and efficient, ever loyal to his job, putting it above all else.
Even me.
This is horrible. His extreme dedication interfered too much in our relationship, and I didn’t like it.
With a glance, he caught my hostile posture. His eyes gaze flitted to me and back to the floor a few times. “I’m just about finished here and can be there”—he checked his watch—“in fifteen minutes.” He snapped shut the phone and looked my way. “Gotta go.”
Girls didn’t use the gotta go line. I’d heard this expression too often and had been left exasperated each time. I continued to stand apart with my arms crossed, foot tapping. Once again, I assigned him a quizzical look. With a lifting crease in my forehead, I said lightly, “Gotta go?”
“You’re mad.”
“Where on earth did you get that idea?”
“Hell.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Cut to the chase, Hattie.”
Did he sound a little irritated? Excellent. “I haven’t an inkling what you’re talking about, Allan.”
“Nuh uh, don’t go all girly on me. I don’t have the time. I have to go.”
“So…go.”
Hands went to his hips. Impatience clung to his words. “What. Is. It?”
“Nothin’,” I said, utilizing my best southern girl drawl.
A. Wellborn shook his head, an age-old man-signal of disbelief.
I wondered if the great detective could figure this out. I flung my arms from my side. Lengthening my spine, I tried this line. “Okay, fine. If I didn’t know any better, I might be thinking you have another woman.”
“Ha. I’m not dating anyone else. Only you.”
He-he-he. He didn’t get it. “You’re always saying gotta go and racing off. What is a girl supposed to think?”
He wrapped his hands on my wrists tightly, and wiggled me a little. “Get this: You are the only woman in my life, and I barely have time for you.”
That so-called wonderful statement is supposed to make me feel better? Not. I rolled my eyes, but in a fake way. The good news was my attempt worked. Guys could be so dumb when understanding the female species. Truly, he’d had no chance. The most unwelcome news was guys didn’t come running at the drop of a hat anymore.
“Hattie, I—I can’t do this now. Please understand.”
He sounded as if he was begging. I gave it one more college try, hanging my head low to imitate being overcome with reluctant sadness. “I understand, but it’s tiresome and frustrating and sometimes, I feel... unwanted.” He-he-he. Acting, my second career.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. Soon, this whole case will be finished and we can—”
“I understand,” I interrupted and bestowed a charming smile on him. “You’ve got to go.”
He buzzed my mouth and took off for the front doors.
Slowly, I followed, my fingers resting on my lips to absorb the kiss he’d deposited. Had the great detective figured out my game? I didn’t think so. At least I knew where I stood. He’d called me sweetie and said I “was the only woman” which sounded superior.
I tilted my head. I was right. A. Wellborn did have a rocking view from behind.
****
The Funsisters loved to celebrate anything and everything. This time over dinner, we honored Maggie and Kellar’s birthdays. How many dildos and resuscitation kits could a girl receive?
Jenny and I hosted the special occasion at our place and contributed the birthday cake and wine. I savored the scrumptious white cake with lemon curd sandwiched between layers, topped with a delicious fondant and decorations. The Funsisters helped with the meal by bringing different types of salad or bread.
The Funsisters also brought gifts other than the sexual-oriented ones. Since handbags were my favorite accessory, I gave straw clutches embellished with embroidered flowers which I found at Tuckers end-of-summer sale. I applauded myself for taking advantage of another opportunity to keep my pro-shopper skills up to speed. I doubted the others could match my expertise.
Jenny and I placed our dishes on the kitchen counter which Trixie arranged in an artistic, pleasing manner. When all of the Funsisters had arrived, we uncorked the chilled Chardonnay. We began by singing “Happy Birthday” to Maggie and Kellar. The ringing of our glasses in the toast sounded joyful. We filled our plates from the variety of salads and slices of the whole-grain bread.
We seated ourselves on the sofa in the living room, on the floor, or in what chairs were available. Lots of lively chatter passed back and forth, catching us up with our lives, clothes, and other interesting tidbits.
“Mmm, yummy bread.”
“I want this chicken salad recipe.”
A few of us had filled our plates with seconds when Jenny revealed, “Hattie had almost wild, almost sex with Allan.”
How dare she! I dropped back in my chair and set the back of my hand to my brow. I gave her the I can’t believe you said that look which she blew off.
“They were interrupted by his cat...”
Jenny had crossed the l
ine. I would have to kill her. It was justified. I continued to give her the not again look which still didn’t faze her.
“...and his phone buzzed which brought the whole rendezvous to a screeching halt.”
Meanwhile, the other Funsisters imitated meerkats. Sitting upright in full attention, eyes perpetually rounded, they stared. Arms poised, holding a fork which hung suspended in mid-air. On cue, faces turned in my direction, and simultaneously, they swiveled back to Jenny.
Older, wiser, and more self-assured since Jenny did this to me at the last book club meeting, I continued with the not again look, crossed my arms, and shook my head. No way. Nuh uh. Not this time. I was not playing along. They would have to find someone else to pick on. I, for instance, was well aware Trixie was dating weatherman Jon Bob of WSFO and things looked especially promising. My gaze focused on each sister for a moment. When they didn’t comment, I let her rip, “How’s Mr. Weatherman, Trixie? Hot things happening under the covers?”
My diversion worked for a nanosecond.
The Funsisters gasped in horror. Normally, sweet Trixie was off limits, too nice to partake in this kind of heart stripping.
“Oh, sweetie,” I said, “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
“Don’t apologize. Jon Bob’s fine, and things are progressing very nicely. I’m happy to report we’ve rounded third base, and I’m thinking a home run is coming, possibly, later tonight.”
My diversion did work after all.
Dumbfounded, the Funsisters’ mouths dropped like large-mouth bass as they stared at her instead of me, not believing the words coming from her mouth. Trixie certainly didn’t sound sweet and innocent, but more like she was about to practice Meatloaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights.” Maybe, just maybe, she possessed more of a wild side than we were aware. Unquestionably, the Funsisters would have to play this game more often.
My thoughts switched to the dark side of the Funsisters’ lives we could explore.
“But Hattie, I’m interested in almost wild, almost sex,” Trixie said, lobbing from left field. “I’m not familiar with the term. It’s my understanding either you do, or you don’t. So, how does one have almost wild, almost sex?”
Damn her. She’d turned the tables on me. My body morphed into a Popsicle. With a naughty twinkle in her eyes, she ducked her chin in a coy move and shrugged. The Funsisters’ attention had volleyed back to my side.
Maggie caught Trixie’s ball. “Yeah, I want to know, too. Please explain.”
My gaze roved around the room as I searched for an ally. “Well, uh...”
Smarmy grins were plastered on the Funsisters’ faces. No matter how embarrassing, they went after every freakin’ intimate detail and wouldn’t let go until they wriggled it out. Even though I wanted to keep my feelings, my relationship with A. Wellborn private, as if telling anyone would curse it, I would have to tell... No, confess... No, give up the “whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”
I glanced at each of them, trying to find the spot within to draw on for courage. But no help could be found. Blowing a breath, I dropped my chin in resignation.
Trixie rubbed her hand over my shoulders, providing comfort. “Oh, just tell us. We don’t want to embarrass you. We love you and want to share.”
True, we did love each other. But I knew the real truth. The Funsisters lived vicariously through each other’s love lives.
What the hell, I could always die from embarrassment. Of course, I’d never heard of anyone dying from embarrassment. Slowly, I began to divulge the details, “I invited him to the big engagement party, the one for the guy at Tuckers, the guy who used to be my boss?”
The Funsisters nodded.
“I didn’t think he would come, and at the last minute, he showed. Seems he did leave a message, but I didn’t receive it due to a jumbled voice mail.” I swallowed. “He looked so nice in his suit, I almost passed out.”
Happily, I recollected how nice he’d looked in the suit, and more importantly, how very arousing he’d looked in the suit, and even better, how extraordinary he’d looked in no suit at all.
The other Funsisters who’d attended the party nodded.
“I could see how you would. He’s migh-tee fine,” Kellar said.
Maggie said with sarcasm, “Any man would look good to you right now.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“Quiet!” I yelled. After Maggie and Kellar settled down, I continued, “He said he liked my little black dress—”
“This part is so romantic,” Jenny interrupted, her chin propped on her palm.
“He also said I was stunning and wonderful in the little black dress.” I clasped my hands and this time with a dreamy look in my eyes said, “We danced. He smelled fresh like pine cleanser. He kissed my hair.” Instinctively, I touched my hand to the sweet spot above my right ear. “We wanted to be together more.”
“Oh my. I might have an orgasm,” said Trixie.
Wow. Who knew?
“Me, first,” said Maggie.
“Shush,” said the rest of the Funsisters.
“After the party, he drove me to his apartment instead of mine. He said he thought my apartment would be quote—crowded—unquote.”
My eyebrows rose as I looked in Jenny’s direction. She had a little secret. Her cheeks turned rosy, knowing I could divulge the whole enchilada. She shook a negative.
“I felt intoxicated on something—”
“Allan,” a Funsister supplied.
“His arm slid around my shoulders. And we...” I hesitated before the final confession.
“Don’t stop now!” Maggie said.
“Immediately, we hit third base.” I smothered the last phrase in my hand, hoping they would miss it. But not a chance. I was naïve to think they would, and as proof, Trixie held up three fingers.
Now everyone knew how she got the nickname Cesspool. Her mind went straight to the sex gutter. Maybe she read way too many romance novels.
I glanced at Maggie who waved her hands, urging me to continue. “He suggested we move upstairs to his loft. He unzipped the little black dress, kissed my neck, and—”
“Harriette Lee Cooks,” Jenny warned.
I rolled my eyes to the heavens. “He said he liked pink.”
“Pink? Why pink?” asked Maggie, momentarily taken back.
“Oh-oh-oh, I know, I know.” Jenny’s hand shot in the air while she did a seated jump up and down. “Hattie wore the pink lacey bra and panty set I gave her for her birthday.”
“Oooh,” chorused the Funsisters.
Maggie nodded. “A delicious choice, but personally, I like the sheer baby blue one you gave Trixie for her birthday.”
“This isn’t about me.” Trixie shook her head. “Go on.”
Kellar passed Maggie a five dollar bill which Maggie stuck in her cleavage.
“What’s with the money?” I asked.
The co-conspirators giggled. “Oh, this?” Maggie pulled the fiver from her bosom and dangled it. “We have a side bet.”
“You have a side bet on what?” Uh oh. I got it. “On when I’m getting lucky?”
“You’re a very interesting game,” she said.
I twitched the corner of my mouth. Another reason to feel dumbfounded. My own best girlfriends, my Funsisters, had gambled on my sex life.
“It has to be the pink lacey panties and bra set. This kind of stuff really turns on guys, especially the pink part,” Jenny said.
Sidetracked, the Funsisters argued the merits of pink lacey versus black lacey versus crotch-less, et cetera. Their conversation moved to nighties with cutouts in strategic places, which was followed with a heated debate on the characteristics of different kinds of condoms.
I felt so not with it. So green. So ignorant. I had only seen crotch-less on mannequins in store windows and in racy magazines. Did real live human beings actually purchase, much less, wear this stuff?
And I knew nothing about banana-flavored cond
oms, only ribbed ones.
After a long while, the lurid talk subsided. Since nothing disastrous had happened thus far, I said in a loud voice, “Well, do you want to hear the rest or not?”
The girls settled and their attention focused on me once again.
“We made it to the bed, stripped naked.”
“Yeah,” they chorused.
I considered the ceiling while overlooking their outburst. “And as we became involved with using the condom”—I drew a deep breath and said rapidly—“Lucky hit my head several times which distracted me... Meanwhile, Allan’s cell phone buzzed and he had to take a call and I felt funky, out of place, unsure...you know what I mean...I raced to the bathroom to get dressed, and he brought me home, so he could go to the office.” I stopped to gulp another breath. “The End.”
Maggie and Kellar engaged in a small tug of war over the fiver.
“I almost forgot. I can’t find my pink panties,” I said.
Eyebrows raised, the Funsisters looked at each other.
“I don’t get it,” Trixie said.
“It means I had to go home—”
“What?” Trixie yelled.
“Commando.” Whew. Now they knew everything.
A refrain of great big gasps and an OhmyGod followed.
“So, where do you think the undies are?” Trixie asked.
I shrugged pitifully. “I don’t know. Not by the bed.”
The Funsister Greek chorus chimed a refrain which sounded sorta like a Dr. Seuss rhyme. “Maybe they’re under the bed. Maybe they’re in the sheets. Maybe he picked them up. Maybe the cat hid them. Maybe they’re in the bathroom…”
The Funsisters had thought of all the scenarios I’d considered. “I don’t know. They have to be at his apartment. I didn’t like the idea of poking around.”
“You’ve seen him since?” Tracey asked.
“Well, yes. Very briefly. We had lunch. We talked about my work and the Jeep claims. And we met at the courthouse for the citation.” I remembered his comment at the court house. “He did say there is no other woman, and he barely had time for me.” I explained how I used my womanly tactics to trick A. Wellborn into admitting his feelings.
The Funsisters applauded my covert effort.
“Good move. Proud of you,” Maggie said.