by Joyce Armor
* * *
After they left the party, Bonnie, Roger and Spencer decided to go for a walk. They were eating soft pretzels as they strolled down the Strip, along with many other visitors to the gambling mecca. Las Vegas never disappointed as a great place to watch the masses.
“Sigh.”
Bonnie turned to Roger. “What?”
“I was just thinking about when the three of us were in Reno, just before ‘Muskman’ came out.”
“Yeah, partying hardy, as I recall,” Spencer smiled. He turned to Bonnie. “You hit that big slot payoff.”
“That’s right. Five hundred dollars. It seemed like a fortune at the time.”
They reminisced about the early days of Full Court Press, back when they had few responsibilities and lots of ideals about changing the world. Did they succeed? Maybe in some small way, they decided, perhaps making some people think and bringing others joy. They certainly didn’t lead ideal lives, but overall things had worked out. They all decided they felt good the way their lives had turned out.
The friends also discussed Sludge and his apparent downfall, as well as their families. Then they played the whatever-happened-to game, sharing knowledge of friends and former colleagues. Spencer was surprised to hear that one cartoonist had died, and Bonnie plied him for information on living as an ex-patriot. Spencer told them about Cozette, his off-and-on girlfriend, and they shared stories about their extended families.
After they passed a couple wearing traditional Japanese saris and three dwarfs arguing about some upcoming golf tournament, Roger turned to his longtime friend. “Is it really good in France?”
“I told you. You’ll love it. And they’ll love you. The French revere comix people. They tend to worship me.”
“How’s the health-care system?” Bonnie asked.
Spencer shook his head. “God, we’re old.”
Chapter 9
Later that night, in their hotel room, Chantella lay on her stomach across a bed, listening to a weatherman on television as Wesley drew a dragon on her back.
“This week’s Atmosphere 101 asks you, what is a cold tongue? Kissing someone who just had an ice cube in her mouth? Is it when the dog wakes you up with a cold slurp?”
Wesley looked up from his art project. “People would change their opinion of you if they knew you were a Weather Channel junkie.”
He went back to working on his dragon.
“That feels freaky,” she said in about as sensual a voice as Wesley had ever heard. His lower parts started to come to attention.
“Stop for a second,” Chantella said.” He did. She reached behind her and grabbed a pillow, propping it under her chin. “Okay.”
He started up again, working on the fire spewing out of the dragon’s mouth. A commercial came on and she muted the set.
“What do you think of Muskman?”
Wesley stopped drawing and sat back. “The comic, the character or the impersonator?”
She turned over and sat up. “Russell. What’s your take?”
“I like the dude. He’s pretty easy-going, but he takes that role very seriously. Sometimes I think he really believes he is Muskman.”
She hugged the pillow thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to him. “I think he has the hots for Ellie.”
Wesley was surprised. “Don’t you mean Tiffy?”
“No, I mean Ellie. I’ve seen the way he looks at her and kind of follows her around pushing her buttons.”
“Are you sure that isn’t just him being obnoxious?”
“Hmm. Maybe. But I don’t think so.”
He gently forced her back down and began drawing on her creamy white back again.
She looked over her shoulder, being careful not to move her back. “You’re sure that’s not a permanent marker?”
He leaned over to the nightstand, looking at the marker under the lamp. “Oops.”
She jumped up. “Wesley!”
“Kidding. Kidding. You’re so easy.”
She hit him with the pillow, and they wrestled, laughing.
“And you’d look fierce with a permanent dragon on your back.
He planted a long, wet, juicy kiss on her that took the fight right out of her. She couldn’t believe how much she loved this medieval warrior and how lucky she was. He was the other side of her coin, as stable as she was “out there,” hard as she was soft, artistic as she was scientific. And so damn hot. She needed to have that talk with him, but not yet. He barely had one hand on her breast, tracing the tattoo of a firecracker on her shoulder, before she was clawing at his jeans zipper, where Mr. Happy was straining to be released.
He and the condom stayed inside her for several minutes after they both experienced fiery climaxes. They really were two pieces of the same puzzle, or tab A and slot B or soul mates or however you wanted to look at it as far as she was concerned. And there was no doubt in her mind that he loved her. Finally he kissed her on the forehead, both cheeks and then on her swollen lips and slowly extricated himself. He had turned to head to the bathroom. His feet, in fact, were on the floor as he started to get up when he sat back down abruptly. “Shit!”
“I know, that was great,” she sighed.
“No. Well, yes, it was, but that’s not what I was talking about.”
She sat up. “What’s wrong?”
“The goddamned condom leaked.”
She looked at him for a moment as if he had two heads, then she burst out laughing. He loved her laugh, which had kind of a snorty quality to it that belied her edgy looks. He was confused. “You’re taking this better than I thought you would.”
“Why don’t you…” she fluttered her hand toward the bathroom. “…deal with that. Then we’ll talk.”
He stared at her for an uncomfortable moment. She watched him go, then lay back down and put the pillow over her head. It was time to face the music, even though she knew what he would say. At least she was relatively sure she knew what he would say.
When he came out of the bathroom, she still was holding the pillow over her face. He gently pulled it away and lay down on the bed next to her, clutching it. “Talk to me.”
He waited while she gathered her…what? Courage? Thoughts? Strength? For one moment of panic, he thought maybe she was going to break up with him, so the leaking condom was the least of his worries. That thought almost took his breath away. Finally, she looked so deeply into his eyes he thought she could probably see out the back of his head.
“Wesley…I’m almost sure I’m pregnant.”
Her beautiful blue eyes were huge, and he thought at that moment she had never looked more beautiful. So of course he said something stupid. “But we used birth control.”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “Father O’Herlihy says there’s only one surefire method of birth control.
“Abstinence,” they both said together and laughed.
“Like that’ll ever happen,” he muttered and then pulled her into his arms. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, he looked at her so lovingly, it almost made her cry. “Everything will be fine,” he said, and she almost didn’t doubt it.
They laid there for another 15 or 20 minutes, long enough that they each thought maybe the other one had fallen asleep. Testing the waters, he said quietly, “What do you want to do?”
They were spooning, her back to his front, and she turned and pushed back a little so she could see his face. “If I am pregnant, you’ll be the first one to know what I decide to do as soon as I know.”
She looked at him tentatively, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Do you want to get married?” he said softly.
“Do you?” she asked just as quietly.
“I will,” he said firmly.
She laughed. “Well, there’s the proposal of every girl’s dream.”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way.”
She grabbed onto his hand and squeezed. “I know that. I know you would do ‘the right thing.’
You are my knight in shining armor, after all. But it’s not necessary. This is the 21st century, you know.”
He rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. “We don’t have to decide anything tonight.”
“No. We don’t.”
Was she philosophically opposed to marriage? He didn’t think so. She had never been shy about stating her opinion. The subject had never come up in the past year, but he felt sure she would have mentioned it if she felt strongly about it. He had never really thought about marriage until he got involved with Chantella, and he definitely thought in terms of forever when he thought about her. Still, they were young. He should be panicking about now. Instead, he felt surprisingly grounded and cautiously optimistic.
They laid there for a couple more minutes, and then he sat up suddenly and smiled. “If you’re pregnant, then we can have sex without condoms, skin to skin.”
“You are such a guy,” she said and pulled him on top of her.
* * *
The next day, the Convention Center was abuzz, with attendees streaming in, numerous costumed characters parading about and a vast array of expo exhibitors laughing and mingling. Russell, as Muskman, fairly bounced as he walked through the crowd singing, his arms linked with a heavily tattooed thirty-something couple. As he strolled, the crowd seemed to make way for him, as if he were parting the Red Sea. He also had an entourage following him. If Ellie had seen him then, he thought, she might have laughed at the sight: Russell, a cross between Moses and the Pied Piper.
Ye’ll take the high road and I’ll take the low road
And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond…
At the Full Court Press booth, a large sign proclaimed: “Spencer Keys, Creator of “Muskman,” “Phar Out,” “Rinky Dink,” “Gooses” and “Wendel,” Will Autograph Comix Today from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m.” Ellie and Bonnie, both dressed comfortably in jeans and Full Court Press t-shirts, worked the booth. As Spencer, looking dashing in his drawstring off-white pants and woven top that had kind of a Southwest flair, sat off to one side sketching, Ellie looked over his shoulder.
“Holy cannoli,” she exclaimed. “That’s…that’s…wow.”
He was working on a huge comic-book cover titled “Chantella,” with Chantella’s face on the body of a giant, sexy, futuristic dominatrix-type superheroine.
Bonnie glanced over at the drawing. “You’re not as heavily into political commentary as you used to be, Spencer.”
“Come on, Bonnie. Chantella could be the Muskman of the 21st century,” he insisted.
Bonnie laughed. “And I could be Wonder Woman.”
Ellie put an arm around her shoulder. “You already are.”
Just then Roger walked up. “You ready? Let’s go.”
Bonnie picked up the huge brown purse she was using today, which practically looked like a piece of luggage to Ellie, and linked her arm with his. Somehow that small gesture got to Ellie. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Buck up, Missy.
“We’re going to get some lunch,” Roger said to Ellie. “Chantella will be back around 12:30. Guard Number One with your life. Wanna come, Spencer?”
He looked at his watch. “Sure. What the hell.”
“There’s a ringing endorsement,” Bonnie laughed.
The three headed off. Ellie had barely sat down when Russell approached. She should have known a moment of peace was too much to hope for.
“Is that a glow I see?” he asked mischievously.
“You’d better check your musk glands.”
He smiled that sexy I-want-to-get-in-your-pants smile. “Don’t you love the word ‘glands’? It sounds so dirty.”
“To you, I’m sure.”
Her Little Miss Prim voice. He loved it. Russell sat down, picked up an issue of “Muskman” and browsed through it, then looked up. “You can’t go back, you know.”
She bristled. “Spare me.”
“It’s over. Passed. The window of opportunity is closed. You’ve changed.”
She snorted. “Just because you peaked in high school doesn’t mean I did. Some things don’t change. Class. Charm. Character.”
Sludge approached in time to hear her. “Talking about me again, sweetheart?”
Ellie rolled her eyes. He still looked like he hadn’t bathed in days. “Roger isn’t here. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“I’m not blind, princess.”
“Or mute, unfortunately,” Russell said.
Sludge looked at him with contempt. “I don’t remember Muskman looking so wimpy.”
“Oh yeah,” Russell replied. “He was way wimpy.”
Ellie laughed, then caught herself. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage Russell. Or Sludge.
Sludge turned back to Ellie. “Tell Roger I may have a buyer for Number One.”
In spite of herself, knowing better, Ellie leaned forward. “Really?”
“Yeah…and he may go as high as five dollars if Roger throws in some trading cards.”
Sludge lumbered off, laughing. What a yucky person. Ellie had barely caught her breath from Sludge’s visit when, much to her surprise, Brian walked up. This place was like a revolving door. She hoped she had gotten the sneer off her face before he saw it. Nobody looks good sneering. At least the booth was never boring. Dressed in his creased jeans and a navy blue Izod shirt, Brian looked as striking as ever. It took so little effort to remember him naked. And now he looked like he might be in even better shape. Be still my heart. While she was mentally stripping Brian, Russell was mentally stripping her.
Ellie smiled a little too brightly, and Russell covered his urge to retch. He so could not stand perfect guys. They bought into their own image too much. Huh! Why should he care that Ellie was practically throwing herself at this jerk who let her go all those years ago? No second chances, buddy, he wanted to point out, but he contented himself with eavesdropping on their conversation.
Brian smiled his killer smile at Ellie. “Hi. Got a minute or two?”
Ellie looked at Russell.
He looked back innocently. “Don’t mind me.”
She harrumphed.
Nobody looked better harrumphing, he thought idly. Why was it so much fun to exasperate her?
“Will you watch the booth?”
“Sure, if you’re certain that’s what you want.”
“Don’t leave.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?”
He gave a half-ass salute and she walked off with Mr. Creases in His Pants. Russell sat down and reached into a cooler for a bottle of water. He took a long drink and tried to clear his head. Why should it bother him that the old boyfriend walked off with his arm around Ellie’s shoulder as if he owned her? It didn’t bother him. At all. Not a bit. Tiffy was available. Tiffy was gorgeous. Tiffy was…Tiffy. Very Tiffy. Extremely Tiffy. There, another problem solved.
* * *
As they strolled past the various booths, Ellie and Brian talked, oblivious to what was going on around them. She had almost managed to put his fiancée out of her mind. Almost. And with only a Herculean effort.
“I have so much to do,” he said, his frustration almost dripping from every pore. “I just needed to get out of there for a few minutes before I started screaming and running amok.”
She squeezed his forearm. His sinewy, muscled, beautiful forearm. “I can’t picture that. You’re always so…together. I’m glad you came. You look tired, though.”
He put his hand on her hand that was on his sexy forearm. “I’m really feeling the pressure, Ellie. Opening is in 23 hours...” He looked at his watch. “…and 12 minutes.”
She laughed. “But who’s counting? It’ll be great. I know it. You know, you always were a perfectionist.”
True, but she never knew how much that cost him in major stress and sleepless nights.
“I don’t think there’s an unbooked cowboy act west of the
Mississippi that we can afford,” he told her, “but we’re working on it. Other than that, it really is coming together, although it proves the old adage ‘Nothing’s ever easy.’”
“I think it’s that nothing worth having is ever easy. There’s no doubt in my mind you’ll pull this off. I’m so glad for you. You deserve it.”
He stopped suddenly, then grabbed her hand, switching directions. “Come on.”
He led her down the end of one aisle, past several food vendors and out of the exhibition hall. As he pulled her down the hallway, she tried to slow him down. She was excited, but apprehensive.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He directed her outside to the curb and opened the passenger door to a silver Lexus. She looked at him quizzically. Two women and three men stood nearby, obviously paying attention to them, preventing her from grilling him. When he got in the car and drove away, she looked at him impatiently.
“How did you ever get a parking space right up front?”
He laughed. “Of everything you could ask me, that’s what you want to know?”
“I’m impressed is all.”
“Somebody pulled out just as I drove up.”
“Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket.” She fastened her seatbelt. “Where are we going?”
“Just trust me.”
“Can I ask you something else?
“Of course.”
“Why the cowboy motif?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. There were some questions he wouldn’t have known how to answer. “That was Cindy’s dad’s idea. He’s a closet cowboy. I mean, the guy’s from Pittsburgh.”
“My boss, Roger, would love it. He’s a ‘Rawhide’ freak.”
“I know it’s a little weird, but who would have thought a circus theme would work, and look at Circus Circus, which has been so successful over the years.”
They were less than a mile from the convention center when he pulled in to The Electra. He valet parked and led her to the elevators. “Come on.”
