I take it that's happened to you more than once.
Yeah.
Randy, is it possible you set your sights too high?
Maybe. I don't think so. I'm not going to pretend that a lady's looks aren't important to me, but I never seem attracted to the foxiest gals in a bar. The thing is, I seldom get up the nerve to approach anyone. Sometimes I think a woman might be interested in me from the way she looks at me, but I never know what to say.
Keep listening, Randy. Perhaps some of our callers can give you a few tips. Hello, this is Delilah. You're on the air.
Hi. This is Spud and I have a tip for both Bob and Randy.
I'm sure they're listening. Go ahead.
Well, first of all, I agree with both of them. The dating game is ridiculous. Hell, we all know what we want. I have a line that cuts through all the small talk. I don't want the FCC to shut down Bawdy Talk, Delilah, so you'll have to use your imagination about one word. It begins with the letter F.
Tread lightly, Spud.
Well, when I see a lady I might be interested in, I just walk right up to her and say, “Hey, Babe. Wanna blank?
If you said that to me, I'd slap your blanking face off.
That's a risk guys have to take. Hell, this big gal damn near broke my jaw one night, but she wound up in the back of my van anyway. Think about it, Delilah. Doesn't that beat offering a broad a drink or inviting her to your apartment to view nonexistent etchings?
It takes all kinds, Spud.
This is Delilah Delight. You're listening to Bawdy Talk on WFNS—your friendly neighborhood station. Listen up, everybody. Delilah is about to do something she's never done before. Instead of cutting to a recorded commercial, I want to tell you about our newest sponsor.
Now, I will never recommend a product I don't really like, so I must say up front, I've never tried this product. I don't know if it's any good or not. It's called Relief. It's an over-the-counter medication, available in all pharmacies and is supposed to give relief within eight hours for all you kiddies out there who suffer from constipation.
That's right. I said constipation. Fortunately, Delilah does not have that problem. Here's what I want you to do. If you are all stuck up, give Relief a try. Then drop me a note and let me know how everything came out.
When she managed to control her laughter, Ally said, “Cliff, I'm not constipated, but I've gotta pee. Come with me."
"You're kidding."
She grabbed his belt-buckle and tugged him to the ladies room. Cliff stared as she pushed down her shorts and panties, sat on the throne and dislodged a soggy mass of tissues.
His eyes bulged. “I ... I've never seen a woman do that."
Ally blotted, flushed and kicked away the clothing from her ankles as she stood. “Your turn,” she said, gesturing towards the toilet.
"Uh, Ally ... I have a news flash. Men don't usually sit to urinate."
She wagged her eyelashes seductively while massaging the base of her flat stomach. “I know."
"Oh. Damn, Ally,” he said as he unbuckled his belt, “don't you ever get enough?"
"I don't know, Big Guy, but I intend to find out."
Cliff lay on the bed with a contented expression on his face. Ally lay on her stomach beside him, but turned in the opposite direction. She propped on her elbows while leafing through the yellowed pages of the loose-leaf notebook.
He massaged the milky white, perfect mounds of her buttocks. “That's the longest shower I ever took in my life."
"Takes longer when you soap my breasts forty times."
He chuckled. “I'll bet when I was a baby my mama never cleaned my testicles so thoroughly."
She snickered and turned a page. “Which does a better job, Ivory soap or my tongue?” She turned another page and shivered as he rubbed the tip of her spine.
He turned slightly and used both hands on the perfect round hemispheres. “Find anything interesting?"
"Pretty standard stuff.” She turned another page.
He pressed the thumb of his right hand against her tailbone and let it slowly trail down the intimate valley. He paused at the small, brown, puckered star.
She craned her neck so she could look at him. “Forget it. That's off limits. It's mine—all mine. It's never been used but for one thing. Forget it, Cliff."
"Never tried it that way myself. It must hurt like hell."
She turned another page. “It's my present to you after we're married."
"Married! Now you just wait a minute. I never said anything about marriage."
"Cliff!” she shouted. “Here it is!” She scrambled to a cross-legged position so he could read with her.
Cliff forced his eyes away from the furry triangle. “But the heading is ‘Leftovers'."
"That must be Julie's mom's security method."
He chuckled. “Fooled Julie and Spunky."
She turned a page. “It's all here, Cliff—not just the sauce. Listen to this. ‘Randolph insists on roasting the pork over coal embers, but it would taste so much better roasted over a hickory fire.’”
"Now if you can find the bun recipe."
Ally turned the page. “It's here, Cliff.” Her eyes devoured the page. “Spunky was right. It looks like a variation on the yeast roll recipe I have."
"Damn, Ally, you're making me hungry."
She looked up. “Sorry, Cliff. I don't have anything in the room to eat."
He pulled the notebook from her hands and tossed her on her back. “The hell you don't,” he said as he buried his head between her legs.
Chapter Fifteen
Julie tossed the stuffed plastic bag into the bed of the truck and sighed. “Spunky, I'm pooped. Let's take a break."
Roger closed the tailgate of Cliff's pickup. “We're going to have to make a run to Good Will. The truck is full and so is your car. You sure you want to discard all your mother's clothes?"
"Can you picture me wearing any of her dresses?"
Roger smiled and followed her up the porch steps. “No. I was just thinking."
"Thinking what?"
"It's silly."
"I need something cold to drink,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “Even though the cabin is shaded, it's hot in here."
"Is Mr. Elliott going to add air conditioning?"
"Yes, and he thinks we should install a new oil furnace also."
Roger chuckled. “It's hard to think about heating the place on a day like today."
Julie pulled two Cokes from the newly cleaned refrigerator and sat at the kitchen table. “Tell me your silly thought."
"Promise you won't laugh?"
"Scout's honor,” she pledged.
"Your mama's quilting frame in the upstairs room gave me the idea. Quilts on the beds would look good in the log cabin and they would be special if made from your parent's clothes."
Julie smiled gently and placed her hand on his. “It's not a silly idea, Spunky."
"I'm afraid Good Will may just throw the clothes away. They're not in very good condition and are old fashioned. They may not even accept them."
"You think?"
He nodded as he sipped the Coke.
"There's just one problem. I know nothing about quilting."
Roger focused his eyes on the kitchen window. “I do."
"You're joking."
He looked at her without expression. “Not something you'd expect a macho man to do, is it?"
"You know how and enjoy it?"
"Yeah. I could teach you, but I warn you it's not as easy as you think. First, you decide on a size for the squares. Large squares make the work go faster but, in my opinion, the smaller ones make a prettier quilt. You cut hundreds—thousands—of squares using some sort of a guide. Then you sew them together using small stitches but you must make sure the fabric and designs are complimentary. Some people use a sewing machine, but hand stitching looks better if you're careful. Once you have completed two sides, you stretch one of them on the frame, add a layer of paddin
g, and stretch out the other side. Then you sew the two together, using a predetermined pattern of stitching. The final procedure is to add a hem."
"You really do know how to make quilts. Did you learn from your mother?"
He smiled as he shook his head. “When being treated for a mental illness like mine, you have to do something to keep your mind off your troubles. Some work jigsaw puzzles. Some get interested in stamp collecting. Some try their hands at artwork. Others, like me, turn to crafts of some sort. I was attracted to a group of women making a quilt."
"Then let's forget the idea."
"Why?"
"Wouldn't it bring back unhappy memories?"
His eyes widened as he jerked his head towards her. “No! No! No! You're thinking of stories and pictures from insane asylums back when they didn't know anything about mental illness. Julie, I love every doctor, nurse, orderly, social worker, maid and janitor. They gave me back my life! It's a most happy memory for me."
Julie brightened. “That settles it then. You're going to teach me and we're going to keep making quilts until the cloth runs out, but where do you suggest we store all the old clothes?"
Roger shrugged his shoulders. “The barn, maybe?"
"The one down by the pond? Spunky, it's ancient. It probably leaks. There always were rats in it."
"It was just an idea."
"Uh, oh,” Julie said, lifting her head and pushing back from the table. “Bawdy Talk is on."
As she hurried towards the radio on the kitchen counter, Roger chuckled. “You listen to that thing?"
"Sometimes I find it amusing,” she said as she adjusted the volume. “I know for a fact that you listen to it."
"I had no choice. Cliff turns it on every afternoon."
This is Delilah Delight with another four hours of Bawdy Talk. Thanks for turning me on. Now all you guys stuck in Charlotte traffic, honk your horns if you want the delicious babe in the car next to you to flash her breasts.
"Wonder if anyone ever actually does that?” Cliff asked.
"Trust me, they do. The problem was, I didn't have anything to flash."
"You wouldn't?"
Julie grinned. “Of course not."
For those of you who missed yesterday's show, I want to do a brief recap. Bob called in with what turned out to be a major problem for many people. He is retired now, and alone. His childhood bride passed away a couple of years ago. He's lonely, but doesn't want to play the dating game. He's looking for a shortcut to companionship.
We must have had forty or more calls from people, most of them much younger than Bob, who experience variations of the same difficulty. There seems to be a real hesitancy out there in radio land to use the standard pickup lines. The dread of rejection apparently is a powerful fear indeed.
I couldn't get it off my mind, and this morning, about three o'clock, I sat straight up in bed. Maybe I dreamed it, but I think I have come up with a possible solution. Please bear with me a minute.
Someone developed a wonderful system of sign language to enable people with hearing and/or vocal impairment to communicate. And there has also developed a rudimentary universal sign language we all understand. We all know what the thumbs up and thumbs down signals mean. A fist with index finger lifted upward means “we're number one.” Point that finger at your chest, and it becomes a question—"Me?” Point your index finger at something or someone and it becomes a universally understood indicator. We all know what the extended middle finger means and if someone shrugs her shoulders, it means, “I don't know.” If someone wags his head from side to side, we know he is saying, “No,” but if his head bobs up and down, he's saying the opposite.
Sometimes these signals are called body language. Who started all these signs? How did they gain wide acceptance? If this were television, you'd see me shrugging my shoulders. Are you still with me? Here's my plan.
I want you Bawdy Talk listeners to initiate a new signal—the uplifted pinky finger. Now, let's don't make it dirty. The meaning is simply, “I would like to know you better.” You spot someone who interests you, gain eye contact and lift your pinky—no approach, no pickup line, no embarrassment. If the object of your interest lifts his or her pinky, you're in business. If the one in whom you are interested smiles and shakes his or her head negatively, you have your answer without embarrassment. Now, this part is important. If your pinky signal receives a negative response, you must honor it and move on.
What do you think, Gang? Give Delilah a call. Oh, boy—all the lines lit up. Hello, Caller. You're on the air.
Afternoon, Delilah. This is Spud. I called yesterday.
I remember. Have you cleaned up your act?
I just wanted to say that I like your idea. If this were television, you'd see my pinky finger in the air right now.
And you'd see me smiling and wagging my head.
Then you'd see my middle finger in the air.
Goodbye, Spud. Now Gang, that's exactly what I was talking about. Let's don't make this thing obscene. Let's make it a friendly way for two people to meet without embarrassment. Hello, Caller. You're on the air.
Julie snapped off the radio. “Let's go check out the barn, Spunky."
Ally wiped perspiration from her forehead and grinned at Cliff as he returned to the game room after carrying out a load of debris. She lifted her pinky finger.
He stopped and pointed at his chest.
She nodded.
He lifted the little finger on his right hand and then extended both hands with palms up, and looked frantically from left to right.
She pointed at the floor.
His eyes widened.
She smiled seductively, turned her back, pushed down her jeans and panties and bent over.
"Looks okay to me,” Roger said as they entered the barn.
"It's as if time stood still. There's Dad's tractor, the mower and all his tools."
"What's that thing?"
"A grinder. Dad kept his tools razor sharp."
"Don't see any signs of leakage,” he said, gazing upwards. “What did he keep in those covered bins?"
Julie strained to lift the hinged top of the nearest container. “Seeds, mostly. This one's empty and I see no signs of rats."
"This one's empty too. We can store the clothes in these things."
"Back the truck up, Clyde."
"Clyde?"
"Sorry. That's an expression I use for all men I like."
He looked at her for a long moment and smiled. “I like you too, Julie. I've missed you.” Abruptly he turned and headed for the truck.
When the plastic bags stuffed with old clothes were all stored in the bins, Julie grinned, reached out and touched his arm. “Tag. You're it.” She raced out the barn door.
Roger took a deep breath and jogged after her, being careful not to close the gap between them.
Julie dashed to the edge of the lake and pushed her way through brambles onto the narrow pier that reached to the middle of the water.
Roger crept out on the pier with caution. “Do you trust this thing?” he asked.
"Chicken!"
He stopped halfway to her. “Some of these boards look rotten to me."
She lifted her pinky finger and her smile turned to a pout when he did not immediately respond.
Roger dropped his eyes. “Julie, I want to know you better, too. It's just that...” His voice trailed off.
She pulled off her shoes and socks, sat on the edge of the pier and dangled her feet in the water. “It's just what, Spunky?"
He removed his shoes and sat beside her. “There are things you don't know, Julie. I'm not the boy you once knew."
"You're the man I want to know."
He looked away.
She placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “Spunky, maybe I do understand. They have all kinds of new treatments now. Surely you've heard of Viagra. Even if nothing works, there's more to sex than intercourse. Someone very special taught me that."
Roger smi
led thinly, placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “It's not that, Julie—nothing that simple. I wish it were."
"What then?"
He stared at the distant shore. “Every night since I stumbled onto Dad's Place, I lie awake, trying to figure out a way to tell you. I did something while with the Agency—something I'm not proud of. My cowardice hurt someone badly."
"Who?"
"My partner, Kimberly Ring."
"Do you love her?"
Roger jerked his head towards her. “No. Not the way you mean."
Julie waited for him to continue.
He moved his feet in the water and watched the rings expand.
"We were on loan to the Central Intelligence Agency. Our assignment was to infiltrate a band of rebels in a South American country. They were supported by the Castro regime, but when the economy in Cuba collapsed, their supply lines dried up. It was our job to promise the rebels United States aid and, in the process, ferret out their headquarters and ringleaders."
Julie watched tears cascade down his cheeks and slipped her arm around his waist.
With chin quivering, he said, “We were caught.” He dropped his eyes. His entire body trembled. “Julie, I can't do it."
"It's okay, Spunky. I don't need to know this."
He looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “Julie, take a trip with me tomorrow."
"Spunky, I can't do that. The cleaners are coming tomorrow. We haven't finished clearing out the junk in the house. The wholesaler's coming to stock the store."
"We can finish moving your parent's stuff today. Cliff and Ally can handle the other things. Please, Julie. Go with me."
"Where?"
"Maryland. We can fly up in the morning and be back before suppertime."
"The hospital?"
He nodded.
"To visit your partner?"
He nodded again.
"I will on one condition."
"Name it."
She moved her upper body in front of him while wrapping her arm around his neck. “Kiss me,” she said softly.
He pushed his feet against the unsupporting water as her weight toppled them into the pond. They submerged, flailing with their arms and laughing. He nudged her to the pier and pushed as she climbed onto it. She leaned over and offered him her hand. He pulled her back in. She pressed her hands on the top of his head and dunked him.
Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners Page 16
