Jill

by Jay Hughes

  She was rubbing herself someplace. My guess is as good as anybody's about what she was rubbing, but it made her face red and her breathing heavy.

  "You wanna get off, Tam?"

  "Talk to me." Breathing harder now. Hand moving around a little more.

  "You can put your hand in there if you want. I won't say anything." I sat forward on the chair. "Go on, if you feel like it ... go for it."

  "I ... I'm ... work ... working ... um ... just ... let ... me ... go on."

  "Anyway, just before I get her off, and I can usually tell because her nipples are all propped up and hard ... she's got her legs around my neck, pulling me in ... I back off and nuzzle up to her pelt again ... let her steam awhile ... that gets her wet ... and then I go back in for some love potion. That's pussy juice, Tammy."

  "I ... I ... um ... help me."

  "Help you? Can't. I'm faithful to Jill. It's OK, I guess, to watch. You gonna come for me, Tam?"

  "Mu ... muh ... muyay ... bee ... yeah ... I think I ... I ... might."

  "With Jill, right before I get her off, I run my finger along her clit just real easy ... slow ... touch it, just to give her an alternate feeling ... then I pounce on it with my tongue and suck the livin' daylights out of it. Once she's on her way, I just let her hit the ceiling. You about at the ceiling, Tammy?"

  "Uh ... uh ... al-mow ... st." Her hand was quivering. Her face was beet-red. "Come squeeze my tits, Jay!"

  I reached over and gave her left breast a little tweak and found a nipple through her bra. I squeezed it hard enough for her to notice. "Go on, babe ... make it happen," I whispered.

  "Boohoo ... kay ... uh ... uh ... UUUUUUUUUUn ... ooooooo ... yeah!" Her hand slumped on her waist.

  Bingo.

  "You get that all on tape?" I asked.

  "Erase it," she gasped.

  "Whatever you say." I hit the rewind button. "I'd sure like to play this back."

  "Don't."

  I plopped the tape out of the machine and slid it into my coat pocket. "See ya."

  "Jay, don't! Please!"

  I stopped and turned to Tammy. "Jill's my girlfriend, and I'm not your lab rat. Have a nice day."

  I drove home with a sense of having won the lottery.

  Backing people into corners and painting the floor in front of them was a trick I'd learned from Jill.

  Jill doesn't negotiate. She offers ultimatums, scenarios that offer no alternatives.

  At least in Tammy's case, she'd had a little one-handed fun.

  In other situations, the victims come up empty-handed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I don't know how she thought of it, but it was sheer genius.

  I suppose you come up with logical solutions after you've been caged for a day.

  Captain Lundquist, who bitched at me on the way out about the consequences for perpetrating a hoax, nonetheless told me he'd be calling me later that day. If not, tomorrow morning.

  That left me pinned to my property on the hottest day of the year. Klinger had already exacted his own form of justice. I just sat around and waited for the cops to call.

  All fuckin' night long.

  At eight the next morning, they showed up and took me back downtown.

  Lundquist met me in the lobby and ushered me into a big conference room filled with all sorts of unsavories. The criminals were still behind bars, and I'd rather have been with them.

  Eight, nine, ten, eleven ... twelve of them, all around this long mahogany table, all with notebooks, briefcases, coffee mugs.

  Jones, CIA; Morgan, FBI; somebody-Stein, NASA; somebody-berg, some health institute and ... king of all kings, Hawks, general, United States of America Air Force, not even retired.

  I sat in Chair Number One, right at the head of the table, opposite King Hawks. Lundquist sat next to me, on the right. Jones was to my left. A woman, Maryann Pendrigrass, who said she was from the government, spoke first. "Hello, Mister Hughes."

  I nodded.

  "Mister Hughes," Hawks said in a way I'd have expected from a guy who dyed his hair and needed to have his eyebrows trimmed, "this is a serious matter of national security."

  "Huh?"

  "This woman, Jill ... I think she's called ... she could be a clear and present danger."

  "Whatever." I looked at Jones, who looked at Goldstein, who looked at Hawks, who looked at Smith, who looked back at me. I looked at Pendrigrass, who looked at Lundquist, who looked at me.

  "She's an alien," Pendrigrass said.

  "I know," I said.

  "How long has she been here?" Jones asked.

  "I've known her three days."

  "Where's she from?"

  "Are there others?"

  "Has she given reason to believe she's broached national security?"

  "Does she have nuclear capabilities?"

  "What about infection?"

  "How many are there?"

  "Where's her ship?"

  "What planet?"

  I stood up and stretched. "Folks, you could ask her."

  "She's in a cell," Lundquist said.

  "You fuckin' jerk!" I stared him down. "You fuckin' asshole faggot jerkbag, prick!"

  He stood up. "Use decency."

  "Fuck you! Fuck all of you!"

  "Bring the woman in," Hawks said.

  "At last, the Air Farts is heard from." I stared at Hawks. "National security, your ass. You couldn't even tell us the Albanians were running a Ponzi scheme."

  Hawks shook his head. "Let's hear from the woman."

  "She's dangerous," Lundquist said.

  "She is not," I said. "I spent two nights with her. I ought to know."

  Pendrigrass cleared her throat. "You slept in the same house with her?"

  I smiled.

  "That's imperceptibly stupid, Mister Hughes."

  I smiled again. "You're right. We could have bred some green-and-white toadstools that latch onto our kids and turn them into CIA agents. By the way, Jones ... did I tell you to get fucked? If not, go for it. Would somebody bring Cheeliol in here?"

  Lundquist left the room and returned a few seconds later.

  After a day or so of silence, the door opened and Cheeliol met the United States government.

  Everybody stood. Breath was held.

  "She's lovely," Pendrigrass said.

  "Interesting," Goldstein said.

  "Amazing," Smith said.

  "Gorgeous," somebody else said.

  "Sit," Hawks said.

  "I stand," Cheeliol said. "What do you people want?"

  "Where do you come from?" Jones asked.

  "Standard Eight," Cheeliol said.

  I said nothing.

  "Did you have sex with Mister Hughes?" Pendrigrass asked.

  "Not your business," I said.

  "That's right," Cheeliol said.

  "Where is Standard Eight?" Goldstein asked.

  "Forty-six light years from here," Cheeliol said.

  "Why'd you come here?" Hawks asked.

  "You invited us."

  "Huh?"

  "We've been picking up invitation signals for years," she said. "We sent some back but you didn't respond. So, we decided to come here. It's that simple. You invited us."

  "We did?" Goldstein asked. "What wavelength?"

  "A man named Marconi invented it," Cheeliol said. "We just copied it and bounced it back. Our research shows it warped, though, so it may have gotten distorted by your sun."

  "Even so," Jones said, "we might not have understood it."

  Cheeliol shrugged. "That's why I'm here. As it turns out, I'm not welcome."

  "We can make you welcome," Pendrigrass said, "as soon as we find out more."

  "More what?" Cheeliol paced the room. "Look at me. Except for skin color and some other differences that shouldn't matter right now, I'm just a ... being. But if I don't get back to my ship within two hours, I'll die. Your atmosphere isn't good for me."

  Jones cleared his throat. "Where's your ship?"

&nb
sp; Cheeliol smiled. "I'm sworn to keep that a secret. In fact, my duty is to die before I reveal that information."

  Lundquist fumbled with his pen and stared at the desk. "So, we just have to let you go."

  Cheeliol nodded. "As you say on Earth, life's a bitch."

  I smiled. Cheeliol had changed the rules. If they didn't let her go, she'd die. Having finally captured a space alien, they'd kill her if they didn't set her free ... free to go her own way.

  "So, if we let you go, will you ... ah ... return?" Pendrigrass asked.

  Cheeliol grinned. "Can we be friends?"

  Everybody nodded. It was that nod you get when you've learned you had to make a deal and got the short end of it.

  "I'm sure you all have a lot of questions," she said, "but I'm tired and I need a bath. I also need some food. Would anybody mind if I ate one of your trees?"

  Hawks cleared his throat. Smith laughed. Goldstein snickered. Pendrigrass clapped her hands in glee.

  Cheeliol took my arm. "Take me home, Jay."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I went to the kitchen and peered out into the snow. The light from old Maud's house cast some odd shadows across the lot. The tree had grown a few feet since my ex-wife and I bought the place ten years ago. I have no idea where she's gone, but I'm told she's happy.

  I suppose I am.

  I have Jill, and I love her.

  I think. If it's not love, what is it? Possession of a unique freak? No, I hardly possess her. I don't even possess Klinger these days. He's taken to her.

  Klinger has changed. He doesn't even growl at the postal woman. I hope to have him around a few more years.

  I wonder how long I'll have Jill.

  How old is she?

  Can she survive on this stinkin' planet?

  Can any of us?

  I went to bed with the knowledge that I'd have to shovel a path to the garage tomorrow.

  "Before I forget, Klinger, I have to destroy that stupid tape. Are you happy, Tammy?"

  When Klinger wags his tail, it's time for a snack before beddy-bye. I sifted through the boxes in the cabinet, found his dog biscuits next to the sack of sawdust Jill likes to nibble on when we have those rare midnight munchies.

  You know ... I get cereal and bananas and she gets ... well ... I've tried it with sour cream. I went to the garage to see if that bag of walnuts had any life left to it. Jill and I had gathered them last November. I still don't see how she can crunch into one of those things. Hell, it takes a squirrel an hour to get through that shell.

  Jill has threatened to bite me.

  So has Klinger.

  Come spring, the two of us plan to plant a garden. Jill has her heart set on a coconut palm. I have no ready alternative.

  She does like fruit, which is at least a tolerable change from what I often feed her. She is, however, the only woman I've known who prefers the watermelon rind. She also likes field corn and pine cones, which she claims are a bit on the gooey side.

  But there are quiet moments when she sits and studies ... watches television ... listens to her language tapes.

  I'm not sure what I'm learning about the adventure, other than it takes as much as I can handle to manage her. She's too strong for me and I have no success in controlling her violent temper. I have learned to satisfy her sexual needs at the expense of my neck, back and shoulders.

  I clicked off the light and headed for the bedroom. "Yeah, we can get a new couch."

  ***

  The phone rang at a little after eight.

  "Hi."

  "You never call on Wednesdays."

  "I just learned the trip to Houston has been cancelled, so I have Thursday off. Would you mind if I came over to get warm?"

  "Good, we can talk."

  "About what?"

  "Us."

  With Jill, discussion about our future always led to questions she seemed either unwilling or unprepared to answer. But, six months into it, I thought I deserved some answers.

  "We'll see," she said without emotion.

  "No, we won't see. I need some information."

  "That's all I do is give information. Can't we just ... fuck?"

  "Relationships ought to go deeper than that," I said. Just how much deeper depends in part on how good the fucking is, but it was a genuine romantic gesture on my part all the same.

  "First, don't ask about going to the ship."

  "I won't. I would like to guess your weight, though."

  She laughed. "I think I heard that one someplace. We can handle that."

  With Jill, vagaries are a part of the scope of things. It was becoming clear to me that she had an agenda for being here in the first place and ... cold sweat ... it might not have been to my benefit.

  Or anybody else's.

  Maybe a garden wasn't such a good idea.

  We agreed to discuss a few general topics of interest and I set about planning for the onslaught of mail, forms and phone calls. It's easy money if you can get it.

  I really did want to guess her weight. No foolin'.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  She stood there in the sun, waiting.

  I went around the car, fumbled with my keys and at last opened the door.

  She stood there.

  "Get in," I said.

  "Open the back door."

  "Ride up front with me."

  She seemed perplexed. "The policemen told me I had to ride in the back seat."

  "That's when you've been arrested for ripping off tree limbs and disabling people. When you ride with me, you ride up front."

  Automobile travel was alien to Cheeliol, as it is too many Americans.

  The whole week had been alien to me. Aliens do that. Oops, don't call Cheeliol an alien.

  "I like the name Jill," she said.

  "I like Cheeliol." I turned left at Grapevine Hill, drove down past Soapy's, wishing I could stop in for a dozen cold beers and a burger. "So, what do I do with you? Take you to your ship?"

  "What's this place?"

  "Soapy's. Wanna go in?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought you said you'd die if you didn't get back to your ship."

  "I lied."

  "Don't throw me in the briar patch, Bre'r Fox. You got lucky. They fell for it."

  She looked over at me with an incredible gleam in her coal-black eye. She even winked, I imagined. No matter. It was sexy. "As one of your great statesmen put it, good fortune is often the product of a sound plan. Who's Brayer Fox?"

  I pulled into the parking lot. "How do know so much about our planet?"

  "I've had time to study. I was in the ship a long time."

  "How long?" I shut off the engine and tapped on the steering wheel. I was prepared for an answer I couldn't comprehend. Nothing else had made sense.

  "A few weeks."

  I shook my head. She doesn't understand time, so that's refreshing.

  "The ship's been here a few weeks. I've been studying your language and culture a lot longer than that."

  "How much longer?"

  "Years."

  She understood time. "Soapy's ain't ready for you, girl."

  "I need to meet people." She struggled with the door handle but got the hang of it without my help.

  I caught my breath. Let's see ... Vicki, meet Cheeliol, who's come here from ... er ... the south ... she's a cousin or something.

  Vicki looked up when we walked in. She didn't smile and she didn't gasp in agony. She put down the glass she was washing and walked straight up to us. "This must be the girl who's big news at the police station." She held out her hand. "I'm Vicki."

  "I am Jill."

  I guess she wasn't Cheeliol anymore.

  "I'm Jay," I said, "and I need a beer."

  "You're driving," Vicki said.

  The four or five people who were mingling around the bar and the pool table all stopped and ... stared.

  "Weird," the bald-headed guy said.

  "You the one from outer space?" the skinny one aske
d.

  Cheeliol ... er, Jill ... stared them down. "Don't bother me."

  "Ew, feisty," the skinny guy said.

  "Fellas," I said. "Don't press your luck. She'll snap your necks off and feed them to the ducks."

  Jill wandered around the bar, a little place with a cozy atmosphere. New carpeting, clean enough as little bars go ... a few plastic beer signs ... pool table. "What's this?"

  "Juke box," I said. "What kind of songs do you like?"

  "Paul Anka."

  "He's dead, ain't he, Vick?" the skinny guy asked.

  Jill stared him down. "If there's a Paul Anka song on here, play it, Jay."

  I met Jill at the juke box and ran my finger along the selections. "What if there isn't?"

  "Put one on there and play it."

  I shook my head. "Later."

  "Now!"

  "Cheeliol, it doesn't work that way." My stare was harder than her stare and she caught on. "Now, go sit down."

  I looked through the vast offerings on the machine and ... no shit! ... Anka.

  Put your head on my shoulder.

  Jill's smile broadened when the song began to play. "You said there wasn't any Paul Anka."

  "I never said that. I asked, 'what if there wasn't?' There was. I played it. Shut up and listen."

  "Dance with me."

  "My dancing sucks."

  "I'll dance with ya, babe," the bald-headed guy said.

  Jill turned. "I don't like you."

  He laughed.

  Jill got up.

  I grabbed Jill.

  I turned to the guy. "She'll make you wish you were lucky enough to go to a hospital."

  "You gonna protect her?"

  Vicki slammed her fist on the bar. "From what I hear, Jay's being kind to you. I have half a mind to let Jill have her run of the place."

  I turned to the men at the pool table. "From what I hear, she has diplomatic immunity, which means she can't be prosecuted for any crime for any reason."

  The men looked at each other. "We're just havin' fun."

  I shook my head. "She sends this information back home."

  "We ain't gonna be attacked, are we, girl?"

  Jill turned. "Not everybody will be."

  "You still want to dance?" I asked.