by Andrews
"So 'permanent' is our problem?" I asked casually.
"It's just bad timing, that's all. Astrologically, I'm emotionally reserved right now. My Saturn has been opposition my Venus for weeks..."
"But that aspect," I said, noting she was pleased I'd learned the word aspect, "is short lived, right? You did say when you met me that I was destined for you. So I'm hanging my hat on that. However, my immediate problem is that I've been put on planetary pause, or asteroid avoidance, or whatever, and it's wearing on my nervous system. So how about we just have some amazingly... impermanent. ..sex? Would that be all right?" I kissed her gently.
The middle-aged woman in tennis togs sitting directly across from us cocked her eyebrow at me and gave me an appreciative smile. She was apparently picking up on our conversation. I grinned shyly at her in return, lowered my voice to a whisper, and tried to pull myself together.
"Okay." Callie reached over and slid her hand playfully between my legs.
I rocked back reflexively. "You're an exhibitionist."
"You told me when we first met that you hated routine. Don't want you to get bored," Callie said.
The woman wearing tennis clothes walked past our table on her way out and hesitated a moment to say, "You two continue to have a nice day," and she gave us a radiant smile.
"Thank you." Callie smiled up at her.
The woman's husband let out a large belch and hoisted his belt buckle to adjust his pants. "Men." She shook her head and laughed, obviously hooked on them and unable to understand her own attraction for them. "We marry them wanting all their masculine strength and testosterone, and then we want them to be as playful and close as women can be, like asking an elephant to perform a ballet. Even if we could train them to do it, it would look unnatural." The woman grinned again as her husband shouted for her to come on.
∗ ∗ ∗ ∗
We left the cafe and headed for our car. I stepped off the curb to open the driver's side door, still laughing over the straight woman's catching Callie in the act of groping me. I didn't see the car that came out of nowhere heading for me. Callie screamed at the top of her lungs. My mind slammed a thousand thoughts across my brain in a nanosecond. Leaving my physical body unattended, it moved fearlessly to a four-beat musical choreography, an orchestrated dance of danger, my head keeping count like a metronome: Arms overhead, three-four, dissolve to pirouette, three-four, away from oncoming car, four-one, spin, spin, turn, face to the car, three-four, back to the car, three-four, side mirror grabs my jacket and I'm up, spin and down, three-four. Land on my feet, dip back, bounce off my hip, two-three-four, Callie's incredible strength hauls me out of the street, three and four and cut! Take two. Cue the effects: screech of tires, grinding of gears, car backs up at high speed, snap zoom to wide shot, car comes back for the kill! Callie's viselike grip on my shirt collar, and I'm off my feet, up and backward through the air and I land on the cafe patio. Standing ovation from the gathering crowd. Callie dials 911. Cut. Wrap! My mind snaps back from outer space, slamming into my body, the pain of reentry making my head feel like it took a bullet. Callie was kneeling on the ground beside me, cupping my head in her hands and whispering, "You're all right, Teague. Everything's okay."
How does she know that? I wondered.
The police arrived. No one had gotten the license plate number, so there wasn't much else to do but ask the usual questions. "Any reason someone would want to kill you? How do you know it wasn't an accident? How long will you be in Las Vegas?"
"He was a mid-thirties, muscular guy, like a wrestler with no hair," I offered.
"Got it down." The cop took notes. "We'll be on the lookout for the car, and we'll contact you at your hotel if we need anything else."
One, two, three, wrap! I thought.
Chapter Seven
“That guy who tried to hit me was pretty damned determined. Well, he failed and may his dick be torn off by wild dogs," I said, limping slightly.
"Teague, I know you're angry but please don't say those kinds of things into the cosmos. It's like a curse and—"
"I like curses, particularly those that torture the perpetrator for centuries." I smiled.
"That's not funny." I could have sworn Callie glanced up at the heavens. "Here, give me those. I'm driving." Callie took the car keys from me and helped me into the car. "I need to get you back to the room." Callie's voice was filled with concern over my near demise.
"No, I'm okay. I'm fine. Just a little shook up, that's all."
∗ ∗ ∗ ∗
We pulled into the valet park at our hotel, and Callie told the man opening my car door to help me out.
"I'm fine," I reiterated, embarrassed at the attention. "Come on. Let's go over to the theater and tell your friend Rose what happened and see if the description of the driver clicks for her."
Moments later Callie, still protesting my not going directly to our room, followed me to the theater where a skeleton cast was doing a somewhat sloppy run-through of a new Boy Review routine. The theater company's production assistant tried to head us off, leaping from his seat and dashing down the aisle as if to greet us, rather than throw us out. Rose spotted us and hurried down off the stage, letting the boy know that it was okay, she knew us. I remarked that it appeared she never slept and spent her entire life in rehearsal. She smiled and said they actually got two days off a week but those days varied.
"We're here because someone tried to kill league by ramming her with his car." Callie was direct and her voice held no emotion.
Rose gasped. "Are you sure? Maybe it was an accident. People around here drive like—"
"When he missed, he screeched to a halt, backed up, and tried to hit her again. It was no accident," Callie said.
I watched Rose's face for a reaction. She looked a bit like a deer in the proverbial headlights.
"He was mid-thirties, bald, and beefy. Do you know anyone like that? Do you have any reason to suspect someone?" Callie asked.
"No," Rose said breathlessly as a drag queen even more gorgeous than Joanie Burr strode toward us. She was a proud jungle cat cruising rapidly and effortlessly down the aisle, muscles taut, head high, her large, angular frame gliding to a stop in front of us. She graced us with a sensual smile. European good looks, I thought.
"Someone tried to run over my friend with a car...a man," Rose said.
"That's horrible!" she said. "I'm Marlena Mercado."
We introduced ourselves. Marlena said a quick hello and added, "Rose, you're up next. Better get back onstage."
Rose looked flustered and torn. She glanced up to see the director, a tall, thin, gay man, signaling her that she was about to miss her cue, and she hurried back up the aisle.
"Sorry, I have to go," Rose's voice trailed behind.
Marlena cocked her head slightly in a studied theatrical way that made sure her best features were always on display. "Are you in town on vacation?"
"That, and I'm very interested in what's frightening some of the performers," Callie said pointedly, hoping for an entree, but Marlena was too schooled for that.
"I would say they're frightened that their looks, or their legs, or their bank accounts will give out before they find Mr. Right. Isn't that what all girls are afraid of?" Marlena shot us a dazzling smile. "Gotta run. Maybe we'll all get together before you leave town—if you're going to see Rose again."
"We'd like that," Callie replied, and we watched Marlena bound up onto the stage.
"Damn, I wish I could look that good." I sighed.
"Darling, you look much better," Callie said sincerely as we headed up the aisle for the heavy double doors that separated the theater from the hotel lobby.
"Notice how every time we see Rose Ross she gets dragged off by a drag queen? Maybe that's why they call them drag queens." I gave her a silly grin.
"Maybe it was just her cue to go onstage. You and I are always a bit suspicious."
A tall, handsome Italian woman approached from the balcony staircase and i
ntroduced herself as Sophia Pappagallo, another cast member. She was older than Rose, a beautifully put together dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties with riveting dark eyes, ample breasts, and great self-confidence. She said that Rose had explained why we were here and that she was grateful we'd cared enough to come and check on her friend's well-being. She offered to get us something to drink and indicated the best seats for us to watch the rehearsal. I quickly declined on all counts, wanting only to be with Callie. Sophia sized us up with a slow smile.
"Of course, you probably have many things to do," she said mercurially, and then remarked that she sincerely hoped she would see us again as she disappeared into the dimly lit theater.
"Attractive girl," Callie said.
"Gay girl," I replied.
"How do you know for sure?"
"Let's go back to our hotel room and I'll show you how to recognize one." I turned toward the door and a piercing pain shot through my leg. In fact, both legs were throbbing and my shoulders were now aching from the whiplash of my auto ballet. "I need a muscle relaxant for my shoulders."
"You shouldn't take those," Callie said. "I'll work on your body."
"Best offer I've had in the last hour," I said.
I greeted Elmo with a hug and a Milk-Bone, bribing him to cut me some slack and lay low. In the quiet of our hotel room, Callie crawled into bed and pulled me up between her legs with my back against her chest and wrapped her arms around me, saying nothing, just breathing. She felt much larger than her actual size—strong and solid. She placed one hand on my forehead and one on my heart, took three deep breaths, and threw something away into the air.
"Now you'll feel better," she assured me, still holding me.
"So you're removing evil spirits?" I asked, letting myself sag back into her arms, happy I hadn't been taken from her.
She began kissing me along my neck and down my shoulders, pausing occasionally to ask me if I was hurting anywhere.
"One or two places unrelated to the accident," I said.
"I can take care of that," she whispered, and I thought perhaps it was worth being nearly hit by a car if this was the reward, or perhaps Callie could only focus fully on me if she thought she'd lost me.
The wonderful thing about passion is that it releases endorphins, and they mask pain. Very quickly, I wasn't hurting and I could turn my body a hundred and eighty degrees to embrace her and unbutton her blouse.
"I'm worried about this," I teased as I unsnapped the single hook holding her bra together. "Why does a girl have a bra that snaps in the front?"
"For those who aren't very adept at undressing women." She kissed me fervently.
"You are a lot to handle, Callie Rivers." I smiled.
"Let's see how well you do." She smiled back.
I tried to begin at the beginning, kissing her lips, letting my mouth wander slowly down her gorgeous neck, then letting my lips make teasing side trips to her breasts and across her belly as she ran her hands through my hair, but I wasn't doing too well on the lingering part. Foreplay had been taking place in my head for months so now, just like the guys, I wanted to skip the preliminaries and be in the wet, wonderful orgasmic center of her, and with that single thought in mind, I buried my face in the soft golden hair between her legs, letting out a moan that said, much like Elmo, I'd reached nirvana. She was instantly wet and thrusting into me as I reached under her to hold her small soft hips in my hands. Suddenly she pulled away and rolled me over on my back so that she could lie on top of me, and she buried her face in me, while I was in her, so that we could enjoy the tastes and smells and feelings of one another simultaneously. And that was the exact moment in my life when sixty-nine became my favorite number. I decided I would have it put on a football jersey with today's date or perhaps even have it tattooed on my arm! The woman was masterful. There was an art to sliding effortlessly into that position, but there was a chemistry to climaxing at the same instant. We were overwhelmed by our chemistry when our bodies had barely had time to know one another. I reversed my position to hold her in my arms and kiss her golden hair.
"I hope you know what you're going to do with me, because now you completely own me," I whispered.
"I do." She pushed me onto my back and straddled me, managing to position all the wet, warm areas I'd most recently kissed directly onto my own still-throbbing parts. "You're not getting off that easy." She grinned at her double entendre, sitting upright astride me and rocking back and forth, smiling down at me, revealing how gorgeous she was from golden head to voluptuous breasts and her tiny lower torso.
In only seconds, I was unbearably hot again, pushing against her with my hips, pulling her down on me to kiss her and caress her breasts. I lay back almost unconscious from the sheer pleasure and excitement of her touch. She lay on top of me, gently, rhythmically thrusting into me, and in minutes, I was rolling her over again and sliding my fingers inside her and kissing her so deeply that we were both on fire and climaxing. When we finally came up for air, I whispered, "I can only say I've been in more positions than the Dallas Cowboys."
"Complaining?" she asked.
Weak and happy, we stared into one another's eyes with utter amazement at how completely we had come together to become one. We fell asleep wrapped around each other and didn't move until light shifted on the shutters and the clanking sounds of room service trays clattered up and down the halls.
We stayed in bed for hours exploring one another's bodies as if they were unique to the planet. Holding fingers up to the light to notice how long and slender they were, examining the shape of feet, putting them sole to sole and sighing over the touch, marveling at the two inches of the inner leg just next to the pubic hair where it was so soft that it was mesmerizing to touch, and then we would make love again. We could not tell night from day. The order of things was lost. Eating or sleeping or making love had no appropriate time. It was all randomly driven by hormones. And so, Las Vegas was truly the town for us, because love plays havoc with time and Las Vegas knows no time. Lights are always on in Vegas. Breakfast and dinner are always ready simultaneously. Crowds always fill the streets. People are always wide awake. We could make love for six hours and not miss anything.
In the silence, we heard something brush the carpet. A piece of paper was slowly sliding under our door. I crawled out of bed, my body beginning to stiffen now, and picked up the letter and opened it. The typed note said, Congratulations! We have captured your homo-fucking on tape. Be careful what you try to expose, or be exposed. I stared at it. "What in hell?"
I yanked the door open and poked my head outside, but the hallway was empty. I was still naked, so there was no chance that I would go sprinting down the hall after anyone. I went back to bed with the note, and Callie leaned over my shoulder to read it and then said, "Call the police! We're not going to be blackmailed by anyone for any reason."
I ignored her demand in favor of making a thorough search of the room: yanking back the drapes, checking the TV set for suspicious wiring, looking up and into every crevice, corner, and cobweb I could find. Maybe there is no video. Maybe it's all a threat, I thought as I crawled up on the dressing table to examine a picture. Callie warned me to watch my step as I clambered down and Elmo freaked. He apparently could take a lot of things in his basset life, but my being butt naked and mounting the furniture wasn't one of them. He wanted out.
I pulled on my jeans and told Callie I'd call the manager after I walked Elmo. I wanted time alone to pull my thoughts together. Until I knew for sure there was a tape, I didn't want to expose our sex lives to the hotel employees, particularly security, whom we'd already met during the non-dead-body caper.
Elmo and I went downstairs to his favorite spot on the grass where he went about leaving his calling card as I pondered how to begin the conversation with the front desk. I rehearsed under my breath. "Hi there. So does in-room movies mean that people are in the room making movies—or not? Or how about, I got a letter saying you'd captured my homo-fucking
on tape and I wondered if I could get a copy for my agent?" I sucked in air so loudly that Elmo stopped to see if I was all right. There is no way this can go well.
I took Elmo back upstairs and gave him two cookies and a rawhide bone to chew on as I prepared to leave to go talk to the front desk. He looked at me as if to say my recent attempts to entertain him were lame and insulting. "Look, I know. But at least you're not going downstairs to talk to the front desk about who you've been humping!"
"You're not really worried about telling the front desk what happened, are you?" Callie asked.
"Looking forward to it. Something I've always wanted to do— share my sex life with total strangers who come from countries where they still stone people to death for wearing lipstick or, if I get lucky, share my sex life with a prepubescent theater person, disguised as a front desk person, whose age is most likely higher than her I.Q."
"Don't underestimate people, Teague. They're more in tune than you think."
Moments later I was at the front desk where a very pretty multiethnic woman in her early twenties, swathed in gold cloth, smiled at me and asked if she could help. I hesitated, envisioning her perhaps cultural reaction to the word "homo-fucking," but decided to go for it. She was either front-desk material at a big hotel in a sophisticated city or she wasn't.
"I received this threatening letter in my room." I handed her the letter.
She bent her head and dutifully read the letter, after which she looked up with a confused expression. "Where is your homo-fucking that was captured?" she inquired, her brow slightly furrowed.
"What?"
"I don't know what the homo-fucking is that was captured," she said sweetly but loud enough that the businessman next to me stopped checking in and stared at me.
