Ben Soul

by Richard George

deputy I mean?” When Notta shook her head, Emma sighed again. “The one that took you to your junior high prom.”

  “DiConti? He’s a deputy?” Notta stopped in her tracks and stared at her mother. “Scrawny DiConti? A cop?”

  “He’s filled out very nicely, my dear. Fits his uniform superbly. And he’s been very nice to me.” She looked out over the cove and smiled. Perhaps Notta could be made interested in DiConti. Then Emma could get her to move to Las Tumbas or maybe even Pueblo Rio to be nearer her Mother. Not that Emma would dream of interfering in Notta’s life, of course.

  “I suppose he could have blossomed since junior high.” Notta resumed walking. Emma stood just a moment to watch her daughter. She had always mildly regretted Notta was a youthful replica of herself. None of Haakon’s golden god good looks had passed on to Notta except the piercing blue of his eyes. Notta turned.

  “Coming, Mother?”

  “Yes.” Emma hurried to catch up to Notta. For a while, they walked on the sea-packed sand without speaking. Then Notta spoke.

  “Go ahead, Mother, ask it.”

  “Ask what?”

  “The Question.”

  “My dear, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, Mother, the one you always ask, one way or another. Let’s get it out of the way, so I can enjoy the rest of my visit.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean The Question I answer with, ‘Not yet, Mother,’ when you ask if there’s a man in my life.”

  “Well, is there?”

  “No. Let’s go to Wong’s for some ice cream.” Emma smiled at the sand.

  “Okay,” she said. They turned and walked up the beach to the trail that went up the bluff behind San Danson Station. As they approached the Wong’s store, a uniformed man came out of the Four Rosas Café. Notta looked at him and emitted a low whistle.

  “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “DiConti Sharif,” Emma answered. “I told you he’d filled out nicely.”

  “Fills that uniform well, too. I suppose it’s only polite to say hello.” She altered her direction to intercept DiConti as he made for his patrol car. Behind her Emma smiled a small and triumphant smile.

  Renewed Acquaintance

  DiConti saw Notta headed for him. He knew, at once, who she was. She had occupied a secret compartment in his thoughts ever since the prom night. Bold as he could seem in pursuing his official duties, around young ladies DiConti tended toward shyness and a bound tongue. Many eligible young women dismissed him summarily as a pretty boy with an empty head. “Another dumb cop,” one emailed another until the ladies of Las Tumbas were convinced there was no need to keep Mr. Sharif on their lists of potential mates.

  Notta’s approach tightened the ropes that bound DiConti’s tongue. His delicate features demonstrated a watchful wariness. A gust of wind swept his broad brimmed hat from his head and he bent to retrieve it. This afforded Notta an excellent view of his trouser cloth straining over his shapely buttocks. Notta had an advantage over the silly girls in Las Tumbas. She had actually spent an evening with DiConti. She knew his mind and heart were worth more time.

  “Why, Deputy, I do declare,” she trilled in a heavy attempt at a Southern drawl. “Y’all have grown up quite nicely, indeed.” DiConti straightened up. His complexion was too café au lait to show a full blush, but his neck and face darkened noticeably. Her round face twitched with suppressed merriment.

  “Hello, Notta,” he said. He searched for another sentence, but nothing came to mind. Notta batted her eyelids at him, coquettish as a drag queen on stage. Poor DiConti’s confusion only deepened. Emma, inwardly grumbling at Notta’s cruelty (as Emma saw it) came to DiConti’s rescue.

  “Hello, DiConti,” she said. “I guess you can see my daughter has come home to torment her old mother for a couple of weeks.”

  “Now, Mother,” Notta said. She understood the implicit warning in Emma’s comment, and determined to be less the femme formidable.

  “Sorry about the tease, DiConti,” she said. “My manners have gotten a little wild in the City.”

  “‘S okay,” DiConti mumbled.

  “It’s just that you look so official in that uniform,” Notta went on. “How long have you been with the Sheriff’s Department?”

  “Since high school, Notta.” He shuffled his feet and stared at them. A bit of dust on his left shoe stared back at him.

  “How did you come to join the Sheriff’s posse?” Notta asked. She forced back a grin, turning it at the last moment into a small smile of interest. A wayward breeze twisted through her hair, disarranging it a little.

  DiConti looked up at her. “My dad’s idea, actually. He wanted me to move out, and the Sheriff’s office paid better than anything he saw.” The capricious breeze that had toyed with Notta’s brown hair attacked DiConti’s dark locks. His pomade defeated the breeze. The breeze left for lighter work among the scattered leaves across the highway.

  “Do you like your work?”

  “Yes.” He looked straight at Notta. “Most of it. Some of the stuff is ugly, like hauling dead bodies out of car wrecks, or breaking up domestic disputes. Never a right thing to say to survivors, never a right thing to say to quarreling spouses.” He waved away these ugly things with his right hand as though he were brushing away a pestiferous fly. “Helping lost people find their way, or bringing justice to a crime victim, these things I like.”

  “Your job sounds fascinating. I think you must be very good at your work,” Notta said.

  “He is,” Emma joined in from the background. She wondered what she could do to nudge DiConti into asking Notta out on a date. Nothing occurred to her. Not to worry; Notta took matters into her own hands.

  “DiConti,” she said, “do you have time for a cup of coffee, or are you on duty?”

  He smiled shyly at her. “I’m on duty again, Notta. I just had my coffee break.”

  “How about dinner? My treat? I’d really like to talk with you, about old times, and new ones.”

  “Well, I don’t have anything planned, but I’ll be up in Las Tumbas. I’ve got to work the evening shift because we’re short handed. One of our deputies is away on compassionate leave.”

  “When do you break for supper?”

  “Usually at six thirty.”

  “Shall I meet you at the Sheriff’s office?”

  “Yes. That’ll be fine.” He put his wide-brimmed hat on his dark pomaded hair. “I know a place that serves good spaghetti for a reasonable price. That sound okay?”

  “Yes,” Notta said enthusiastically. “I love good spaghetti.”

  “Until tonight, then.” He tipped his hat to Emma. “Good day, Ms. Freed, Notta” he said. Then he walked swiftly to his car.

  Emma and Notta watched him get in and carefully enter the highway. “Yes, Mother, he has filled out very well,” Notta observed. “Still as shy as fawn in the mountains, though.” She shook her head. “I hope I wasn’t too bold for him.”

  “I doubt it,” Emma said. “If you’d scared him too much, he’d have been busy tonight.” She looked at the sun and frowned a little. “I do hope you brought something appropriate to wear.”

  “If you mean did I bring a skirt, the answer is yes. A touch more of the feminine will be in order tonight, I think. Now, since we’re here in the Station, let’s do a bit of shopping. I might find one or two small accessories for tonight.” Notta took Emma by the elbow and steered her into the Wong Brothers’ Emporium. The Wong Brothers knew Notta well, and had to hear all her recent history. She obliged, almost flirtatiously, with tales of her life and work in the City. Shu got so enthralled with her narrative that he gave her a ten percent discount twice on the earrings she selected to wear to dinner with DiConti.

  Emma insisted Notta return to the cottage and rest before her outing. Notta felt no need of rest, but understood her mother was weary. The
y returned to the cottage, saw to Prime Pussy’s meal, and then freed Ermentrude from her durance vile for her meal. When both cats had eaten, Notta and Emma retired to their respective chambers for sleep. Prime Pussy and Ermentrude commenced a grumbled conversation wherein each impugned the ancestry and bathing habits of the other.

  Factor in the Spaghetti

  Notta arrived at the police station promptly at six-thirty. She had dressed with more than her usual care; she wore a lavender blouse, a simple gold chain and heart-shaped locket around her throat, and cream skirt that had just a little flare at the hem. Of course, she wore nylon panty hose and gray pumps, as well as the requisite undergarments for a young lady of refinement. DiConti had managed, somehow, to find time in the day to change to a clean uniform. This one fit him more loosely. His delicate features, that would have been effeminate on some men, but on his face looked as though a Michelangelo had sculpted them, softened in the light of his large smile. He was genuinely delighted to see Notta.

  “That’s a good color for you,” he said, gesturing vaguely at her breasts, which filled her blouse very well. Her rounded face lit up when she smiled. DiConti thought her nose was utterly delightful the way it turned up just the least bit at the end. Her full mouth, red with Tropical Passion lipstick, promised a seduction he didn’t want to resist.

  “You’re looking pretty handsome yourself, Deputy,” she said. DiConti’s face darkened with his equivalent of a blush. He suddenly turned bashful.

  Notta saw at