But,” I heard her take
a sip of wine to stifle a laugh, “he may lose his license.” Great guffaws.
“Sorry, Hetta. Anyhow, the only damage is to Mr. Fujitsu’s hedge, the postal
department’s Jeep and the mailman’s disposition. Which, by the way, I hear
wasn’t so sunny to start with.”
I started laughing and couldn’t
stop. Finally I gasped that I couldn’t talk anymore or I’d wet my pants. I hung
up and laughed until I started crying. Was there life after RJ?
When I called the next night, there
was no answer. I hung up before the machine could take over, then did some
work, and called back. I was hearing my own message, the business version, when
Jan grabbed the phone. “I’m here.”
“You sound out of breath. Postal
employee after you?”
“Nope, ran up the front steps.
Heard the phone ringing from outside. I got home early, so I took RJ for a walk.
Did you call before?”
“Yep, but I hung
up on the third ring.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Well, yeah, I
thought maybe...never mind.”
“Never mind
what?”
“Someone
breathed.”
“Excuse me?”
“Someone
breathed into your machine, Hetta.”
“Did you check
caller ID?”
“It said something
like ‘unidentified.’ ”
“Well fooey,
Jan. I didn’t sign up for caller un- identification.
What the hell did I get if for if it doesn’t work? Oh, never mind, it’s
probably some kid. Or mailman.”
“Well, RJ didn’t
like it. He growled.”
“At my answering
machine?”
“Yep.”
“Maybe it was a
cat burglar. RJ hates cats. Oh, well, I’ll be home mañana . So, other than the breather, what kind of day have you and
my perp pup been having?”
“Grand. By the
way, you’re getting low on steaks and Hershey Bars.”
“Why don’t you
two try eating some veggies. I’ll shop this weekend.”
“You’re busy
this weekend.”
“I am?”
“I found us cheap sailing lessons.
It’s a group called Nineties something or other Sailing Club, and we can pay by
the day. One thing though—it’s all women.”
“I don’t find that a problem. One
of those books we got said it’s easier to learn without some guy yelling at
you. And you don't have to worry what your hair looks like. Gotta run. See you
tomorrow. Kiss RJ for me.”
I hung up, ran a brush through my hair and smeared
color on my lips and cheeks. My client had decided on a dinner meeting to wrap
up the week so I could take an early flight out the next day. I arrived at the
restaurant humming a Jimmy Buffet number, all aglow with the promise of salty
adventures to come.
“Okay, you guys,” I told the group
of electrical engineers gathered around the table, “let’s get this show on the
road. I wanna go sailin’. ”
One of them looked out the window
into drizzling fog and shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat, Hetta.”
10
I knew in my heart that,
well-hidden above a shroud of spooky fog, a Saturday sun lurked, but there was
room for some serious doubt.
“Are we there yet?” Jan yawned.
“We probably would be if you’d sit
up and help me look for a street number in this soup. Where the hell is this sailing club of yours?”
Jan flipped up the seat back and
squinted at barely visible warehouses and docks lining the brick paved road. A
foghorn echoed through the deserted streets. I half expected to get a glimpse
of Vampire Lestat folding his wings for the night. I hit the door LOCK button.
“When I called yesterday, they said we’d see a
sign. There,” she said, pointing to a faded blue and white sign on a
dilapidated wooden structure. Even with the car windows up I detected a fishy
odor.
“What kind of sailing club is
this?” I demanded. “Where are the colorful banners? The sport cars? Hell, where
are the boats ?”
I parked in the loading zone in
front, under the modest sign reading:
GAY NINETIES SAILING CLUB
MEMBERS AND GUESTS ONLY
RING BELL
“Oh, well, Miz Jan, you said it was cheap.
The object here is to learn to
a sip of wine to stifle a laugh, “he may lose his license.” Great guffaws.
“Sorry, Hetta. Anyhow, the only damage is to Mr. Fujitsu’s hedge, the postal
department’s Jeep and the mailman’s disposition. Which, by the way, I hear
wasn’t so sunny to start with.”
I started laughing and couldn’t
stop. Finally I gasped that I couldn’t talk anymore or I’d wet my pants. I hung
up and laughed until I started crying. Was there life after RJ?
When I called the next night, there
was no answer. I hung up before the machine could take over, then did some
work, and called back. I was hearing my own message, the business version, when
Jan grabbed the phone. “I’m here.”
“You sound out of breath. Postal
employee after you?”
“Nope, ran up the front steps.
Heard the phone ringing from outside. I got home early, so I took RJ for a walk.
Did you call before?”
“Yep, but I hung
up on the third ring.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Well, yeah, I
thought maybe...never mind.”
“Never mind
what?”
“Someone
breathed.”
“Excuse me?”
“Someone
breathed into your machine, Hetta.”
“Did you check
caller ID?”
“It said something
like ‘unidentified.’ ”
“Well fooey,
Jan. I didn’t sign up for caller un- identification.
What the hell did I get if for if it doesn’t work? Oh, never mind, it’s
probably some kid. Or mailman.”
“Well, RJ didn’t
like it. He growled.”
“At my answering
machine?”
“Yep.”
“Maybe it was a
cat burglar. RJ hates cats. Oh, well, I’ll be home mañana . So, other than the breather, what kind of day have you and
my perp pup been having?”
“Grand. By the
way, you’re getting low on steaks and Hershey Bars.”
“Why don’t you
two try eating some veggies. I’ll shop this weekend.”
“You’re busy
this weekend.”
“I am?”
“I found us cheap sailing lessons.
It’s a group called Nineties something or other Sailing Club, and we can pay by
the day. One thing though—it’s all women.”
“I don’t find that a problem. One
of those books we got said it’s easier to learn without some guy yelling at
you. And you don't have to worry what your hair looks like. Gotta run. See you
tomorrow. Kiss RJ for me.”
I hung up, ran a brush through my hair and smeared
color on my lips and cheeks. My client had decided on a dinner meeting to wrap
up the week so I could take an early flight out the next day. I arrived at the
restaurant humming a Jimmy Buffet number, all aglow with the promise of salty
adventures to come.
“Okay, you guys,” I told the group
of electrical engineers gathered around the table, “let’s get this show on the
road. I wanna go sailin’. ”
One of them looked out the window
into drizzling fog and shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat, Hetta.”
10
I knew in my heart that,
well-hidden above a shroud of spooky fog, a Saturday sun lurked, but there was
room for some serious doubt.
“Are we there yet?” Jan yawned.
“We probably would be if you’d sit
up and help me look for a street number in this soup. Where the hell is this sailing club of yours?”
Jan flipped up the seat back and
squinted at barely visible warehouses and docks lining the brick paved road. A
foghorn echoed through the deserted streets. I half expected to get a glimpse
of Vampire Lestat folding his wings for the night. I hit the door LOCK button.
“When I called yesterday, they said we’d see a
sign. There,” she said, pointing to a faded blue and white sign on a
dilapidated wooden structure. Even with the car windows up I detected a fishy
odor.
“What kind of sailing club is
this?” I demanded. “Where are the colorful banners? The sport cars? Hell, where
are the boats ?”
I parked in the loading zone in
front, under the modest sign reading:
GAY NINETIES SAILING CLUB
MEMBERS AND GUESTS ONLY
RING BELL
“Oh, well, Miz Jan, you said it was cheap.
The object here is to learn to
Similar Books
