...You can talk to me/ You can talk to me/ If you're lonely, you can talk to me...
Mama’s beer is empty.
He goes to the cooler, brings a Natty Boh. I pull my best pout.
"What’s wrong now?"
It’s not open.
He rolls his eyes.
"Can you say ‘high maintenance’?"
I look around. I recognize exactly no one.
"Where should we sit?"
With the fun people.
"Where are they?"
I sigh. The table by the curtain has only two guests. I approach at high speed, fueled by half a glass of cranberry and vodka.
Hi. We’re looking for the fun people and we think you’re it.
He looks up and grins.
"Yeah? You can tell I’m fun just by looking at me?
We’ve got the right table, honey.
Hawk sits. I’ve already sat. I look at my new friend’s fresh-faced companion.
And you, you didn’t graduate with us. What are you, a sophmore here?
"Her? This’s my daughter."
Her jaw drops in outraged amusement.
Now I KNOW we’ve got the right table.
"Did you have fun at the reunion?" he calls from his topless gold Sebring.
Yes!! Did you? I answer from my topless red one.
This is the best, though, right now, in my car.
"You got THAT right!"
People in Jaguars, do you think they’re having...
"...twenty thousand dollars’ worth more fun..."
...than we are right now, are they?
We part company when the light changes.
Fuzzy eyes me critically.
"What is that?"
New bikini top. Like it?
"No, I mean, what IS it? Bra or swimsuit?"
Swimsuit. I’ve wanted a white bikini for awhile, makes me feel all Barbarella.
"What is THAT?"
Oh, this? Removable push-up pad. It looks horrible, doesn’t it?
Good thing it’s removable.
It's about halfway when he joins me.
"So, how is it?"
I’m not sure what the fuss was about.
"It’s not good?"
The story’s great, and she’s fantastic, but I hate the lighting- it’s shadowy and contrived, and they keep having these extended close-ups of his face, which never does anything.
Well, it doesn’t. And it’s not like this is a Dirty Harry flick. How many Academy Awards did this win?
And look at that- who’s that woman, the mother, she was in Edward Scissorhands, she’s fabulous, that scene was wonderful, he got a great performance out of them in that sequence- and now, now we go to a long shot, of him, doing what? Nothing! Won’t someone please tell him that he’s a great director, but he needs to just quit acting, because he’s dreadful.
What? Somebody should tell him, that's all.
"I am not going to fool around with you in your mother’s house."
She’s not home; why not?
"We’re just not, got it?"
But at our house, there are kids, which you claim are a major flaccid-inducer.
"They are, but we’re still not going to."
"You got laid once this weekend. Isn’t that enough?"
I snap a shot of Fuzzy getting caught, and one of Fluff flying in the air.
The White Diamond asks me, "Oh, will you take pictures of my son? Once more, I forgot to bring my camera."
Will I! How old is he, again?
“Oh, he’s legal."
Yes, but how long has he been that way?
She laughs. "He’s twenty-four."
I could do twenty-four.
"Mmm, so could I."
"Not HIM! Some other twenty-four."
I snap a shot.
"Didja get it?"
I got something. I may have been too late to catch his layout. My finger forgot to move fast because my mouth was hanging open. I think I drooled on my foot.
He rolls out of the net, biceps bulging, thighs rippling.
"I’m pimpin’ you, buddy. Cybele’s checking you out."
"Oh yeah? How much?" He lifts a water bottle carelessly. A drop rolls down his cheek, throat. Ahem.
She turns to me. "Whaddaya offering?"
Head tilted, I consider.
I’m not sure. Don’t I get a free sample?
The world shimmers with sunlit laughter.
(Hey, Bulldog; The Beatles)