Chapter 4

It took only about 45 minutes to reach the particular cheap motel that Annette had in mind. It was perfect. I parked the car down the line a ways from the little dimly lit office in the front, protecting Annette's dignity and privacy as much as the circumstances allowed.

In fifteen minutes flat, we had something we'd never had before -- privacy!

I had promised Annette an evening of oral delights, and I think I pretty much delivered the goods.

And my imagination hadn't failed me: Some things tasted 'way better than ice cream!

Annette seemed to enjoy the evening. Now she was worried about the time. "What time is it?" she said. It was the first entirely comprehensible sentence she had uttered in the past three hours.

"It's 2:30." I said.

"Do you have your cell phone? I should call home."

"At 2:30 in the morning -- you're going to call home?"

"It's better than letting my parents file a missing person's report."

"Good point."

So Annette called home. Her mother answered -- right away. I don't think she'd been asleep. I could only hear Annette's side of the conversation:

"Yes. I'm with Terry."

"In a motel. On I-71 North."

"No"

"Yes."

"I'll be home in the morning -- pretty early. Yes. I know. Bye."

"So. Were they pleased to hear from you?"

"Mom said she figured I was with you."

"Moms are smart."

"What about your folks? Shouldn't you call home, too?"

"Already did."

"When?"

"When we first got here. You went to the bathroom, remember?"

"What'd you tell them?"

"I told them something had come up."

"God knows that's true!" she said. "But I only got to see it from a distance!"

"This was just Get-Acquainted Night," I said. "All my fondest goals for this evening were achieved -- and then some!"

"I remember parts of it quite vividly," Annette said, smiling.

"I'm never going to forget this night. Someday, there's going to be a plaque, on the wall, right outside this room. "Here, on a Friday night in August, Anno Domini 2005, Terry Spenser had all his wildest dreams fulfilled."

"All your dreams?" Annette asked, skepticism apparent in her voice.

"So, OK," I said. "We'll add 'Part I' after the inscription on the plaque."

"I think you need something more colorful," Annette said. "Like a slogan."

"How about 'Finger-lickin' Good?'" I suggested. "Or maybe, 'Betcha can't eat it just once!'"

"You're a very, very bad boy," Annette said, kissing my somewhat-pungent mouth. "But you do have exceptional oral skills."

"So. Is your dad ordering any more ice cream next week?"