Chapter 7

“It’s after nine-thirty, kids we’re right on schedule.”

Heeled thru Smith and Wesson once again, Tommy twisted and turned and got us back onto the straight and narrow streets of Papillion, Nebraska.

“Tommy?”

He found her in the mirror.

“Yes, baby-girl?”

“Cully was right if you need to write a ticket, that’s what you should do. That’s your job, Tommy. I was wrong. I am sorry.”

“Whatever you say.”

In a whisper: “Thank you, Cully, for correcting me. You were right, honey.”

The remaining two hours went by very quickly. There were no more traffic stops, just a slow cruise thru the shopping district and industrial tracts. With his searchlight, Tommy chased off a car of young lovers.

Girl, with the movement of the car and the quiet of the streets, was soon asleep.

A new dispatcher came aboard. Mark. I chuckled a bit to myself at Girl being jealous of Joyce right-off-the-bat.

We switched out the cars at his apartment complex.

“Tommy, do you need anything from your apartment?”

She’d waken, fully recharged.

“No, baby, I have everything I need.”

He fired it up and pulled out. It got deathly quiet in that Plymouth as we got underway for the return trip home. Except for Girl. She chattered up a storm about shopping and how good she felt after her nap.

“I feel so good now, Tommy.” She’d moved right behind him and rested her right hand on his shoulder.

Almost half-way to the house, instead of going straight thru, Tommy veered off to the right.

“Where the heck are you going? You’re so supposed to go straight there.”

“I thought I’d take a long way so the engine could warm up completely. It’s been sitting all night.”

I didn’t even look over. I kept my face front and center.

“Tommy, go back and turn right, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” But he kept going straight for another three blocks.

“Tommy, turn left here. Now, honey, and go back.”

He relented, made the adjustments, then slowed to just below the speed limit.

I couldn’t blame him. The thought of going back to that house and confronting what was coming had been just Jim-dandy three hours ago. Now? No. I didn’t care if we drove around all night. Get a bite, take a cruise down 24th street thru the stockyards, stop and pet the cows. Then maybe drive around the Old Market area and finish up out at Eppley Airfield, watching the planes take off and land. They could kiss and hug, I would watch both they kiss and hug, and planes take off and land.

“Boys, I know you’re both nervous. I understand. But we’re going to have a lot of fun tonight. I promise.”

Dead silence.

“I’ll tell you what: let me be the one. I’ll start us off, and you’ll find that once we get started, everything will be just fine, and you two will take charge. What do you think about that idea?”

Dead silence.

We drove the rest of the way in that silence. She massaged his shoulders and hummed a tune.

Looking at that trailer on that slow ascent was fearsome. It was white with black trim. Looked damn foreboding as we’d left nary light turned on.

He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. The silence was welcoming. I’d a been satisfied just to get the pillow out of the trunk I kept there with a blanket for Katie and me for when we stopped and did impromptu naughtiness. Get pillow-lean against the door, leave the windows half down and nap for an hour or three, then go for a bite and the tour of the stockyards and airport.

“Somebody has to get out so I can.”

Nobody moved.

“Boys, I promise, I’ll take care of everything. Anything you want, you can have.”

Then quipped: “One-night-only.”

Lowered her voice:

“Except my butt. We’ll save that for another time. Maybe for Christmas, hey!”

And that was indeed our Christmas present. Well, mine anyway. I’d go first, plow the field as it were. But, that was no picnic in and of itself. But, I finally persevered and got it in there. I lasted, what six strokes, and released a torrent. I got it back out, and Tommy replaced me.

It just would not fit. Tried more lubricant, nothing worked. I went down and took a look.

“It’s not even close.”

Girl, head on the bed---bottom in the air: “Just jam it in.”

That got him steamed, by God.

“Girl! I’m not going to jam it-it would hurt you, baby. You’d be hurt. No.”

“Nonsense. I can take it. I want you to have this for your Christmas present. We’ve been planning this night for months.” It was Christmas night.

But, Tommy was intractable.

So, he went into their bathroom, cleaned it off, came back, and did it to her from behind. I took my seat there at the right foot of their bed in a sitting chair we’d arranged in the interim. We bought a floor lamp at an area garage sale, and I was all set. I could watch, or just relax as we talked and had fun otherwise, or even read. Sometimes I’d fall asleep only to wake and find them quietly coupling. Sometimes I’d stay most times I’d just tiptoe out and crawl under my quilts and fall asleep. Sometimes I’d be wakened by her screams---sometimes I’d sleep thru them.

To make up for Tommy’s loss, she got up, took care of her necessary’s in the bathroom, and made him a cornbread. And a damn good one, I might add. He brewed the coffee, and we convened in the living room, me in my chair, those two on the couch. The cornbread was exquisite. I hoarded the last piece and ate it in my room later that night. We sang Christmas carols and had eggnog laced with brandy.

And, kneeling by couch and chair, we prayed.

It was a beautiful prayer as Girl swore to the Father we’d let nothing stop us and then finished with a fierce declaration:

“I love both men, God, with all of my might and heart. With God’s grace and in his name, Amen.”

“Amen.” Tommy “Amen.” Me

To make up for Girl’s disappointment at his loss of not breaching her rectum, Tommy took her shopping the very next morning, the day after Christmas.

I woke to another note taped upon my jamb:

Dear Cully,

You were sleeping so peacefully that we didn’t want to wake you. Tommy has taken me shopping so we can shop the day after Christmas sales. He’s taking me to Country Kitchen first. I’m going to have the corned beef hash, and he’s going to have the French toast. He’s promised to give me a slice of his toast.

We’re taking the Jeep because it handles the snow much better than the Plymouth.

We’ll be sure to bring you back pie.

See you soon, boy.

We love you, Cully.

- Us

P.S. make sure to do up the dishes. And Merry Christmas, darling.”

(Back to The Night of the Drive-Along)

It would do no good for me to go first. It had to be Tommy. I wanted to watch him with her and her with him. Girl knew it. Tommy knew it. That’s why she worked on him exclusively.

“Tommy, darling, please. I’ll make it good. I want to love you. To show you how much I love you. And I do, boy. I love you so much. You’re my favorite.”

Dead silence.

She moved from behind his right ear to his left. The whispering lasted about a minute, perhaps less. I never asked, nor was informed as to what was said by Girl.

Finished, she shifted back.

The dead silence cut by the sound of Tommy’s door handle’s engagement and the illumination from the inside light.

He got out. I got out. She got out.

I went first, cleared the lock, and she got Tommy in ... He was in a bit of a trance. I surprisingly had rallied.

“Cully, you go ahead and shower and clean up. You don’t have to take a cold one, but don’t dawdle.”

Our water heater was a twenty-gallon model. We needed double that.

“I will take care of Tommy. Just come down whenever you’re ready.”

I hesitated.

“Go ahead, boy. We’re fine.”

I turned and walked away.

“We’ll get this belt off first, Tommy, and then we’ll...”

I didn’t close my door, but I pushed it close. When I peeked thru the three inches remaining, they were gone. I heard Girl vaguely beyond the hallway, a pleasant baby-talk tone to her speech.

When next I saw Tommy, he had rallied and taken the con.

By the time I’d finished showering, I was starting to get cold feet, and it had very little to do with the cold water. I thought using the cold water would keep me sprung. I barely even felt it. Just scrubbed down and turned it off.

Done showering but was still standing in the stall because that is where the built-in sink and mirror were. Those two were down there with creature comforts, and I was standing in standing water in a stall that was no bigger than a phone booth with a sink protruding that I kept bumping my ding-dong on, which of course, was sticking straight out.

“For as miserable as you are, it hasn’t hurt your bone any.”

It was just a yo-yo; up and down. Could slay the world one moment, could play handball off the curb the very next.

“How in the fuck did you get yourself into this?”

I’d asked that multiple times. And it didn’t matter in the grand scheme. Not now. I had to go down there. If she had to come and get me, the amok I’d commence to running.

“You can’t do that. Please down run amok. Please, Dale.” I implored myself.

“Lord, if they find you down here talking to yourself, that alone is grounds for amok.”

That didn’t stop me.

“What do you wear to watching your wife with another man?”

I was going to put on my Beaver Patrol T-shirt, but she’d about took a fit when I showed up at her company picnic in it a few months past. Laughing aloud picked up my spirits.

“I was so embarrassed, Cully. How could you?”

I laughed again and checked the coast for the umpteenth time. Still clear.

“Uh, oh, music.”

She’d taken out her portable record player, the one from her basement that we’d used, at-the-first:

“Can I see (it)?

“No, Cully-boy, let’s just listen to ‘Crimson and Clover.’ We’ll sit together on the white chair.”

And that was enough, but it hadn’t hurt to ask. Holding hands was a bonus.

I pulled a white t-shirt and blue jeans on. Put on socks and shoes so I could comb my hair without getting my feet wet. Scrunched, I got it done and stepped out. Splashed some British Sterling on and was ready to go. Back in and brushed my teeth, rinsed with the Micrin, and took another splash of the BS.

“You gotta go, son. I know, I know. I’m going, buddy. I love you.”

What does it mean when you profess your love for yourself to yourself, aloud?

I don’t remember getting down to that hallway cutoff. I must have floated because I did not recall one freaking step. I peeked around the corner. It was dusky down there, only candlelight and incense. Flacks’ “Killing Me Softly” was playing and sounded very nice. I wanted so bad to exit out that patio door; chain-smoke Black Watch, drink one cup of decaf after another and imagine what those two were doing in their bedroom. That would have been just fine by me.