Chapter 11

Saturday, evening, September 8th {Bob}

I didn't have any trouble finding Chris' grandmother's house. I worked on being calm, cool and collected the whole way over there, trying to imbue my body with suaveness, or suavity or whatever you call it. After all, I had a chance to try to endear Chris to me a little bit, and that seemed like a very important thing to do. She might not be my passionate virgin, but she was a woman, and she'd already let me have her several times ... though only in my fantasies, of course. A quality woman like Chris would have no use for a bumbling, inexperienced innocent such as myself. Except as a friend who would do her a favor like this, which I was proud to have her ask me to do.

I have no idea, now that I think back on it, what I expected Chris' grandmother to be like. My own grandmother had died when I was little and I didn't even remember her. And I didn't know very many grandmas, or at least I couldn't think of many. "Old lady" was about all that was in my mind. That's not very specific. Grandma Edna, on the other hand, turned out to be very specific.

I did expect to walk up to her and stick my hand out, to shake hands. What I didn't expect was for her to come flying out of the house, eyes wide and mouth gaping, or for her to take in a breath of air that would have filled half the Goodyear blimp, and scream: "Dabney Eugene Randall!"

Then she hit me like a linebacker with an attitude.

She was a strong old bird, I'll tell you that. Here I am, talking about her in past tense, like she's gone, or something. She is a strong old bird. But I'm telling you what happened, and that's past tense, so bear with me.

She screamed my grandfather's name. I don't remember much about him, either, because he also died when I was little. But I knew his name, which was somewhat unique. And I knew I looked like him, because my mother had told me that about a zillion times. What I didn't know ... couldn't possibly know ... or be prepared for, was a crazy, insane world, in which my grandfather, and Chris' grandmother had, once upon a time, been sweethearts.

If I'm lying, I'm dying. It's the honest truth! The only reason she didn't take me down to the ground was that I had her by forty pounds. Then, like somebody had thrown a switch, she let me go, backed up and, as calm as could be, said "You have to be related to Dabney Randall. Bless my soul, young man, you're the spitting image of him!"

I kind of croaked out that he was my grandfather.

Then she dimpled at me and said "Pardon my excess of emotion. I let him get away from me, back when I was young and foolish. I've kicked myself a number of times, since then, particularly when Bill was acting a fool." She turned to Chris, who was standing there picking up her jaw off the ground, and said "I approve, Sweetie."

There were three other women standing behind Chris. Two of them I recognized as Chris' sisters because their mouths were hanging open in exactly the same way. There was a bit of resemblance in the cheekbones too. The other woman sort of looked like a hippie girl who had grown up, but still lived the life style. All of them looked at Chris' grandmother like she'd grown a third eye.

Something told me to acknowledge Grandma's approval.

"Thank you," I said suavely. "It's nice to have somebody besides my credit card company approve me."

"And he has a sense of humor too," said the old woman. She pushed past the knot of women in the doorway and they broke up.

Now that's a heck of a start on a deal where you're pretending to be a woman's boyfriend, or potential boyfriend. I wasn't too clear on that part. I preferred the former, of course. So, to keep the ball rolling, I stepped forward and put my arm around Chris, tugged her against me, put my hand square on her right buttock, and said "How about that, honey? She approves."

It's fortunate that Grandma Edna was hurrying into the house to get tea and cookies ready for her guests, or whatever, and that the other women were still staring at her, because there was a sudden pain in my ribs, where Chris' elbow was buried. It felt buried, anyway. She put her lips right by my ear as her sisters and the other woman followed Grandma Edna.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, like an angry viper.

"I'm acting like your boyfriend," I whispered back.

"But you're not my boyfriend," she whispered.

"I am right now. Are you breaking up with me right in front of your grandmother?" I was confused.

"No," she said, confused herself, now. "But you can't just touch my butt like that."

"Oh, I thought that's what I was supposed to do," I said weakly.

"No, I believe I said something about possibly holding hands- not touching my butt! At least wait until our second or third date!" she said.

"This is our second date ... isn't it?" I asked. "Doesn't the dog door count as a date?"

"You're impossible!" she said, pushing me toward the front steps.

"Excellent," I said. "Boyfriends are supposed to be the source of immeasurable angst and tribulation. It's in the boyfriend's handbook somewhere." I said this over my shoulder, because now she was pushing me with both hands.

"Ha ... Ha," she said, spacing it out, so there would be no doubt she was being sarcastic. "Just so we're clear, the dog door wasn't a date and neither is this. We have a date planned tomorrow night, and it will be our first date. So just watch your hands, buster!"

"Okay," I said, trying to be malleable. "But it isn't going to be very convincing if I can't touch you."

She preceeded me up the steps onto the porch and gave me a stern look. "You can hold my hand," she almost snarled. "Okay?"

"Great!" I said, all smiles.

I puffed out my chest. I was in a pretty good mood, all things considered. I'd gone from ignorant customer, to dog door installer's buddy, to make-believe boyfriend, all in one short day. For me that was rocket fast.

And, I was going to get to hold her hand!

I hurried to follow her into the house before she closed the door.

Saturday, evening, September 8th [Chris]

You'd think after a thousand or so times of stretching the truth ... okay lying ... and getting my britches caught on my own pitch-fork I'd know better and wouldn't keep trying. But, no. I'm just dumb enough to believe that I might actually get away with something just one time; thus, here I was with a boyfriend who wasn't my boyfriend who was the grandson of one of Grandma's old flames -- and the odds of this had to be a bazillion to one -- and she approved of him.

The whole situation was just so exasperating; I took things out a little on Bob, since he was the catalyst of this whole mess I now found myself in, which frustrated me even more. I know how to be a good sport and hate when I behave like a dog with burrs stuck in its tail.

And it didn't help that his hand on my butt had felt both right and good.

Saturday, evening, September 8th {Bob}

Of course Grandma Edna asked how Dabney was these days, and I had to tell her he'd passed on to the great reward, as my mother called it. Edna got all quiet for a while. It was just plain obvious that he'd meant a great deal to her and that even after all these years the emotion was still strong.

"He was one of the best," she finally said. "Heaven's a better place for his being there."

After that we had tea and little cookies and all in all it was a nice time. The only problem was that there was never a time when it seemed appropriate to reach over and grab Chris' hand. I thought she sat entirely too far away from me for someone acting like she liked me, but then again maybe Edna would have thought she was being trashy if she sat right next to me.