Chapter 2

Kim took my hand. I didn't offer it. Didn't make an effort. Didn't say anything. It's just that when we got out of the truck and I clicked the keyfob to lock it, she appeared at my side and grabbed my hand like it was supposed to be that way. Walking up the sidewalk as a couple, from all appearances, she knocked on her own door.

"Who is it?" came Jenny's voice from inside.

"It's me, Aunt Jenny," said Kim. We heard the deadbolt unlock and the door opened.

"I brought Tim back with me, Aunt Jenny," she said.

"Yeah, I couldn't find the right dumpster to dump her dismembered body into," I said.

"Oh, I LIKE him!" said another voice, owned by a blonde sitting on the sofa.

"Uh, Tim, meet Laci, with an 'I'," said Jenny.

"Hi, Laci," I said, trying to figure out where "lace" had anything to do with the female sitting on the sofa. She was carrying the "butch" affectation a little further than I would have, but hey, I'm not "Lebanese", as Kim giggled it. She was almost identical in height and weight to Jenny. Okay, Jenny plus ten pounds, but well-distributed. What my German friends called "zaftig", juicy. Her hair was short, pageboy, no bangs, though, swept behind the ear on each side, and blonde. A little darkness at the part told me there was some amount of augmentation involved.

"Sit for a while, Tim," Jenny said. "Tell us about your evening."

I sat in a big overstuffed chair and was inwardly delighted that Kim sat on the arm of the chair beside me. "I had a perfectly delightful evening of good food and conversation," I said.

Kim grinned. "I tried linguine with clam sauce. And, uh ... tra ... tiramisu. Oh, gosh. Heaven. My universe expanded."

Laci said, "Uh, yeah. I've had that. Eat like that too often, and more than your universe is gonna expand." She slapped her own plump, rounded ass with an open hand. It was a rather attractive ass, at that.

"Oh, I know, Mizz Laci, but I still swim four or five times a week, so I can pig out on tiramisu..." Kim turned to me, looking down at me. "So what time are you going to look at cars tomorrow?"

I was caught just a little aback. I hadn't exactly PLANNED on looking tomorrow, but what the heck? "I think the dealer opens at nine. I'm going to breakfast at eight-thirty, since I don't have groceries in the house yet. That's the other task I have to perform tomorrow. Why? You lookin' for an adventure?"

Squeal. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not. If your Aunt Jenny says it's okay..."

"Fine with me," Jenny said. "Most rapist-murderers don't make it past the first date, so I guess she's safe..."

"Be ready at eight thirty, then," I said. "I'm gonna go home and get my first night's sleep in my new home." I arose. "And I enjoyed meeting all you good ladies. Good evening." I emphasized the formal angle, and left them giggling as I closed the door behind me and walked up the sidewalk to my own door. And thought 'date'?

"Oh, crap," I thought. "Forgot. New bed." I put fresh linens on a new bed, took a shower, shaved, and then dozed off, the last pleasant thought being a soft, female hand taking mine.

The alarm woke me at eight, giving me plenty of time for me to wash my sleepy face, brush my teeth, and dress in jeans and a rugby shirt. At precisely eight thirty I heard a knock on the door. I felt like a schoolboy as I got up to answer it. I opened it to see Kim, who was almost a female version of me. A much YOUNGER female version, but jeans, rugby shirt, tennis shoes ... Her shirt was blue and yellow stripes. Mine was red and blue. And seeing my attire, she giggled.

"Can you come in for a second?" I asked. "I need to print something."

"Sure," she said innocently. She stepped inside, looking around. "This is gonna be nice when you finish with it," she said.

"I AM finished with it," I quipped.

"Oh, no you aren't. Don't make me come in here and straighten this place out."

"What makes you think that I perceive that at as a threat?"

"Men get all nervous when women want to invade their caves. That's why men used to go out and capture women and bring them home for mates. Established the hierarchy right off the bat." She giggled again. "Bat! Hah! A pun! No! Wait! Not a pun. A simple play on words!"

"You're a horrible person," I said. "Come see!" I indicated the display on my laptop. "Here's what I'm thinking about buying." It was a Japanese SUV. Silver. Not gas mileage to scream about, but a heck of a lot better than a three-quarter ton pickup truck. And a lot easier to get around town in.

"Grey?" she questioned.

"Yeah. Silver, actually. But grey's good enough. Remember, nobody ever got a speeding ticket driving a grey Honda."

"Uh, that's not true," she said.

"Name one, then."

"You know I can't. But that's not TRUE."

"I'm going for 'unobtrusive'."

"That'll get you waaaay off into unobtrusive, babe," she said. And she rested her hand on my shoulder. Lightly. Then pulled it back.

"Is it acceptable to Miss Kim?" I asked.

"I think it's perfect. I'd die for something like that."

"You're not holding out for something else? A red convertible Mustang, maybe?" I questioned.

"I never did get the idea behind convertibles. 1950, maybe, when there wasn't any air conditioning. Especially in cars. But NOW?"

"I dunno," I said. "You'd look good..."

"For what, like SIX days a year when it's not too hot or too cold or raining? No, thanks!"

"Okay. Extra points for 'practical'," I said to myself. I printed the inventory page from the dealer's site, then another page from another site that showed actual selling prices. I looked at Kim. "Now, let's go buy a car!"

We stopped off at a little restaurant for breakfast first. Pancakes, eggs, sausage, toast. And TWO cups of coffee. Because I remembered that Kim said, "I LOVE coffee."

Then we headed to the local dealer. Properly armed, I, make that 'we', walked onto the dealer's lot and got grabbed by the archetypical car salesman. Who didn't know who he was dealing with.

"Can I ask what sort of car you're interested in, sir?" he said, smile plastered across his face.

"This SUV. Here's your inventory number." I showed him the page I'd printed. "I want this one."

"Let me show you THIS one..." he said, gesturing grandly toward the one two steps up in size and dollars.

"Nope." I said. "I got this off your website an hour ago. THIS is what I want. Like THAT one!" I pointed to a similar model. "Except silver."

"Uh, yessir. Let me check with my manager."

"Check with who you need to. I want THIS car."

Kim was giggling when he walked off. "You've got him off balance," she said.

He came back. "Yessir. This car's on the back lot. We're bringing it around." In a few minutes and a donut apiece later, the proper car appeared. Smarmy salesman tried to get back on track. "Sir, you'll want a test drive?"

"Nope. It's just an SUV. Steering wheel. Pedals. Automatic transmission. It's not the space shuttle. I don't need to drive it."

So he missed his test drive, replete with 'New car smell'. Now he was eying my pickup truck and thinking he'd hit the lottery. "And you're wanting to use that truck as a trade-in?"

I'm thinking, "Bud, if I trade THAT truck on this little SUV, you'll be writing ME a check." So I told him, "Nope. Cash down. Fifty percent. So tell me what your number is."

And so help me, the schmuck gave me sticker price less a hundred bucks. I took Kim's hand. "Come on, sweetie. I guess we DO need to drive to Houston..."

"W-w-wait. Lemme go talk to my manager. I might be able to get you a deal," he stammered.

"Do what you gotta do. But be advised. I know what these things are going for. In Houston. And if you want to sell one today, you'll come up with THAT number, plus a tank of gas."

"Yessir." Zip. He was gone. Five minutes, he was back. And the number was within fifty bucks of what I'd wanted.

"How do you want to finance it?" I could sense the wariness in his voice. The kid learns fast.

"Fifty percent cash down. Three years on the balance at zero percent." I whipped out a driver's license. "Go run your numbers."

"Yessir. Be right back."

Kim wrapped both her hands around my right bicep and leaned into me. She didn't start giggling until he was around the corner. "This is like a comedy sketch," she laughed.

And here he came again. "I can't do zero percent, sir." He gave me a GOOD number, but I'd told him I wanted zero.

This time Kim beat me to it, turning and heading to the door. All I did was look at him.

"Okay ... Okay ... Lemme..."

"Go see your manager, son." I was probably fifteen years older than him, but one does have to establish one's hierarchies in negotiation. "You DO want to sell this car today, right?"

"Uh, yessir. Be right back."

Kim was fighting for control of herself.

Here he came again. "Okay, sir. 50% cash down. Balance at zero percent for three years." He pointed to the lending document.

"Great!" I said. "See how easy this all is..."

"You're writing us a check?"

"Nope." I handed the truck keys to Kim. "Babe, in the glove box there's a blue vinyl zipper bag. Can you bring it to us?"

Kim skipped away and returned. I unzipped the bag and counted out a stack of hundred dollar bills. "I'll want a receipt, you know..."

And half an hour later, the salesman was shaking hands. Deal was done. He showed us the features of the car, as required, and then I gave the keys to Kim and said, "Babe, can you drive this back to the house while I follow you in the truck?"

The smile on her face was irreproducible. So was the squeal.

Fifteen minutes later, after following a VERY careful Kim as she drove home, I pulled beside her in the apartment parking. She bounced out of the car.

"How'd it drive?" I asked.

"Uh ... Let's see ... It's an SUV. Steering wheel. Pedals. Automatic transmission. It's not the space shuttle." Giggles. "I thought I was gonna DIE when you said that. But it drives nice..."

"Then get back in and drive us to the grocery store."

"Really? I mean, it's YOUR new car."

I laughed. "But it's not the space shuttle." And I got in on the passenger side. And new car smell is new car smell. Even if it is a little Japanese SUV.

The grocery shopping was epic, not surprising when one considered that I was setting up a new household. It took even longer as Kim and I put all my purchases away. Mid-afternoon. And one of the purchases was a freshly ground half-pound of coffee. I brewed us up two mugs.

Sitting at the coffee table in my new living room, we toasted my new home, and sat, sipping, the TV providing background sound.

"So what's your music library look like?" she asked.

"Guess," I said. "If I've got Boccherini in the truck..." I pointed. "The CD's are in that box, there. And I've got those, and lots more, on this hard drive."