The
Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #2
The Handouts versus The Tin Ringers
EAST
SIDE A
Collaborative Novel
CHAPTER 8
Out Or In? By Roland Jacopetti
“Here I am again,” thought Hank, savoring
the déjà-vu of passing through that magical portal into yet another
female bedroom. It mirrored Yvette just as the living room did: simple
queen-sized bed brightened by a hand-made quilt, lush pillows, matching
cases, understated mahogany furniture. Yvette walked to the wall,
touched a switch and a track of ceiling lights came on at a low
setting.
So seductive. But, despite the attractive
setting and the very desirable companion, Hank almost failed to
suppress a sigh. He remembered times with other women, when his partner
hesitated before making the sexual commitment, obviously attracted,
desirous. Sometimes it happened, sometimes not. Hank never understood
the differences between the two paths. “So,” he thought, “Maybe times
where the intended partner plead a headache or sudden fatigue or just
said outright that the vibes were off – maybe they were feeling
something of what's in my mind right now. Yet another episode of
practiced foreplay, more unbuttoning of buttons and unzipping of
zippers, little affectionate whispers. Then the excitement, the act,
the release. All so calculated. Were the ones that turned me down
frightened of yet another cliché'? Am I?”
“Hank?” Yvette's voice, tentative. Hank
looked up to see her standing at the head of the bed, a furrow of worry
visible even in the dim light. “You’re a thousand miles away, over
there across the room. You look like a kid who's been called on by the
teacher and hasn't done the assigned reading. Something's got your
tongue, and it's not the cat.”
Hank's immediate reaction was to begin
making excuses, so he cut it off at the pass. “Well, actually I am a
bit tired and a good night's sleep sounds pretty good. But, mainly, I'm
a little shy of making the old moves, you know, the same iconic
pre-sexual game. See, I'm cursed with the romance bug, always waiting
for something ideal, something that isn't a game, or a strategy, or a
conquest.”
“Got you, “answered Yvette. “I'm glad you
spoke up, rather than going for the conquest. Actually, if you'd made a
grab for me, I might have said 'but, sir, I hardly know you.' So let's
do something about that; about getting to know all about you – like the
song. And listen, we can sit on the bed together without my getting the
overwhelming desire to jump your bones. I promise!”
They both laughed. And the bed did look so
very inviting. So, seated chastely side by side, they talked.
“Using my world-famed mystical powers,”
said Yvette, “I deduce that you're not long parted from a spouse. True?”
“Yep. A little over a year.”
“By mutual agreement?”
“Right again. Obviously no going back for
either of us. No matter how I feel about loneliness, empty beds, loving
companions, I can recognize a defunct marriage, and that's what this
one was. No regrets. Well...that's going a little far.”
“Kids?”
“A daughter. All grown up now, but angry at
both of us for shattering the family.”
“I've got a daughter, too. And a son.
Teenagers. The kids were with my first husband. After the divorce, I
rebounded pretty quickly into another marriage, which didn't last long
at all. If I could put that marriage into a mailing box, I'd stamp it
'Opened by Mistake'”
Hank chuckled. “Turns out we've got a lot
in common. It is a little odd to sit on an attractive woman's bed
discussing failed marriages but, somehow, it feels...appropriate.”
“Appropriate, huh?” laughed Yvette. “I
think I’m gonna like you, Mr. Hank. Despite your being way too expert a
squash player.”
----
Pike stepped back and waved as Kate's cab
pulled away, his friendly smile beginning to feel a little tight. When
it became obvious that the cab wasn't going to screech to a stop, the
door fly open, and Kate come running into his arms, the smile
disintegrated into a somewhat drunken pout.
“Bitch!” spat Pike, and looked around at
the bustling village street. Hmm. Quite a bit to drink, but still well
in control. The night's fairly young and here I am at the hub of old
New York. Nice bar just behind me, full of friendly folk. Why don't I
just take me self back inside and see if I can scare up some amusement.
In went Pike to a room that smelled of
alcohol, the merriment still in full swing with parties of six-plus,
some two-somes and four-somes. Up to the bar he went. The bar tender
looked up.
“Weren’t you just out the door with a
fine-looking woman? What happened? Forget your raincoat?”
“Nah, mate. I just forgot there are a few
women on this earth not half smart enough to appreciate a fella like
me. I've picked up me wounded pride and slunk back in to see if there
might be another bit of a drink with my name on it.”
“Let's see...Irish with a Guinness
back...right?”
“Absolutely! And make up one for yerself,
if you've a mind.”
“Thank you, pal. I'll take you up on that.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't sound like you're from Jersey or
Canada or Timbuktu. I'm guessing...Australia.”
“Close, but for a thousand miles or so. New
Zealand, born and raised.”
“A Kiwi, huh? We're seeing more of your
mates in the Village of late. Why’s that? No work in the old country?”
“That's part of it. The rest is not much
excitement there, either. Long way from bright lights and big cities
like this. Believe me, if you're seeking a fascinating lifestyle,
you're best sticking to the Northern Hemisphere.”
“Seemed like the woman you were with was
pretty fascinating.”
“She is, but I guess I'm getting a bit long
in the tooth for twenty-something seduction games.”
“I know what you mean. Here, I'll take a
few minutes off and bring you around, introduce you to a few good
folks.”
“Lead on, McDuff.”
Pike turned to look across the room and
found himself face to face with an angry man he wouldn't characterize
as good folk.
“Excuse me, friend,” said Pike, “The
barkeep and I are going out into the room and talk up some friendly
women.”
“I don't think so,” answered the angry one,
“Actually, I think you'd better get the hell out of here, if you know
what's good for you.”
“Is that right?” said Pike. “If I might
ask, why does someone I've never seen before have such a hard-on for
me? Got an answer to that one?”
“I sure do,” said the man, “You remember a
guy called Kucinich?”
“Wasn't he a senator from some god-awful
place or other?”
“Not that one. This one's my best friend,
all the way through high school and college. The one who married my
sister. The one you caught with a sucker punch a while back and beat
the shit out of. Coming back to you?”
“Sure is!” said Pike, “I remember, big guy.
Bigger that you. Think you can do any better than he did?”
“I think so. I'm not half lit like he was
that night. I think I can clean your clock pretty good, Mr. Kiwi.”
“Well,” smiled Pike. “Let's go out and get
a bit of the night air, and give you a chance to try.
Roland Jacopetti has worked in radio for forty years and is the
author of "Rescued Buildings" from Capra Press.
__________ This is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
