Heads turned and, stumbling, around, Buddy Pipp got to his feet, an awkward grin splitting his open face like two halves of a sandwich being pulled apart. Trudy leaned back on her hands, gazing up at me, her eyes once again like overheated glaciers. Alexander merely lay on his side, his tail thudding on the floor. He was happy in the knowledge that he had less chance than ever of being left alone.
The young people looked at the litter and Trudy spread her hands, “I guess we got sort of hungry. We always eat through the Westerns.”
“Ah, the late show?”
Buddy nodded, scratching what there was of his chest while Amy watched with a certain fascination. Three Bugles to the Rescue or something. It was pretty good, except for the part where the trooper fools around with the captain's daughter.”
Amy smiled and I watched her eyes frisk his lean body like a police sergeant's hands. “You get bored when the love scenes come on?” she asked, her voice quiet and, I thought, a bit sultry.
He shrugged, plunging his hands into his jeans and, again, his tool and its assemblage of extra parts popped into stark relief. Damn him. He must have possessed a snake the size of a boa. “It's kind of corny to sit around and just watch all the time.”
“I see,” my wife murmured, swallowing and turning to me. “We're home so early, perhaps the children would like a little something to drink before it's time to leave.” She swung back to them. “I know I'm terribly dry.”
I pondered. “I've got soft drinks, all right, and harder stuff for us.”
Trudy was shaking her head, her hand moving in a small circle on her tummy, and I wanted to snatch it away and replace it with my own hand. “No, thanks, because we've had plenty. Even Buddy is full and that's wild. You should see him at the table at home.”
“Your Aunt Charlotte is a good cook?” I asked, thinking of that whisky voice on the telephone.
Buddy made a face. “She's out a lot, so Trudy opens lots of cans. Our aunt is pretty popular, I guess.”
“Yes, I talked to her on the phone. She sounds quite young.”
Trudy raised her eyebrows in a childish imitation of a gossip. “Well, if you think thirty-five isn't over the hill, then I guess she's young. I suppose she looks pretty good for somebody's old aunt. She's a blonde, like me.
“She's been married three times,” Buddy added, grinning like he was proud to complete the dossier on Miss Pipp. “Three guys she went through, got fed up with and then took back her original name. She's our father's sister, I guess.”
“And your parents?” Amy asked gently.
“Oh, they're around somewhere,” Trudy chirped, not at all self-conscious about the way she and her brother live. “They like to take off and run around the country having fun. Dad plays the horses and he's good at it. When he hits big they take in Las Vegas, Miami, other places. Golly, I wish I could live like them.”
Amy settled herself on the couch while I went to the television set, snapping it off just as Dracula's daughter was taking another drink of human blood. We sat silently for a few minutes, looking around, wondering what to do with our hands.
“You're home early,” Trudy said.
“Yes. It wasn't much of a game.”
“Bridge. Huh. That's a funny way to get your kicks.”
My wife turned to Buddy, something like smoke curling out from under her lashes. “You must explain to me how people your age enjoy themselves. Things have changed so in the last five years.”
Five years! I knew Amy was pulling out the stops when she began to lie about her age and I saw Trudy trying to hide a grin, too. Sure, Amy could pass for twenty. She had the face and shape to back her up. But kids knew about these things and the way Amy talked and moved didn't say she was twenty. She was twenty-five, all right, and that was fine with me.
Amy was getting little more out of the tall, skinny Buddy than a series of shrugs, but their mutual interest continued to light the room. This was charisma in action, friends, and those two were turning it on with their high beams. At last Amy leaped to her feet, as though she'd been blessed with an inspiration.
“I know, the pool. You haven't seen the pool.”
Buddy grinned and reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling something from behind his hip. “I haven't seen it, but I heard about it.” He waved a bathing suit that didn't amount to much more than a jock strap.
“Goody.” My wife was clapping her hands. “We'll go swimming. What do you say?”
“Groovy,” Trudy agreed, also getting to her feet. From her purse popped the two halves of a bikini, the total material no more than that in a handkerchief.
I made a sound in my throat that I hoped sounded adult. “You two go ahead while I settle Trudy's bill. We'll catch up with you.”
Amy blinked at Trudy and then me, but there was no jealousy in her look. She knew what she wanted and, for all she cared at that moment, I could hit the sack with a Shetland pony.
Taking Buddy's hand, Amy skipped from the room, laughing like a kid, her various parts bouncing lightly as they tripped along. Buddy grinned over his shoulder at his sister. “See you around. I don't guess you'll be hurrying into the yard, huh?”
“I suppose not,” Trudy called back as they disappeared.
We stood looking at each other and I expected romantic music to start pouring from the ceiling, like in the movies, but the only sound was Alexander licking himself at our feet. I glared at him until he lifted his muzzle from his cock and balls and then I pointed toward the rear of the house.
“Out. Go get your mistress. Bug her for a while.”
He surprised me by obeying. He'd always been too much of a coward to give me any sass, but I thought he was too dumb to know what was expected of him.
“Well.” I rubbed my hands like a jewelry salesman looking over a bride-to-be. “Here we are.”
“Time for more fun and games, huh?” Trudy replied, her voice sweet but not very soft. “Time for you and me to fuck again.”
I rolled my eyes. “Diplomatic you ain't, girl.”
“Who says I should be? You want to pour it to me all the time and that's all right, just so you don't go around pretending. Why do you think I brought Buddy with me? I told him about Mrs. Brady and he thought she would be nice.” She giggled. “Seems like the feeling's mutual.”
I sighed, taking her by the shoulders, feeling the tingle race up into my hands. “Don't you and your brother have friends your own age?”
“Sure we do, but we want to get ahead. After all, what can kids fifteen and sixteen do for us, except give out with a lot of drippy romance stuff and gripe about how broke they are all the time.” She waited, her eyes fixed on mine.
“I see, you're here for profit as well as fun.”
“You win first prize, Mr. Brady. Please don't call me a whore; I wouldn't come right out and hold back until you paid up.” She grinned like an infant in its crib. “But if you were to add a tip to the sitting money, that wouldn't be so bad. I don't like the idea of turning pro all the way. Then you get involved with pimps and lots of other middlemen who skim away the profit. I'd rather free-lance and pick my own friends.”
“I suppose I should be honored.” My voice was dry, but the palms of my hands weren't.
“That's up to you, “but I don't sleep around all that much.” She stepped closer, touching my collar and running her finger along my buttons until she reached my belt. “I liked you right away, and that's no fooling. I hate the phonies and you're a real person.”
I was gulping like a woman in traffic court. “So what happens now?”
She winked. “You've been awfully nice, Mr. Brady, so I thought I'd take charge tonight and show you a good time. It doesn't look as though the others will walk in on us, does it?”
I shook my head. Amy wasn't going to let loose of that stud horse and Buddy had been drooling during their exit.
“Good. Then I'm the boss from here on out, and I'm going to give it to you forty ways to breakfast, whatever that means. Anyhow, you just relax and let me take charge, okay?”