“Yeah. I always admired Flynn. His private life more than his flicks. So just how stirred was Lulu?”
“Stirred. She let me hold her hand all through the picture.”
“Why, Don, you Casanova, you! What a gay dog you are! Held Lulu’s hand, hey? Just what kind of a Boy Scout are you?”
“Eagle Scout. With thirteen merit badges. Why do you ask?”
“Read page 354 of the Boy Scout Handbook on Conservation, and shame on you, Don. A grown man like you! Aren’t you? If you are, you’ve got to take yourself in hand! Strike that! I mean you’ve got to be a little more aggressive with Lulu!”
“Dear Herb: Thanks for the advice. I took Lulu out for dinner the other night and she let me kiss her good night. Then she said I reminded her of a pet rabbit she once had. It sounded nice, but I’m not too sure what she meant. What do you think?”
“If I said what I think, they’d send out a crew to scrub down this wall! Look, Bugs Bunny, you don’t need all this build-up with Lulu. She’s a real roundheels. Push a little.”
“Dear Herb: I pushed. She slapped my face.”
“Slapped you? I can’t believe it. Why?”
“She was standing at the top of the stairs when I pushed. Boy, was she ever mad! But I sent her some flowers and now we’ve made it up. She asked me over for dinner tomorrow night. Is Lulu a good cook?”
“Is Lulu a good what?”
“A good cook?”
“Oh! Please print more distinctly and try to round off your O’s, Don. That was very misleading. I wouldn’t know if Lulu’s a good cook. We never took time out to eat. And brother, are you ever getting sidetracked!”
“Dear Herb: Sorry for long lag in answering, but I’ve been getting over a severe attack of ptomaine poisoning. Convalescence gave me a chance to think, and now I’m determined to make out with Lulu. Am seeing her Saturday night and will keep you posted.”
“That’s more like it. Can’t wait to hear details.”
“Herb: Again sorry for time-lapse. Have been recovering from third-degree burns. Got them while trying to make out with Lulu in front seat of my sports car. She accidentally pulled out cigarette lighter from dashboard and dropped it down back of my shirt. By then though, it didn’t matter. Believe me, there’s just no way to make love in an MG!”
“Don: Why didn’t you get out of the MG?”
“Great idea. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. You’re really got a head on your shoulders, Herb. And I’m sure not blaming you for what happened with Lulu; After all, how could you have known that little glade we picked to make love would turn out to be a skunk’s lair? Anyway, Lulu was a real good sport about it. And she says she’d love to see me again—just as soon as I’m all aired out.”
“Gosh, old stinker, sure was sorry to hear about your latest flub. Next thing you’ll be telling me is you tried to make love to Lulu in a haystack.”
“Dear Herb: That haystack was a lousy idea! I know you mean well, but this is the wrong time of year. It’s the season when they pitch the hay. And the guy pitching the hay while we were pitching woo didn’t see us until it was too late. I caught the pitchfork right in my bare bodkin. Eight stitches! Not that they’d bother me so much if only Lulu would stop laughing!”
“Don: Maybe I remember wrong, but doesn’t Lulu have a nice big bed all her own?”
“Yes.”
"Well —"
“Well?”
“Well, hasn’t it occurred to you that might be a good place to make love to her?”
“Gee, Herb, thanks! Will do!”
“Well?”
“Have done!”
“And? And? And? !”
“Lulu is everything you said she was. I start itching all over again just thinking how great it was. Can’t wait to see her again!”
“Well, Don? Was it as good the second time?”
“Even better! And I’m itching more than ever.”
“So scratch, Don! Scratch!”
“I’m scratching! I’m scratching! But it doesn’t seem to do any good. I just keep itching more and more!”
“Whoa, boy! Don’t go overboard! Don’t overdo!”
“Dear Herb: Your warning came too late. I’ve just come from the doctor’s. It could have been worse, I suppose. He says sulfa drugs should clear the rash up in about six weeks. No more Lulu for me!”
“Sorry, Don. That’s the way the nookie bumbles! Don’t be too sure you’re through with Lulu, though.”
“Herb: Wow! Were you ever right. I’m sure not through with Lulu. Or, rather, she’s not through with me. Seems while she was giving me a dose, I was giving her something, too. Herb, old pal, could you maybe give me the name of a discreet doctor who’ll get the bun out of the oven before it’s too late?”
“Dear Don: Tell Lulu to use the same doc I took her to the last time.”
“Herb: That was no piker you sent her to! Six hundred bucks! Wow! But I had no choice. The only thing is I wouldn’t put it past Lulu to pocket the six hundred and use a darning needle. What do you think?”
“I think you’re absolutely right, Don. I’ll lay odds Lulu was never even ready to puff at all. No bun, no darning needle, no regrets. She and I are off to Bermuda on your six C’s. Thanks a lot, Don. It’s been nice knowing you. Maybe this’ll teach you not to start up with subway pen-pals. So long, sucker! And the same from Lulu!”
The graffiti correspondence broke off there. Penny finished reading it as the subway train pulled into the station. Sighing to herself over the perfidy of human nature, she boarded it and took a seat.
A moment later there was a switchblade knife at her throat!
CHAPTER SIX
“NEW YORK is a Summer Festival!”
That’s what it said on the poster across the aisle from Penny. But her bulging eyes made no sense of it. Her mind was still trying to grasp the fact of the blade at her throat.
Now her eyes bounced around the car like loose pinballs suffering from an overdose of hashish. They caromed from one to another of the sparse scattering of people in the early morning subway car. None of them were as yet aware of Penny’s predicament. Finally her gaze came to rest on the face hovering over the twitching knife.
It was a black face with mushy features. The lips were over-full, the lower one dangling like a piece of brown-smeared blubber. The eyes were crazed, dark, and with very little white around the fringes of their hate-filled pupils. The cheeks were fat and merged with loose jowls. The skin was very shiny, as if coated with sweaty shoe polish. The hand holding the knife also had this shiny, brown, bead-covered look about it.
Penny reached for the hand. Not to struggle. She was too terrified for that. It was an automatic gesture to relieve the pressure of the knife-point at her jugular.
“Don’t y’all try nothing’ now!” He spoke as Penny’s fingertips grazed the back of his hand. His voice was a nasal syrup made in Mississippi.
Hastily, Penny removed her hand. She looked at the brown stains on her fingertips where she had touched him. Her eyebrows shot up questioningly.
“Bet y’all di’nt thank it rubs off, hey? Well, it sho ’nuf do.”