She was called upon to do everything from narrating fashion shows to opening pancake houses or, properly attired in next to nothing, turn the first spade of dirt for a new freeway.
On this day, she was stuck with being auctioneer at a bring-and-buy sale for the benefit of the local animal refuge. Scores of people had brought useful items they no longer needed or wanted. Merchants had contributed everything from TV sets to Tiffany lamps and paperback books. Hundreds, possibly a thousand, prospective buyers crowded) the stage and pawed through the stalls, seeking bargains and looking for a free show.
Sally Sue Bennett gave it to them in the hot sun.
She appeared on stage in a micro mini, flashing her professional smile. To her left walked the huge Airdale dog. On her right, the cheetah. Neither were on leads, and some nervous spectators moved back to what they thought was a safe distance.
"Let's hear it for the animals who're going hungry!" she said exuberantly into the mike. "This is all tax deductible, you understand, so when the basket passes, be generous, please! Hey! Somebody's AWOLooose, as they say in the Army! Come on, dirty bird!"
As Sally Sue spoke she slipped a heavy leather gauntlet onto her left hand and held it high, meanwhile spinning a thick' chunk of meat on a leather thong over her head. Seconds later the red-tailed hawk dropped like a plummet from his orbit overhead, his steel-like talons clutching her wrist while he hungrily consumed the meat with a razor sharp beak.
Smiling, she held the bird aloft to applause, hoping the blood wouldn't show. The hawk never missed, but she'd been careless in fastening the gauntlet and one of his talons had penetrated her wrist. But the show had to go on. And she was stuck with the semi-wild bird, because he wouldn't go to anyone else.
Well, the show did go on. It was on radio and TV too. She would shut her mind to the pain, and if a little blood showed, maybe the people would pay higher prices. People liked to see blood, Sally Sue knew. She fixed the professional smile again.
"You can find thousands and thousands of goodies in the stalls, all donated by friends of the animals, and you can have any or all at a fraction of their worth! Now, ordinarily, we wouldn't show anything like this so early, but here's an old piano that came from a famous house I can't really say home – in Virginia City, Nevada. It dates back to the days of the fabulous Comstock lode, and we've even got the last professor who played it while the cartwheels were dropping and the champagne was popping… haul that bear out of its cave, you guys!"
An ancient upright piano, gilded with silver was pushed on stage. Terry Claff was one of the pushers. Then a man who had to walk with the aid of a blackthorn cane followed, in derby hat, sleeve garters and high shoes. His body seemed to be arthritic until he sat on the stool, and then his fingers danced as, still holding the tightly clutching hawk, Sally Sue Bennett smoothly swung up to sit with dimpled knees crossed on its top. With an undistinguished but husky voice she sang some Gay '90's songs, then switched to "You Made Me What I Am Today".
To thunderous applause, which she honestly thought was for her legs rather than her voice, she bounced to the floor, with traveling mike in one hand and hawk in the other and started the hard sell.
"We have a minimum bid of a thousand dollars on this old pianner, people. That from the owner, who anonymously donated it… and the lucky high bidder will be buying a bit of Western history… now, we can't spend all afternoon at this, because there are so many other goodies, so each offer will have to be in the amount of one hundred dollars or more! Do I hear fifteen hundred? I do. bless you, sir!" said Sally Sue pointing vaguely to the rear of the crowd. "How about two – do I hear two! I DO! Lots of history lovers here, I guess! You, the handsome guy in the second row, did you say twenty-five? No? Would you settle for twenty-four… come on, let's pump it up for the puppy dogs and pussycats… and there've been a lot of pussycats parked on that piano… who's that said three thou? Oh, thank YOU! Now all we need is Howard Hughes… Don't throw beer bottles at the professor – he's playing as fast as he can! You said what… What… thirty-four hundred dollars! Mister, you're trying to buy on the cheap! Do I hear four thousand…"
Finally, to her amazement, the old piano went for nearly six thousand dollars. And then she had to go on with other things, but it was a beautiful start and had people in a bidding mood.
Then as some youngsters were pushing the piano away and Sally Sue had a moment to take a breath while the next items for sale – a collection of watercolors – were being displayed she felt the wetness on her arm. It was red with blood from the talons of the now peaceful hawk.
"I'll take him, Sally Sue."
The dark-haired divorcee looked around to find Terry Claff beside her. He had a leather sheath on his arm and a thick glove.
"He's dangerous," she warned.
"So is bleeding to death," the dark-haired boy said as he extended his arm. With misgivings, Sally Sue eased the big bird from her wrist and onto his. The hawk snapped his beak, but didn't bite and settled down, apparently content. "If you have a cage, I'll put him in it while you see a doctor."
"In the trunk of the MG… you know the one, I think. Lock it, okay?"
"Right on," he said, and went away with the bird.
A doctor at the first aid station whistled softly and then went about repairing the damage the hawk's talons had done. it was not serious, he told Sally Sue, but she should not use her hand for several days. He gave her some shots and she went back to finish the auction. She felt no pain, only euphoria. She knew she'd never be able to do her regular show this night, and was thankful she had several hours of tape in the well. The long-limbed divorcee was near to collapse when finally, with the cheetah and Airdale, she made her way back to the MG, only to find Terry waiting.
Under the influence of the drugs the doctor had given her, Sally Sue seemed to have airplane props spinning in front of her eyes. She tried to get behind the wheel and fell across the seat. Young Terry Claff caught her before her face hit the gear shift and pulled her into the right hand seat. He picked up the keys which had spilled from Sally Sue's hand onto the floor of the car and got it started.
"What…?" she mumbled as the motor roared and the two big animals jumped into the rear compartment. They loved to ride. "I feel funny, Terry."
"Sure… the medic loaded you with dope and then didn't take your car keys. You'd kill yourself. I'll drive you to your pad, Sally Sue."
"Oh, thank you, Terry," she whispered. It was so good to have a nice young boy look after her. "You're nice…"
When they arrived, it wasn't a matter of Sally Sue inviting young Terry in for a sandwich and Coke out of gratitude – the medication, combined with the scorching sun had left her unable to navigate, and the boy had to lift her from the car and steady her while she got her legs to function. Then, his arm tight around her tiny waist, he walked her to her apartment. She swayed and stumbled against him and suddenly his big hand was cupping her breast. In her narcotic euphoria, Sally Sue wanted it to remain there.
Once inside, where the air conditioner was keeping a comfortable temperature – it must have been thirty degrees below the outside reading – Sally Sue's body seemed to come on fire. Yet her mind was bell-clear, racing like it had the one time she experimentally smoked a pipe of hashish. The effect on her brain had been so startling she never touched any form of dope again. She even resisted medication by a doctor, and wouldn't have allowed the medic today to inject her until he firmly told her she faced a good chance of tetanus. And then before she realized what was happening, a succession of needles had been slipped into her arm and one, embarrassingly enough, straight into her curvaceous buttocks, accompanied by a slap to make her relax… or so the medic claimed.