Klutzy Love (9 page)

“Baby, I care for you and miss you and I think I can live with anything your beautiful, impulsive red head can come up with. Hey, I’m a narcotics cop, I can handle anything.”

“Are you absolutely sure? Because, my pet detective business will be up and running soon.”

“We’ll take it one day at a time.”

“Okay.” And then I plummeted into a deep sleep.

***

We spent most of Sunday watching football on Steve’s couch. Kitty called and said she had my apartment cleaned and my slider fixed. That was my biggest fear—to come home to a wrecked, bloody apartment. Steve dropped me off Sunday night and Pete was furious with me, until he got a closer look at my face and bald spot.

“Holy crap, those guys did a number on your face. I’m surprised Steve didn’t go Jackie Chan on them.”

“He wanted to. Are you going to be mad at me if I sleep all day tomorrow with a little help from the Vicodin God? “

“No, but you better make it up to me when you feel better.”

***

I called Ralph on his cell phone early Monday morning. “Ralph, there was an incident at my apartment Saturday night and I’m not up to coming into work today, but I’ll be back in on Tuesday.”

“Okay, since you won’t be coming in, I’m staying home too.”

“Ralph, I was attacked by two scumbags and they beat me up. I’m not taking a vacation day.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t drink and then those things wouldn’t happen to you. I noticed you had bruises the other day too.”

“I got those bruises at a bar, not my apartment, but that’s not the point. You know, it would be a nice gesture if you bought me flowers and had them waiting on my desk when I got back tomorrow.”

“Order something for yourself. That way you’ll get what you want.” He sounded distracted.

“Okay, I have the company credit card and I’ll get right on it. That’ll be one less thing you have to worry your little head about.”

“Corny, I’m busy. I don’t have time to order silly things like flowers. That’s your job anyway. Take care of it!”

“You got it, Boss.” Hmm, what should I order? I loved Dahlia’s…

Steve called to check on me. “Are you going to be all right going back to work tomorrow?”

I lied because I knew that was what he needed to hear. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

“I feel bad, but I’m working on a special project. Can we spend the weekend together? Would you be up for a barbecue at my house this weekend? My buddies have heard a lot about you and your friends and they’re dying to meet you.”

“Yes, that would take my mind off my noggin. I take it you want me to invite Kitty and Brenda?”

“You got it, baby. I’ll call you tomorrow and check up on you.”

I toasted a strawberry Pop Tart for dinner and then popped a Vicodin. It kicked in twenty minutes later. I managed to wash my face and brush my teeth before I tumbled into bed again.

First thing Tuesday morning, three dozen multi-colored dahlias arrived and it was such a wonderful surprise—not!

“Wow, someone must’ve spent a lot of money on those flowers.”

“Langfield Laboratories paid for them and just so you know, Pete, when a person tells you to order your own get-well flowers, they’re not allowed to complain about what you chose or how much you spent.”

“Check. I’ll remember that in case I ever get a girlfriend who gets hurt on a regular basis, like you. Hey, here comes the big dummy now.”

“Welcome back. How was your day off Ralph? Did you do anything fun?”

“I can’t do anything fun because I don’t have any money,” he grumbled as he walked by.

“Geez, the butthead didn’t even mention your bruised face.”

“He’s a jerk, but he’s trying to run the company and needs to concentrate.”

“You’re getting all soft on me, Corny.”

***

When I got home Thursday the phone rang. “I’ve got a great night planned for us. Can you be ready in twenty minutes?” Steve was a spontaneous kind of guy.

“Absolutely!”

He knocked on my door right on time. My heart did a flip-flop and my nipples turned to hard peaks. Could this be a heavy case of lust, or much more? He was outfitted in black leather from head to toe— talk about sexy. I leaned into him to get a whiff of his neck and there it was—his signature pinecone scent. The clouds parted and the sun shone.

“If you keep breathing on my neck like that, we’ll never get to dinner. And then I won’t have the strength to show you how much I missed you, baby.”

“Let’s go. The large bulge in your leather pants is making me drool.”

Dinner was incredible, but I knew once we got back to Steve’s house, we’d have a serious talk about my new profession.

***

He didn’t wait long. “Corny, I missed your humor and I can live with your shenanigans,
if
you promise to be careful and take another self-defense course.”

“Oh, is that all? I planned on doing that anyway. Could you recommend another one?”

“I have another place, which would be perfect for you. Come here, I’ll show you a move that you’ve never seen before.”

And boy did he! Three orgasms later, I fell asleep draped over Steve’s sweat-soaked body.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I’d planned to stay the whole weekend at Steve’s. Pete was tucked safely in Steve’s spare bedroom. Early Saturday Steve and I shopped for the barbecue that night. His friends wanted to meet the girl who was in a constant state of black and blue. We bought lots of beer, hot dogs, chicken, and steaks.

The sun was out for once and it felt good to help Steve with the barbecue. At 3:00 p.m. I heard a car door slam. I took a quick peek out the kitchen window to see who had arrived and was pleased to see Brenda and John. What if his name was John Smith and not an alias? That would be funny. Steve knew Brenda planned to bring the goon, he wasn’t happy about it.

I had no idea if Kitty would come or if she had a date. She had never been clothed mouthed about her sexual exploits before; maybe her new guy was special. Brenda hadn’t been able get any information out of her either.

Kitty was always on-time; when it started to look like she’d be late, I called her. After six rings she answered, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner, but I’m not feeling well. I’m going to stay home and rest.”

Damn, she did sound funny but I wasn’t sure it was a sick kind of funny. More like a post-orgasm kind of funny. I’d have to rely on Brenda and John to entertain me tonight.

Steve invited a bunch of his friends from work and their significant others. After all the guests had drinks and food in their hands it was time for a heart-to-heart with Brenda. She always spilled her guts after a couple of margaritas.

I found Brenda at the buffet table as she grabbed a carrot stick and munched on it angrily. She must want to get laid tonight and hadn’t wanted the stomach pooch that steak gave her. The sacrifices women have to make—forgo meat—to get
male meat
.

To distract Brenda from more orange-colored food I asked for her help. “Hey Brenda, do you want to help me make margaritas?”

“Heck yeah!” She answered with enthusiasm.

“Hey, where’s John?”

“Some guys, I didn’t recognize wanted to show him something on the other side of the house. It seemed kinda hokey, but he went.”

Geez, Brenda had no clue about the strange undercurrents that swirled around John Smith. I could see Steve at the barbecue; he wasn’t involved in the
something
on the other side of the house.

I poured Brenda a straight shot of Tarantula and she downed it in two seconds flat. “How are things going with John?”

“Well, it’s strange. John has erratic working hours and he’s left during inappropriate times, like right before I’m about to blast off. And yes, I mean
orgasm
. But, that only happened a couple of times. All the other times he finished me off before he left. I thought he might be married and I confronted him one night after a double orgasm—mine, not his. He told me he wasn’t married and I dropped it. I was relieved and didn’t want to ask anything else in case I learned something I didn’t want to know. I’m a coward, aren’t I?”

My eyes must have bugged out of my head because Brenda quickly added, “I know. I probably should dump him. But the wild monkey sex is great and I can’t bring myself to do it.”

After her confession, Brenda decided to get seriously drunk. I grabbed a plastic cup with a lid and filled it with tequila. I wouldn’t want Brenda to waste any of it if she fell off her bar stool. I stayed with diet coke and Brenda took delicate little sips out of her cup. While we waited for John to return, I fed Brenda a couple loaded hot dogs to absorb the alcohol she drank.

“Corny, I have to tell you a secret. John thinks that I’m a vegetarian. He eats healthy and on our first date I ordered a salad and he seemed pleased. Every date after that I ordered the same thing. Now I’m stuck eating healthy crap all the time. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night and sneak bites of pulled pork, which I hid in the back of the refrigerator. I’m awful, aren’t I?”

“You love meat more than I do. You need to come clean with him. If he cares for you, it shouldn’t matter what you eat.” John chose that moment to enter the kitchen. Brenda had a hot dog in her right hand and plastic cup in the other.

He planted a big juicy kiss on Brenda’s drunken, pork-laden lips. She’d tried to stand up and all of a sudden her eyes crossed and then uncrossed

I tried to distract him from Brenda. “Hi John, how’s it going? Did you get a nice tour of the side of Steve’s house?”

He laughed at me. “Why don’t I take care of Brenda and you can ask Steve about the tour.”

Brenda looked worried. “John, that hot dog isn’t mine. I was holding it for Corny.”

John handed the cup and hotdog to me and said, “Okay honey. Why don’t we go home? I think we need to have a talk.”

“As long as you don’t break up with me. Okay?”

“I’m not, baby.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, come on.”

I left the kitchen and didn’t hear a crash. John must have held Brenda up. And that wasn’t a small feat. Once outside, I made a beeline for Steve who stood guard over the grill. I stomped over to him, with Brenda’s cup and wiener in my hands. I’m sure he wondered about both, but I wanted answers now. “What did your buddies do to the goon?” Steve laughed and I slapped my forehead for calling him that. “I mean, what did your friends do to Brenda’s boyfriend John?”

Steve shook his head and firmly stated, “I can’t talk about it.”

This called for a change in tactics. I ran back into the house and scrounged around in my purse for my red
fuck-me
lipstick. I pulled off my g-string panties and slid them into the front pocket of my shorts.

I walked out and waited until he noticed me and then exaggerated the sway of my hips. I slid up behind Steve and rubbed my boobs slowly from side to side across his back, while I fondled his ass. After he was sufficiently turned on, I whispered, “Reach into the front pocket of my shorts. I have a present for you in there.” Steve dropped his meat fork and spun me around. His hand was in my pocket in a split second— he almost pulled my shorts off. I could tell the moment he figured out what he’d found. Steve slid the silky material out of my pocket and into
his
pocket in the blink of an eye.

“Thanks Babe, but I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I need to know what’s going on with John because Brenda cares for him and if he’s a creep, she needs to know before he breaks her heart.”

I could tell he thought hard about it and made an important relationship decision. “If you can wait until everyone leaves, I’ll tell you what I know. But keep in mind, it isn’t a lot, okay?”

I kissed him with lots of tongue. “Okay, and that’s a preview for later.”

Wow, it was a great party. There was a big bruiser of a guy, two hundred and fifty pounds easy, who lay down in the backyard and never got back up again. When it started to get dark and he hadn’t moved, I checked his pulse and found it strong. I got a blanket and covered him. There was no way I move him and he looked kind of comfortable. Steve said the guy did it a lot and not to worry.

Ewww, I had a thought. What if he was covered in a trail of slug-goo in the morning? He drank large amounts of beer all night and slugs were drawn to beer. They’d lick him, dry up, die and keep him warm like a warm blanket. Cool.

It was pretty late when the last guest passed out or left. We decided to hold off on our talk about John until morning. We seemed to have a lot of those
talks
and besides we still had to clean up before we got to bed.

Barbecue sauce could be a real bugger to clean if you let it dry and it was everywhere. The bathroom was a sticky disaster and I found the strangest thing when I went to pee. There was a single hand print; made with barbecue sauce, on the wall behind the toilet. I used my detective skills and determined that a guy must have been too drunk to stand on his own to pee. He braced himself on the wall with his right hand, and held his cock in the left.

I took a picture before I cleaned the print off the wall. Steve could put the picture in the police department’s quarterly newsletter, along with my article.

Sergeant Steve Spears threw a fantastic barbecue last weekend and many of you attended. The Sergeant found a strange hand print on the wall behind the toilet. He believes it was made with Sweet Baby Rays barbecue sauce. This scene depicts sloppy drunken behavior. It’s okay to manhandle your cock with sticky barbecue sauce, but not the wall of your friend’s home. If you recognize your big mitt
in this picture, please apologize and wash your hands next time
—
before and after.

Like always, this was funny to me, but the department probably wouldn’t print my story. Steve would laugh and that was all that mattered. Snuggled up to Steve, I listened to his heart- beat and knew I had a great life. He dropped me and Pete off at my apartment late Sunday night and I missed him as soon as he was gone.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Steve was busy with cop stuff all week, so I cooked for myself. I stood in front of my stove and ate scalding-hot Spaghetti O’s, out of the pan. I didn’t like them in a bowl; they had to be eaten out of a hot sauce pan.

When the phone rang, I couldn’t have been more surprised to hear from Mr. Kettle, my seventh grade teacher and my parent’s next-door neighbor. After all the ‘hello’s and ‘how are you’s’ were over, he got down to why he had called. “Corny, are you still real good with animals?”

“Yes, I’m opening a pet detective business in a couple months.” He knew about my pet psychic skills because one day in middle school I brought in Fred for Show and Tell. I wrote in my report how I had rescued Fred from my neighbor. I’m not sure if Mr. Kettle believed me at first, but the class laughed and I got an ‘A’ on my report. After class he asked me, “Can you truly communicate with animals?”

“Yes, but my family doesn’t like me to talk about it—they think it’s a curse.”

“Corny, can you stop by and talk to ‘Legs’, my Schnauzer? I want to make sure he’s happy with me.”

I did and my conversation with his dog was hilarious. Legs told me,
“I love my owner’s cigar smoke and I want a cigar of my own.”