Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (40 page)

Possibly because I held out some distant hope of being able to see Wisper again, but more likely for reasons centered more around some form of passive-aggression, I said nothing about the keys.

Consequently, we only had the things from the back seat to bring with us: the pastor’s briefcase, the cooler full of snacks, and Mindie’s purse. Once in hand, we moved our way across the hot asphalt parking lot and toward the main entrance of the hotel.

Before long, I had to hop from tuft of grass, to brick, to anything even resembling shade, since I was still barefoot and because the ground couldn’t have been any hotter if it had open flame under it. After several minutes of bounding, ‘ooching’, and ‘ouching’, I finally just gave up and ran ahead of the others, past the concierge, under the awning, and into the air-conditioned lobby of the rustic little lodge. I stood in the cozy foyer and breathed a silent thank you to the god of cool for providing soothing, hardwood floors.

After a moment of relief, I shook my head at the insanity of recent events. This had been quite a wearing day, and it was barely half over.

As the others staggered out of the growing afternoon heat to join me, I shuffled up to the counter, where waited a spunky, blonde, female clerk—naked as the day she was born—smiling cheerily as she asked for our reservation numbers. She had a nametag stuck to her chest just above one of her smallish breasts—don’t ask me how—that read: ‘SOPHIE’. She had two. Breasts that is. And every time she spoke, she bounced a bit on her heels, which made them jiggle delightfully. Little Corky thought seriously about springing to life, throbbed a moment, painfully, then reluctantly gave up and went back to sleep.

“We don’t have reservations,” I said. “Do you have anything available?”

“We do!” Bounce! “You’re in luck!” Bounce! The clerk was as enthusiastic as if we had just struck gold in a diamond mine full of million-dollar bills. “We have two rooms left!” Bounce! “Fortunately for you, since it’s the
busy
season!” Bounce, bounce!

I looked around at an empty lobby that contained only one, naked, bellman sleeping in a corner. If this was the busy season, I couldn’t imagine what the
slow
season must be like.

“Do you have smoking rooms?” Ms. Waboombas asked.

“Only
non
smoking, I’m afraid!” Bounce! She said it as if there couldn’t be anything better, even for smokers! “But there are designated smoking sections in several small buildings along the beach—all within
easy biking distance!”
Bounce!

Ms. Waboombas looked as if she wanted to strangle the poor woman—something that would undoubtedly thrill them both—but instead the stripper simply grinned an irritated smile and retreated.

“Is everyone okay with sharing rooms?” I asked.

There were general moans that told me ‘no’, but they’d do it anyway.

“We’ll take both rooms,” I said, handing over a credit card. “And we have a of couple bags here as well.”

“All right, Mister Wopple-see-down…”

“Wopplesdown. Whoop-uls-dun. Cock-ran Whoop-uls-dun.”

“Really? I’m so sorry. But…it
is
spelled Cor-CAR-an Wopple-see
DOWN
.”

“Strange, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She bit a lip and looked devastated. “Terribly sorry, Mister Wopple-less-duhn.”

I sighed. “Not at all.”

She made an interesting face, then shrugged and smiled, and slid the card through her machine, punched some buttons, and waited. After a moment, everything seemed fine, no matter how my name was pronounced. She bounced delightedly, then slammed a bell on the desk so hard it rang like Westminster Abbey in my ear. The naked bellhop awoke slowly, and looked around, bleary-eyed. He adjusted his hat (how did you
think
I knew he was a bellhop?), stood and walked towards us.

One couldn’t help but notice that the elderly gentleman would have given Woodruff some heated competition in the testicular Olympics. His enormous family jewels hung so low, they bounced around between his shins like a pendulum as he walked. It was like watching a human grandfather clock hobble our way. Here was a man who clearly needed pants for his protection, and the protection of those around him. Imagine if he had to run! Nudity could be a hazard for anyone within striking distance.

“What car are you driving?” the perky clerk asked, bouncily.

“A Duesenberg. Old-style car. But we had to leave it at…er…Nuckeby’s.”

“Well, let me give you a parking pass anyway!” she said, handing it over as if I were Augustus Gloop and it allowed me entrance to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate factory and all the wonders contained therein.

I handed the old man what little of our luggage we actually had, and he tottered off to grab one of those luggage rolley-things, his legs spread wide to avoid tripping himself. The clerk handed me our room key-cards, a receipt, an
actual
key to the minibar, and a questionnaire to be filled out upon our departure. I looked at the first question.

With
pants
.

The rooms were beautiful. Tastefully decorated with a fireplace in each, immense beds, comfortable seating, lots of space, and balconies overlooking the ocean. I stepped over and absorbed the view, along with a cool, ocean breeze. It was impressive, deeply relaxing, and really quite lovely.

“What a dump,” Mindie said.

I turned and glared at her.

“What?” she asked. “Think of all the naked people who have

been in here before us.”

“People are
always
naked in hotel rooms. At least occasionally.” The thought seemed to horrify her, and she looked around with

newfound revulsion at the room, the bathroom, the amenities, and the tub—which could be opened to the main room by swinging aside louvered shutters—the chairs, the beds…

I looked at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted horns. She sneered her way through the little apartment, lifting her shirt as she did so she could scratch her stomach like some hillbilly farmer. I wondered—not for the first time that day—if marrying Mindie was really preferable to being single. Ms. Nuckeby might be an impossibility for me, but was Mindie really a necessary part of my future? With her, or alone— either way, the foundation of my sex life would largely be masturbation. Did she really bring anything else to the relationship table?

Suddenly she turned to me with unexpected kindness in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to complain.”

Smiling slightly, she took my hand and squeezed it for a brief

instant, then let go. I softened a bit, and realized everyone needed contact of some kind, even if it was only cold, distant Mindie. It really did beat the hell out of being alone. At least lots of people had told me it did. Usually people who were alone and desperate.

“It’s not
your
fault this place is disgusting,” she said, artfully killing the moment.

“There’s a con-ti-nen-tal breakfast every mornin’ at ten,” the bellman said, startling me, and reminding me he was still there, swinging wild and free. He moved over toward the minibar—which Mindie happened to be standing next to —his immense testicles bobbling. Mindie dove out of his way as if he were on fire. He took hold of the minibar’s handle and opened its genuine, oak-veneer door. There were cokes and cookies, and various other allegedly edible items inside. I noticed a bag of mixed nuts, and felt as though it described the situation perfectly. Mister Peanut was even dressed much like Ms. Nuckeby had been—hat, bowtie, and shoes. Fortunately, peanuts were apparently sexless. Or perhaps
un
fortunately if you were
Mrs
. Peanut.

“Minibar,” the bellman said, quite unnecessarily. He said ‘bah’ instead of ‘bar’ with some sort of New England accent. I supposed naked people came from all over. “Take ennything, and it chah-ges yo room au-to-matic-ally, even if yo-ah just lookin’ ‘round in there.” ‘There’ was pronounced, ‘they-uh’. “So don’t take items out to refrigerate things of yo own, figurin’ you can just put it back, unless you want to pay for owah stuff ennyway.”

He moved toward the desk, and Mindie—who was again everywhere he wanted to be—had to leap aside to avoid touching any of the air molecules that might have come in contact with his wellhung nakedness.

“Compu-tah hook-up,” he said, pointing to it. “Fo the Inta-net.” He smiled and revealed crooked teeth in his cauliflower face. “In case you want to download pick-chas of nekkid people,” he said, and laughed—or kind of barked actually, then fell into a coughing fit, which did startling things to his clock pendulum.

After a moment’s hacking, he slowly recovered, leaning on the desk, red-faced and taking several wheezing, deep breaths. When next he spoke, his voice had gone faint and high-pitched, and sentences were clearly difficult to complete.

“Over
he
-ah…” he wheezed, “we hahve…” wheeze, “…we hahve…yo-ah telephone…” his voice faded, his face reddened, and I feared he might collapse, which meant I would have to perform mouth-to-mouth in order to save him, and the poor man would die.

Fortunately for all concerned, his face color quickly returned to normal, he recovered, smiled crookedly, and continued moving around the room, pendulating slowly, showing off the other amenities—thermostat, extra blankets, map to the fire escape, his saggy ass—and each time Mindie was directly in his path, which forced her to leap around the room like a thick-legged frog escaping a French chef—bounding over chairs, up on the desk, rolling over the bed. Eventually she settled behind me, using my body as some kind of antiballistic, naked-man defense system.

At last the bellman finished his tour of the room, I tipped him, and with a nod and a grin, he turned and wobbled out. Once he had closed the door behind him, Mindie let out the breath she’d been holding since we’d entered and walked into the bathroom to run water.

I sat down and grabbed a phone, as somewhere behind me curtains were drawn, faucets cranked, and water splashed. I began to dial, and Mindie stuck her head through the bathroom doorway.

“You’re not
staying
in here, are you?” she asked, rather pointedly.

“I was going to call…”

“You can do that later. I want some privacy.”

“But…I’ll be out
here
.”

“I’m not going to be naked in the same hotel room with you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“You were just naked with me in a
restaurant
.”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“Yes you…”

“That story never leaves this town, you understand?”

I goggled, silently for a moment, then sighed heavily and nodded toward the bathroom door. “Fine. Whatever. Just close the…”

“Is that going to prevent you from
imagining
me in here naked?”

I sat there, moon-faced, wondering what was going to
start
me imagining her naked. She took my silence for something else.

“No,” she said significantly. “I didn’t think so. Now that you’ve seen them, the temptation is simply going to be too much for you. You go find something to do. Maybe order the roll away.”