Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [103]
“That is a lie!” Mindie screeched.
“You play the prude, but inside—you’re a hornier slut than me, sister.”
“I am nothing of the kind!”
“You popped that bra pretty easy back on the freeway there. Right in front of the reverend too.”
“I was proving a point!”
“That you’re a slut.”
“That I’m better than you.”
“We’re exactly the same.”
“I am nothing like you.”
“Okay, you’re right. I’m honest about what I am. But I know a user when I see one, bitch. You feel a little neglected, or a might peckish…”
“I was starving!”
“…and the clothes just flyyyy off.”
“Corky!” Mindie yelled, apparently feeling lonely in hell. “Get us out of here!”
“I told you…” I began.
“We can leave her here.”
“What?”
“Morgan, too. Maybe there’s a way to get out, if it’s just the two of us. And the reverend.” She paused, glancing at him. He was lost in his good book. Clearly it was a real page-turner. He couldn’t wait to see how it came out. “Maybe the reverend.”
“There’s no way,” I said.
“THERE HAS TO BE!” Mindie squealed. She moved over to me and actually touched me with some exposed boob-flesh. Little Corky perked up. God, I was easy.
Mindie, of course, noticed and waved at it like it gave off an odor.
“Stop doing that!”
“It’s not intentional!”
“It’s this place! We have to get out of here!”
“How?”
“I don’t knooooow!” she whined, her face scrunched up like wet laundry. Suddenly it softened and lit up as an idea struck. “Bicycles!”
“What?”
“Bicycles! That tramp in the restaurant said there was a bicycle shop!”
Hearing Ms. Nuckeby called a tramp set something off in me.
“You’re on your own,” I told Mindie.
“What?”
“Buy a bike and go. Have a safe trip.”
“But you have to come with me.”
“Why?”
“We have to get to the chapel!”
“The chapel? Whatever else happens, we definitely won’t make it to the chapel.”
“But we were supposed to get married!”
I stared at her, amazed. “Who says?” I asked flatly.
Mindie snarled. “I made plans!”
“Plans you never discussed with me.” I snarled back, showing a surprising amount of backbone. Someone must have slipped me some when I wasn’t looking.
Mindie was devastated. She scratched an armpit, and I thought she might cry. I was convinced her apparent emotion wasn’t real—I’d never seen her cry, nor heard of anyone who had—but it softened me, nonetheless.
“Listen,” I said. “Let’s just all calm down, all right? What I’ll do is get you a room at the hotel.” I looked around at everyone. “All of you. Nudist hotel or not, I’m sure you can each have a private room where you can relax and be clothed—get away from each other and all these naked people—at least until Aunt Helena arrives.”
That seemed to perk everyone up. The pastor even stopped reading and looked at me, puppy-dog-like, a tiny, hopeful smile dancing across his lips.
“Think about it, Mindie,” I continued. “You can take a nice, hot bath, and get that itchy, muddy ditch water off you, order some food. Pastor—you can sit in—I don’t know—silent contemplation or something, while the rest of you just unwind over room service. And while you do, I’ll make some calls and get this thing sorted out.”
Everyone looked at me with tiny smiles and calm relief.
“That sounds reasonable,” Mindie said, clearly wondering how I’d managed it. I suppose she was complimenting me, as best as she could. It didn’t seem to cause her any pain, but inside I’m certain blood vessels were rupturing left and right.
“I want a bath too,” Ms. Waboombas said as if she were expecting company. My company.
“We could order room service,” Morgan realized, as though I hadn’t just said that. He was still lying across Ms. Waboombas, who suddenly remembered he was there and shoved him off onto the floor of the Duesenberg with a thud.
“Ow!”
“I am still hungry,” Mindie said pathetically.
“Great,” I said. “Then we’re all agreed.”
Everyone seemed pleased with a definitive plan of action, a potential bath, and the growing realization that we could be in a room where we wouldn’t have to look at anyone—naked or otherwise.
We gathered what few