Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [131]
“Because she knows he’ll bid up the price, and she’s willing to suffer because she believes in the charity.”
“What’s the charity?”
“Dickens Home for Abandoned Children.”
“Ah. Sounds like a worthy cause. Very generous of her.”
“It is. She’s a wonderful girl, and I don’t want to see her suffer.”
“I understand,” I said, honestly. “I’m sorry.”
She smiled at me and patted my hand again. “Oh, it’s all right. I’m just being a nervous mother. It’s not like it’ll kill her. And anyway, I should probably feel more sorry for Washburne. She’ll make him suffer in the end. I told you, she’s headstrong.”
“Well, good for her.”
She looked at me, surprised. “Not many men like a strong-willed woman.”
“Their loss.”
“Well, aren’t you the rarity. That’ll be forty-seven fifty.”
I signed the receipt she laid before me, and she studied me rather intently. I added a small tip, and she gasped, delighted.
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“Nice people need to be rewarded,” I said. “That’s a rarity too.”
“Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing. Thank you.”
As she bagged up the goods, she continued to eye me, carefully. Perhaps the tip had been a mistake, and she had taken it as a flirt of some kind. I was so bad at this interpersonal, human-to-human communications stuff. She finished stuffing and handed me my things.
“You like girls?” she asked, clearly referencing the magazines.
“Um…those are his,” I said, annoyed. Then, startled, I threw in: “But I do like girls!” Realizing the tone of my first answer might be taken completely the wrong way.
“Oh, well that’s good. You in town for business?”
“No. Um…pleasure, of a sort.”
Morgan snorted. I pretended not to hear.
“But…” she said, seemingly struggling to get to something, “…you’re a businessman or something? I mean—you have that cleancut look about you, like you must have a job, right?”
“Um, yes. I have a job.”
“He’s rich,” Morgan said, once again proving how utterly useless he could be in almost any situation.
“Not that rich,” I said.
“Then you should go to the auction!” Sandy chimed. “I think you’ll get a kick out of it, and there really are an awful lot of pretty girls there.” She eyed me with purpose. “My daughter, for instance.”
Ah! So it wasn’t her she wanted me for, but Sophie. I glanced out through the glass wall toward the reception desk, where the child in question was bouncily helping other customers, and probably telling them aliens lived in her head.
“Well, you see, I really…”
“She’s awfully pretty,” Sandy pressed, overstressing the ‘awfully’ part, and not catching the linguistic contradiction, “and if you buy her, she has to stay with you the whole weekend. Those are the rules. Follow you wherever you go—the street-fair, the carnival, the fireworks. She could even show you around if you want. We have some very beautiful scenery here in Nikkid Bottoms. The Big Giant Heads. The Singing Caves. The Indian Village. The Druid Altars. The Hanging Gardens of Freilichtpark. Very unique. Very romantic.”
I could already imagine what was hanging in those Hanging Gardens, and the thought wasn’t terribly romantic to me.
“I’ve seen some of it. And it is quite lovely, but…”
“Of course, tonight’s just a kind of a ‘get-to-know-you’ thing, so you don’t have to be naked, if that makes you uncomfortable.” She glanced at my ruined pants. “But by tomorrow, sunrise, nudity will be required everywhere in town. Would that bother you?”
Around her, and alien Sophie? Yes.
“Thanks,” I said. “You’re very sweet. But it’s really a moot point. We’ll be leaving—even before tonight, I’m afraid.”
“Oh,” she said, seeming genuinely disappointed. “Well. It’s our loss, isn’t it?” She handed me my freshly bagged smut. “And I suppose Washburne’s gain. I hope you at least enjoyed your stay.”
Morgan snorted again. I glared at him. Having the true size of his penis on display had made him unforgivably rude. I turned back to Sandy and smiled.
“I did enjoy my stay,” I told her. “Truly. Thank you.”
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