Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [27]
“You think that was him?” Ms. Nuckeby asked.
“He has been known to sigh, madam,” Woodruff offered.
“Then where is he? Is he avoiding me?”
“Avoiding you, madam? You’re an attractive woman. I can’t imagine him doing such a thing,” he said with almost undetectable sarcasm. “Unless… ”
I gasped. He wouldn’t!
“Unless, what?”
“Well,” Woodruff said, pausing for emphasis. “There are rumors.”
He would! I wanted to kick him through the door. There are no rumors! There’s a few minutes of video, and I was clearly in an altered state of mind!
“Oh, the gay thing? Yeah, but I’m pretty sure that’s not true. This afternoon he…” she giggled.
She giggled?
“Madam?” Woodruff asked.
“Nothing. Then if he’s not avoiding me, where is he?”
“I’m sure I do not know, madam.”
“Well, he may have other reasons for not wanting to see me.”
No! NO! I wanted to see you, but just not naked. At least not me naked. Or, rather: not me being naked alone. I mean, not with other people, but with…
Lord. I can’t even talk to myself.
Then, finally realizing I was in a closet, I began searching feverishly for an article of clothing. After several seconds of silent, mad groping in the near-total darkness, all I could feel were a vacuum cleaner, a flashlight, a box of old Christmas paper, and ornaments, a power drill, a fireplace lighter, and some cans of spray paint. I considered my options a moment, and then decided these were really the wrong ingredients for me to be improvising with.
“He likes comics,” Ms. Nuckeby said, sounding pleased, apparently admiring my collection lining the foyer walls.
“He does,” Woodruff replied with disdain.
“My little brother likes comics,” Ms. Nuckeby went on, sounding almost nostalgic. Happy even. “I have a lot of fond memories tied to comics around the house.”
A woman who thought of comics fondly. I flushed and felt excitement swell inside me as something else swelled outside me.
Then—dear, God—the doorbell rang.
Ms. Nuckeby: “Who could that be?”
Woodruff: “I’m sure I don’t know.”
I sighed again, and horrified at my lack of self-restraint, quickly shoved my fist into my mouth. It nearly fit.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” I heard Ms. Nuckeby say.
“Why not?” Woodruff asked, trying to sound as if he cared.
“It would take too long to explain. Is there somewhere I can hide?”
It was at this instant that I finally saw life for the great, cosmic, professional wrestling match it so obviously was. I, literally looked skyward toward the great god ‘Fockyoo’ as he positioned his darkling game pieces with malevolent mirth and sadistic glee cursing his very name.
Really, really quietly.
“Fockyoo, you sunnuvabitch!”
For just then, Ms. Nuckeby—looking for a place to hide, as I knew she must—turned the knob and opened the door to the very closet that I had, until that moment, been so safely ensconced within.
And I was still naked.
Oh, and you just know Grandfather is the one ringing the doorbell, don’t you?
“Mister Wopplesdown!”
“Ms. Nuckeby!” I said, faux-smiling and covering as much of myself as two hands, arms, and legs can; which is surprisingly little under the circumstances. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Mister Wopplesdown,” Woodruff offered, standing beside her, ever the helpful one. “Someone is at the front door, sir.”
“Yes. I heard. Could you close this one, please?”
“Should I answer it, sir?” Woodruff was always hoping I might say no on the off chance that he could continue sleep-standing. This time I considered it. But then I realized that my car was out front, and anyone who knew me understood that Woodruff never went anywhere.
“Only after you’ve closed this one,” I said.
Woodruff looked at me for a long moment. Then, exasperated, he moved off to greet whatever new person was certain to add tension and suffering to his life and mine.
“And tell them I’m not here!” I whisper-yelled.
Woodruff moaned something