Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [30]
“I’m never coming out of this closet,” I said.
“Oh,” Ms. Nuckeby said, withdrawing her hand. “So, it’s true.”
“What? Oh, no!” I said, almost too loudly. “I meant literally ‘this closet’. That’s my grandfather just arrived. He’s the problem I have.”
“Oh,” she said again, her voice dropping to a safer whisper. She stifled a laugh. “I guess I don’t blame you. He seems a bit…difficult.”
“Word problems are difficult, Ms. Nuckeby. Grandfather is an uphill mountain mud-run dressed in cement.”
I could hear him moving around in the foyer, shoes clapping in circles as he undoubtedly tossed coat, gloves, hairpiece, and whatever else to poor Woodruff, who like as not wanted to toss them right back.
“Mister Wopplesdown is not in, sir.”
“Bullshit! His car’s right out front.”
“Mister Wopplesdown is…” Woodruff stalled. “…In another part of the building, sir.”
“Well, get him. I need to talk to him before the others get here.”
The others? What OTHERS?
“The others, sir?” Woodruff asked. Clearly almost as agitated as I, though for entirely different reasons I’m sure.
“Yes. The family’s coming over with a few guests. We have a solution to this Corky problem.”
Corky problem? Ms. Nuckeby gasped. Did they know she was here? The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Turned white. And fell out.
“Would you care to adjourn to the study, sir? I’ll endeavor to find Mister Wopplesdown, and direct him to you.”
“Good. And bring me one of those big tumblers from the kitchen. I hate those tiny glasses he keeps in his liquor cabinet.”
“Of course, sir.”
“If he spent half the money on glasses that he does on these damn funnybooks, he might have some grownup friends instead of retards like that Wiggen boy.”
“Yes, sir,” Woodruff agreed, a bit too cheerily.
The nervous clicking feet moved away and there was a momentary silence. Then Woodruff opened the closet and began hanging Grandfather’s coat between Ms. Nuckeby and myself—rather metaphorically.
“Your grandfather is here, sir. He…”
“I heard! Get me some clothes, Woodruff.”
“Very good, sir. What should I select from your rather expansive wardrobe? Would you prefer the cotton pullover, and tan slacks, or are you feeling more in the mood for the other cotton pullover and tan slacks?”
“Ha! Aren’t you the charmer this evening! Bring me anything, Chuzzlewit! Just get them now, please.”
“Very good, sir.” Having hung the coat, he closed the door on myself and my delightful houseguest.
For a long time Ms. Nuckeby and I stood in silence, and I didn’t hear anything from the outer rooms. Then, after a seeming eternity:
THUMP
Pause.
THUMP
“Oh, dear God. I’ll die of old age waiting for him.”
“At least I’ll be right beside you, taking care of you in your twilight years,” Ms. Nuckeby said in that smiling-voiced way of hers. I warmed and calmed all at once.
“You know, you could likely escape, now,” I said, not wanting her to. “Before someone else arrives.”
THUMP
“Probably a good idea,” she said. “Why don’t you take that coat and run upstairs? We’ll make a break for it together.”
“I’m better off waiting. If Grandfather catches me with my bare bits rubbing against the inside of his good coat, he’ll feed me to starving Pomeranians.”
THUMP
“He owns Pomeranians?”
“He’d buy some, starve them, then slather me in bacon grease and toss me all into a very small cage.”
“Kinky,” she said. Then sounding genuinely sad, “Well. I suppose this is where we say goodbye.”
My heart sank. I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted to kiss her. Parts of me wanted to do a lot more than that.
Bloop.
“I…eh…suppose so,” I said, not kissing her.
She waited. Did she want me to kiss her?
THUMP
“Okay,” she said, still waiting. “Well. I guess I’ll go now.”
She reached for the knob. The one on the door, unfortunately.
“So, do you suppose…em…” She paused.
“Yes?” I asked.
“I don’t know, I…” She couldn’t bring herself to ask whatever was on her mind.
THUMP
Damn the bloody lines. “Ms. Nuckeby. Would you like to go out with me sometime?”
Not the most romantic way of