Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [61]
“Really?” Helena said, moving the hammer behind her back. “How odd. I wonder who would do something like that?”
“Teenagers,” I said, irritated, and nodded knowingly. I knew how they operated. I had been one once. On some mental levels, I still was.
“Well, just be glad they didn’t do any more significant damage,” I said, standing and putting my hands on my hips with confidence while looking sternly proud. I was now about to repeat something which I had heard Uncle Pjuter mumble a few times in that strange, regionless dialect of his that was actually going to prove useful and appropriate in this situation. There was something invigorating about using other people’s knowledge as if it were one’s own. “Parts are going to be difficult to find ahs eet ees. Thees wan may haf to be punded out and re-krahmed,” I said, unaware that I had done more than repeat the information, but had actually slipped into speaking ‘Pjuter-ese’.
Aunt Helena looked at me oddly. “Re-what?”
I shook my head to free it of any, and all, strange accents— especially ones that might be perceived as making fun of her husband.
“Pounded out and rechromed,” I said. “Did you say you wanted me to take it in? Why me? Why not you or Pjuter?”
“I have a…uh…thing…today with Pjuter in fact. So he has to be there and can’t do this. And neither can I. We’re doing something…that really needs to be done—today. While the car, also, really has to be repaired—today—as well. Because…” she hesitated and looked off into space, as if searching for the right words, or flying insects. “The repair place is only open…uh…once a…uh…month,” she said, not sounding at all sure.
“Once a month?”
“Ooooh, you know these specialty repair shops. They make so much money they only work one day a month and spend the rest of their time rolling around in Carnauba.”
“Aruba?”
“Or there. Anyway, it’s on the way to the chapel you’re visiting with Mindie—you’re still going with Mindie, right? You haven’t come to your sens…I mean…changed your plans or anything?”
I had no idea. I was waiting for someone to tell me. I’d have to check with the others. Ms. Waboombas, and Mindie, in particular.
I looked over at the lengthy stripper, who was lying on her back in the rear seat of the Duesy. I opened my mouth to ask her opinion, then closed it just as quickly when I realized she was putting her legs up, resting them on the doorframe and slowly spreading them eagle. She seemed to be trying to determine whether she could comfortably—and with what number of men simultaneously—have sex in the back seat.
As Aunt Helena and I watched her, she wrapped her arms around the empty space in front of her as if to rub the back and derriere of some imaginary—but undoubtedly physically attractive, and exceedingly well endowed—man. As we stared in awe, she began to slowly roll her hips, as if reacting to her invisible partner’s amorous, thrusting motions. Getting into it, she leaned back and pretended to moan and writhe with pleasure. After a bit of this, she stopped the fake moaning and looked to one side, reaching out to cup what I supposed were the imaginary testicles of a second individual. As she continued to be rounded seriously by her ‘not-there’ lover, she took the cupped object into her mouth, then reached over with the other hand to pull vigorously on something that belonged— presumably—to a third lucky gentleman.
I felt little Corky spring back to life, then turned away toward Aunt Helena and began to run feverishly through 1974 baseball stats. Aunt Helena had no such luck dragging her attention away from the lively motions of Ms. Waboombas, but didn’t seem at all disturbed— only fascinated—by what the leggy stripper was acting out in the back of her elegant, rare, and very expensive automobile.
“What is she doing?” Helena asked me quietly.
“Joe Rudi led the league in total bases with 287, and doubles with 39, Billy North with 54 steals…”
Suddenly Helena looked at