Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [93]
Taking the hint, I moved aside before she could try any World Wrestling Federation moves on me. But she, apparently, couldn’t wait for me to get clear. She shoved me aside, hopped up on the seat and walked across it, dropping down into the spot I had just vacated moments earlier. She then positioned herself precariously with her towel in her lap, clamped her legs together and hunkered in against the wall as if she needed protection from an imminent nuclear blast.
She glanced around nervously, continuing to scrunch down, seemingly afraid someone she knew might come by and see her, apparently not realizing that people she knew already had. Morgan was looking at her with undisguised lust, and even the pastor—still pinned against the wall by Waboombas—couldn’t help glancing her way rather frequently.
We were in a room full of naked people—men and women—one already sitting at our table—but even I had to admit there was something transfixing about seeing someone publicly naked who would ordinarily never be seen without shoes, let alone clothes, someone who still desperately wanted to remain hidden. As long as I’d known Mindie, she hadn’t so much as exposed more than a little cleavage and her legs below the knees. What had possessed her to get completely naked here—now—in front of Morgan of all people, and the pastor of her family church?
“I refuse to starve to death out in that car,” she snarled, piercing us with a terrifying glare, “while the rest of you stuff yourselves sick and talk about me.”
She acted as if we had all, personally, locked her in a cage and poked her with sharp sticks.
She grabbed a menu and tucked it in around her like a bra, then stretched her face out, oddly, attempting to read the food choices trapped between the laminated plastic, and her voluminous breast tissue.
“And there’s no way I was going to leave you in here all alone with that chatty, brazen, food-service person, Corky. You were entirely too friendly with her.” She snapped a nasty look up at me, then returned to looking at the top edge of her menu.
“I’ll have a salad,” Mindie said suddenly, and looked up at the others as if they were all losers for taking so long.
I swallowed hard, and choked a bit. She’d picked up on the attraction between Ms. Nuckeby and myself. Was I being too transparent? Did it matter?
“Soooo…” Ms Waboombas said in that tone that bespoke the coming of unspeakable horrors, “What are you going to get, Reverend?” I knew there must have been a reason she wanted to sit next to him, one that likely involved considerable pain and suffering for us all. “I was thinking I’d take the waitress’ hot dog recommendation,” she continued. The way she said hot dog, it clearly meant ‘pastor’s penis’. “Nothing like a good, old-fashioned wiener to fill you up and make you feel all warm inside.” She smiled at him meaningfully—though I’m not sure he understood that meaning. After all, he didn’t run screaming for the nearest exit. Then I saw one of her hands disappear under the table, and the pastor suddenly jumped.
Now he understood her meaning.
Mindie slapped at Waboombas, shrieking.
“Get away from him! GET AWAY!” Mindie continued striking at the taller woman with anything handy—napkins, menus, salt, and pepper shakers—trapping the unfortunate pastor between Waboombas and her flurry of attacks, apparently unaware that she had now drawn the attention of the entire restaurant.
“Sit on this side!” Mindie demanded. “Now!” She shoved Morgan. “Morgan, trade with her!” Morgan hesitated, and Mindie swatted at him too. “Move! Move! MOVE!”
Smiling, apparently satisfied that she had achieved whatever perverse goal she had set out to, Ms. Waboombas stood—regally— stretching herself out like a cat that won’t get off your lap, and then moved—with interminable slowness—toward the opposite side of the booth, and the spot Morgan had already vacated. Waboombas lay her hands