Family Practice by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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CHAPTER 5
After a very long evening, Connie was mildly vexed that she would have to take time away from the fun things she wanted to do and have to pay another business visit to Mark. As she prepared to leave she passed Warren in the first floor hallway and she took note of something that she previously considered too minor to mention. The air conditioning worked through three switches. The first was not a problem as it stood away from its smaller counterparts and served to regulate air speed or wind.
The other two were smaller switches, side by side, one to turn on the pump and the other to turn on the fan. The aesthetic problem she had was that for the unit to be operating as desired, one switch would have to be in the up position and the other down, or vice-versa when the unit was off.
Connie tersely said; “Those damn switches annoy me whenever I walk through here.”
Warren was surprised and happily said; “I feel exactly the same way.”
Connie smiled at him knowingly and said; “Great. Why don’t you take a shot at fixing it while I’m out?”
He said; “Okay” and she left.
Over the course of the following weeks, the minor annoyance evolved to quite an undertaking. Warren went to the fuse box,
located the appropriate one and unscrewed it. He could hear the air conditioner cease its hum. He went back and put the two offending switches in the same position, before re-installing the fuse. When he went back, the pump wasn’t on and the air conditioner was blowing in hot air from outside and when he changed the position of the pump switch, it was again reversed from its twin. He went through this process a few times, only succeeding in changing each one’s functionality. The left switch for the pump now had to be up for it to be on, while it used to have to be down and the reverse results were true for the fan. He gave up and called an electrician, having some difficulty explaining the problem to the lady who answered the phone. He finally told her; “The air conditioner doesn’t work right,” which she seemed to understand and wrote it down on one of her forms. She arranged an appointment for the following day.
Aware of the scheduled meeting, Connie stayed home to supervise the project. The electrician understood her explanation of what she wanted, but apparently thought that it was so inconsequential, he wondered why she cared. After a few borderline testy exchanges, she said; “You know what I want.
You’re getting paid for it. So do it!”
The electrician said; “Yes,” and trudged on virtually duplicating Warren’s steps. He told a bothered Connie that he
kind of did what she wanted but it didn’t come out exactly the way she desired, but it’s really okay and it’s not my fault anyway because the previous electrician had attached the whatsis to the whosis, crimping the wire in the wheresis. Connie had heard the routine numerous times and decided that the easiest thing to do was smile and say; “Yes, yes,” give him his $10 and get the idiot out of her sight.
The degree of concern about the mixed switch positions now heighted between Connie and Warren and got to be a constant topic of commentary whenever they spoke. After a few days of this, Connie got the idea of replacing the switches with buttons and had the electrician perform the task for another “$10 plus parts.”
Despite a minute disparity in height, the buttons satisfied the relative size difference lack of aesthetics. However with use, or the couple’s constant focus, the disparity magnified.
As he had been having the same thoughts that he knew Connie was having, he whispered gently to her lips that he had the solution. “Replace one of the buttons with another switch.
This way no comparison will be possible and our delicate senses will not be offended.”
When the $10 electrician deprecatingly joked about his new task, he at least didn’t charge for parts as he still had the original switches in his truck. As Warren and Connie watched
him leave, they each wondered what might be the next cause of concern. Warren visualized the eight inch disparity in the level of one set of blinds and Connie thought of the infinitesimal wall height advantage that the copy of the
“Portrait of Bartelemeo Punciatichi” had over the copy of the
“Portrait of Lucrezia Pucci Punciatichi”, his wife.
Warren said; “Damn. While he was here we should have had the electrician check the air speed switch.”
Connie said; “No need, it works.”
Warren was puzzled and said; “We have it on high. Let’s see if we can set it in other positions.” He moved toward the big switch and Connie said; “Wait. When it’s on it’s always high and when it’s off, it’s off. There’s nothing worthwhile in between.”
Warren turned back to her, seeing that her bathrobe had loosened as she was sitting and said; “I see something very worthwhile in between,” and made a very thorough inspection.
Back at day one of the switch-button affair, Connie arrived at Mark’s office to see Vicky, in a mid-thigh tan tight skirt and a knitted yellow blouse, standing near her desk perusing
“Playgirl” magazine. Connie was a bit disheveled and tired in her cute yellow springy dress.
She said; “See anything good?”
Vicky said; “Oh, yeah, yeah. Let me show you this one.”
She took a few steps, until she was right next to Connie and showed her the page she was interested in.
“Connie sounded “Ummhuhm.” She did like the looks of the guy and the fact that he was displaying his heterosexual oral orientation.
They silently looked for a few seconds, until Mark disturbed the silence by opening the door. Both women looked up a bit nervously, Vicky closing the magazine. When they saw it was Mark, they simultaneously sighed; “Oooo.” Mark sighed and said; “That’s a hell of a greeting. A gracious good morning to you, Vicky; and a gracious good morning to you, Connie. My pleasant surprise.”
Neither replied and Vicky carried the magazine back to her desk and put it in the top drawer. Mark saw the name of the periodical and said; “Is that one of your favorite reading materials, girls?”
Connie said; “Not reading, viewing.”
Mark said; “I stand corrected....... as usual, come to think of it.” He swept his right arm, saying; “Please, Connie, come right in my office.”
Vicky said; “I think he’s had some of that wacky weed already.”
Connie followed him in and sat on the desk. Mark said
“I’ve got something great. I think you’ll be pleased.” He took the package out of his back pocket and put the two developed pictures on her lap. She looked at them, made a grimace, looked at him and said; “No, that’s not what I want.”
“I know. The quality could be a little better.”
“No, I need something more..... explicit, is the right word.”
Mark still didn’t understand exactly what Connie was saying, but felt he was obliged to guess a bit and said; “Do you mean pornographic?”
“Exactly. You see, Candy is a strong willed little girl with her own views on things. If I confront her with these pictures, she’ll just say that she got a ride, big deal.” She parted her legs, her face in a grimace as she scratched and watched Mark’s eyes change their viewpoint. “I need penetration.”
Mark moved right in front of her and said; “I’ll do my honest best.”
After a few minutes, Connie reached for her purse, saying;
“I know this is a difficult task, so let me up your pay rate to the $20/hour you originally requested and a bonus for incentive is in order.” She handed him $980. She said that represented 24 hours plus a $500 bonus.
Mark couldn’t believe his eyes and ears, took the money and stuffed it into his back pocket, hoping he would beat Santo to the spot. “Thank you. Thank you, so much.” He reached for his keys, purposely dropping them, so that he could be in the proper position to give Connie kisses. She said; “There can be many bonuses in your job. My nineteen year old daughter Shari needs some friendly company. Maybe I’ll send her around.”
The pleasant reverie was ended by a knock at the door and the entrance of Santo, seemingly unable to stand still, when he got a whiff of greenbacks. Santo said; “Am I interrupting something?” as he continued to fidget.
Connie got off the desk, lowering her yellow dress and said; “No, we were through.” As she went out the door, she turned back to Mark and said; “I’ll be in touch soon, bonus baby.” Passing through the vestibule, Connie smiled as she saw a seated Vicky head down, looking at the magazine in her middle drawer. Not wanting to disturb her, Connie silently waved her right hand and saw Vicky return the favor without raising her head. Knowing smiles were the order of the day.
Mark took some of the money from his back pocket and said;
“Stay calm, Santo. Here’s $500. Now, we’re square with the rent gouging. You know, you ought to have somebody paint these goddamn walls. What are my clients going to think when they see this mess?”
Santo salivated as he pocketed his treasure and said;
“Soon, soon. You can’t imagine how many problems I’m dealing with. I’ve had a carpenter in number 208 for weeks now and......”
Mark cut him off; “Yeah, yeah. Just get a little bit on the ball,” and walked into the vestibule where he gave Vicky $210, saying; “For next week, too. Come on with me. We’ve got to go get my car back. I ran out of gas near Amsterdam.”
Vicky’s head bobbed up and down a few times, saying nothing. Mark stopped and added; “Take it with you. Believe it or not, I know what you’re looking at. Show me your favorite.”
She stood up, “Playgirl,” in hand and showed Mark her current momentary fascination. She smiled and took a deep breath sigh and said; “Pretty interesting, huh?”
She looked at his face, anxious for a quick gut reaction.
Mark said; “Looks great to me, but don’t you just hate it when they airbrush out all the imperfections?”
She said; “I don't see any imperfections here, honey,” and followed him outside, artwork in hand.”
On the steps Mark said; “We have to walk a few blocks to my apartment.....”
Vicky cut him off, by giving him a wicked look and saying;
“Your apartment, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”
Mark continued his interrupted sentence; “where I have my other car. We’ll get it filled and bring a can of gas to the other one and then we can each drive one back here.”
“To your apartment?”
“Yeah, we won’t get disturbed there.” He smiled at her wide eyed face and said; “Keep looking at your dirty, evil-minded works of art.”
Chores accomplished, Mark parked the red Corvair right in front of his building and Vicky put the black Mercury in the empty space in front of it. When he exited the car, he looked at the sky to notice for the first time that yesterday’s overcast condition had given way to a blue gray haze, the sun visible through it, pale enough to be scrutinized by the naked eye.
Mark went to Vicky, who was standing by the Mercury trunk and said; “Bring your fine wickedness up the stairs,” taking her free hand and leading her to the first floor refuge.
He inserted the key and the door opened, revealing no visitors. Vicky rambled to the couch and took a seat, with her magazine in front of her face, while Mark slowly fixed something to eat, noticing that the sun and sky condition increased the humidity by multiples, as the dampness enveloped him through the one open window.
At 5:00PM, Mark drove the red Corvair to Liberty Lane and didn’t think he was noticed in the end of the day bustle and with a different car. He absently perused his glove compartment periodicals until 6:30 when a black 1972 Cadillac stopped in front of number 694 and immediately the long, black-haired girl, tonight wearing a light gray pleated short skirt and a midriff baring red button up blouse, ran to it and let herself in the front passenger’s seat, kissing the crew-cut blond driver, cursorily.
As Mark followed them, she seemed to be upset about something, waving her arms around and looking at him, while he dispassionately watched the road, periodically picking her waving arm out of the air and gently placing it back in her lap.
In time this had its intended effect as her movements became more pacific and composed.
The Caddy turned onto Stuyvesant Avenue and Mark slowed down, establishing some space between the two cars, as he now thought that he knew the ultimate destination.
As the lead car entered the busy Hook Harbor Road warehouse parking lot, Mark merely drove by, perhaps un-noticed and parked on the nameless side street or alley and hoped something useful would jump out at him. Nothing did and instead of watching the well-guarded, busy front, he took a walk to the property’s rear, desiring to find something unprotected where the weak sun’s
decline prevented illumination. In the shadows he found that he had to be careful on his path, because it was strewn with broken glass; old beer and soda bottles, crushed cans and parts of electronic devices. When he got behind the warehouse, still separated from it by a tall chain link fence, he saw that someone had left a first floor window open. The lights inside enabled him to see two very thin girls with long straight black hair paying homage to a man standing in front of them. Their bare feet were enclosed in shackles; its metal hooks not currently attached anywhere. As he watched the scene from his vantage point of garbage, more characters made themselves visible. Other men holding drinks observed the performance and were saying things indecipherable to him, but seemed to be cheering the duo on. After a few minutes of observation, they must have become aware of the roles they wanted to play in the scene and walked over to the girls and used their free hands to touch them roughly. The girls softly returned the many awards given and switched around sampling each. Considering the possibility that one of the girls might be Candy, Mark took the camera from his front pants pocket, snapped and snapped. If the people were indistinguishable on first development, maybe a blow-up would make something more clear.
At another window, Broadenly parted a blind and looked out saying; “Jerry, come here. Look at this.” Jerry performed the
same operation at the adjoining window and said: “Is that the same asshole?”
“I’m not sure, but I think so.”
“This is getting to be a pain in the ass.”
Broadenly looked back inside, seeing the show that he enjoyed was near starting. He sighed and said; “We’re going to have to take care of this tonight.”
They both checked their holsters and Jerry said; “Get the truth serum.”
Broadenly patted the pocket of his white dress shirt and said; “Yeah, got it.”
The two left the warehouse through the front and got into their newish black Lincoln. When they passed through the gate, one of the attendants said; “Lousy show tonight?” and Jerry replied; “Business.”
They made a right, then another into the dark side street and parked right behind the red Corvair. They walked cautiously through the difficult terrain and located Mark, still fixed on the open window.
Mark saw them when one stumbled on a beer bottle fifty feet away and put the camera back in his pocket. His first thought was merely “Oh, shit,” but quickly got practical. He thought that while this was definitely not going to be something pleasant, it was preferable to stand there and deal with it.
The only other option necessitated negotiating difficult, highly weeded ground and even if he was successful, the two men in black suits would probably catch him anyway. He decided to act stupid, not realizing that he’d probably be naturally good at it, having had so much unconscious practice and said; “Great show in there,” pointing at the open window where the two girls were now kissing each other, the men again reverting to spectator status.
Jerry and Broadenly looked at the open window and both thought that more than one idiot was at work tonight. They pulled their guns and Broadenly said: “On the ground, asshole.”
Mark raised his voice and said; “There’s broken glass down there.”
The grabbed Mark by his arms, patted him down, took the camera, pushed him face first to the rubble and cuffed his hands behind his back.
Mark now knew this was more serious than he had expected, but decided not to change plans and said; “Are you going to put me in the show? The actresses look interesting.”
Broadenly said; “We’ve seen you before. What do you want over here?”
Mark laughed and replied; “Probably the same thing those guys do,” pointing at the window. His captors’ stern faces
prompted him to try adding; “Probably the same things you guys do.”
Broadenly tersely said; “I doubt that,” and the two pulled Mark up and pushed him back to their car, putting him in the back seat and drove away.
They went over the decaying metal Pulaski Skyway. Mark knew he was going out of town and was headed for Newark. He hadn’t been there in some time, but in the dark it looked the way he remembered; abandoned factories and warehouses, interspersed with square two story houses, ten feet apart, originally built for the workers, but now home to sullen non-workers, who eyed the car as it passed. Jerry said; “We ought to drop you right here and let the natives have some fun.”
Mark wasn’t particularly scared by the thought, as he thought he might have a better chance with the “natives” than with his two captors. He said; “Okay,” to dead silence. He chose to try to take the initiative and said; “Who the hell are you and where are you taking me?”
Jerry said; “We’re your best friends and you’re going to your very own private room.”
The car made a left onto Inaugural Road, now home to deserted paint factories. They parked in the cracked asphalt driveway of one and led him inside, where the huge empty vats were ensconced fifty feet above the concrete floor, not quite
wanting to reach the hundred foot ceiling, but appeared more inclined to fall to the floor. Mark prayed that it wouldn’t happen to be this instant.
He was pushed through a door in the rear, probably once the station of the manager and they turned on the overhead fluorescent lights. He was, less than cordially, offered a seat on a couch against the furthest wall, shoving him on his back and attaching cuffs to both legs which they fixed to one couch arm. They re-arranged his handcuff situation to approximate his leg predicament.
As Mark nervously watched from his splayed prone position, Broadenly took a small plastic capped bottle from his white shirt pocket, poured five white pills into his hand and said;
“Open wide.”
Mark resisted the order instinctively, so Jerry held his nose with one hand and shoved two fingers from the other into Mark’s mouth and Broadenly fed him the tablets, forcing him to swallow as one would medicate a dog, with hands over its nose and mouth. The two left the room, saying; “Don’t go anywhere, we’ll be right back.”
Mark looked around the room as much as he could, not taking note of anything in particular, but feeling the squalor, as it seemed to permeate his bones. As the feeling increased, Mark remembered its source from a few years back -- acid, LSD to some
and he also recalled advice he had gotten on its ingestion; “Be somewhere you feel comfortable.” He seemed to enjoy breaking rules, but the ones of his own choice. He started to freak out, thinking what could he do if they just left him here; die of dehydration or hunger? Who would ever find him in time --
nobody, until the dogs smelled death. Who were these people anyway? What did they want from him? Was it possible to supply it, even if he wanted to? Very deep life-threatening shit.
The two suited men re-entered the room and Mark’s mood immediately changed when he saw them. Their faces appeared to him as those of children; children who were reviled nerds, now dressed in snappy business suits, convinced they were now conveying status and power, but still very shaky at their presumed hidden core. He thought that their childhood demise would certainly lead them to seek the highest possible power as adults. They probably worked for the federal government and consistent with all his other merged perceptions, they were quite amusing.
Broadenly said; “Asshole is smiling.”
Mark said; “No, the assholes aren’t smiling,” and laughed.
“You’re feds, right?” He could tell by the lifeless looks on their faces that he was right. The thought occurred to him;
“Two lifeless children. Reminds me of the year everyone was into black humor and told truckloads of dead babies jokes,
unloading them with pitchforks.” He started laughing again as he watched the hurt children’s faces, now intent on hurting everyone else. His merriment became contained when Broadenly slapped his face twice with the back of his hand, reminding him that as ridiculous as they were, they still had the power and that it was wise to at least appear co-operative.
Jerry said; “What were you doing at the warehouse?”
Mark replied; “Taking pictures.”
Jerry said; “We know that. We have the camera, if you’ve forgotten.”
Mark said nothing, so Broadenly angrily slapped him again and said; “Well?”
Mark said; “Well, what? I didn’t hear a question.”
Broadenly said; “Why were you taking pictures?”
Mark couldn’t help himself and said; “I was interested in the subject matter.” But before anyone could smack him again, added; “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’m a private eye and I’ve been engaged to trail a couple who go to the warehouse.”
“By who and why?” said Jerry.
Mark said; “I’d really be violating a confidence to say who, but I can say that it’s a mother who thinks her daughter is screwing around with the blond guy who cuts his hair with a lawnmower.” He couldn’t help but again laugh at his own
commentary, but he noticed the looks of consternation on the face of his oppressors.
Jerry finally said; “Where’s your ID?”
Mark said; “In my wallet. Which I always manage to leave in my office.” He almost added; “with my gun,” but thought that volunteering uncalled-for information served no purpose.
Jerry said; “Give us your name.”
Mark said; “Mark Cinchapport,” and they again left the room.
Broadenly said; “He’s talking about Callie Majors and Shari Roe.”
Jerry said; “Yeah. Fucking Callie can’t keep his dick in his pants. And with all the fucking girls he has around the place, he has to go get popular elsewhere.”
Broadenly said; “The damn thing is that everybody has faults. Callie is good at everything else.”
Jerry said; “Now he’s good at drawing unwanted attention.”
Broadenly took a deep sigh and said; “So what do you think we should do?”
Jerry said; “I don't know. I’m gonna go to the car and check out this Cinchapport.”
Broadenly stood in place, looking for some idea.
Jerry returned and said; “Checks out. Been in business about four years. No police record. Never involved in anything important.”
Mark was feeling somewhat better, but the cuffs still bothered him. He thought, “What if bats flew out of one of the closets and decided to feast on me! What if hungry stray dogs found me! Where are my federal protectors?”
His last question was answered as the duo again entered the room. Jerry took over and said; “Okay, you’re a private eye with a clean record. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. But, if I find you around the Hook Road warehouse again, I’ll kill ya. Just like we did today, we’ll take you somewhere and next time, you won’t come back.”
Mark heard that as a reprieve and said; “I’ve only got a tiny, tiny problem with that.”
Broadenly said; “Do you understand kill. It’s like dead, deceased, gone, you’re a corpse.”
Mark said; “I’m not going to go there. I’m just looking for some help with my problem. I’ve been struggling along for years and I finally don’t have to worry about money for a month, or so. It’s because of this one freak lady who wants a picture of her daughter and the blond guy.”
Jerry said; “I’ll get them for you. I know where your office is and I’ll find you. Okay?”
Mark said; “Yeah, great,” at the same time realizing that it was an easy thing not to do, but preferred to appear co-operative, at the very least, as maybe a miracle would happen and they’d deliver. He added; “She wants to see penetration, you know what I mean.”
Jerry sarcastically said; “Any particular part?”
Mark said; “No, she didn’t specify. Maybe I should check with her?”
Jerry said; “You do that. In the meantime, I’ll get what I can.”
Broadenly took Jerry by the arm and led him out of the room, saying; “Conference time.”
After he closed the door behind them Broadenly told his partner; “What the fuck is wrong with you? We’re the Feds; we don’t do anything for anybody, especially while a Republican is in the White House.”
Jerry said; “Relax. We’ve only got two options; one is to kill him. He doesn’t seem too bright and that might get us unwanted attention. I’m not going to go the least bit out of my way to get any goddamn pictures. I’ll ask a couple of the photo freaks if they’ve got anything. No big shit.”
Broadenly didn’t feel comfortable with appearing helpful and reasonable, but didn’t want to say that and didn’t know what to substitute, so he appeared quiet and deferential. They went
back inside and Jerry unlocked Mark’s cuffs. When he tried to stand up, Mark noticed that it was far from easy, finding a steady balance after three small steps. He said; “Good shit, man.”
Jerry said; “All right, good man. We’re going to take you back to your car. Be careful driving. If they catch you under the influence of LSD, it’s classified a class 1 narcotic and carries a stiff penalty.”
They got back to Mark’s red Corvair, let him out and Jerry said; “Hey, Mark; I’m very serious; don’t get near the warehouse again.”
Mark said; “Okay,” intending to keep his promise. He would have to pursue the photos elsewhere. There must be other places they go. He drove to his apartment without any problem. He knew the drug wouldn’t wear off for another few hours, so he wanted to be amused and turned on the television. He got a news show. The pert lady card-reader with beauty parlor hair informed him, with only two minor stumbles, that the Senate is still considering the formation of a panel to investigate reports that the U.S. Army is paying $10,000 apiece for toilet bowls shipped to Viet Nam by a number of private contractors.
The matter remains unresolved as Senators debate who would be most qualified for the five seat commission and that it seems that they all say that they are. Ms. Beauty Parlor was amused,
hopefully at the Senate’s area of expertise. She added that the Pentagon announced that we were still making progress in the war today with 28,343 enemy dead and only 742 Americans.
At 694 Liberty Lane, Connie was deciding if she wanted to wear a dress or not, as she sat on the sofa comfortably letting Warren do his thing. She considered it exciting to drive and arrive wearing very informal attire. This evening she would be meeting three men she didn’t now. They were associates of Benito’s who knew her only as “his slave,” and he would not be present. She decided that a simple dress was in order, started breathing heavily and faked. Warren could tell, but Connie reached down with her left hand and said; “Let me take care of you, baby.” They reversed positions and Warren was soon pleased. Connie got up and said; “Got to go, now.”
“What are you up to tonight?”
“Three strangers.” She slipped a simple red and white summer dress over her head, took her bag and left.
Arriving at the “Thunderbird Motel”, she saw three guys standing in front of open door number 111 and parked in front of them. She got out of the car and looked straight at the three now quiet gentlemen. They really resembled each other in that they were all middle-aged business types, wearing suits and
displaying deep wrinkles around the mouth, from a lifetime of forced smiles and laughs. One said; “Connie?”
She growled; “Yeah.”
“Slave Connie?”
“Double yeah.” She scooted past them and went into the bathroom, saying; “One minute.” She pulled the dress over her head, went into her pocketbook, retrieved some toys and put them in their most useful places. She exited to find the door shut, blinds open and three guys sitting on chairs very red. She slithered and danced over to one with her eyes on the prize.
She did that a short time and then engaged the other two, not wanting them to feel ignored. She proceeded to spend the next hour pleasantly, to periodic calls of encouragement and questions about her degree of enjoyment, finally being rewarded with a six pack. She thought; “The sacred meets the profane.”
When the men left, one took her dress with him, saying;
“Benito told me that you really love being natural.” The trio smiled and left. She wasn’t entirely satisfied with the brief, perfunctory performance and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, thinking of all the possibilities, knowing that the three were having the same thoughts, but were probably incapable of putting them into action. She went out the door, but felt that cool night breeze under the artificial lights and decided to drive, letting the room door shut behind her.
She turned the key, but the damn thing only replied with
“Ummgh,” then silence. She tried a few times and got the same response with a slightly shorter version of “Ummgh” each attempt. She thought; “What am I gonna do now?” and sat there a few minutes. After experiencing a few giggles from couples coming and going from other rooms, she decided to walk to the office and get a “jump.” She walked slowly and confidently, imagining herself under surveillance and entered the quiet office to see a young black man standing behind the desk. He smiled when he saw her get pantingly excited at the new possible flavor of the evening. Pure merriment on both parts. She cleared her throat, swallowed and told him her predicament.
He told her that he was getting off duty soon and that his friend was coming by to give him a ride home and that they could jump her battery.
She thanked him and showed her appreciation. In a few minutes a red four door souped-up Dodge parked in front of the office. The occupants were Sonny, Dorette and Corrine, who all entered the office. When she heard the door, Connie looked up as Sonny said; “Beautiful, Russ. I guess you’re not quite ready to leave.” He turned back toward the door and Connie said;
“Please stay. I need lots of company tonight.”
Sonny stopped and smiled. Dorette said; “You into big chocolate?”
Connie smiled and Dorette removed her shoes, saying; “Show me, slave.” The group had just stopped at a fast food place and Connie enjoyed countless flavor nuances from their package. She thought; “The sacred and the profane are the same thing.”
Russ saw his replacement park near the office and said;
“Number 111 is paid for all night. Let’s all go over there.”
Connie stood up and two men took her by the hand, slowly out the door and the five mosied over there, in view of a number of curious eyes. When they entered, Sonny said; “You girls have some fun first. Russ and I are going to jump her car. Sonny and Russ watched through the window as they took care of Connie’s problem.
They re-entered, Sonny resuming his front door predilection. Connie kept getting orders from each of the four and happily did her best to do what was demanded of her, as it was their package she was enjoying. She wished Warren was at the window leering.
After everyone was tired, Sonny, Russ, Dorette and Corrine left. Russ grabbed his drumstick and said; “Whenever you want any more, you know where I am.” Connie played solitaire on the floor. After ten minutes, she went to the car and drove home, very, very anxious to see Warren.
He was wearing a robe and was famished, waiting in the kitchen. She coyly said; “Don’t tell me you’re hungry. You’re
not even properly dressed for dinner.” As he got the proper attire, she heated up some eggs and bacon. When ready, she pulled him upstairs as he sniffed at the aromatic meal. She sat in a plushy chair while he slowly savored the full plate, listening to her recent adventures.
The two girls were near their slightly cracked doors and watched the hallway parade; Shari thinking; “You go, girl.” and Candy opining; “My God.” Both wanted to further investigate their quick judgments at the keyhole, but they exited their rooms simultaneously and, seeing each other, they made bizarre faces and went back inside.