was a bit taken aback by my first sight of Ms. Feebling. I suppose I had expected a brazen hussy and instead I saw a small, demure brunet who looked rather sweet and vulnerable. There was a waifish innocence about her that made her costume even more outré. She was wearing the bottom section of a pink thong bikini, and she was indeed topless.
It would be indelicate to describe those gifts that qualified her for employment in a topless car wash. Suffice to say that she was well-qualified.
I waited until she finished wiping the Taurus dry and had been handed what appeared to be a generous tip by the pop-eyed driver. Then I approached and offered her my business card, a legitimate one this time.
“My name is Archibald McNally,” I said with a restrained 100-watt smile. “My law firm represents Mr. Smythe-Hersforth. I was hoping to have a friendly talk with you so that we might arrive at some mutually beneficial solution of your misunderstanding with our client.”
“There’s no misunderstanding,” she said, inspecting my card. “Chauncey said he’d marry me, and I’ve got the letters to prove it.”
“Of course,” I said, “but I hope you’ll be willing to discuss it. I drove down from Palm Beach specifically to meet you and learn your side of this disagreement. Could we go somewhere reasonably private where we can chat? I would be more than willing to recompense you or your employer for the time you are absent from work.”
She looked up at me. “Will you buy me a pizza?” she asked.
“Delighted,” I told her.
“Then I’ll ask Jake,” she said. She went over to the woolly mammoth, talked a moment, then came back. “He wants fifty for an hour. Okay?”
“Certainly,” I said, imagining my father’s reaction when he saw this item on my expense account.
“That’s neat,” she said, and her smile sparkled. “I’ll go get dressed. Just take a minute.”
She went through an unmarked door that I presumed led to a dressing room, or rather an undressing room. I thought she would don a voluminous coverup, but when she reappeared she had added only a T-shirt that had PEACE printed on the front, an affirmation to which I heartily subscribed. But unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on the state of one’s hormones—the T-shirt appeared to be sodden, and it clung. Lucky T-shirt.
“The pizza joint is just two doors away,” she said. “All us girls go there. The owner don’t mind as long as our boobs are covered.”
A few moments later we were seated in the pizza joint, a fancy palace with real Formica-topped tables and real paper lace doilies under the plates. We decided we would share a Ponderosa Delight, which, the menu claimed, came “with everything.” Shirley ordered a Diet Cherry Coke. I asked for a Pepsi since a 1982 Mumm’s Cordon Rouge was not available.
“Miss Feebling—” I started, but she interrupted.
“You can call me Shirl,” she said. “Everyone in the world calls me Shirl”
“And so shall I,” I said, “if you’ll call me Archy. Shirl, I know that Chauncey said he loved you, but people do fall out of love, you know.”
“I haven’t,” she promptly replied. “I still love him and want to marry him like he promised in his letters. He’s such a wonderful guy.”
I was about to ask if she didn’t find CW somewhat dim. But I refrained, reflecting that Shirley herself might be somewhat dim and had found a soul mate in the Chinless Wonder.
“Shirl,” I said, “you seem to me a very sensitive and intelligent young lady.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said coyly.
“And I am sure you want only the best for yourself—and for Chauncey, too, of course. He has informed you that he wishes to wed another?”
She nodded.
“I know you want him to be happy,” I pleaded, “even though it might mean your own unhappiness. But a generous cash settlement would help you endure a temporary sorrow.”
“Oh, I don’t want any money,” she said brightly. “I just
It would be indelicate to describe those gifts that qualified her for employment in a topless car wash. Suffice to say that she was well-qualified.
I waited until she finished wiping the Taurus dry and had been handed what appeared to be a generous tip by the pop-eyed driver. Then I approached and offered her my business card, a legitimate one this time.
“My name is Archibald McNally,” I said with a restrained 100-watt smile. “My law firm represents Mr. Smythe-Hersforth. I was hoping to have a friendly talk with you so that we might arrive at some mutually beneficial solution of your misunderstanding with our client.”
“There’s no misunderstanding,” she said, inspecting my card. “Chauncey said he’d marry me, and I’ve got the letters to prove it.”
“Of course,” I said, “but I hope you’ll be willing to discuss it. I drove down from Palm Beach specifically to meet you and learn your side of this disagreement. Could we go somewhere reasonably private where we can chat? I would be more than willing to recompense you or your employer for the time you are absent from work.”
She looked up at me. “Will you buy me a pizza?” she asked.
“Delighted,” I told her.
“Then I’ll ask Jake,” she said. She went over to the woolly mammoth, talked a moment, then came back. “He wants fifty for an hour. Okay?”
“Certainly,” I said, imagining my father’s reaction when he saw this item on my expense account.
“That’s neat,” she said, and her smile sparkled. “I’ll go get dressed. Just take a minute.”
She went through an unmarked door that I presumed led to a dressing room, or rather an undressing room. I thought she would don a voluminous coverup, but when she reappeared she had added only a T-shirt that had PEACE printed on the front, an affirmation to which I heartily subscribed. But unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on the state of one’s hormones—the T-shirt appeared to be sodden, and it clung. Lucky T-shirt.
“The pizza joint is just two doors away,” she said. “All us girls go there. The owner don’t mind as long as our boobs are covered.”
A few moments later we were seated in the pizza joint, a fancy palace with real Formica-topped tables and real paper lace doilies under the plates. We decided we would share a Ponderosa Delight, which, the menu claimed, came “with everything.” Shirley ordered a Diet Cherry Coke. I asked for a Pepsi since a 1982 Mumm’s Cordon Rouge was not available.
“Miss Feebling—” I started, but she interrupted.
“You can call me Shirl,” she said. “Everyone in the world calls me Shirl”
“And so shall I,” I said, “if you’ll call me Archy. Shirl, I know that Chauncey said he loved you, but people do fall out of love, you know.”
“I haven’t,” she promptly replied. “I still love him and want to marry him like he promised in his letters. He’s such a wonderful guy.”
I was about to ask if she didn’t find CW somewhat dim. But I refrained, reflecting that Shirley herself might be somewhat dim and had found a soul mate in the Chinless Wonder.
“Shirl,” I said, “you seem to me a very sensitive and intelligent young lady.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said coyly.
“And I am sure you want only the best for yourself—and for Chauncey, too, of course. He has informed you that he wishes to wed another?”
She nodded.
“I know you want him to be happy,” I pleaded, “even though it might mean your own unhappiness. But a generous cash settlement would help you endure a temporary sorrow.”
“Oh, I don’t want any money,” she said brightly. “I just
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