nothing, though she did manage to make a large noise turning a page. I love that Chinese Sue. So bubbly. So engaging.
Pete was grumbling on the floor. “I can’t get my damn corners to fit.”
“Not to worry. You’re doing this for Julia,” I said. “Her corners never fit.”
“I heard that.”
My ex-wife’s lovely upside-down head popped down from the fireman’s pole in the ceiling. I stepped over to the pole and looked up.
“Hello, sugar beet,” I said. “Did you know you’ve got a man on his knees down here?”
Julia batted her upside-down cows. “Sounds lovely.”
Her head disappeared. A moment later she came down the pole in a languid spiral. Her big bare feet hit the ground and she gave me a smackeroo. Julia was wearing white bicycle pants with the words “Charm City” running up one leg, an oversized black T-shirt with a purple Ravens logo on it and an Orioles cap.
“What are you?” I asked. “The chamber of commerce?”
She performed a little spin, flipping the tail of her T-shirt as she tick-tocked her astounding tush. I was married to that tush for just over a year so I can handle it. I looked over at Pete. He didn’t seem to have suffered a coronary. Or if so, he wasn’t making a spectacle of it. Julia stepped over to where Pete was still kneeling. She stood in a wide-legged Jolly Green Giant stance.
“Interesting.”
“It’s a metaphor,” I explained.
Pete got up off the floor. Pete’s fifty-year-old body is the opposite of a rubber band. It was not a pretty ascension. Pete announced that he needed a drink.
“I’m game,” Julia said.
The three of us went next door to Bertha’s. A guy named Larry was working the bar. Larry didn’t like me. His mother had died several years back, leaving explicit instructions that she be cremated. When I had refused to let Larry talk me out of it Larry had been fit to spit. His anger with me was now a permanent addition to his craw.
Pete noted the waves of hostility that Larry hit me with as I ordered three beers. We took to our stools, Julia in the middle. She explained the story to Pete.
“Hitch cremated Larry’s mother against his wishes.”
Pete leaned forward on the bar to look at me. “You can be a real shit sometimes, can’t you?”
While we waited for our beers, Julia entertained us with a story of a trip she had taken the previous winter to Norway. Julia is a big hit with the Scandinavians. They snatch up her work like it’s chocolate. In fact, as often as they can, they snatch her up like she’s chocolate as well. She junkets there at least once a year for some serious adoration and snatching up. Her story involved a captain in the Norwegian Air Force, a very rare albino moose and very loud sex along the crest of a glacier “beneath the flickering green lick of the Northern Lights.” Julia muddied the details (precisely who—or what—was engaged in the high-volume carnality was never made clear), but she managed to make the story entertaining nonetheless.
Our beers came. Larry set mine down sharply.
I rolled my eyes. “Damn it, Larry, it’s what she requested .”
Julia chattered on a bit more about her Scandinavian junket until finally Pete landed his hand on top of hers and asked her to stop. Julia stuck her tongue out at him and picked up her glass. We fell silent for a bit. Halfway down our beers I asked Julia, “Do you remember Libby Parker?”
Julia rifled her mental Rolodex. “Libby Parker . . . Oh yes, of course I do. That’s the girl you scampered off with right after our divorce.”
“Hitch don’t scamper,” I reminded her. “Hitch lope. Hitch saunter. Hitch don’t scamper.”
“Hitch don’t talk too well either.”
“Neither.”
“Certainly I remember,” Julia said. “She dumped you and married someone else. As I recall you were simply more fun than the woman could handle. What about her?”
“She’s in Baltimore.”
“That’s just fascinating, Hitch. Wow wee, what a
Pete was grumbling on the floor. “I can’t get my damn corners to fit.”
“Not to worry. You’re doing this for Julia,” I said. “Her corners never fit.”
“I heard that.”
My ex-wife’s lovely upside-down head popped down from the fireman’s pole in the ceiling. I stepped over to the pole and looked up.
“Hello, sugar beet,” I said. “Did you know you’ve got a man on his knees down here?”
Julia batted her upside-down cows. “Sounds lovely.”
Her head disappeared. A moment later she came down the pole in a languid spiral. Her big bare feet hit the ground and she gave me a smackeroo. Julia was wearing white bicycle pants with the words “Charm City” running up one leg, an oversized black T-shirt with a purple Ravens logo on it and an Orioles cap.
“What are you?” I asked. “The chamber of commerce?”
She performed a little spin, flipping the tail of her T-shirt as she tick-tocked her astounding tush. I was married to that tush for just over a year so I can handle it. I looked over at Pete. He didn’t seem to have suffered a coronary. Or if so, he wasn’t making a spectacle of it. Julia stepped over to where Pete was still kneeling. She stood in a wide-legged Jolly Green Giant stance.
“Interesting.”
“It’s a metaphor,” I explained.
Pete got up off the floor. Pete’s fifty-year-old body is the opposite of a rubber band. It was not a pretty ascension. Pete announced that he needed a drink.
“I’m game,” Julia said.
The three of us went next door to Bertha’s. A guy named Larry was working the bar. Larry didn’t like me. His mother had died several years back, leaving explicit instructions that she be cremated. When I had refused to let Larry talk me out of it Larry had been fit to spit. His anger with me was now a permanent addition to his craw.
Pete noted the waves of hostility that Larry hit me with as I ordered three beers. We took to our stools, Julia in the middle. She explained the story to Pete.
“Hitch cremated Larry’s mother against his wishes.”
Pete leaned forward on the bar to look at me. “You can be a real shit sometimes, can’t you?”
While we waited for our beers, Julia entertained us with a story of a trip she had taken the previous winter to Norway. Julia is a big hit with the Scandinavians. They snatch up her work like it’s chocolate. In fact, as often as they can, they snatch her up like she’s chocolate as well. She junkets there at least once a year for some serious adoration and snatching up. Her story involved a captain in the Norwegian Air Force, a very rare albino moose and very loud sex along the crest of a glacier “beneath the flickering green lick of the Northern Lights.” Julia muddied the details (precisely who—or what—was engaged in the high-volume carnality was never made clear), but she managed to make the story entertaining nonetheless.
Our beers came. Larry set mine down sharply.
I rolled my eyes. “Damn it, Larry, it’s what she requested .”
Julia chattered on a bit more about her Scandinavian junket until finally Pete landed his hand on top of hers and asked her to stop. Julia stuck her tongue out at him and picked up her glass. We fell silent for a bit. Halfway down our beers I asked Julia, “Do you remember Libby Parker?”
Julia rifled her mental Rolodex. “Libby Parker . . . Oh yes, of course I do. That’s the girl you scampered off with right after our divorce.”
“Hitch don’t scamper,” I reminded her. “Hitch lope. Hitch saunter. Hitch don’t scamper.”
“Hitch don’t talk too well either.”
“Neither.”
“Certainly I remember,” Julia said. “She dumped you and married someone else. As I recall you were simply more fun than the woman could handle. What about her?”
“She’s in Baltimore.”
“That’s just fascinating, Hitch. Wow wee, what a
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