way.”
“It was just a little ‘low-side,’” Jack said, still grinning, “But it made you The Famous James. Hell, they even named a motorcycle after you.”
James looked at Linda, his face suddenly solemn. “Den try ta fool a po’ nigga, bringin’ dat damn lil’ ol’ motahbike out heanh t’show me. Say ‘looka heanh, James, it be done got De Famous James on de gas tank.’ I been seein’ dem damn thangs roun’ town a LONG time. Dey from Angland er someplace. Cain’ fool DIS nigga lak dat.”
“But you ARE famous, James.”
“Shoot. I be back with dat set-up.”
As they approached the bottom of their second round of Turkish tobacco-tinted scotch and sodas, a couple appeared at the head of the concrete steps. “Well I’ll be damned,” Jack said in a voice that he’d use to acknowledge a flat tire.
“What?”
“Terry Marsh.”
“Oh. The one you had such a hard time getting to suck your dick.”
“Shit. Forgot I told you about that. Well, here she comes.” he pushed the button to lower the passenger-side window. “Hey, Terry.”
Tossing the smallest of smiles at Linda, Terry said, “Hello, Jack. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. Say hi to Linda Green.”
“Linda. Hi. Both of you, say hi to John Richardson.”
Following the “hi” chorus, Jack asked, “Still in school?”
“Oh, yes, for a little while yet. I’ll finish my masters in June. The same time as John finishes law school. You coming back?”
“Still thinking about it.”
“You better, or they’ll draft your butt,” she said, sounding as though that prospect didn’t displease her at all. “Well, we’ve gotta run. Nice to meet you,” she said in Linda’s general direction. Taking her by the elbow, the lawyer-to-be steered her to a dark green Ford Skyliner and tucked her inside.
“Hm,” mused Jack.
“What is it?”
“Looks like one of those hardtop convertibles. The one where the hardtop actually goes down.”
“Is that a big deal?”
“Naah, unless you like a trunk full of top. I was just wondering if it ’us her daddy’s.”
“Looks new,” she said as the car rolled out of the lot to their left. “The only law student with a new car that I ever knew had a U.S. Senator for a daddy.”
“Yeah. And Terry’s daddy’s a big Ford guy. The first time I got her to blow me was in his ’53 Merc hardtop.”
“You sly devil. Fix me a fresh one; we’ll toast your success.”
“Comin’ up, but we’re drinkin’ to you. If you hadn’t done me when I was a little nipper, I wouldn’ta known how nice it was.”
“So high school wasn’t the sexual desert for you that it was for me. Glad I could help you out. And the two of you carried on into college, right?”
“About halfway. She did her junior year in Europe, and that pretty well closed us out. We didn’t see each other much after that; she had to get caught up with her sorority socializin’ and I didn’t buy into that program at all. Occasionally, one or the other of us’d get loaded and make the late night phone call.”
“Uh, listen. Could we skip Don’s haute cuisine tonight?”
“I guess so. Whacha wanta eat?”
The question drew an ironic, pitying smile. “Now I’m gonna make you beg.”
4 SUNDAY RIDE
Leaving Linda to sleep in, Jack made coffee and walked up the hill to Chez Jock. Switching on the lights, he saw Nick Charles sitting astride the old Harley sidecar rig, greeting him with a jaunty wave. “Mornin’, Jack,” he said, bouncing gently on the saddle. “Just couldn’t resist sitting on this thing; never had the chance to ride one. This is a lot like the one that Pat Flaherty rode when he pulled Mrs. Charles and me over on the Golden Gate Bridge in the first Thin Man. Without the sidecar, of course. Remember?”
Speechless, Jack stared at the faultlessly-tailored Thin Man, who had selected a Homburg, dark grey pinstriped suit, grey gloves and matching spats for the occasion. A crimson cravat, shot through
“It was just a little ‘low-side,’” Jack said, still grinning, “But it made you The Famous James. Hell, they even named a motorcycle after you.”
James looked at Linda, his face suddenly solemn. “Den try ta fool a po’ nigga, bringin’ dat damn lil’ ol’ motahbike out heanh t’show me. Say ‘looka heanh, James, it be done got De Famous James on de gas tank.’ I been seein’ dem damn thangs roun’ town a LONG time. Dey from Angland er someplace. Cain’ fool DIS nigga lak dat.”
“But you ARE famous, James.”
“Shoot. I be back with dat set-up.”
As they approached the bottom of their second round of Turkish tobacco-tinted scotch and sodas, a couple appeared at the head of the concrete steps. “Well I’ll be damned,” Jack said in a voice that he’d use to acknowledge a flat tire.
“What?”
“Terry Marsh.”
“Oh. The one you had such a hard time getting to suck your dick.”
“Shit. Forgot I told you about that. Well, here she comes.” he pushed the button to lower the passenger-side window. “Hey, Terry.”
Tossing the smallest of smiles at Linda, Terry said, “Hello, Jack. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. Say hi to Linda Green.”
“Linda. Hi. Both of you, say hi to John Richardson.”
Following the “hi” chorus, Jack asked, “Still in school?”
“Oh, yes, for a little while yet. I’ll finish my masters in June. The same time as John finishes law school. You coming back?”
“Still thinking about it.”
“You better, or they’ll draft your butt,” she said, sounding as though that prospect didn’t displease her at all. “Well, we’ve gotta run. Nice to meet you,” she said in Linda’s general direction. Taking her by the elbow, the lawyer-to-be steered her to a dark green Ford Skyliner and tucked her inside.
“Hm,” mused Jack.
“What is it?”
“Looks like one of those hardtop convertibles. The one where the hardtop actually goes down.”
“Is that a big deal?”
“Naah, unless you like a trunk full of top. I was just wondering if it ’us her daddy’s.”
“Looks new,” she said as the car rolled out of the lot to their left. “The only law student with a new car that I ever knew had a U.S. Senator for a daddy.”
“Yeah. And Terry’s daddy’s a big Ford guy. The first time I got her to blow me was in his ’53 Merc hardtop.”
“You sly devil. Fix me a fresh one; we’ll toast your success.”
“Comin’ up, but we’re drinkin’ to you. If you hadn’t done me when I was a little nipper, I wouldn’ta known how nice it was.”
“So high school wasn’t the sexual desert for you that it was for me. Glad I could help you out. And the two of you carried on into college, right?”
“About halfway. She did her junior year in Europe, and that pretty well closed us out. We didn’t see each other much after that; she had to get caught up with her sorority socializin’ and I didn’t buy into that program at all. Occasionally, one or the other of us’d get loaded and make the late night phone call.”
“Uh, listen. Could we skip Don’s haute cuisine tonight?”
“I guess so. Whacha wanta eat?”
The question drew an ironic, pitying smile. “Now I’m gonna make you beg.”
4 SUNDAY RIDE
Leaving Linda to sleep in, Jack made coffee and walked up the hill to Chez Jock. Switching on the lights, he saw Nick Charles sitting astride the old Harley sidecar rig, greeting him with a jaunty wave. “Mornin’, Jack,” he said, bouncing gently on the saddle. “Just couldn’t resist sitting on this thing; never had the chance to ride one. This is a lot like the one that Pat Flaherty rode when he pulled Mrs. Charles and me over on the Golden Gate Bridge in the first Thin Man. Without the sidecar, of course. Remember?”
Speechless, Jack stared at the faultlessly-tailored Thin Man, who had selected a Homburg, dark grey pinstriped suit, grey gloves and matching spats for the occasion. A crimson cravat, shot through
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