Sassafras, Part 14


Rick



"I told you, Public Displays of Affection aren't allowed,” she said.

"You're not in high school anymore," I said. "You won't get detention."

She looked at me again, frowned a little, and then started laughing.

"What's so funny?" I asked

"It's embarrassing," she said.

"Come on, tell me. It's not fair to laugh at me and then not tell me why."

"You remind me of somebody," she said.

I waited for a second, "Well, who?" I asked.

"I told you, it's embarrassing."

"Come on, who?" I insisted.

"Okay, but you can't laugh at me," she said. "Hogan."

"Who?"

"You know, Colonel Hogan, from Hogan's Hero's on TV. My dad never let me watch Hogan's Hero's when I was little. He always said there wasn't anything funny about being in a POW camp. He said the German's would have found Hogan's tunnel and shot him before the second commercial break. I used to sneak around and watch it when Dad wasn't home. I had such a crush on Colonel Hogan. I wanted to be a POW, I didn't care what Dad said. I used to wish I was one of those blonde secretaries. You know, the ones Hogan was always kissing when Colonel Klink wasn't looking. You do look just like Hogan," she said. "Except for the mustache. He didn’t have a mustache."

"I could shave it off," I offered.

"No, I think I like it," she said, and reached up and brushed her fingers over my mustache, barely touching my lips, then leaned over and kissed me again. I hadn't been expecting that. It was just a short kiss, but it was sweet. After that I couldn't do anything but sit there and look at her. I noticed my left hand was resting across her shoulder like it belonged there.

"Want to go to my barracks?" I asked her, "I'll give you a tour of my tunnels." She just laughed again and leaned back, resting her head on my arm. I touched her cheek. It was soft and silky. I brushed some hair out of her eyes, and looked into them, felt myself falling into them. I couldn't help it, and found myself kissing her again. She was kissing me back, running her fingers through my hair. I could have stayed like that forever, but she pulled back and then nestled up against me.

I couldn't believe this was happening. It felt so good. A little voice in my head kept saying to kiss her again, but I just held her and ran my hand through her hair. I hadn't felt like this since ninth grade when I had Mrs. Simms for math. I used to have trouble concentrating on the math problems because I had problems in my pants, if you know what I mean. Holding her made me feel bigger, and stronger. She was curled up next to me, her arm around my waist and her head resting right over my heart. She was so still if it wasn’t for the feel of her hand toying with one of my belt loops I would have thought she was sleeping.

I don't know how long we sat there. It wasn't as long as I would have liked, but I had to go to the restroom. Before I left I told Joan I would be right back, and made her promise not to go anywhere, but when I got back she was gone. What the hell, I thought. Her purse was still on the booth, and there was a cigarette smoking in the ashtray. Her shoes were even lying there on the floor near our booth. I walked around looking for her, but she wasn’t sitting at another table, or at the bar, she wasn’t playing the jukebox or over by the pool tables. I saw our waitress and walked over to where she was sitting at the bar counting her tips. “Excuse me, Liz, have you seen that woman I was with?”

She looked over at our table. “She was right there a minute ago. I just went over to check if she wanted anything before the kitchen closes.”

“Did she say anything to you?”

“Not much. She likes you. There she is,” she said and pointed over my shoulder.

Joan was walking out of the restroom. She veered off to the right and then held onto the back of a chair, swaying in her own beer-induced breeze. When she saw me she smiled and waved. Good Lord, I thought. She’s drunk. I started walking over to her but she started walking, too, and didn’t stop until she ran right into me. I felt her forehead hit against my breastbone. “Ow,” she said, rubbing over her eye. “You aren’t very bouncy.”

“No,” I agreed as I started helping her back to the booth. “I’m not very bouncy.” After I had her settled back in the booth I waved Liz over. “Could you get rid of this beer and bring us some coffee?” I asked her.

When I turned back to Joan she was pulling a slim leather book out of her purse. She opened it up and I could see it was one of those organizers people use to plan their day. She flipped to a blank page and started writing. “What are you doing?”

“The key to success,” she lectured me, “is planning, preparation, and, what was it? It was something else that starts with a P.” She frowned and bit her lip. A display promoting little frozen pizzas caught her eye. “Mmm, I like pepperoni. Do you like pepperoni? No, wait, it’s not pepperoni, it’s something else that starts with a P. It’s preserving. No, preservating. Oh, just trust me, it starts with a P.” She waved her pen around in the air then went back to writing. I looked over her shoulder and saw RICK in big letters at the top of the page. This should be rich, I thought. Under that she wrote ‘Not Bouncy,’ and underlined ‘Not’ twice. Then she wrote ‘Nerd, Clumsy, Sandwiches, Cute Mustache, Nice, Pool, Single (underlined once), Sexy (underlined three times), Nice Ass (Nice underlined once), Bowling Green (with a question mark), and Kissable (with five stars after it).’ She chewed on the end of her pen while she studied her list, then looked over at me. “Oh, yeah,” she said and started writing again. ‘Hogan (with a little heart on both sides).’

“I didn’t know you knew I was in Bowling Green.” I said, wondering where she came up with Sandwiches and Pool, and trying not to think about the Sexy and Nice Ass entries.

“Oh, yeah” she said casually. “The waitress told me. Where’s Bowling Green?”

“It’s near Bowling Green, in eastern Missouri. That’s why they call it Bowling Green.” She didn’t seem too worried about me spending time in prison. Probably because she was drunk. I wondered how she would feel about it in the morning.

She looked at me and made a face, then added something to her list. ‘Smartass.’

Liz came over with two cups of coffee. “Sorry that took so long. I didn’t know how old that coffee was so I went ahead and made you two up a fresh pot. Do you need any cream or sugar?”

I remembered at Don’s she drank her coffee black. “No,” I said and noticed Joan stare at me for a moment before adding another item to her list. ‘Psychic (with a question mark).’ Shit, I thought. I was going to have to watch what I said around her. I didn’t want her to realize I had been studying her for days.

She even made drinking coffee look sexy. She would lift her cup up and bend over it, her hair falling around her hands, inhale the aroma and make a little moaning sound, then hold it up to her lips and blow on it a little before taking a sip and smiling. She was driving me absolutely crazy, and I don’t think she even realized it. I wanted to get a piece of paper and make my own list. Nice Ass was going to top the list, underlined four or five times.

She was almost finished with her first cup of coffee when her cell phone rang. It was her nephew, wanting to know where she was. That was going to have to be her last cup of coffee. I got up and picked up her shoes. When I turned around she just leaned back and lifted up one foot, holding it out in front of me until I slipped her shoe on, then lifted up the other foot and waved it at me before falling backward onto the booth and laughing. I was right, she was the life of the party. This was going to be a night I would never forget.

“Come on, Cinderella, the ball’s over,” I told her and slipped her other shoe on. I leaned over, put my hands under her arms and lifted her up out of the booth. She had her arms wrapped around my shoulders, and started kissing my neck. “Come on, Joan, you’ve got to stop that. Joan, stop. We’ve got to go.”