“I thought you was,” he said. “Don’t forget the tip.”
22.
When we got back to Leonard’s place, Florida’s car was parked in the drive and she was on the porch sitting in the glider. It was a bright-enough night I could see she was wearing some kind of cartoon character T-shirt, blue jean short-shorts and big wooden shoes that reminded me of miniature pontoons. She looked cute as a new puppy.
Next door there was the usual activity of drug selling, and I could hear Mohawk’s, alias Strip’s, alias Melton’s, voice above everyone else’s. When Melton got excited, his vocal cords achieved a kind of shrill quality, like something oily was trying to crawl up his ass and he was liking it.
“Not a real good place for a lady to hang out this time of night,” I said to Florida.
“They think I’m inside, I bet.”
The way the glider was positioned, the shadows, that was possible, but I still didn’t think it was a good idea. Guys like the ones next door knew we were gone, saw her car over here, they might decide to investigate.
“You’ll promise me you won’t do this again, though, won’t you?” I said.
“I promise,” she said.
“Want to come in?” Leonard asked her.
“No,” she said, “I’m going to steal Hap from you. I’m taking him on a picnic.”
“Picnic?” I said. “This time of night?”
“I been waiting since dark,” she said. “I’m hungry. And I don’t care if you just ate dinner, we’re picnicking, and you will eat. I made the stuff myself.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Florida said to Leonard, “stealing Hap off and not inviting you, but-”
“That’s all right,” Leonard said, hanging his head and pretending to be sad. “I have a TV dinner, meatloaf, I think, and they’re having a Three’s Company rerun marathon on channel nine. I wouldn’t want to miss that. And right before it, there’s an hour of The Brady Bunch.”
Florida giggled sweetly and Leonard raised his head and smiled.
I said to Leonard, “We’ll talk later.”
“I want to sleep on a few things anyway,” Leonard said.
“Pretty mysterious, you two,” Florida said.
“That’s us,” Leonard said, “The Mysterious Duo.”
I got in the car with Florida and she drove us out Highway 7 East. I reached in the back for the picnic basket, an official wicker one with handle, and she said, “Uh-uh.”
“I just wanted to know what we were having on this picnic,” I said.
“It’s a surprise. You find out as you eat it. But I bet you can guess what dessert is.”
“Is it chocolate colored and sweet and shaped like a taco and you keep it in a warm place?”
“My God,” she said, “The Amazing Kreskin. Come over here and ride bitch, big boy.”
I slid over next to her and she smelled sweet and delectable. She said, “What’s that cologne, Hap? Frog and Pond?”
I slid away from her. “Do I smell that bad?”
“Get back over here,” she said. “Always did like a man smelled faintly of frog. Maybe you’ll tell me how you came by that aroma?”
“Maybe,” I said, and slid back and kissed her softly on the neck.
We continued until we came to a turnoff that announced a Scenic Overlook. The idea of an overlook in East Texas, especially if you’ve ever been to Colorado, someplace with mountains, is pretty funny. What it means here is a high hill, and not all that high.
We drove up there, and at the top were a couple of concrete picnic tables, a chained-down metal trash receptacle, and a whitewashed chain that ran between thick white posts that designated the area.
We got out of the car, and I carried the basket over to a table. Florida put her arm around me, and we walked to the chain barrier and looked down. You fell, you’d go almost six feet before you were in a pasture. Not exactly scary or breathtaking. But the deal was this: Here, on this hill, you looked straight out, there was a big V in the usual line of trees, and you could see a long ways, and the trees in the distance, especially now at night, looked like blue and purple mountains, and above those trees, the stars were like glitter being poured into a funnel. Directly overhead, it was so clear the stars seemed close enough to snag with a butterfly net. The air was invigorating.
The depression I was feeling after the rush of adrenaline from discovering the body in the van and the brief bar fight was subsiding.
“This is nice,” I said.
“Yes, it is,” she said, and hugged me tighter. “You can see forever itself from here.”
“You come here a lot?”
“Now and then. An old boyfriend in high school showed it to me.”
“Never mind. I’d rather not hear it.”
“He was an astronomer-to-be,” she said. “He was interested in the stars.”
“Right,” I said.
“Well, he did have a theory or two on black holes.”
“Ha. Ha.”
She laughed. “I’ve never been here when someone else was. Not yet. I’ve always had it to myself.”
“Good,” I said.
A shooting star flamed across the sky and snuffed out. We oohed and aahed it.
Damn, what a day. A nude swim. A dead body. A bar fight, and now a picnic with a beautiful woman, and a shooting star. What next? A UFO encounter?
The picnic basket contained barbecued chicken, egg salad and ham and cheese sandwiches on wheat bread, and sweet pickles and hot peppers and chips and potato salad.
“That’s a lot of food,” I said.
“Figured an old guy like you might need to recharge himself later.”
“Honey, I look at you, I don’t need any jumper cables.”
We put the food on paper plates and ate and drank sweet tea out of a large thermos. There was another thermos with coffee; when we finished eating, I reached for it, but Florida stopped me. She said, “After dessert.”
She stood up and took off her shorts and she wasn’t wearing panties. She put the shorts on the picnic table. She slipped off her shirt and she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“You saving on laundry?” I said.
She put the shirt with the shorts. She moved up close to where I sat on the stone picnic bench, and I kissed her belly button. She pushed away from me and smiled and gathered her clothes and walked back to the car. She looked funny and sexy wearing nothing but those big shoes. She opened the back door and sat on the seat with her legs outside and unfastened her shoes and put them on the floorboard. She crossed her legs and looked at me. “Do I have to write you a letter?” she said.
“Don’t even need to send a telegram,” I said, and I got up and went over there.
Later, we dressed and had coffee while we lay on the hood of the car, our backs against the windshield. We must have seen a half-dozen shooting stars.
“This was a nice surprise,” I said. “I especially liked the part where you shucked your shorts.”
“Glad you liked it, but could I say – without intent to hurt your fragile male ego, because I enjoyed myself very much – you seem a little distracted?”
“I’ve had a big day.”
“Hap, I’ve been thinking, and I got to tell you, what I said the other night-”
“That’s all right. I was pushing.”
