joined me and we sat there watching an A amp;E special on John Wayne Gacy.
I was about to flip the channel when I heard a knock on the door. I looked through the window and it was Trina. She had a gift-wrapped box with a shiny bow.
“Hey, what’re you doing here?” I said, holding the door open for her.
“I’ve heard that PTSD people need lots of social interaction,” she said.
“How beautiful was that? I thought the Michelin Woman was going to have a shit hemorrhage,” I said.
Al jumped off the couch and up Trina’s legs to say hello. I opened the package and it was a cold twelver of Schlitz.
“Ahh… and just my size,” I said.
She smiled at me and tilted her head in that way that made her hair gently rest on one shoulder. She had on her faded Levis that were tight without being slutty and a white men’s button-down shirt that she left untucked. Her high-heeled boots made her legs seem even longer.
“You cut it pretty close this time, Duff,” she said, taking the beer I handed her.
“Too close,” I said.
Our eyes met and I pulled her close to me. She was tall enough to kiss me without going on tiptoes, but she did have to stretch and I loved the way the small of her back felt in my hands. She closed her eyes and kissed me hard.
I let my hands go under her shirt and I held the small of her back. Her back and abdomen had that wonderful combination of being hard and soft at the same time. Trina ran her hands over my shoulders and across my back as we kissed.
Al slumped off the couch and mumbled something that sounded like a stifled bark. I knew that sound and its prelude to a long barking fit. Unfortunately. Trina knew that sound too. She pulled back from our kiss.
“Duff, I can’t do this if Al’s going to be part of it,” she said.
Al was sitting, quite comfortably, his eyes going back and forth between me and Trina like he was watching tennis. Then he kind of snorted and got up and turned away from us on his way toward the stereo.
Trina and I watched as Al waddled over to the eight-track and sat in front of it. He paused and then nosed in the tape that was sticking out. The tape played “Rock-a-Hula Baby” and Al nosed the program button. It played “Ku-U-I-Po” and he nosed it again. He got the tape to the fourth track and the King kicked in with “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
Al turned and looked at me and then Trina and then me again. He barked loudly once and headed off to the kitchen.
I swear to God I saw him wink.
Not long after that, Trina and I got lost in the uninterrupted bliss, first on and then off my sofa. My attention was going in and out but at one brief interlude it focused on the lyrics Elvis was crooning. It was the second verse of Al’s favorite.
It had something to do with the sin but more with letting yourself go for love.
