Ed first met Tiffany at the lounge down off Groesbeck. Nice tits, a huge perm of a 'do, kind of a dazed expression on her face. Big, brown eyes and a cute overbite, tall and leggy. Did I mention the tits?
She wouldn't go right back to his place, but Ed's fifteen bux for drinks did yield a phone number. She had this sing-song, little girl voice. "Sure!" she piped, over the phone. "Dinner at Shepherd's? Love to!"
Shepherd's would set Ed back about seventy-five, but he was working his way into her pants, one dead president at a time. She ate daintily, dabbing with great care at her rather oversized lips, and left three-quarters of a $29.95 veal chop on her plate. Dancing? At the Gold Door? Love to!
A ten-spot flung in the direction of the scruffy, smirking band leader got Ed a passable rendition of "The Rose". On the dance floor, Ed pawed at Tiffany like he was trying to smooth her back and buttocks flat, except he sure wasn't. A whole lot of seat there! He was at his best, smiling shyly, bashfully telling her he was almost a musician once, too, but now he's making so much money in merchandise sales...well, his dream can always come later. He punctuated the tale by buying the bar a drink; Tiffany's eyes widened, the pouty lips formed a little "o". Ed grinned to himself, thinking about putting those lips to good use.
Back in his apartment, in the sack, the girl made up in enthusiasm what she lacked in style. "Oh, oh, ooooooooh, Ernie," she moaned, and he refrained from saying, It's Ed, you silly twat. The tits were even nicer up close and personal than they were under the frilly blouse; the long legs flexed, kicked out, knocked a lamp to the floor with a crash. Ed found himself reaming Tiffany, telling her how good she was, while calculating how many weeks of commissions tonight was going to cost him. But then her eyes closed, and she tilted her head back and started bubbling happily, and he thought, well, damn, this is kewl!
The next night they stayed in the apartment, him fixing her one of his famous stuffed game hens--broads love these fancy little meals without much meat--and serving her enough wine to float a Panamax vessel. Then, away they went to the tiny bedroom for some more shrieking, bouncing, furniture-destroying fun. The wine really got Tiffany babbling, and Ed had to hear about everything from her fifth high school reunion to the part-time job at Jacobsen's to her two three-year-old nephews or maybe they were three two-year-old nephews. He nodded and smiled and got her nekkid, all the while wondering, How long before this gets old?
The next night, she brought her things. She didn't have very many things; she'd been living with another guy. Ed didn't ask. They split a pizza--Ed figured he had spent his commissions through Thanksgiving--and Tiff talked all the while, all through Forget Paris (he rented the DVD; she'd said it was her favorite), about how much she liked being with him, and what a good cook he was, and such a good lover, too. They cuddled up on the old couch; he had her panties off before Billy Crystal could tell Kareem, "Then let me be the first to say, farewell!" The beat-up piece of furniture squeaked as they bounced, but it didn't drown her out. Ed heard you could get these earplugs at Meijer's, mold right into your ears, three fifty-nine. He'd check it out.
The days were followed by weeks. The sex was great; the conversation was tedious, then numbing, then grating. At the store, Ed would be putting the finishing touches on an order for a big-screen TV and thinking about that 7 1/2 percent cut, and that damn phone would ring. He knew who it would be; Tiff was just so excited, talking about the new drapes she was getting, and the carpet, and a divan to replace that old couch. And her new hot pink A-frame suit with the matching pumps. Ed forced a smile as he waved goodbye to his customer; the commission on the TV was already gonzo.
With the new furniture and new clothes came a new attitude. Take your shoes off, she ordered, that carpet will stain. Put a coaster under that beer. There would be no more fucking on the new divan; after last night, I had to scrub it for half an hour. She has time to scrub the divan, now that she's quit her job at Jacobsen's, her $14.75 an hour job. Ed ate a TV dinner--the meat was still cold--while she yakked about the show on the TV, the crowd at the furniture store, the dent she'd put in his Buick backing into a light pole in the parking lot. Ed was ready to kill her, so he fucked her instead, relieved some tension. Besides, when Tiff was naked and bouncing up and down under him was about the only time he could get her to shut up.
He tried to get rid of her; at first, subtly. A note, accompanied by a couple of C-notes, suggested she might want to go away for a while, get some fresh air. Forget it; she was still there that evening. "I couldn't go; who would I talk to?" She'd spent the money on clothes.
Then, not so subtly. Listen, he interrupted her monologue about her nephews one night, I think maybe we should spend some time away from each other. See other people. She started to cry; no, I can't do that. "I love you so much!" she sobbed. They headed back to the bedroom; she'd replaced his old bed, which he had to admit was more comfortable, except when the payments were due on the twelfth.
So, Ed was whipped. All the selling he could do, and he couldn't keep up with the payments on all the shit Tiff could buy. One night, he lied, told her he'd be working late, then instructed his co-worker Sal to cover for him and bugged out early. He headed for the Gold Door; he needed to get away. Flashed a few bills, met a foxy redhead named Shelley; she giggled and cooed, passed along her phone number, hinted she'd like to see his pad. He'd like her to see his pad, too, especially the ceiling in his bedroom. Desperate, frantic, in hock ass-deep, Ed came up with a plan.
The next night--Tiff had started yakking the moment he got back from the Gold Door, and didn't stop until he stuck his dick into her--Ed borrowed the company van. In the back was a deep-freeze, and a large Formica table. Both had been returned by a customer; Ed had conveniently disposed of the paperwork. From the home emporium, he went to the superstore and bought all the tools he'd need--saws, knives, plastic wrap, wax paper. And a big ol' mallet, just like the Coyote uses in the cartoons. Bop! He hauled all the stuff into the apartment, Tiff gaping and wondering what he needed with such things, the refrigerator was usually empty, anyway, where are you going to put that big table, it doesn't go with my furniture--
The last thing Ed brought in was the mallet. He closed the door. Bop.
Tiff certainly did have long legs, Ed reflected. He had her stretched out on the table, and was cutting her into chunks. Her tits went into separate baggies, and her back, and her thighs, and her ribs--Ed had helped out at Dad's meat market in high school, and could do all this stuff without throwing up. The parts he couldn't use went into the trash compactor; as he watched Tiff's head disappear, her mouth with the cute little overbite finally closed for the first time in his memory, he felt a pang of conscience. But just a pang; he whistled and finished the job, cleaning up and packing Tiffany into the deep-freeze, as he thought about Shelley coming for dinner and an orgy.
All of the crap Tiff had packed into the game room, the exercise equipment and tasteful furnishings, was hauled out and loaded back into the company van; Ed was confident he could at least recoup a fraction of his losses. Into the game room went the freezer, filled with bits of Tiff. He selected a rather tasty looking chunk, a standing rib roast, for the following evening's seduction. He'd tell Shelley it was pork. What the hell did women know?
"Oh—my!" the sultry redhead gasped, her mouth half-full of Tiff's backside. She was wearing a blouse with a neckline that plunged like Greg Louganis; the sea-green eyes stared at Ed, who smiled. "This is fantabulous! You have to tell me how you made it!" Well, he thought, looking down at his portion and preparing to saw off a chunk, you take one ex-girlfriend, bang her over the head...
