Dirk Saber P I Jane Russell Ch 03

My antique cuckoo clock cuckooed 4:00pm.

Tired of brooding over Becky's motivation to lie, I decided to celebrate the 4th of July in my usual way - barbecue steaks and drink an adult beverage or two. Maybe Becky was hungry, so I knocked on her door, and said, "I'm grilling steaks. Are you hungry?"

The bedsprings squeaked, as she answered, "I said I'd cook."

"Not today. It's the 4th, and I have my own traditions. Interested?"

"I'll be out in a minute."

Moving into the kitchen, first things first, I grabbed a Yuengling lager from the fridge to start my Independence Day celebration in earnest. Out on the patio, I fired up the grill, enjoying the sun on my skin and the cold brew down my throat. The chase lounge called my name, so I sat down, closed my eyes, and inhaled the sweet summer aromas while the grill warmed up and burned off the spider webs.

A shadow fell over me, and I heard, "Are these the steaks?"

A little annoyed by the sun block, I frowned and opened my eyes. Becky held the plastic bag of marinating meat in one hand, and a spatula in the other. Her blouse seemed unbuttoned a little more than I remembered.

Not a terrible way to be disturbed, so I smiled, and said, "Yes, that's them."

"I love to cook. May I?"

"Knock yourself out," I said, getting up. "I'll get the corn. You want a beer?"

As the steaks began to sizzle on the grill, Becky answered, "I'd love one."

I returned with two beers, the corn, and a pot of salt potatoes to boil on the grill.

"Salt potatoes! I haven't had them in years."

"They are hard to find around here. When I was a kid, we used to spend summers in upstate New York. It's just not summer without them, now." I handed her a beer and clinked our bottles. "Happy 4th."

"Same to you." She took the potato pot and placed it on a side burner. "My uncle lived in Utica. Dad would have him mail salt potatoes to us."

"Then this will be like old times, only different," I said, grinning with buzzed comradery.

Dick Tracy barked at the gate in a plea for release, so I set him free from the fenced enclosure. As long as someone is outside he doesn't wander off. Besides, there was meat in the air. He knew one of those steaks had his name on it.

I straddled the chase lounge, sat down with the corn on the cob between my knees, and began husking. Seconds later, Becky pulled up a chair facing me and helped. That's when I wished I'd bought a dozen ears instead of six. Tearing off the husks caused a pleasant ripple effect that reached her chest. Facing her, I couldn't help but enjoy the action and reaction. A part of me began to get husky.

"Make sure you get all the silk. I hate it when they get stuck between my teeth."

"Yes, boss. I know what you mean. I hate that, too."

Boss? I thought I was the hired help? But then again, she is working off her debt.

"Are you missing out by not spending the day with your brother's family?"

Becky compressed her lips, before saying, "No, Jeff and I are not that close. He's my stepbrother, actually. My father married his mother when we were both grown. He's busy with his movie theater." After placing the last ear of corn on the seat in front of me, she continued, "He did offer me a job though if I want it, working the ticket booth and concession stand. He said I can wear one of my costumes if they are appropriate for the current movie."

"Will that provide a living wage?"

She grinned, and said, "No. But it will satisfy my cosplay obsession."

I had to ask out of curiosity, "How many costumes do you have?"

"I don't know. I've never counted. But there are enough to fill my van."

Jokingly, I said, "If you get an uncontrollable urge, feel free to wear them here."

"Thanks, I will. In fact, I was planning on wearing my French maid outfit when I clean."

I felt my jaw drop, as I conjured a mental picture, but no words came out.

She laughed at my obvious discomfiture, and then stood saying, "I need another pot for the corn. Do you have one?"

"In the cupboard next to the stove."

"Be right back."

I got up and checked the steaks, wondering what I'd gotten myself into. Living in my house was the physical incarnation of Jane Russell, the woman who starred in my favorite sexual fantasies. A real woman that enjoyed dressing up in sexy costumes. A woman with a history of working in the sex trade, albeit supposedly unknown to me. My shorts tightened more with hope, but my mind new better. "She's a client, this is work. What is her angle? What is she after?" I muttered under my breath, until Becky returned with the pot of water.

She dropped the corn in, and placed the pot on the remaining side burner. "Okay, is that everything?"

"Yup, just a matter of time, now."

She snatched the spatula from my hand, and said, "Allow me," while bumping me out of the way with her hip. "Can I have another beer? Please."

"Yes, Boss."

She looked at me with clever intent, but just grinned.

I returned with her second beer and my third. Three beers on an empty stomach did not help my self-control.

Standing next to Becky, watching her cook and feeling her heat, I asked, "When it's safe, what will you do for money?"

"I'm not sure yet. Know anyone that's hiring?"

"What kind of work are you looking for?"

"I've worked in offices before. My people skills are pretty good."

People skills, hmm, I'd like to sample some of her 'people skills'. "I'll ask around."

"I can't help but notice you seem to be a one man operation. Is there an opening in your office, since Ms. Watson left?"

Whoa! Was that Becky's plan? After she heard Samantha's stories about us during their slumber party in the hotel room, did she think she could use me on the rebound until she got settled in? As I mulled it over, I answered, "Maybe, we'll see how we get along," leaving me room for future sober deliberation.

"Okay, I'll consider my time here part of the job interview." She cut open a steak, and asked, "How well done do you want yours?"

"Medium well."

"Yeah? Me too." She lifted the pot lids for a look inside. "Everything is ready."

Now that I was half in the bag, and totally out of my mind, I deferred to the lady, and asked, "Where would you like to eat, inside or out?"

"It's summer time. We have to eat outside at the picnic table."

"Good. I'll get some plates and silverware."

Becky drained her bottle, and wiggled it at me. "And another one of these."

"Can you handle it?"

"I'm a little tipsy, but I'll be fine once I get some food in my stomach."

Hmm, me too.

We sat on the same side of the table so we could both enjoy the view of the woods behind my house. Dick Tracy lay patiently behind us in the shade, waiting for his evening meal.

The dinner conversation nonexistent, until Becky said, "It's so quiet, so peaceful, so unlike living in L.A."

"Maybe you won't like it here."

"No, I'm done with all the phony, bullshit in L.A. I tried. I failed. Time to move on with my life."

Done with her meal, Becky put down her utensils, took a swig from her beer, and seemed to be lost in thought.

"I gotta feed Dick," I said, getting up.

"I like your Dick," and after giggling, added, "I've never said that to a man before."

"Well, I am honored to be the first, even if my Dick's a Saint Bernard."

"Size doesn't matter." She laughed, again. "I've never said that to a man before, either."

I found that hard to believe. A prostitute not flattering a client's equipment? Ridiculous.

"Well then, this will be a memorable 4th, won't it," I said, as I cut up Dick's steak into bitesize chunks. "Before you say something you may regret, how about filling half of Dick's bowl with dogfood." I handed her his bowl. "The bag is under the kitchen sink. Bring it out here. He's a messy eater."

"Yes, Boss."

I watched her ass retreat from view. The wiggle had a little wander in it, alcohol induced no doubt.

Along with Dick's food, Becky retrieved two more beers. I love a woman who thinks on her feet, unsteady though they me be. She handed me the beer, dumped the steak into Dick's bowl, and mixed the kibble and meat with her bare hand. Dick sat drooling patiently at her feet.

She bent down at the waist, and spoke to him in baby talk, "Who's a hungry dog?"

Dick stood up and barked, sending drool flying.

"Ugh, I guess I asked for that," said Becky, wiping her face.

Before my muddled brain could control my mouth, I said, "Excited Dicks tend to spray. You should know that."

She laughed, while setting down the bowl. Dick attacked it like he hadn't eaten in a month.

Walking over to the hose spigot, she said, "You're right. It's been so long, I'd forgotten."

Been so long? How long? A week? I left those questions in my head.

After rinsing off hands and face, Becky flopped down next to me, so close or shoulders bumped. "At least that Dick spray won't give me an STD."

"You're funny when you're drunk."

She rested her head on my shoulder and sighed.

She smelled like summer - barbecue, beer, and warm skin. Some of my favorites. I resisted the impulse to bury my nose in her hair.

My professionalism rapidly deteriorating, I asked, "Do you like fireworks?"

Sitting up, she looked at me with hooded eyes, and in a soft, sensual voice, asked, "What kind do you have in mind?"

What kind? After all this dick talk did she think I meant fireworks as a sexual euphemism? Oh god. I cleared my throat, and said, "The kind you see in the sky on the 4th of July, with lots of colors and lots of noise."

"Sucker!" Becky suddenly pushed me with both hands, and laughed when I fell off the picnic table.

Shaking her head, she said, "Wow, for a badass detective you're easy to tease. You should've seen your face. I hope you never commit perjury, because you'll end up in jail."

Embarrassed and intoxicated, I angrily answered truthfully. "I can lie! I lie a lot. I can keep secrets, too. You need those skills in the P.I. business. I just get a little flustered around beautiful women."

Okay, that was only a half-truth. I'm only flustered around my life-long crush, Jane Russell. But Becky didn't need to know how much exclusive power she possessed. As I brushed the grass off my legs, I noticed how quiet she'd become. I looked. She stared at me with a blank expression. A good poker face.

"What?"

Dick walked over and licked my open-book face. He's a worrier. I reassured him with an ear scratch.

Becky turned away, "Nothing. I like fireworks. Why?"

"They are one of my 4th of July traditions. But if you don't care to see them, well... the customer is always right."

"I thought I was hiding out. Isn't there a chance Fairweather will be looking for me in public places?"

"Not unless he's searching my woods."

"I don't get it," she said, starting to clear the table.

Pointing to the tree line, I said, "Back there is a path leading to a hilltop that overlooks the county fairgrounds. We can watch the fireworks from there, undisturbed."

Pausing in her cleanup, Becky straightened. She looked toward the trees, and said, "An adventure! I have a costume for that! Is it all right if I wear a costume?"

That seemed a little weird, but I said, "Yeah, I guess so. Nothing flimsy. We'll be in the woods, and it will cool off."

"Great!" Her cleaning pace picked up. "I need to get some things out of my van."

"The garage door is unlocked. Help yourself."

"What time do we leave?"

"Around 9:00."

"I'll be ready!" she said, as she disappeared into the house.

As I took care of the dirty dishes, Becky passed through the kitchen seven times, carrying boxes into the spare room. I didn't see her again until 8:59. The temperature had dropped 10 degrees. I changed into jeans and a green tee shirt - my any-man, costume. Loud fireworks scare Dick, so I let him into the house to hide behind the couch. Before it became too dark to see, I cleaned up his piles in the backyard.

Just as I dropped the last bag in the garbage, the backdoor rattled. I didn't move. I listened.

After long seconds, Becky called, "John, are you out here?"

The sun had set, creating more shadows than light. I decided to play cat and mouse with my house guest. Me being the cat, of course. I felt a need to show her that I could be stealthy and badass when I wanted. Glancing around the corner, Becky appeared in profile, silhouetted against the garage. Her clothes hugged her body like a second skin, revealing an unmistakable feminine contour.

The photoelectric floodlight suddenly clicked on, drenching Becky in noonday brilliance. We both gasped, she at the unexpected illumination, me at the sudden appearance of Lara Croft, Tomb Raider. Knowing she couldn't see beyond the circle of light, I stepped out and openly stared. The long plait of hair swung back and forth as she turned from side to side with indecision.

"Are those guns real?"

After a high pitched squeal, she shaded her eyes, looked in my direction, and said, "You scared me. No, they're not real." She reached across her body and pulled a six inch knife from her arm sheath, "But this is. So don't fuck with me."

I don't know why, but I felt compelled to play along. "Okay, Lara. It's your show."

A momentary smile crossed Becky's lips before returning to character.

"Are you John Smith?"

"I am one of a million."

"You're my guide? You know where we're going?"

"I do," I said, stepping into the light. "What's in the backpack?"

"Nothing."

"May I suggest we bring a few supplies in case of emergencies?"

"Like what?"

"Pretzels and beer."

She laughed, and said, "Ah, only the essentials. I like a man who travel light."

I retrieved the provisions and placed them in her backpack. Standing behind her, I noticed the long braid was pinned to her hair and did not quite match in color. After closing the pack, I rested my hands on her shoulders, and relished the contact.

"We're going to need some light to stay on the path," and in a spark of inspiration, added, "I have torches. Be right back."

Once in a while, I sit outside on clear nights and burn tiki torches to fend off the mosquitoes. They fit perfectly into this cosplay scene. Collecting them from the garage, I thought how strange this felt, along with how much fun I was having. My ratty old hoodie hung by the door. I grabbed it on the way by in case Lara's bare arms got cold. Practicality didn't seem to be part of her cosplay.

Igniting the oil torches with a butane lighter, I said, "Are you ready?"

Her excitement looked breathtaking by torch light. "Lead the way."

I have to admit, walking through the woods with torches creating dancing shadows in the trees felt much more adventurous and surreal than using a flashlight. We remained quiet in keeping with our treasure hunt modus operandi. To look back and see Becky in costume by firelight was worth the underlying feeling of silliness I fought to suppress.

"The overlook is just ahead," I said, as the trees thinned out. I blew out my torch, and Becky followed suit.

Because this had become an annual tradition I'd made a log bench to sit on and enjoy the view. Even during daylight hours the panoramic view of the valley offered a pleasant place to sit and think. But at night, with the county fair lights blazing, the view was pure Americana.

"Wow!" Becky placed her hand on my shoulder as we stood taking in the view. The faint Merry-go-round music wafted up on a warm breeze. "This is fabulous."

"I thought you might like it. Wait 'til the fireworks start."

We sat down and observed silently for a while. I didn't want to interrupt her thoughts and spoil the moment.

"I can smell the cotton candy."

"I know. It's a great vantage point."

"This must be your favorite make-out spot, huh John. You must bring women up here all the time."

Why disillusion her? I kept my loneliness to myself. Lara would expect more from her partner in crime.

Instead, I said, "We should hydrate after that long walk," and reached into her backpack for the refreshments.

Nursing our beers and munching on pretzels seemed like enough to do, with nothing important to say. A few minutes later the first rocket went up, ending with an explosion of hissing red sparkles. The crowd below cheered. So did Becky. She seemed to have softened. The tough Lara Croft facade faded. Subsequent explosions illuminated her rapt expression, and I found myself watching her face change colors as much as the pyrotechnics.

Becky shivered, so I draped my hoodie over her shoulders.

"Thanks," she said, keeping her gaze skyward.

We sat close enough I could put my arm around her, but I resisted temptation.

When the Grand Finale ended and the last boom echoed away, the distant cheer from the crowd put an exclamation point on a perfect evening. The background noise returned to carnival music and crickets. A strong man rang the bell three times.

In a whisper, Becky said, "That was fantastic," and rested her head on my shoulder for the second time that day.

This time, I threw caution to the wind and rested my head on hers. "Glad you liked it."

"I have to pee."

"Me too."

I lit the torches and we moved off into the trees in opposite directions.

"Watch out for the poison ivy."

Becky shrieked, and said, "I don't know what it looks like!"

"Just kidding. There isn't any."

"Very funny."

Toilet complete, I went back to the log and waited. A few minutes later, Becky returned, but she didn't sit. Throwing down the backpack, she moved in front of me and blocked the view. My hoodie wasn't draped over her shoulders anymore. She was wearing it, and pointing her knife at me. I didn't see the knife at first, because her long, bare legs shone bright in the flickering light.

After clearing my throat, I said, "What's up, Lara?"

She smiled at the use of her alias. "You've been an excellent guide, John. But you're nervous around me, and nervous guides make mistakes. Earlier, you confessed you're nervous around beautiful women. So, am I to assume you think I'm beautiful?"

I let out the breath I was holding, and said, "That would an accurate assumption."

Her free hand began to lower the hoodie zipper, slowly revealing skin. "Well I'm going to help you get over that, John. I want you confident around me, not nervous."

The zipper reached the bottom and the fabric separated, revealing a continuous strip of skin from head to toe. A Triangle of fine hair covered her pubis, coming to a point at the junction of her thighs. She shrugged off the hoodie and removed one arm at a time, transferring the knife to the other hand. Now completely bare, Becky remained still while I stared in disbelief.

On the outside, she was as perfect as I imagined, but what was going on inside? What was going through her head? Was this part of her cosplay? A way to thank me? A way to control me? I definitely felt under her spell.

She seemed to be waiting for me, so I said, "Okay, now I know you're beautiful all over. Thank you."

"Stand up."

I stood with my hands at my sides, nonthreatening.

Becky stepped close with the knife tip an inch away from my stomach. "See how easy it would be for beauty to hurt you."

Totally unacceptable. Adrenalin cleared my head and fired my reflexes. A few seconds later, the knife was on the ground. I twisted her arm behind her back with one hand and pulled her against me with the other.

"Thank you, Lara. I think I'm over my nervous. But now I'm feeling something much better." With that said I pushed her head forward and kissed her passionately. She resisted briefly, but then pressed her body against mine. The kiss lingered. My grip loosened, and her arms wound around my back. She was mine for the taking. I'd won my fantasy girl.

Pushing her away at arm's length, I said, "Get dressed. The mosquitoes will eat you alive."