A C&w Song in the Ey of Life

As I watched Shelley agonize over how I was going to respond, Anger was still locked in fierce hand-to-hand combat with Yearning over control of my lizard brain. But scoring an unprecedented threepeat, my frontal lobe again seized the initiative and switched my voice from Shouting to Soothing. "You aren't a dipshit, Shelley. But we've both paid a high price for your lack of trust in me. You should have let me explain."

I tried to keep a solemn face, but that's hard to do when 40 pounds or so of wriggling Lab puppy is trying his best to lick your cheeks off. I put him down and squatted beside him, scratching behind his ears and trying to keep him from turning inside out. I looked up at Shelley. "You trying to bribe me? I mean, what makes you think I want another dog?"

I was teasing, but she thought I really meant it. Her face fell, she looked like she had just run over the puppy. "Oh God, Tom, I'll take him back to the shelter. I would never force you to take something you don't want." She started to walk over to get him, but I held my hand up palm out, the universal stop sign.

"Jesus, Shelley, I wasn't serious. I know you did it to help me. It was the perfect thing to do. I think I might love him already, and I know he thinks I taste good. Now all we have to do is decide what to name him."

Shit. Why did I say we? Shelley stopped, then backed up until she bumped into the pickup again. When she spoke, once again her voice was so small I could barely hear her.

"Last night with my parents wasn't very pleasant. They were really unhappy when I moved in with Rob, and when I asked yesterday if I could come back they were...polite, even a little sympathetic, but...but not very loving. I can't believe the terrible decisions I made." She went back to clutching her arms around herself, defending against...what? Me? The world? Herself?

"I don't have anyplace else to go right now. Could I stay here for a few days? I'll sleep in the spare room and stay out of your way." She couldn't look at me, she was afraid what my answer would be.

Jesus H Christ! In 36 hours we'd swapped roles—now I was the injured party and she was the supplicant. Anger and Yearning were still at it hot and heavy, but they'd rounded the far turn and were in the homestretch. Anger was weakening and Yearning was closing fast, could smell victory. (God, I love metaphors!)

I picked up the pup and walked over to Shelley. "You can stay here, on one condition. That you clean up any so-called accidents this guy has." I handed him to her. She clutched him to her bosom (I love that word, too) and nodded. I tried to look stern. "Make that two conditions: That we figure out his name pretty soon."

She risked a small smile but still looked afraid. I didn't want a fearful Shelley, I wanted the take-no-shit woman I fell in love with. I failed to look stern. "Make that three conditions: That you forget that nonsense about sleeping in the spare room."

_________

it wasn't all beer and Skittles, of course, whatever that means—who the hell would drink beer with candy? We hugged a lot, cried sometimes, slept in the master bedroom king-size, but didn't even cuddle the first few nights. She couldn't erase the image of the naked broad about to swallow my hard-on, and I couldn't erase the image of her fucking Rob, the lying sonofabitch she chose to believe instead of me.

In the meantime, I discovered that Jess and Luis didn't put in just any old engine and tranny in the pickup, they shoe-horned in a 454 mated to a Turbo Hydramatic 700-R4, both sort of tweaked, then decided to finish it off with Hooker headers and a couple of Cherry Bombs. If I'd been 10 years younger, I probably would have killed myself the first time or two I drove it. As it happened, the only thing that saved me from an 89-in-a-35-zone ticket was I got pulled over by a cop who was a good friend and knew it was totally out of character.

He did tell me that if it happened again he'd take away my new toy and write me up for reckless driving and criminal stupidity. It didn't happen again. And I fitted catalytic converters and proper mufflers. Then got

Two Ramblin' Wrecks

painted on the doors and wrote the whole thing off. My momma didn't raise any stupid kids. Foolhardy, maybe, foolish for sure, but not stupid.

For the next week or so Shelley and I finally managed to kiss each other goodnight and fall asleep with her spooned against me. It was pretty clear that we loved each other, but couldn't move on to liking or trusting, let alone lusting. It was also pretty clear that we probably weren't going to move on without a kick in the ass.

It came in a way we would never have imagined.

_________

One Saturday morning a couple of weeks after Shelley moved back, we were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and reading the paper when the doorbell chimed. We exchanged curious looks, I shrugged, and Shelley started to get up. I waved her down and went to answer the door.

It was a guy and two women dressed in jeans and T-shirts that read STAND-UPS DO IT FOR LAUGHS. They obviously weren't Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormon missionaries. I even thought they looked vaguely familiar. The guy spoke for them. "Mr. Thomas Becket?" I didn't see a manila envelope and nobody was carrying a purse or briefcase, so it didn't look like I was being served.

"Yes?" I was curious what this was all about.

"May we speak to you for a moment?" Just then Shelley walked up behind me to see what was going on. She rested her hand on my shoulder, but when she saw them she squeezed so hard I slapped my hand over hers.

"You! How dare you..." Shelley was so mad she was sputtering. I was trying to pry her hand off my shoulder before her fingernails shredded my trapezius.

The taller of the two women quickly responded. "Please, Mrs. Becket, you have every right to be angry. Please let us explain." Who the hell were these people? Now I was really curious. Shelley drew breath for another angry outburst, but I tried to calm her down.

"Let's hear what they have to say, Shel. Then we can throw them out, if that's still what you want." I put my arm around her waist, then moved us back from the door and waved them in. Shelley had stopped trying to Rolf me, but she threw me a look that would have dropped a charging cape buffalo at a thousand yards. Sorry, I guess they're meters in Africa. Oh well, I'd managed to survive worse from her a year ago.

Avoiding eye contact with Shelley, they slowly walked past us. I suggested they go into the kitchen and sit at the table. As they sat in the chairs, it suddenly hit me who they were and why Shelley had reacted so strongly. Now I couldn't hold back my shock. "Sonofabitch..."

The taller woman sighed and nodded. "Yes, you knew us that night as Lissa and Terri and a PI. That's who your 'friend' Rob Wagner paid us to be." She hooked air quotes around friend. "Now that we've learned the truth, it's time you did also. For starters, I'm Alice, she's Grace, and he's Alejandro. He calls himself Alec, but a lot of folks know him as Slick because he can be pretty smooth." She and Grace exchanged little smiles, and he looked embarrassed.

Paid to be? By Rob? I began to think this "truth" might be more than a little interesting.

"We're actors, we live in Houston. Well, someday we hope to be paid as actors. Grace is from Blanco, down by San Antonio, and I'm from Jefferson, in piney woods country. Slick, I mean Alec, isn't Tejano, he's from Conejos, Colorado." I had a feeling this wasn't going to be a short story, so I interrupted and asked if they'd like some coffee. Grace spoke up before the other two.

"Yes, thank you. That would be wonderful. You don't know how we've dreaded facing you." As I rustled up mugs and sugar and half-and-half, I tried to assure her that apparently we'd all been suckered by Rob. I poured the coffee, draining the pot, and nobody spoke while I recharged Mr. Coffee. When I sat back down, the atmosphere seemed a bit less tense.

Alice aka Lissa held her mug with both hands and took a couple of sips, then continued her confession. "We're wannabe actors, but for now we have day jobs and belong to a stand-up comedy troupe, trying to get noticed." Her chuckle wasn't a happy one. "We got noticed all right last year, but not by a talent scout. Your friend Rob noticed us." No air quotes this time.

"He caught our gig at a comedy club in Houston and bought us a round after the first set. He showed up again a couple of weeks later, sat through all three sets and bought rounds in between, then took us to breakfast. After telling us how great we were, he said we'd be perfect for a special Valentine's Day gift he wanted to give a couple of close friends, and asked if we'd be interested in doing a one-time private show in Plano. He said he'd pay us $500 apiece plus round-trip airline tickets. We'd fly out and back the same day."

By this time Shelley and I had both figured out where this was probably going, and we both were getting irritated—at our guests, at Shelley, at me, but mostly at Rob. She took my hand in hers on top of the table. Alice noticed, and her voice dropped in tone and volume.

The "special Valentine's Day gift" turned out to be taking parts in a role-playing game that Shelley and I supposedly set up to spice up our sex life. Rob described their roles to them and said that we—Shelley and I—were delighted to hear that they were going to be part of our sexy game.

"He'd even written up a script and said that y'all were gonna act like it was real. He said this was y'all's idea in the first place, and stressed that it was really important for us to stay in character all the way through, no matter how upset y'all might act." The longer she talked, the more embarrassed she looked—and the more her Texas accent pushed aside the NPR

All Things Considered

gravitas.

_________

The two women had played their roles in the bar very well, getting me to drink too much and then luring me up to Lissa's—I mean Alice's—room. Meanwhile, Alec, the "PI", called Shelley right after she got home from work and told her that he'd been hired by the husband of a woman traveling on business who was staying at the Hilton. He said he had discovered something that he thought she should know and asked if she would meet him in the lobby of the Hilton.

Shelley turned to me and interrupted the narrative. "I was surprised that you weren't home when I got there. I shouldn't have been suspicious, but I couldn't forget what a player you'd been, so I agreed to meet him. I'm so sorry, Tom." She started to cry, but I shushed her and said everything was okay. And it was, or at least was rapidly getting that way.

When Shelley got to the Hilton, the "PI" told her he was sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but he wanted her to see something in room 414. When they got to the room he just pushed the door open, took her by the elbow, and propelled her in. It turned out that I wasn't mistaken when I thought I hadn't seen the door lock's green light go on that night; Alice had jammed the plungers so it wouldn't latch, making it easy for them to come in without alerting me.

We both knew what happened after that, at least in the room. Shelley interrupted again.

"Oh God, Tom, I couldn't believe it! I didn't want to believe it! I can't even remember what I was shouting, but the guy took a few pictures with his phone, then dragged me back into the hall and said I should go home right away." She shivered as she relived that awful night.

"I didn't even ask why, I just let him lead me. We took the stairs down instead of the elevator, and went outside through a door that opened onto the parking lot. He walked me over to my car and said he'd get in touch. He never did, but by then Rob was 'advising' me. He told me you'd been cheating on me and I thought what I saw that night proved it. God, I feel so stupid!" I tried to assure her that she acted no more stupidly than I did that night. I think I was able to convince her because I pretty much believed it myself.

I had pulled my pants up and run out of the room as fast as I could, but they were gone. It didn't occur to me that they would have taken the stairs. By the time I got to my car and had driven home, Shelley was already packing.

_________

Alice continued her story. "When you left the room, I got dressed, washed off the makeup, and packed the few things I brought. Grace, Alec, and I met Rob in the bar. He paid us, actually gave us each a $100 tip for doing such a good job, and called an Uber to take us to DFW. We caught a red-eye back to Houston and were happy that we'd been well paid to have fun." She winced as she said the last. "I'm sorry, we had no idea what we had really done, what pain we caused." Grace and Alec shook their heads in agreement. A strained silence fell over the table.

Alice got up and went into the living room, then out the sliding doors onto the deck. The rest of us watched her go, then looked back at each other. I got up and walked over to the coffee machine. "Anyone want more coffee?" They all mumbled no or shook their head. "What about a beer?" That proved to be an easier sell. I looked toward the patio doors. "What about..."

Grace shrugged. "Go ask Alice."

_________

I did. She did want a beer. We finished all the Shiner—the 97s and the Dunkelweizen, even a warm six-pack of Light Blonde I found under some old plastic bags on the pantry floor that someone gave me a couple of years ago. Then we started on the tequila. By mid-afternoon we were fast friends, in tears, and drunk.

I ordered in pizza and more beer. We convinced the actors that there was no reason they shouldn't spend the night with us. I have no idea where they wound up sleeping after Shelley and I stumbled off to our bedroom, but it didn't seem important at the time. Still doesn't, for that matter.

I followed Shelley into our bedroom and closed the door. She turned around, put her arms around my neck, and just looked into my eyes. I put my arms around her waist and looked back. We stood like that for a full minute, then another. I don't remember what I was thinking, but I'll bet it would take pages and pages to capture everything we managed to tell each other without speaking. Shelley finally broke the silence.

"Would you please help little old me get undressed, kind sir? I think I'm too strunk to drip." She leered. I was pretty sure she wasn't as drunk as she was acting, and decided that two could play that game. Who knows, maybe we were making a breakthrough. She was wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes and a ratty old Kilgore Rangerettes T-shirt. She didn't go to Kilgore College, but really liked the Rangerettes. Who doesn't?

"Hell yeah, I'm good at undressing li'l ol' grunk dirls." I grabbed each side of the neck opening and ripped the T-shirt apart. It was so worn it tore easily. She hadn't bothered with a bra.

She squealed, then put on a mock pout. "Hey! That was my Rangerette shirt!"

"Fuck the Rangerettes." I tried to growl, but couldn't smother my chuckle.

"You wish. You couldn't even fuck Miz Gussie Nell Davis with that limp dick of yours." She grinned and squeezed my growing boy as she said that, then put her hands beneath her breasts and jiggled them up and down. "How about these Rangerette titties, cowboy? They do anything for you?" The nipples were pointing at me like two dick-seeking missiles.

Somewhere along the way she had unbuttoned her Daisy Dukes, so I unzipped them and slid them— and her panties —down to her ankles. She put her hands on my shoulders for balance and stepped out of the pants, then pushed down hard on my shoulders. My knees hit the floor and the scent of a woman hit my olfactory system. In a reflex action that required no more conscious thought than an eyeblink, I grabbed both buttcheeks and plunged my face into her already-lubed-up quim. She screeched, I slobbered and sucked, and it was Katie bar the door.

I'm pretty sure that love had something to do with went on for the next hour or so, but our neighbors would probably disagree. I'm surprised no one called 911.

Her first orgasm was so intense I was afraid for my tongue. The next one came seconds after I had spun her around, pushed her top half on the bed, then plunged past her lubricious labia and bounced off her cervix. After two or, at the most, three pounding strokes, her quim slammed shut so hard it tried to force all the blood from my case-hardened cock back into my fluid-starved circulatory system. This, in turn, inspired my ejaculatory system to a pretty decent imitation of a water cannon. The combined effect of our orgasms apparently inspired a swarm of Facebook and Twitter posts nattering on about a goddamn swarm of earthquakes caused by fracking.

Their seismological analysis was spot on, but their pronunciation sucked.