Bob and Tricia are a new couple in our neighbourhood. They moved in a few weeks back. They're somewhat younger than me, both being in their early twenties, but a nice enough couple. Except for one little problem. Tricia can't stand the sight of me.
Not my fault, I assure you, totally not my fault. Let me tell you what happened. Shortly after they moved in Bob decided that he wanted to make some adjustments to the plumbing. Too many leaky taps and so on. It was just the sort of plumbing job that any husband could handle around the house. Put in a few new washers, put new tape on a couple of joints, tighten a few connections.
Bob reserved a Saturday for it and got to work bright and early. Now I'm quite an efficient handyman and I knew Bob was going to be doing the plumbing so I told him that if he ran into any problems to give me a yell and I'd drop over and give him a hand. So he did run into a little problem and he did give me a yell. True to my word I wandered over and helped him out. It was no big deal, just a minor hitch that required two people to work on it to get it done.
Seeing I was there I stayed to change a couple of washers. Bob was doing the ones in the bathroom while I was fixing the tap in the kitchen. That's when the, ah, situation arose.
Bob and I are superficially similar. Both of us are rather solid men of about the same height and both with dark hair. You can see how someone expecting to see one of us in a certain situation could make a mistake.
Tricia had been sleeping in. Why not? It was a Saturday morning and Bob had shut off the water so why not keep out of the road and take advantage of the situation to have a lie in? Anyone could understand that happening.
Anyway, Tricia finally got up while I was working in the kitchen. She came strolling into the kitchen while I was bent over the sink and naturally assumed that I was Bob. She took a provocative pose, leaning against the kitchen door, and suggested that I might like to come back to bed for a while.
I stood up and turned around and there was Tricia, sex on legs, a provocative little minx, smiling at me. She hadn't dressed after getting out of bed, just slipping on a house-coat which she hadn't bothered to do up. All her charms were on display and she had some very lovely charms.
"Geez, I'd love to, Tricia," I told her, "but don't you think that Bob might object?"
It was hilarious to see the way the smile froze on her face and then seemed to just fade away. Talk about surprised.
"Ah, um, I thought you were Bob," she mumbled.
"Nope. Tony's the name. We have met. I live just up the road. Here to give Bob a bit of a helping hand."
Maybe I was little bit too obvious about appreciating the scenery. I could see when the shocked realisation hit her that she was standing there effectively naked, giving me one hell of a free peep show. She gave a startled squawk, frantically snatched the house-coat closed, and bolted.
Bob came out to see what the noise was.
"Just Tricia," I told him. "She didn't know I was here and got a bit of a shock."
"Ah," he said, nodding. "Yeah, I didn't tell her you were helping. No worries, mate. She'll be right."
I didn't mention her state of dress and I strongly suspect that Tricia didn't either. But since that time she's tended to look daggers at me whenever she sees me. Not fair, in my opinion. After all, like I said, it wasn't my fault.
As I got to know Bob and Tricia it quickly became apparent that Bob and I were never going to be close friends. We were just too different and we settled very quickly into the role of neighbours and acquaintances, each going out own way.
That was how things stood when I ran into Bob in an unfortunate situation. I'd been down to the pub, had a couple of beers, and played some pool. I'd noticed Bob at the bar when I got a drink but apart from nodding to him we didn't get together.
I left the pub and I was still sober, not having to worry about cops with breathalysers. I reached my car and by a coincidence Bob was parked just a few spots over and he was trying to get in his car. I say trying as he seemed to be having trouble making the car stay still so he could put the key in the lock. I walked over and watched him for a moment and quickly came to the conclusion that he wouldn't have to worry about a breathalyser. If he tried to blow into one he'd probably pass out.
There were a couple of subtle signs that gave him away. The first and most obvious was the way he was hanging onto the car while trying to get the key in the lock. The second was the fact that he had a remote unlock on his key and had pushed it, several times. The trouble was that with some cars, if you don't open a door after you've used the remote unlock, they relock themselves after about twenty seconds. Bob was too pissed to get the door open in the time frame and it kept relocking on him.
There was no way I could let him drive home in that condition. Self-preservation for a start. He'd be driving in the same area that I'd be driving in and any accident he had could easily include me. I cursed to myself and decided to run him home.
"Say, Bob, it looks like you've got a defective key there," I told him. "Why don't I run you home and you can get someone to check the key in the morning?"
He looked at me and then looked at his key and nodded.
"The key. Knew it was the key," he mumbled. "Yeah, I guess I'd better get a lift."
I steered him over to my car and eased him in. He promptly passed out. That was OK. As long as he stayed passed out and didn't wake up and throw up I'd be satisfied.
It didn't take long for me to reach his place. I hoicked him out of the car and half dragged, half carried him to the front door and rang the bell. Tricia answered and gave us both a dirty look.
"I'd better bring him in," I told Tricia. "Where do you want him put?"
Tight-lipped, she stalked back into the house with me following behind. She opened a door and silently pointed to the bed in the room. A single bed, I noticed. Bob was sleeping in the spare room tonight. One step above being outside in the doghouse I guess.
I dumped Bob on the bed and left the room. Tricia was standing there, waiting for me, looking furious.
"Hey, don't blame me," I said. "I just brought him home. Figured it was safer than letting him drive."
I was looking her over as I spoke and couldn't help smiling. She had on a wrap-around house-dress, fastened by a tie-belt. The reason for the smile was that it was the same dress that she'd nearly been wearing in the kitchen that time.
Tricia seemed a little incensed at the fact that I was smiling, or perhaps because I was letting my eyes wander and she remembered what I'd seen.
"If you had any decency you wouldn't have let him get into that condition in the first place," she snapped.
"In that first place is the fact that Bob's an adult and able to make his own choices," I pointed out. "In second place, I wasn't at the pub with him and had no way of monitoring his intake. Sorry, love, but this isn't my fault, either."
Perhaps I shouldn't have added that last word.
"What do you mean, either?"
"Just that it wasn't my fault that you decided to flash me in the kitchen," I said in an innocent tone. "It was your choice so I don't see why you should blame me for it."
"I did not flash you," Tricia said, enunciating each word slowly and clearly. "It just seems to me that unfortunate things happen around you."
"Beg to differ," I murmured. "You did indeed flash me and I didn't consider it unfortunate. As a matter of fact I thought it a stroke of good luck. Same dress as you've currently got on."
If looks could kill, etcetera, etcetera. She nodded towards the front door.
"You'll want to be getting home. Don't let me delay you," she said.
Maybe that beer I'd had had lowered my inhibitions. There had to be some logical reason for what I did next.
