I had been homebound with a flu bug for three days. That night I felt a little better, but my temperature was still 102, and I was constantly filmed with greasy, funky, perspiration complete with matted hair and an unshaven face. A neighbor, an attractive, curvaceous young lady with a small poodle (and a boyfriend), looked in on me from time to time. She was a dancer at the Whiskey-a-Go-Go in Hollywood where a number of rock groups, including The Doors got their start. I think she was disappointed that I was ill because she had been flirting with me for several weeks, and wanted to seduce me. The only reason she was attracted to me in the first place was because I was the only one in our group that ignored her. I mean, with six guys vying for her attention, what was the point? I guess it turned her on. No matter; I didn't take the hint anyway, me being rather dense when it came to understanding females. |
About eleven-thirty in the evening my doorbell rang. I was tossing and turning with major night sweats, unable to sleep, and in a state of near delerium so I put on my robe and inexplicitly answered the door. There in front of me was a clean-cut young man in gray suit and club tie. He was tall, had a high forehead, and looked "soft". He stood straight and his hands were clasped in front of him. He reminded me of an usher in church or at a wedding.
"Yes," I said, wondering who the hell was this guy, and why did he darken my door especialy at eleven-thirty?
Not moving, he said, "I called." He sounded hopeful like I should know what that meant.
I thought, come on, man, I feel like crap. "Sorry pal, but nobody has called me, and I've been here all day."
"Oh..." He sounded confused. "Is this 3807 Ocean View?"
"No..." I pointed to the numbers on the exterior wall--in plain view! "This is 3811. Are you looking for Howard Toll?" Howard was my neighbor.
"Yeah, maybe that's it."
"Okay, then. He's right next door," and I pointed the way.
He thanked me and left. I went back to bed wondering what the hell...?
A few days later I recovered, and returned to my normal activity, never giving the night visitor another thought. Another several weeks passed, and by chance, I went to lunch with a work associate, Bill.
The two of us were big sports fans. We played on the company softball and basketball teams, and went to several Dodger and Laker games a week depending on the season. Angels and Rams? Not so much, We considered both of those teams of the hapless variety and not worthy of our time. Upon returning to the Manhattan Beach area, we usually stopped off at several watering holes to see if there were any available young ladies about. Cyranos's in Redondo Beach was our favorite hang out.
Bill and I went to lunch one day with two other associates. As guys do, we chatted about sports, work, great ideas, and ladies. Suddenly Bill looked at me and said, "Oh, what was the big idea of calling me at eleven o'clock, and acting like a queer?"
"I dunno. Maybe two weeks ago."
"What are you talking about? I never did that."
"Yeah, you did. But you can't fool me. I'm on to your tricks? You tried to fool me you S.O.B."
"Honest, Bill, it wasn't me. Wait a minute did this guy ask for your address?"
"Yeah, and I gave you back your own address."
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I remembered. Bill and I stopped at a bar in Gardena one night on the way back from a Dodger game. When I went to the restroom to wring out a kidney, I noticed something written on the wall about a large penis looking for some oral action. Thinking it was funny, I wrote Bill's phone number beneath the words.
I began laughing about the way it came back on me. I mean, you have to appreciate the irony. I told Bill what I did, and what happened.
He laughed too. "I guess that'll teach you, but I better get over there and erase my number."
"Never mind," I said, "I'll do it." I didn't trust him because I didn't want my number replacing his. I only tell you this because it's what I would have done.
A month later, my Go-Go dancing femme fatale neighbor started showing up daily about six in the evening--or as soon as I returned home from work. She wanted to talk to me about her relationship with her boyfriend, or to borrow something, or to ask about new bands playing in the area, or yada, yada, yada. I never took the hint, which apparently drove her nuts, her being used to full-court-press-type pursuit. I wasn't being cool. I just figured she was playing me, and I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.
Finally, late one night she couldn't stand it any longer, and she outright jumped me as soon as I opened the door. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised, and she didn't feel fantastic. Between you and me; I felt like I hit the lottery.
Since it was a much later hour than I was used to seeing her, upon coming up for air, I breathlessly asked, "Where's Bert?" The last complication I wanted in my life was a jealous boyfriend while at the same time thinking I could pull this off without him finding out. (Guys, that's where thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy leads.) I didn't need the complication and/or aggravation. (Sigh) Too late.
"Oh, he's gone for the evening. Don't worry. We have all night." She started pushing buttons; the kind where there is a point of no return. I had no choice.
After only forty minutes of romping and heavy breathing bliss--turns out I'm a marathon man--someone started insistently pounding on my front door.
I knew it had to be Bert, Rats! I had no intention of cuckolding him, but what's a guy to to? Yeah, that's it! I was a victim.
Anyway, I snuck her out the back door, and took a shower. Thirty minutes later, another, softer, knock on the door. It was her.
"Bert wants to talk to you," she said. I could tell she was enjoying the drama. I mean, REALLY enjoying it.
With a lump in my throat, and expecting the worse, I followed. It was like mounting the gallows.
Bert shook my hand and very calmly asked me to sit down. I did.
"When I came home, I thought she might be over there," he began. "She's seems to find excuses to visit you..."
"Hey, not my idea. I never encouraged her in the least--"
"Let me finish." He remained very calm. "Anyway, then I saw her sneak out your back door."
Rats! Busted! "You're right," I said. I couldn't meet his eyes.
"Don't sweat it," he said. "She does this all the time. You want a drink? I could use one."
What a relief! "Yes, please," I said, "And I'm sorry. I never meant for it to happen."
"See, it's not you. It's her--and me. I don't know what's wrong with me," he sighed, "She's even married to someone else."
She ran crying hysterically into another room. I believe she wanted a fight, but fortunately (for me) Bert one-upped her. Way to go, Bert!
And me? I stopped answering the door to night visitors.
Copyright by Gene Myers. Read more in AFTER HOURS: ADVENTURES OF AN INTERNATIONAL BUSINESSMAN www.strategicpublishinggroup.com/title/AfterHours.html Also available at www.amazon.com and www.barnesandnoble.com and www.borders.com
New from Gene Myers - SONGS FROM LATTYS GROVE (August 2010) from PublishAmerica
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