Le Desperado d'Amour

[Steven Hunley]

Le Desperado d'amour

I met Liz through Jim, me old school-yard chum. She stuffed tuxedos into bags for a living. Before you knew it I asked her out. We clicked in the way a forty-five clicks when its hammer falls, which is to say with gusto and deadly intent. Next thing I know we’re having an affair, which in its heated intensity made rollercoaster rides at Belmont Park pale in comparison.

The thing about Liz was that I wanted her bad. When our affair was still fresh, just out of the box of Valentine’s Day’s Chocolates, I couldn’t get enough. Everything about her was just right. She was petite, exotic, half Apache, and her hair reached down to her butt. She made me feel like the man of men, el hombre des hombres.

So, when three weeks later, she’d grown sick of me and had enough, I knew I was in trouble. I was aware from the first I’d only been intriguing because she’d been intriguable. I’d only been seductive because she’d been seducible. I knew my limitations. But now I was in deep, and knew I couldn’t go cold turkey. I’d have to taper off slowly. How? By sleeping with her one more time. I needed to come up with a plan.

The first thing to do was to plant a thought in her mind, so I to drove to her work in Hillcrest. When I got there that’s exactly what she was doing, packaging tuxedos. I strolled in the back door like a confident Antonio Banderas.

“Hi Baby, what’s up? Happy Valentine's day?"

She gave me a look that read, “Not welcome.”


to be continued...

©Steven Hunley2013


http://youtu.be/GhKJ9ig7I1c Desperado Antonio Banderas

[glennr25]

Good start, Steve. Liked the build up, left me wanting to read more.

[Steven Hunley]

Good start, Steve. Liked the build up, left me wanting to read more.

Yes, and so this:

“You wanna go out to eat tonight? Jimmy Wong’s Golden Dragon?”

“No, I can’t. We’re all going to a movie after work.”

“So that’s how it is,” I answered tersely, “Well, I just got some rojos. You’re not the only one who can eat them you know.”

With that I walked out, hopped in my car and drove away. Simple as that. Just mentioning rojos would send up a red flag. Rojos, or reds, was the street name for Seconals, a serious barbiturate. She loved them herself but knew I couldn’t handle them. Just one would put me out; as it had that first night we’d partied.

They were her drug of choice. It was the Apache in her. Barbiturates were the closest thing to alcohol there was in the pill world. Liz, as petite a model as she was, so slight of frame, except for her breasts and butt, so no not there, developed the stamina to stay up and keep on partying, fighting their effects. Liz was an incredibly talented creature.

I hadn’t. I’d always been a smoker, not a juicer. Barbiturates were not my cup of tea. So she’d know I was desperate.

“That should be enough,” I thought, and I was right. All it took was my not-so-subtle hint and a couple hours of her imagination to work. That was my recipe for success, one red flag and a woman with a taste of too much imagination.

When I called up Jim, her boss, I had only one question and instruction.

“You takin’Liz and Robin to a movie tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna get Liz over here if it kills me. I want to know what’s up with her. Call to let me know, but give me the signal. Ring, hang up, then ring again. Otherwise I won’t answer.”

“O.K. We’re leaving right after work.”

The thing about Jim was that we were thick as thieves, having known each other since third grade. It had been hanky-panky in school when they were younger, now it was hanky-panky tailored for grown-up endeavors. We’d grown taller that’s all.

When he hung up I looked at my watch. It was six. I had over two hours to prepare. The first thing I did to get ready was roll a joint and make a list.

I needed to think. Like Lawrence Olivier playing Hamlet, I needed to make it the performance of a lifetime. I wanted her that bad. Always plagued with abandonment issues, I simply didn’t want to be left alone, was up to here with that being left alone sh*t.

By the time the joint was glowing half-way down I knew what I needed. The play for Liz would all be based on an excellent performance, a bit of scenery setting, and two props. Where could I get two cans of beer? That one was easy. There were two empties still in the trash from the last time she was over.

Budweiser. Couldn’t stand the stuff.

If Liz had told me she drank Draino there would have been empty tins of it in the trash. With women I’d learned to do whatever it took. Name your poison. I fished the cans out and considered just where they should go. But no, wait, the car should be first, as that’s what she’d see on arrival. The car would be her first clue.

It was parked out at the curb. I started it up and turned the wheel toward the curb till it touched. Then I gunned it a bit ‘till one wheel crept up over the curb onto the grass between the palm trees.

“Typical way a drunk would park,” I said to myself, “or a dude on rojos.”

Then, half-way up the walkway to the door I dropped the first can.

“Typical sloppy juicer move.”

Then I closed the front door with the lock thrown, but not quite. You could still open it but not fail to see that it had been improperly locked. In the center of the rug I placed the other empty can. I felt a little like Hansel or Gretel dropping breadcrumbs, but I wasn’t so innocent or child-like.

“She’ll be hot on the trail now.”

Just then the telephone rang. Then it rang again, and again, and again. I let it. About ten minutes later it rang with the code. It was Jim.

“They’re talkin’ about you. She’s getting all worked up. We got one movie to go, it’s a double feature.”

“Good,” I replied, “let them talk.”

Why shouldn’t they talk about me? Both girls knew me and my ways. Besides, wasn’t I their best weed connection? I mean, a guy’s got to be popular with the ladies doesn’t he? Whatever it took. Of course they cared. I was a valuable asset. Time, at this point, was on my side and my side alone.

I played a few tunes, but not too loud, played Under My Thumb by the Stones. I didn’t want to miss the phone. About ninety minutes later it rang again, about fifteen times. When I heard its metallic plea for help I smiled, not to her, not to the darkness, just to my greedy damn self. Then within minutes it rang with the code.

“She’s all upset,” said the Jimster, “We’re coming over.”

“Whatever you see, Jim,” I counseled, “don’t believe it.”

“I won’t,” he laughed, “I won’t.”

I turned on the kitchen sink, splashed some water over my hair, face, and the front of my shirt. I left it running, then walked into the living room and peered out the window, up the street, into the darkness, looking for headlights. I didn’t have long to wait. While they were still a half block away I ran upstairs to the bedroom and flung myself on the bed.

I waited; nothing. No sounds. After five minutes; nothing. It was a false alarm.

“What kind of jerk am I?”

A rare thought for a dude who couldn’t stand self-examination, and I trooped back down the stairs. The next time it was real, all the way real, no foolin’.

I ran up the steps again, fell prostrate on the bed; attempting a pose that was as wasted as possible. Then I heard voices. First they were at the door, then nearer, then in the kitchen. I heard the water turned off and empty beer cans hitting the sink. Then it was her footsteps on the stairs.

Right then, at that second, was when I knew where I went wrong. So typical of my jerky-self, I hadn’t thought it all out.

“How can I,” I thought, “a guy over-dosing on a combination of alcohol and barbiturates possibly hope to perform? I’m almost out cold. I’m a mess. I’m the last man on earth who can get it up. Oh my God, and by the beard of the Profit, what have I done?”

Then I heard her voice. It said, in a touching melodious tone, one my ears craved to hear,

“Oh Baby, what’s happened to you?"

Yeah, she coddled me like a big baby.

Why not? That’s what I was.

Yeah, the others left.

And yeah, I did sleep with her as planned. But in order to keep her Apache blood from killing me dead, I cuddled up, played dumb, and there was no hanky-panky as expected. We slept quite close, like two nestled spoons, and the last thing I remembered was how warm she felt, with my nose nestled against the back of her neck, and the seductive fragrance of her long black Indian hair. The last thought I had before I slipped into a non-drug-induced unconsciousness was,

“And I’ll think of some way to get her back. After all…tomorrow is another day.”

I was a regular Scarlet O’Hara.

Oh, and yeah, it was the performance of a lifetime, and Olivier most certainly tossed and turned in his grave.

Sorry Larry, had to say it. No disrespect intended, you ol' grave-spinner you. Give Scarlett a hug.

©Steven Hunley2013

http://youtu.be/xbnFofEZiuU About Olivier Stephan Fry

http://youtu.be/nYYTLJ8YHi4 Under my Thumb

[AuntShecky]

You may be on to something here. Some members of the female gender can't resist exercising their maternal instincts, "taking care" of menfolk.

This is Auntie talkin', so you know there are going to be quibbles:

--I didn't know tuxedos came in bags, like 6-packs of underwear. You'd think at those prices the distributers of formal wear would throw in a free hanger.

--"rollicoaster"-- did you mean "rollercoaster," or this one of those California things? BTW, is the Belmont Park you mention an amusement park? The East Coast Belmont Park is like your Santa Anita, a thoroughbred racetrack which offers no rides for humans, unless you count the jockeys. Though some erratic gamblers may feel as if they're on one, there aren't any rollercoasters there. Or "rollicoaters," for that matter.


I'd only been seductive. . .

I can see what you're getting at, but the word "seductive" connotes the object of one's affections, a young lady (usually) who is inherently attractive --"tending to seduce, alluring, beguiling." In other words,the dude is the seducer, the chick the "seductee."

And finally, the allusion to Olivier is a cute touch, along with referring to him on a first name basis. "Larry" is like "Bogie" in the Play It Again,Sam movie.

You realize, of course, that your story closes with a bit of a cliché which nevertheless reminds me of one of the endearing malapropisms which originated from the great Ralph Kiner. The universally-respected Hall of Famer and longtime Mets broadcaster left the field last week at the age of 91. Here's one of his delightful gems: "If [original Mets manager] Casey Stengel were alive today, he'd be spinning in his grave."

[Steven Hunley]

Thank you Auntie for pointing that out. No wonder word didn't like rollycoaster and rollicoaster! It was roller-coaster all along! At this point the question is why haven't any of my friends pointed this out before? I've been saying it ROLLICOASTER all this time.


Nobody has said squat. My friends, my buddies, said nada, nothing, zero.

And yes, Belmont Park is an amusement park in San Diego right on the beach.

[108 fountains]

This forum has had several good stories in it the past week. This one I think is the best of the lot. You managed to make an unlikeable (to me anyway) character interesting. At the end, when the main character was falling asleep cuddling his girlfriend with no sex involved, I expected that might be the beginning of a change in his attitude, but no, his last thought was back to his scheming. In many stories, the main character undergoes a change, but in this case the "non-change" was more interesting. And I also liked the reference to Lawrence Olivier as "Larry" - again, it was "in character" with the main character.

[glennr25]

I enjoyed this story. Kept me enthralled from beginning to end. The character is an unlikable one, but still interesting. I caught a few spags as I was reading.

“That should be enough,” I thought, and I was right. All it took was my not-so-subtle hint and a couple hours of her imagination to work. That was my recipe for success, one red flag and a woman with a taste [of?] too much imagination.

“Typical way a drunk would park,” I said to himself, “or a dude on rojos.” I think you meant myself in this line.

[Steven Hunley]

Thank you so much for your comments. I'd changed it from third person to first and missed the himself bit! I stand corrected and thank you.

[Steven Hunley]

I want Jim to see this story, he's a good friend, the very best. Liz may still be alive and kicking. Although this episode marked the end for us, we remained friends.

Oh really Steven, you remained friends? That's what they all say.

Well, as a matter of fact we did. She eventually married a nice guy named Bernie and hired me to photograph their wedding. It was in Presidio Park under the pepper trees and the old brick cross.

Looking back I'd say this was a tale from my skirt-chasing period. Mi vida loca.