Seymour Leggs - Tease Them With Ease

"Gee, you can do Just about everything, can't you?" she asked with great admiration.

She was breathtaking. He stared at the peach-like complexion of her tender face, at the crisp whiteness of her neatly pressed blouse. She wore a short blue skirt which barely covered the curving, graceful lines of two sleek legs. Her long, soft hair curled down across her shoulders in full blond sweeps. He swallowed.

"Well, Mr. Walker gave me more hours of work, so I'm doing minor repairs now," he reported.

She seemed thrilled by this dull bit of information. Her eyes gleamed with respect. "I saw your picture in the paper yesterday."

"Oh." He felt awkward.

"Everybody at school is talking about you," she added.

He looked down at his bare feet in embarrassment. "It wasn't that big a deal," he mumbled.

"Yes it was!" she excitedly responded. "The story said you didn't hesitate for one second… that you disregarded all thoughts about your own safety and just jumped in after her. I think that's wonderful!"

She was honestly impressed. Neil said nothing, he didn't want to dampen her newfound respect for him.

"But who took the picture?" she asked. "The story didn't say anything about that."

"I don't know," he said. "The reporter didn't tell me. Just someone living here had a camera and saw it. But I don't know who."

"That's funny," she said.

"Yeah, I'd like to thank him," said Neil.

"Well, who knows? Maybe he'll show up," she said. Then she batted her eyes and tilted her sweet head to the side. "I better get home and let my mom know I'm here. Maybe I'll see you later?"

"I hope so," he answered.

She had never been this friendly to him before. He was elated. Her smiling face definitely imparted a desire to get to know him much better. Her face suddenly went serious. She said, I'm going to check everything in our apartment and see if anything needs repair."

"Just let me know."

She giggled. "I will, Neil. 'Bye."

With a wave she was gone. Neil let his eyes drink the sway of her skirt as it rocked beneath the solid grinding of her proud rump. His heart felt weak, tired. His head was dizzy with desire. Beyond a doubt she was the girl of his dreams, the sweetest, most beautiful girl in his whole high school.

"My boy, you have a real problem."

It was Mr. Crocker. Sitting in his chair under the shade of the side of the building. He had watched the whole thing in silence and was now about to give Neil his play-by-play wrap-up.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Crocker."

"Why didn't you ask that young filly out?" the old man asked.

"I don't know," said Neil. "Gosh, we hardly know each other."

"At the rate you're going you'll be my age before you do," Crocker said. "She was batting those eyes at you like an Oriental fan. That's a sign, my boy… a good sign. It means she hankers for your attention.

"You think so?"

"I know so. Hell, I ought to – in my day eyelashes were about all you could see of women. They wore so damned many clothes the only thing you could flirt with was eyelashes. A set of eyelashes flapping like that meant business… real business. Either that or the lady had a sty… and I don't think that little cutie has any problems with her eyes or any other part of her body."

"But I couldn't be sure… I'd love to ask her out, but I guess I'm scared she'll refuse."

"Hah!" Mr. Crocker slapped his knee and guffawed. "You still don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what?"

"My boy, you're a celebrity. You've had your picture on the front page, you're a hero, the toast of the town. That means no one will refuse you anything. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."

Neil sat next to Mr. Crocker. "But I didn't do anything so great."

"Doesn't matter. All that matters Is people think you did. Don't disappointment them… hell, you're important to them. They can say to their friends, 'I know Neil,' or 'I went out with him."' Neil saw Mr. Crocker's eyebrows lift above the rim of his glasses. The statement was apparently sincere and of importance.

"But I don't…"

"I know what you're going to say. You want to be loved and accepted for yourself, not for this heroic act. It's the same old story… some men are afraid women are after their money, some think they're turned on by a flashy car. But what's it matter? What you did is now part of you. You have to accept it and face the facts."

"What do you mean?" asked Neil.

"I mean this: You'll never know if a girl is interested in you because of what you did or not. So just assume they all are. Take advantage of it, play the role they expect of you, and don't worry about their motives," the old man said.

"That makes sense," said Neil.

"You bet it does. Now you have everyone treating you like a hero… everyone but one person. You. Just convince yourself and everything will fall in place. You'll have the magic touch every man dreams about."

"Maybe…"

"Boy, you're on the crest of a wave. It's time for you to decide whether you want to ride it or chicken out. Many men chicken out and regret it later," said Crocker.

"Maybe Christine would like to go to the movies this week," said Neil.

"Hah! haha!" Mr. Crocker's cane lifted in the air as he pounded it down with enthusiastic enjoyment "Now you've got the spirit! That's the attitude!"

"I'll ask her before I go home tonight."

"And she'll say yes! You know she will. Why, that girl's just dying to go out with you!" Mr. Crocker banged his cane once more and began to wheeze.

Neil stood. He could see it was time to let the old gentleman rest, he was getting too excited. But before he could go Mr. Crocker turned to him and removed his glasses. Mr. Cracker seldom did that, it meant he had a final word of great importance.

He looked up with his red, aged eyes and said, "You won't forget me now, will you? You'll remember who your coach is and let him know how things work out?"

A youthful twinkle sparkled from his eyes and Neil smiled. "Of course, Mr. Crocker. I'll let you know what happens."

The glasses lowered like curtains on a stage and Mr. Crocker drifted off to sleep. Neil went back to the ladder and collected his tools. As he walked to the pump house he met another tenant.

"Excuse me." It was a man, tall, with a pencil-thin mustache on his upper lip.

"Hello," said Neil. The man was staring at him with a strange intensity. The man's face was wet with perspiration, he seemed nervous, tense.

"My name is Felix Nader. I live in that apartment right over there." Felix pointed at the apartment right next to Helen's. As a matter of fact, their two patios were only separated by the tall fence between.

"Oh." Neil had no idea what the man wanted. "I was hoping we could talk. You see, I'm the person who took your photograph the other day when you saved the little girl."

"Oh? That was you? I was wondering who took It. Gee, thank you. I'm very grateful," said Neil.

Felix smiled. Neil was suddenly reminded of a cat, a feline, feminine pussy cat. The man wiped his hand nervously across his curly bush of hair and said, "I made some copies of the original and wondered if you'd like one. They're much nicer than the newspaper prints."

Neil nodded. "Yessir, I would. My mom would be thrilled to have one."

The smile came back. "Fine. Then come along and I'll give you a couple."

Felix's apartment was drab and dark even though the sun shone brilliantly outside. The kitchen was more darkroom than cooking area. Trays of chemicals, an enlarger, photo frames, and driers were placed on the sink and table. A line of cord ran across the room, with large photos clipped on it by means of clothespins.

"I use this as my darkroom," said Felix. "When I have a model I use the living room for shooting. It works out quite nicely, except my roommate is angry because of the mess."