Tim Sandlin - Skipped Parts

I sat at the kitchen table, staring down at one of Lydia’s ever-present half-finished crossword puzzles, drinking a Dr Pepper, and chewing on some of Hank’s jerky, which also came from a noble beast of the wilderness. More indignities.

I figured if sex was poker, the order of the winning hands went like this: mouth to mouth, fingers to tits, mouth to tits, fingers to crotch, mouth to crotch, crotch to crotch; although mouth to tits and fingers to crotch might be reversed or equal. Subheads would include fingers to tits through shirt and bra, through bra only, or directly on nipple. Then there was tongue in ear.

Dothan and Maurey would be about stage two by now— fingers to tits, probably below shirt and above bra. Her right tit was a little bigger than the left one. The tip end stuck out farther.

They wouldn’t fuck in my driveway, would they? Get sweaty and wet, blow come right in the Ford? There was nothing in the world to stop them. I could flash the porch light like Chuckette’s father did, only our porch light was burnt out. That would only piss Maurey off anyway.

Alice jumped on the table and sat on the crossword, mewing. I didn’t care what went across or down anyway. I poured a little Dr Pepper in a saucer and watched as she lapped it up. Would he undress her completely or just pull her skirt up? Dothan was the kind of jerk who would expect a blow job and give nothing in return.

I stood in the dark in the living room and peeked through a crack in the curtain. The half-moon gave the snow a dull nickel look and Soapley’s trailer could have been a spaceship or a bloated pill. Dothan’s car was too steamed to see into, but I imagined movement; I imagined her mouth around his penis and his fingers tangled in her hair.

The Oriental gentleman slid the evil device around Sam Callahan’s finger and over his neck, across the soles of his feet to the twin hooks embedded in his testicles.

“The ancients called it the self-starting torture kit,” he grinned. “If you ignore it, the pain is small, but if you think about it, if you worry it, if it makes you sad, it will gradually rip your nerves to shreds and tear your balls out. Eh, eh.”

Sam Callahan checked the fit. “Sounds like my kind of deal. I’ll take one.”

As an act of rebellion, I put on the paisley pajamas and sat at my typewriter, pretending to read Being and Nothingness . I heard Maurey at the front door and in the bathroom. The water heater knocked when she ran hot water. Nobody would ever sneak around and use hot water in my house.

She came in the bedroom and shrugged out of the blue shirt and pulled the white dickie off. I couldn’t see any marks on her body.

“You used my toothbrush,” she said.

“I deny it.”

She slid the white nightie on over her head, then sat on the bed to pull off her shoes and skirt. No panty shot tonight. “We saw you spying at the window.”

“Maurey, I do not enjoy these double dates.”

Maurey picked up her hairbrush. “You’d rather I go out with him alone while you sit here and wonder?”

“I’d rather you not go out with him.”

“Not an option.” She talked as she brushed. “If it makes you unhappy, I’ll move out. I’m not here to make you unhappy.”

“I don’t want you to move out. Living with you is neat.”

“What do you want then?”

“Within the options?”

“Within the options.”

She held her head down to brush up from the back of her neck. The truth of our baby floating around in this little girl zipped in and out of my grasp. I’d never even looked at a baby up close before. Alice hopped in my lap and I sat, petting her and wishing I could touch Maurey and tell her I loved her, but knowing that would be squirrelly. I wished I had a father.

“I want a Fudgsicle. How about you?”

She looked at me and smiled. “Okay.”

I made pecan pancakes while Hank walked to Kimball’s Food Market and back for the Rocky Mountain News . The women padded around in their nightgowns, looking rumpled and beautiful as they waited for the coffee to kick in and the day to start.

Maurey wore my red slippers. Her hair had that clumped-to-one-side look women get when they sleep.

“Sam slept in paisley jammies again last night,” she said.

Lydia lit a cigarette. “What a chump; your mother and I should exchange children. Annabel would love a child in paisley pajamas.”

“She could iron them every afternoon.”

A tiny row of bubbles appeared around the edge of each pancake. I eased the flipper under a corner and checked for golden brownness. On the one hand it was really nice and homey sitting around the kitchen like this, contentedly feeling the night fuzz drop from my brain. I’d always wanted a family.

But on the other hand two women could be lots more than twice as scornful as one. My life might become nothing but the object of snappy banter. I was glad when Hank showed up with the paper.

“Dibs on the funnies,” Maurey said.

Lydia affixed herself in Hank’s arms and gave him an open-mouthed kiss that lasted like three minutes.

“Ish,” I said.

Maurey rolled her eyes up under her eyelids. “I’ll never act like that in front of my children.”

“Me, either.”

Lydia broke off the kiss and went all smug. “You’ll never have a sexual technician like mine.”

Hank looked more embarrassed than pleased, but I could tell he was somewhat pleased. Not many good lays get public appreciation. I flipped a pancake wrong and batter glomped all over the griddle.

Lydia ate like a hog. Her appetite must be connected by direct wire to her crotch—one orgasm and she turns into Johnny the Lumberjack.

Maurey didn’t eat any.

Hank and Lydia got into a fight that just about snuffed the afterglow. Lydia tore a comic page down the middle. “Red Ryder and Little Beaver are ethnic perverts.”

“Don’t make fun of Little Beaver,” Hank said.

“Look at this yellow headband. He’s an embarrassment to beavers everywhere.”

Hank looked. “I have a headband that color.”

“Ethnic pervert.”

The sports page was all Boston Celtics and Winter Olympics. Skiing just wasn’t my gig.

I was making a second pot of coffee when someone knocked on the door.

Maurey’s face went happy. “That’ll be Dad.”

Hank and I traded a quick guilt glance. Males must be born with a fear of fathers at the door.

I said, “Buddy?”

Maurey set down her mug. “I figured he’d be down from the TM this weekend. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

Lydia said, “You’re welcome.”

Throughout the whole deal, Maurey and Lydia always knew what was going on and they never told me. I didn’t find out Maurey was moving in until she was in, and now the same thing was happening on the move out.

The knock came again. As she walked barefoot into the living room, Lydia said, “I’ve been waiting to meet the fabulous Buddy Pierce.”

I looked at Maurey’s eyes. “Are we splitting up?”

She was still smiling on account of her dad. “Oh, Sam, we were never together. I’ll still be over every couple of days.”

“What about the baby?”

She glanced behind me to see if Buddy was in earshot. “We’ll name him after he comes.”

“Where will she live?”

“We’ll know when it happens, no need to worry about stuff like that until he’s here.” I knew she was lying. I’d bet anything that Maurey and Lydia both knew what sex, what name, where it would live, and what sports it would go out for. In their little brains they’d already planned its life; they just weren’t telling me.

Lydia’s voice came from the living room. “Would you care for some coffee?”