The same two housekeepers who caught me in a bind in Bea's suite walk in carrying mops while giggling at my expense.
"Hello, sir. We were told there was a spill in aisle Blue."
"Har-de-fucking-har. Untie me."
"Wow, somebody's in a bad mood."
"I don't think I like his attitude," the second maid adds.
"Fine. Please untie me."
"That's better, but ..."
"Pretty please, with a twenty-dollar tip on top."
"As you wish."
They untie me and I try to get the circulation flowing to my hands and feet again. I gather my clothes and wallet. I peel off a twenty for my rescuers and pocket my gift card. At least I netted five dollars and Bea's amazing posterior in the transaction. I consider myself ahead.
I go to the valet and retrieve my Jeep. Once home, I flop onto the couch, in desperate need of a nap. Not fifteen minutes into it, my phone beeps.
Bea Plastique: How's it hanging, Uncle M?
Mormon Silver: I am going to beat your little butt next time I see you.
Bea Plastique: Promises, promises. Oh, and when might that be?
Mormon Silver: How about dinner at my place tonight?
I sure could use home field advantage for once.
Bea Plastique: Sounds fun. When?
Mormon Silver: 7ish.
Bea Plastique: What can I bring?
Mormon Silver: Toppings: spray whipped cream, Hershey's syrup, and creme de menthe.
Bea Plastique: Yum!
I scurry through the grocery store gathering toy food. The checkout clerk wears an odd expression as she types the produce codes.
"Someone is planning quite the feast."
"Indeed."
"Who's the lucky girl you're going to eat this off ... I mean, with?"
I grab a banana. "Behave yourself. I'm licensed to carry, and I have a big banana."
"Ooh, even luckier."
Bea shows up fashionably late with the bag of toppings, as requested. I'm going to devour them and her. I make sure my Broad Street Bullies DVD plays while we eat dinner. Teasingly, I leave the dessert tray on the counter: bananas, strawberries, and pomegranate. I also have a fondu pot simmering with melted white chocolate.
She rushes through dinner, but I intentionally stall.
"Is it time for dessert yet?" she begs.
"Not until Uncle M has cleared his plate," I tease as I spoon another helping of green bean casserole.
She sticks out her lower lip and crosses her arms like an infant. I laugh at her expression.
"OK, Lovergirl. Let's have dessert."
"Yay!"
She claps and grabs her bag of toppings. I gather the food tray and fondue pot, then lead her into my bedroom.
"What's this?" she asks as she sees the big blue tarp covering my bed.
"I can't afford your architect, so this baseball mound cover will have to do for my version of a Blue Room."
It's often wise to improvise.
Naturally, as we're about to dine on each other, the doorbell rings.
"Are you kidding me? If this is people here to talk about Jesus, I'm going to send them to meet him."
"I'll do a little grounds maintenance while you're gone," Bea offers as she begins undressing.
I answer the door to a delivery man holding a dozen red roses. WTF? Did Bea send me roses? There's a note attached.
Dearest Bea, I hope you and your future ex-lover enjoy your break up sex. I'll be waiting. CG
Fucker!
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