Guy arrives at Amy’s with three minutes to spare.
He mashes the doorbell and backs into the glow of the porch light. A minute passes. Spitballs of moths whack him on the head.
If she doesn’t open that door in the next minute we’re out of here.
“Might work. We could leave a note prove we’ve been here.” He grimaces. “Wouldn’t test The Healer’s remedy though.”
True dat but there will always be more women and none of them crazy meter maids.
The argument sounds more than persuasive to Guy. He’s already turning on his heel when the door comes open and there stands almost but not quite—
“Aim-eeeeeee!”
The shout is as sudden and loud as any fishmonger at the Pike Street Market. “Some guy is here.” It’s a smaller younger Amy, maybe 12. “And he don’t look so sexy to me-eeeee.”
Little sister’s got the Amy mean streak gene. I bid thee vex her.
Guy smiles. “Amy’s told me so much about your predicaments.”
The little Amy face goes freeze-frame. “Like what?” She uses two fingers to block her nostrils.
“You know. The little potty accidents in your panties?”
She squeals and slams the door. Girl voices shout at each other inside.
The door opens again and there stands Amy in civvies.
As a civilian she’s quite the dish.
She glances at her watch. “You’re a minute late.”
The late Guy Sexular.
“No I’ve been here chatting pleasantly with your sister.” Guy smiles. “You look so pretty.”
Even more so with the smile that rises up to answer his compliment.
She joins him face-to-face on the porch.
“What’d you say to the little brat to set her off like that?”
He closes the distance between them to half a step. “Nice porch,” he says.
“What? Nice porch?”
Her nose twitches. She looks around seeing nothing remarkable in the porch either now or even in her memory of it.
“I ask you about Lexi, and you bring up the stupid porch?”
“You’re looking particularly pretty—even prettier than in your police uniform.”
Her nose wrinkles and she takes another half-step backward with a look of Didn’t you already say that? She goes from pretty to impatient. “I’m not a police remember. Why are you talking nonsense?”
We have to use lots of P-words tonight. Healer-man says.
“Well please don’t get impatient with me. Perhaps you really are only in the metropolitan parking program. Pardon me but I only meant it as a compliment when I said police.”
She uses two fingers to block her nostrils the very way little sister did. She takes a breath to fortify her courage against the stink. The determination to kiss him shows in her eyes fixed on his lips. She decides to give it a try.
She takes a step at him.
“Perhaps we should pick a place to pig out. Do you prefer pork?”
Amy’s one step forward ends in two stumbles backward both hands smothering her nose. “Pork? You know a pork restaurant?”
Out comes the hankie! That’s a good sign right?
“A pork date? What is this? Chicago or some—? What’s that awful smell?”
Victory?
“Perfume?”
“Butt-perfume maybe. Have you been eating garlic?”
“I did perhaps partake of a potent appetizer prior to proceeding here.”
She has her hand on the doorknob. He steps up to her but she’s not having it. She steps into the threshold putting the screen door between them.
Pointless my pretty.
“God you reek just like one of the dumpsters behind the Asian restaurants down in the District.”
“Pray. Are they in proximity to places where you pencil parking repudiations.”
“What? Crap! My sister’s right. You’re a reeker.”
“Amy no.”
“And a creeper.” She goes snake-eyed. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
Uh-oh.
“On purpose? What purpose pray tell?”
Once you get into that P-word rut, it ain’t easy to steer out of it.
The sunrise of a stormy morning breaks across her face.
“That’s why you’re prattling on like a pissant.”
You’ve got her using the P-words too. Potent performance Poncho Sanza.
“Two words for you,” she says.
“Amy please.”
Probably not the two words on her mind.
“Shit. Storm.”
And on that note—
She slams the inner door between them.
Peremptorily.