Corporate Wars Aftermath Part Three

by

Diana Walker

This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned.  No copyright infringement on the original work is intended.  Copyright Diana Walker 2007.



TERRY
Telling Diana about Chuck had brightened my spirits considerably.  When we arrived at the car rental, we were back to deciding who should be the primary driver in LA.  Diana had more driving time logged here, but mine was the more recent.  We’d stowed our gear in the boot and were both standing at the driver’s door. 
 
“How about this?”  I believed Diana had reached her final offer.  “I drive here and down to San Diego so you can sightsee.  I can get us anywhere we want to go quickly, and you’ll see parts of California you wouldn’t have ever known existed.  You drive in Mexico.  You’re used to driving in foreign countries, and I was always a passenger down there so I’d be clueless.”  She sealed the deal with a kiss before I could say no.
 
In short order Diana had navigated us past the gridlock that surrounds every major airport.  She took side streets through a warehouse district, past several upscale gentlemen’s clubs, back onto a major, but lightly travelled, boulevard, and towards a residential area.  I’d no idea where we were other than Los Angeles, somewhere near the airport.    
 
“That’s where Dad worked when I was little.”  Diana scarcely missed gashing my nose with her fingernail, pointing to a hangar well south of the airport five minutes later; I dodged her arm on more than one occasion that day.  “Back before security had to be so tight, the families were invited to an open house each year.  They had a plane of each type on display, and we kids climbed all over them.  Somehow, back at school the following week, the jungle gym didn’t seem all that much fun anymore.”
 
She made a left, a quick right, and an immediate left into a well kept, but modest, housing tract.  In the second block, she stopped in front of a white stucco house with green and white awnings shading the windows.  A large jacaranda tree graced the front garden.  We were less than ten minutes from LAX, but there wasn't a sound of a jet.
 
“That’s where I grew up.  The jacaranda tree is in front of my old bedroom.  See how thick the branches are?”
 
“It looks like it would be a good climbing tree.  Reminds me of the tree Mum made Dad plant before any of us were born.  She wanted us to have a tree where we could read in the summer.”
 
“Mom wouldn’t let me climb it, not even to read.  I think the only person who ever did was a peeping Tom.  It was summer, and I was watching the Tonight Show.  I heard an unusual rustle in the tree, and when I turned to see what it was, I heard the limb break.”
 
“How old were you?”
 
“I think I was in high school.  Mom told me it was my fault for being up so late with the lights on; Dad didn’t believe me until the next day when he found the broken branch.  See that hole in the foliage?”
 
I leant closer to her to see where she pointed and nodded.  Whilst I was in the vicinity, I slipped my arm about her just above her lap restraint.  The best of all possible worlds – low enough to be invisible to prying eyes and near my summer afternoon nap pillow.  Her non-directorial arm settled across mine.  It had been all of fifteen minutes since I’d touched her.     
 
“That’s where the limb used to be.  It scared me a lot.  I hadn’t even heard the term ‘peeping Tom’ before then.  At the time I thought Dad was more upset about his precious tree being deformed.  Now I think I understand he felt his safety had been violated and couldn’t show either Mom or I how shaken he was.  Kinda like I felt after the storm, but I’m not as good at hiding my feelings any more as he was.” 
 
I had several blazing insights by putting myself in her father’s place.  We have a right to feel safe in our own homes.  I imagined some bloody pervert peeking in on Dolores.  I’d use every skill I had to hunt the yobbo down and have a chat with him.  That is if Irish or Maxie didn’t find him first; we’d have to hunt separately as the scum wouldn’t survive a chat with all three of us together.  We’d certainly have to keep Sooze away from anyone who’d try to hurt Dolores.  The bugger wouldn’t survive a single chat with her.
 
Diana’s father had felt impotent to protect his wife and daughter.  He didn’t trust them to share his self-perceived inadequacy.  He was inadequate.  My already low opinion of him decreased.  Not from preventing the degenerate spy, but he made no attempt to comfort his daughter and dwelt on his own thoughts.  Selfish bastard. 
 
I’m a fortunate man Diana’s independent and capable.  I hate the way she came to it.
 
She looked to me for acceptance, the security in a relationship she hadn’t established in her girlhood.  “I prefer you more open to me – good or bad.  You can keep your poker face for everyone else.  Confound others.”  My words reassured her; my arms round her gave her my demonstrated symbol of safety and enabled her to continue.     
 
“Mom used to have the best batch of pink carnations under the front window.  At the back of the house, she had a thick stand of poinsettias; they were as tall as the house.  Looked like a fucking forest.  And she had birds of paradise in front of them.  They always looked ratty, but they were there.
 
“Mom always thought she was a good gardener until she and Dad moved to Dallas.  She spent her time battling weeds in the one, little flowerbed.”
 
I could see our front garden – green Hawthorne bushes with irises between them and the yellow flowered vine climbing the garage wall.  I don’t see weeds, and Diana’s temperament isn’t one to be obsessive about pulling them often.  “Where are the weeds in our garden?”
 
“I fixed the problem rather than continually fighting the symptoms.  One of my riding buddies, Gretchen or Kathy, I think, told me if I had leftover hay at the end of the year or some that the horses were persnickety about, to work it into the dirt.  As the hay decomposes, it enriches the soil and keeps the weeds out.  Seems to be working.”
 
I see her ‘get Terry’ look come into her eyes.  She’s thought of something evil to do to me that I will enjoy.  Her eyes become brighter and narrow when that’s the case.  If I won’t like what she’s about to do or say, they open wider.
 
She loosened her seat restraint and shifted in her seat toward me.  And kept coming across the seats.  Once she was able, her hand came to the back of my neck and her lips to my jaw line, nipping along it.  She knows how to get to me. 
 
She sidled further across my lap; the softness of her hip rested on me.  She’s already started kissing the other side of my face now available to her.  In hopes of not cutting off the circulation to my dick through the seat restraint slicing through him, I shifted and pulled her closer into me to kiss her quickly. 
 
“Diana, though this is quite nice, what are you doing?”
 
“Habit.  This is where my dates and I said goodnight.  I still remember how to get somewhat comfortable on a console, but how did you guys keep from getting bruises on your thighs from the steering wheel?”
 
I leant her back into the driver’s seat, reached to the steering wheel adjustment, and it flipped out of her way; the movement was pure instinct.  She laughed at my quick reaction and followed my retreat back to my own side of the car, ready for more action. 
 
“Like that, but we counted on you girls coming to us across the console.  Though I can see you’re still quite capable of crossing into the other seat, I don’t believe this is wise.  When you and your dates came home, it was dark, and you were much younger.”  I’ve relaxed my internal admonitions regarding PDA where Diana is concerned, but a full out pash in a rental car in front of her childhood home is beyond me.
 
A quick check showed me we were the only two in sight.  It’s a working class neighbourhood, and everyone is out during the day. 
 
She managed a quick, “Party pooper,” before coaxing me into forgetting my reservations with a searing kiss that left her breathless and me stunned and needy. 
 
Her voice was soft, close enough to my ear her breath caressed it as she continued.  “We were all about the same age.” 
 
Diana began pointing again but this time from astride my lap; I resumed dodging.  “Cheryl and her date were over there.  Kathy and whoever she was seeing claimed that part of the curb.”  From the streetlight placement, each couple had what seclusion was available. 
 
“We never paid any attention to the other cars, but Mrs. Taylor,” Diana pointed to a blue house across the street, “watched all of us.  One night she left the lights on in her house; we could see her running from one window to another trying to see what we all were doing which was not much that night.  We were all laughing at her too hard.  Cheryl started it; she and Dick started intentionally fogging up the windows by blowing on them.”
 
I know she told me that story so she could use ‘blowing.’  At least she didn’t laugh at my groan and made both of us more comfortable by positioning herself farther down my lap to continue her story. 
 
“When Dave came home, we knew we’d pushed our curfews long enough.         
 
“Remember, David Green?  My poofta friend?  Two doors down is where he grew up.  His mother always gave me a bad time about running around barefooted.  I never wore shoes – inside or out.”  Not much has changed; the first thing Diana sheds when she comes into the house is her shoes.  “When we hung out, he’d walk me home, then I’d walk him partway back to his house, then he’d walk me back.  We must have walked half a mile crossing 150 feet.”  She smiled fondly at the memory.
 
Whilst she’d described the parking allotments and curfew notification, she’d been twisting and turning; I’d barely eluded a battered face.  “Diana, you’re going to break your bloody neck trying to see everything from inside the car.  Let’s have a stroll round the old neighborhood.”
 
As soon as Diana reached the walk, her shoes were off.  “Isn’t that strange?  The concrete still has the same texture.  Some people remember the feel of sand or grass; I remember concrete.”  The years had melted away from her, and I could see the sweet, shy girl emerge. 
 
“Want to see where I went to grade school?”  She sounded doubtful that a school would interest me.
 
I began to return to the car.  “Why wouldn’t I?  I want to see everything you want to show me.”
 
“We can walk.  It’s only a block.”
 
“As long as I can keep my shoes on.”
 
I took her hand, and we walked as she chattered away.  I noted how we never had gone through that awkward stage most couples do where they can’t walk together for bumping into each other.  Their strides rarely match, and their arms have a rhythm the other doesn’t understand.  Diana and I have never had those problems.  If we bump into each other, it’s intentional.
 
Diana related the family names and stories for a few houses either side of her childhood home.  She fell silent the closer we were to her school.
 
“Plaits?”  I could see her with them.  The braids would keep the hair from interfering with her pursuits.
 
“Ponytail with the best, natural corkscrew.  At the bottom.  Mom told me my hair looked like a throwback to the fifties and tried to get me to change it.  All the styles she suggested took too much work.  It was just easier to brush it back and slap a rubber band on it.  My hair was going to do what it wanted anyway; I didn’t care.”
 
Pico Grade School looked to have been built in the 50’s.  Though the name was still on the building, no students had been in residence for a long time.  The windows were boarded, and the doors chained shut.
 
She softly said, “Oh.”  Her disappointment was plain to see.  What will I find when we go to Oz to visit the rellies?
 
 
The sign said we were leaving Westchester and approaching the Slauson Cutoff.  “Is this THE Slauson Cutoff Johnny Carson mapped?”   
 
Diana took her eyes from the road momentarily and looked at me in shock.  “You know about the Tonight show when Johnny Carson hosted it?”
 
“Yes, we didn’t receive the broadcast in a timely fashion, but, yes, Art Fern’s maps and smarmy sales routine made me laugh.  Where are all the intersecting streets?  The overpasses and the underpasses?”
 
“You actually watched the sketch and not the Matineé Lady?”
 
“He did the Tea Time Movie several times over the years.  I watched both.  I learnt my fine appreciation of the feminine physique from her.”
 
“Just say you liked her rack.”  Diana could scarcely speak through her laughter.
 
“You liked her rack.” 
 
We were still attempting to ascertain the correct terminology for my response through our laughter when Diana checked her mirror for traffic and moved to the right hand lane.  
 
She barked her order.  “Get ready.  I can’t slow down too much.  See those two oil well pumps there?”
 
“Those rusted things?”
 
“Yes.  That’s why I came this way.”
 
“So I could see abandoned oil wells?”
 
“No, there’s a dirt road beyond them.  Read the sign.”
 
The sign was a shield shape.  At one time it might have had a burgundy background, but the rust had overtaken it.  The white letters were barely legible.  “The Victory Motel?”
 
“Yes, there really was a Victory Motel, and we just passed it.”
 
“Turn round!  Go back!  I want to see it.”
 
“They demolished it years before I left, or it fell down on its own.  There’s nothing left to see.  It was abandoned long before I started coming up here.  The road goes on beyond it up to a reservoir.  On Friday and Saturday nights, there were so many cars parked up there, you couldn’t open the doors.”
 
“You had multiple pash spots?”
 
“Oh, yeah.  I haven’t shown you the best one.  Submarine races.”
 
“Who did …?  On second thought, don’t tell me.”
 
 
It was a whirlwind afternoon.  Diana’s uni is still flourishing though the neighbourhood around it surprised her.  When she had attended there, the day students had escorts to their cars in the middle of the day.  Armed escorts.  Gentrification had improved the surroundings’ safety significantly.  Wealthy parents bought homes or condos for their little darlings and sold the real estate to the next incoming class when they no longer required it for housing.  Diana was disappointed that parking in driveways and backyards was no longer available for home football games.
 
“Let’s get tickets for this Saturday’s game.  We can come back from Mexico early.”
 
She laughed at my naïve suggestion.  “It’s the last game of the season.  It’s against our archrivals.  We’re number one in the BCS rankings.  Do you want to spend a thousand each for nosebleed seats?  I’d rather drink beer lying on a Mexican beach with you.”
 
Her suggestion was the better.  We’d not seen the sun in Dallas for yonks, and defrosting my bits in the sun had great appeal.   
 
Our next stop was for a Tommy’s hamburger.  It was as good as Diana has boasted.  Chili, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and onions with the beef on the bun.  Fish your own Coke out of the ice in the waist-high cooler.  Don't like that?  Then you shouldn't be at Tommy's.

The place itself is unique; the closest association I could make was Harry’s in Sydney.  They each have a character all their own. Tommy’s building is a little stucco shack smaller than our two car garage, stuck on the northeast corner of Third and Rampart.  Diana ordered for us at the open side of the shack, and by the time we were to the cashier, our hamburgers were ready.

We got our burgers and dodged the cars, crossing the parking lot to find a spot at the counter where we could put down our Cokes and hamburgers and eat.  Diana had told me so much about Tommy's that I knew the drill.  My coat was in the car so my only preparation was to roll up my shirt sleeves.  Diana instructed me in the approved method of eating a Tommy burger – put down two paper towels about shoulder width apart, rest your elbows on the paper towel clad counter, pick up the burger in both hands, and eat with the grease rolling down your forearms and dripping from your elbows onto the paper towels.  It was as good as Diana has boasted.
 
Diana’s told me most of LA gets to Tommy's sooner or later.  She’s heard more plea bargain deals have been struck at the eating counter at Tommy's than anywhere else.  I don't doubt it.  The assorted diners standing cheek by jowl with us, eating their Tommy burger, looked to be attorney, brick layer, doctor, high school kid, unknown actor, painter, illegal alien, cop, stock broker, factory worker, an actor I recognized – they all dodged the cars getting from the shack to the chest-high brushed aluminum counter with the paper towel holders at eye level.

Bloody good thing Diana packed an extra dress shirt for me else I’d be going to meetings with greasy chili stains on my elbows.
 
Diana pointed out what she calls the ‘four restaurant’ corner at the entrance to Dodger Stadium.  I’ll never be able to return to it without Diana; she’s not taken me on a street name I recognise since leaving Third and Rampart.  The ‘four restaurant’ corner has family owned, small restaurants on each – Lebanese, Szechuan, Korean, and Mexican.  She couldn’t tell me which one was best; she’d eaten at them all and raved about each.
 
We circled the grounds on the Dodgers’ own freeway system.  Diana described her season tickets’ location.  She leant to the right in her seat, and she looked over the umpire’s right shoulder; she leant left and looked over his left.  The Reiners, Carl and Rob, had the seats in front of her; she complained bitterly about the size of their heads, not their egos.  They never discussed the movie and TV business; they were baseball mates. 
 
When anyone hit a home run, she looked behind her to watch Vin Scully lean out of the broadcast booth to view the feat.  She was kind enough to point out ‘Vinny’s’ parking space to me.  Luckily, the bloke wasn’t there. 
 
Griffith Park showed signs of regrowth from the fire last year, but Diana saw stands of eucalypts that no longer exist.  We crossed a cemented, open storm drain that Diana lovingly called the Los Angeles River before we dropped into the ‘Valley.’  If she’d used the word ‘like’ once more in that nasally voice, I’d have throttled her. 
 
Los Angeles has one credible art museum, and entrance to it is in such demand, reservations are required.  We gave the Getty Museum a quick drive by as Diana couldn’t reserve a spot for us.  It wasn’t necessary as she has a print of their most famous painting, Van Gogh’s Irises, over the mantle in our bedroom; I wake to it every morning. 
 
We drove leisurely down Pacific Coast Highway to the beach where she’d learned to surf.  I declined her offer of a quick lesson.  She seemed relieved.  It seems she learnt on a long board scaled to fit a six-foot, 185 pound footballer, and she oversteers the small boards now in vogue.  Unless we could find a long board for her, she’d be as much a student as I.
 
Diana had taken me on seven freeways, more secondary thoroughfares than I could count, a majority of the residential streets in Los Angeles County, and had rarely touched the brake.  I’d seen only a small fraction of all the sights she’d wanted to show me – and most of those without leaving the car.   
 
 
DIANA
We stopped and actually got out of the car at a liquor warehouse close to the hotel that would be our LA headquarters.  We needed to stock up for the next two days.  I can’t see paying room service prices when we can bring our own into the hotel.  The beer would be colder when Terry came in from his meetings tomorrow if I controlled the ice, rather than relying on a bored service worker to deliver. 
 
Terry stretched his arms, back, and legs; I think I kept him cooped up too long.  There was so much of my hometown I wanted to show him, and we’d only covered a fourth of it even with my shortcuts.  I hadn’t even shown him the Irish pub I’d called home.  I’d love to drive the Poor-shit at speed on Mullholland.
 
I’d booked us into a small hotel at the foot of PV, Palos Verdes.  The hotel’s not the poshest place in LA, more of a shorts and shoes kind of place, but it was the only lodgings on the water for the longest time.  It’s one of those places that you promise yourself you’ll go when you hit it big.  I felt like the luckiest woman in the world; Terry and I had a few days away from the world with only a few required appointments to tear us away from each other.  The Portofino’s also convenient to where his meetings would be though I’d need to draw him a map to avoid the congestion.  I think he’s starting to like my short cuts.
 
As we had so few bags, Terry declined any help with them when we checked in.  He did seem to be charging down the hall to our room.  I lollygagged behind him, checking out this place I’d only ever dreamed about.  The distance between us also allowed me to see how his shoulders expanded inside his coat from carrying our two carryons with my green bag over one shoulder and the laptop over the other.  This man looks good from any angle. 
 
He waited impatiently inside the open door, sans baggage, for me.  He surrounded me high and low, one arm around my shoulders and a hand on my butt, as he pulled me into him for a no-nonsense, all hands on deck kiss.  His arousal was impressive, even for him, as he walked forward into me, using my back to close the door. 
 
“I’ve only ever heard about hotel wood,” I managed to gasp as Terry went for all my clothed hot spots, the ones he knows are immediate turn-ons for me.  I stretched my head to the right to give him more access to my target spot where my neck meets my shoulder.  He kissed up my neck to my ear for a quick nibble on my lobe as he tugged my t-shirt from my jeans and pulled it over my head.  He took time enough to look at my bra but left it.  One look was all he needed to know how to take it off with closed eyes later. 
 
His grunt in response had a hint of snicker in it.  I could feel the partial chuckle under my lips on his whiskery throat.  I took off his coat and shirt as one piece of clothing; he shook out of it one arm at a time.  With one arm naked, he slid his hand under my waistband; I sucked my stomach in to give his fingers enough room to slip lower. 
 
My tongue circling his nipple brought a quick intake of breath from him.  His hand on my lower back pulled me in closer to him, and I slid my twice covered mound up and down his cock lightly.  He separated his fingers on my next upward slide; he was at the apex of my folds and could caress my clit if he only would.
 
There are times I hate his 501’s; this was one of them.  I needed both hands to unbutton and free him.  “Mgghmph.”
 
“A little frustrated there, Lady?”  My God, he’s calming down!  He can form words.  I hadn’t been able to since he started alternately kissing the swell of my breasts and my neck.  He dipped his head and nudged my mouth from his chest to his mouth.  His tongue in my mouth was gentle as he probed. 
 
When he broke our kiss, we stood there, breathing hard, our chests heaving together, my back still mashed against the door.  His arm no longed needed to hold me to him; I was glued to him for the duration.  I gave up on his pants and worked on mine, unfastening and shoving both my jeans and knickers down my thighs. 
 
He sighed in satisfaction and angled his hand between my thighs.  His fingers danced along my folds, the flesh of his upper palm lightly resting on me.  The small movements his fingers made tantalized my clit.  I scooted along his fingers and hand as I stepped on the hem of my jeans to remove them completely.
 
Terry shuffled backwards, completely confident I’d follow, stumbled on the pile of clothes we’d accumulated, and leaned on our joined lips to rebalance.  He kicked the offending heap aside and turned me so I backed towards what I assumed was the bed.  I had to trust where he was taking me as I hadn’t seen the room’s layout when I entered; I hadn’t the time.  I felt the unyielding bedrail first, then Terry was bending me backwards to the bed.  I opened my eyes to see him stepping back from his place between my thighs to between my calves and shedding his jeans.  The rough denim rasped down my inner calves as they dropped to the floor.  He looks so good in clothes, but he is so MALE without them.  I got even wetter watching him advance to cover me.
 
My legs moved of their own volition around his waist, and I lifted my arms to hold him to me.  He crawled us farther onto the bed and entered me in his first movement.  By the time we were comfortable on the bed, he’d established our initial rhythm.  My arms held me to him above the bed’s surface; his strong arms kept us placed there until he flexed his elbows and lowered us.  I felt a small movement under my back.  He dangled my bra beside us with a cheeky grin, and his hands found their place under my shoulder blades, his forearms emerging at my sides.
 
When his head dropped to my breasts, I ran my fingers through his hair, twirling his three, unruly cowlicks and smiling in contentment.
 
“I love you, Boomer.”
 
 
Our room with its small balcony looked out onto the channel the fishing boats use to access open ocean, and we could see the homes nestled into the ravines on the south side of the PV hills.  Soon we’d have our own floorshow on the channel marker.  I stood breathing in the sea air; it had been a very long time since I’d been home.  We'd have a few more hours of sun before the afternoon fog rolled in.
 
Terry finished icing down my wine and his beer after both of us made numerous trips to the ice machine after a quick nap.  Somehow, when I arrive in California, the only drink I crave is a good, crisp, white wine.  Terry joined me, with drinks in hand, at the railing.
 
“There’s Catalina.”  I pointed to a darker grey lump on the horizon in the process of being engulfed by the fog bank. 
 
Terry squinted, tilted his head, and finally crouched down to sight along my arm.  “Must be a local habit, Lady.  You can see it because you know its there; I can’t.”  He stepped in close behind me, standing with his feet on either side of mine and his arms around me, beer in hand; I was happily, completely engulfed.  He brought his tinnie down to touch my improvised wine glass.  “Here’s to unseen islands.”
 
“Cheers.”
 
We were lost within each other on a lovely California coastal winter day – 72 degrees, sunny, with a fog bank off shore.  Ice sheen in the horses’ water buckets and my freezing feet when I came in from the barn were distant memories for the time being.  The channel buoy’s bell and squawking gulls announced the fishing boats’ arrival.
 
“Good.  Now keep your eyes on the buoy.”
 
“Is this another local thing, Diana?  What imaginary land mass will appear?”
 
“Just watch.”
 
First, the pelican landed atop the red marker.  He had a bit of trouble keeping his balance and flapped his wings; his ballast hadn’t arrived yet.  I turned to see the smile creep up Terry’s face; I missed the first arrival, but I saw it in Terry’s delight and heard the sharp bell clang.
 
“Seals.  They’re roosting on the buoy!”
 
“Technically they’re sea lions, but seals is close enough.”  We settled in on the outdoor chairs to enjoy the afternoon and the natural antics on the sea before us.  The first little one had been joined by three or four others all jockeying noisily for position on the buoy’s platform.  Soon it was crowded with two layers of brown-black fur covering blubber lazing in the warm sun.  Periodically, one would slip into the water either by design to cool off or by overcrowding forcing him off. 
 
Terry’s beer began to tilt as the weather was relaxing him as well.  I improvised a tinnie chiller by folding ice inside a washcloth and wrapping it around the can.  Eventually the terrycloth was saturated, and the ice melt water dripping on his shorts clad legs roused him in enough time to see the Beach Master, the biggest sea lion in the group, stake his claim and run off the other males.  Good-looking females were welcome on his buoy.
 
 
“If I’d known we were walking to dinner, I’d not have gone for the run on the Strand.  This is bloody LA.  We’re supposed to drive everywhere.”  His grump was good-natured.
 
“You wouldn’t have missed your run today for all the money in the world.  How many times did you trip ogling all the bikinis?”
 
“I wasn’t looking at the suits.  I was admiring the …. Am I about to get into trouble here with this admission?”
 
“No, you’re in LA on a small vacation.  I’m checking your testosterone level.”
 
“Topped up.  I had one minor run-in with an old man on a bike.  We happened to be enjoying the same scenery.”
 
Captain Kidd’s is another hole in the wall, great café.  You select your own piece of fish from the glass cooler, and they cook it however you like.  Normally the guys behind the counter can tell you which fishing boat caught your selection.
 
I haven’t seen shark in Dallas, ever.  As much as we like beef, you’d think the markets would stock it; shark is the rib eye steak of fishdom.  My choice was easy.  Ceviche and twelve ounces of shark, grilled, with coleslaw.  Terry was harder to please until he heard a British accent ordering “Fish and chips, traditional, please.”  Eventually, I’ll have to admit what a parochial bastard he is. 
 
We were lucky enough to find a picnic table that would soon be vacated next to the window; the current occupants were rolling up crab shells into their butcher paper tablecloth.  We’d have more people joining us soon; Captain Kidd’s is just that kind of place.  You can have a rollicking good time talking to strangers or isolate yourselves for a quiet chat.  We had a little of both.
 
Terry reached over and snagged some of my shark.  “Not bad.”
 
“Hey!  If you’re still hungry, go get your own!”
 
He flipped his legs over the bench and returned quickly with his number and another schooner of his beer and more wine for me.
 
“What did you get?  Will I like it, too?”
 
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
 
“You know I’m no good at that.”
 
“Yes, I know.  And that’s why it’s so much fun to make you.  Delayed gratification, Lady.”
 
I snatched his scrip of paper from his hand and lingered a bit, forcing him to feel some of his own delayed gratification when I started stroking his palm.  I didn’t have to wait long for his order and left him looking at his palm.  When the cook called Terry’s number, I brought the additional grilled shark and swordfish steaks back to our table between us.  Terry had chosen well.  Captain Kidd’s fish is much better than their desserts.
 
“You know, I was afraid we’d be different traveling together.”  My admission caught Terry with a bite of swordfish half way to his mouth. 
 
He looked concerned and put his fork down.  He reached across and took my fork from my hand.  “Why would you think that?”

“We’re starting to get the hang of this living together.”  He smiled and nodded his agreement; his eyes were joyful.  “We know how to live together.  I was afraid we didn’t know how to play together.”
 
“Ummm.  Am I that serious at home?”
 
“You work.  I have the barn.  Our life is requirements and other people.  We have fun carrying out our responsibilities, but we haven’t been without them.  Together.  I’m becoming greedy; I want more time with you.”
 
“You haven’t answered my question, yet.  Am I a grouch at home?”
 
“Yes.  No.  Sometimes.  I don’t know.  Our schedules dictate our life.  There never seems to be enough time.  I’m not sure I’ll ever have enough time with you.  Even with your meetings tomorrow, you seem more carefree.  When we were driving today, your face today looked likes it does only when you’re asleep.”  I traced a line below his left eye to the outer corner and down his freshly shaven face with my fingertips.  I think I can feel his beard growing when we’re making love.  All that testosterone being released must make it grow.
 
“It’s because you’re with me.”  He turned his head and kissed the palm of my hand.  He repositioned it back onto his cheek and covered it with his own.  His eyes were soft and filled with more love than I could absorb.  “Here’s an early New Year’s resolution.  Besides the proper holiday, next year, you’ll travel with me more.  I’ll tack on a few days before and after trips so we can leave the responsibilities behind.”
 
“Wait, wait.  Let’s see how the rest of this trip goes.  You might not want to spend so much time with me.”
 
He reached out and tucked and errant lock of hair behind my ear, watching where he placed my hair and tracing my ear shell curvature with his electric touch.  His eyes came back to mine, holding me.  “Lady, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
 
I’ve never felt so intimately connected in public as I did in a noisy, fish market restaurant.  I may never again. 
 
 
Once Terry kick started my heart with a tender kiss, we finished the shark and swordfish.  A family with four little ones sat at the end of the table; they’d arrived well after Terry and I’d finished making cow eyes at each other.  We gave up talking; the kids were that loud and wiggly.  The family ate quickly and soon left us alone again. 
 
“Do you reckon we’ll have to do that much wrangling with Max and Reags’ little ones?”  Terry wondered. 
 
“Oh, I hope so.”  The vision of Max and Reags having a wild bunch had us giggling in no time.  Sadly for their children, I don't see either Max or Reags letting their offspring be unruly, but it was fun to imagine.  Who knows?  Kids have agendas of their own and more energy than adults …and Max and Reags aren’t going to be what anyone could describe as young parents.  It might take all of us to raise the kids; I can’t see them stopping with one.
 
Terry shared a little of his childhood with me.  “We didn’t go out all that often.  I don’t remember what we were like in public.  I do remember Mum saying she wouldn’t allow hooligans in the house.”  He smiled like the ruffian I imagined he was when he was a kid.  “My brothers and I spent a great deal of time outdoors.”
 
“Being an only child I don’t have any frame of reference.  The most outrageous thing I ever did when I was little was stay on the swings at recess too long because I had skinned knees from learning to ride my bike.  My teacher had to come over and drag me off.”
 
He leaned over and took my hands.  “Seeing Pico closed today made you sad, more so than seeing the fence round your high school.  That’s the first time in a long time you haven’t explained yourself.  Tell me.”
 
“I remembered it as being a beautiful place, and the neighborhood was nice.  I was embarrassed.  I never stopped to think how poor we were.  I was afraid.  Lots of unconflicted emotions.”
 
“What frightened you?”
 
“What you would think of me.  That poor, shy little girl.”
 
“Think?  I rarely think about you.  I do feel the love you’ve given me.  I love your past because it formed you.  Look how far you’ve come.  We all grew up in houses less grand than the ones we live in now.  We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us.  That’s the way it’s supposed to be.
 
“I only see you as you are today.  My beautiful, loving woman.”  In that moment, I believed him. 
 
“I fall in love with you all over again every time I see you, Terry.  Doesn’t matter if you’re only coming in from another room and you’ve only been gone five minutes.”
 
It was right then that Terry started physically making love to me that night.  His tender touches to my face and arms led me on our walk back to our room.  He found a dark nook available on the Strand where we stopped.
 
He first talked to my collarbone.  “You are lovely.  You stand out asking me to kiss you.”  He brushed his lips along it. 
 
On our walk to the next unlit spot between the lampposts, he told my wrists, “Your strength masks your pale beauty.”  His first kiss there sent a line of sparks up my arms and tightened the violin string between my navel and clit. 
 
When we next stopped, he brushed his thumbs over my eyes, telling them, “You speak so eloquently.  They’re filled with love,” releasing the sexual tension within me only slightly.
 
He raised and lowered my fire at will.  He made me physically need him and then comforted me with his next kiss all the while telling me, “You’ll be so ready for me back at the hotel.  Wait.”  I was ready for him to take me right there.  He was not playing fair.
 
“But I want you right now.  I might not be by the time we’re back at the hotel.”  His dirty laugh told me he’d chance it.
 
He kissed my fingertips one by one and then cupped my hand to his face to turn my neck to him.  His step was so sure leading me to our temporary home, even with his face buried in my neck, nibbling, kissing his target spot.  He creates such contradictory feelings in me all depending on how he kisses me there.  He can make me want him immediately or feel so loved and peaceful when he concentrates his attentions, and it’s the same damn kiss.   
 
He held a lock of my hair to his nose and inhaled the damp, salt air that permeated it.  “The smell of vanilla is still there under the salt.  It’s nice.”
 
When we stopped outside the light of the hotel’s entry, my skin tingled for wanting him.  “Please, can’t we go in, now?”  His nails brushed down my arm and held me in suspended animation for long moments until his action had its full effect.  They were covered in goose bumps, and the cool night air had nothing to do with them.  It was just short of an orgasm.  Only then did he take my hand.
 
“Now we can.”
 
Our five-minute walk had turned into a twenty-minute erotic ramble.  The cozy lighting in the lobby when we arrived seemed harsh after the soft night outdoors.  The curving, wooden staircase to the hotel’s rooms seemed never ending, partially because my knees were loose and refused to cooperate with the rest of my systems and partially because Terry’s feather light kisses on my temple and mouth were causing such anticipation.
 
The fog had risen enough to trap the seaside lights beneath it, giving our room the dim glow of candles.  The off shore breeze stirred the gauzy drapes cooling the heat Terry had started in me to a manageable level.  I could wait a moment or two before my impatience forced me to throw him to the bed but not much longer. 
 
He had me on such a sexual high from his soft caresses and kisses, fully clothed and only touching my unexpected erogenous areas.  He had his shirt off before he took off my t-shirt and bra.  His kisses flowed down my forehead, eyes, across my cheeks and nose, down to my throat, and over the swell of my breasts as his fingers trailed down my sides.  He whispered his love for me as he moved.  My shorts and knickers were gone, and his lips found their way down my belly, just inside my hipbones.  His hands drifted down my inner thighs, asking me to open for him.  Instinctually, I did.  He licked and nipped down them, moving from one to another, bypassing my sex.  If he had touched between my legs at that moment, I’d have come on the spot, but he didn’t.  He treated my body to his touch as he rose to finish undressing himself.
 
My hand slipped inside his Levis to stroke his already hard cock.  We alternated unbuttoning his 501’s; he stepped out of them, and finally, we stood together.  I’d kept my need for him in check long enough.
 
Finally he took me in an embrace.  I felt my breasts nestle into him, and I held his warm cock against my belly.  His lips grazed mine for the first time as he laid us on the bed, covering me with his strength and warmth, his cock nestled between my legs, content to rest there, knowing we had more time tonight to love.
 
His lips found my breast, and he rested the other in his cupped hand, pulsing it with the rhythm of our hearts.  The tip of his tongue teased my nipple, licking up to the top from four compass points and then circling the aureole.  Both breasts reacted to his tongue and were pebbled and stiff, still seeking more as his hips inched higher, and he moved into my heat.
 
The upward pressure from my hands on his cheeks brought his face back to mine, and his lightness faded.  His kiss was strong as was mine returned to him.  We found our rhythm, and it was a headlong flight to completion.  His push into me was strong and steady; my feet cupped below his butt.  When my smile at the sheer pleasure having this man love me broke our kiss, our eyes locked, pulling his head forward and back with mine as he rocked me into the down pillow.  I lost my rhythm and ground down onto his cock even as my back arched drawing me up to his chest.  My breath caught, and once again Terry reminded me to breathe as his own rhythm hitched, his breath caught, he grunted softly, and he came.
 
We lay together until he locked my legs at his waist and rolled us to the far side of the bed.  He dragged the bedspread over us, wiggled his hips, and rolled off me, cocooning us inside the covers.  We fell asleep with my face burrowed in his neck, my leg between his, listening to the slow slap of the waves on the rocks and the occasional ‘swoosh’ as a sea lion slid into the water.           
 
                  
TERRY
“Get ready.  I can’t slow down too much.  See that glass house perched over the water?”
 
Diana’s narrating her Southern California tour again.  I’ll be quicker on the uptake today on our coastal drive to San Diego. 
 
“Yes, it’s a lovely beach house.”
 
“John Wayne used to live there.  He parked his minesweeper out front.”
 
“I believe they call it docked, Diana.” 
 
“He couldn’t take it out of Balboa Bay, not enough depth to float the sucker.”
 
“And you know this how?”
 
“When I moved down here, the minesweeper was still docked out front.  Pretty hard to miss something that big.”
 
“Did you happen to meet my hero?”
 
“Once.  Dad was having his shotgun worked on for a rare hunting trip he was taking with my Uncle Gordon.  It was so old then the gun shop down here on Newport Blvd. was the only one in Southern California who had anyone who knew anything about it.  I came with Dad, and Mr. Wayne was in there.  I picked up a box of cartridges.  I guess he saw how inept I was with anything having to do with weapons, came over and stood behind me, and took it out of my hands.  He actually called me ‘little lady.’  He seemed really big and not terribly friendly.”  Only John Wayne could get away with calling her ‘little lady’ even then.
 
“Did he offer to protect you?”
 
“No, but I did beat feet back to Dad.  Couldn’t take my eyes off him once I recognized who he was.”
 
Big guy, indeed.  So far, seeing where Duke Wayne lived had been the highlight of my trip. 
 
 
We had a day before we were due in Eréndira and had planned on spending the night somewhere on Mission Bay.  We stopped for a late lunch on the beach in Del Mar at another one of Diana’s hidden gem cafes. 
 
“Since we have a little extra time, would you mind if we made an unscheduled stop in San Diego?”
 
I’ll agree to anything to release me from the bloody car.  “Will it involve walking?”
 
Diana smiled at my hopeful question.  “It might.  Remember David Green, my poofta friend?”  Ah, yes.  From her stories about him, David had held a very large part of her heart for a very long time before he came out. 
 
“He promised me a pub crawl next time I was in San Diego.  He’s lived down here for years.  I’d like to at least see him.”
 
“I’d like to meet the neighbour boy.” 
 
“Oh, good.  I put his number in my cell in case we might have enough time to drop in.”
 
Diana was delighted with the outcome of the phone call.  Her statement, “I want you to meet someone,” didn’t fill me with joy, but how would I introduce her to Trish when we went to Oz?  Dave gave her some ideas for where we might stay and suggested coming to the gallery he owns on Kettner at five, and we’d leave from there.
 
I was eager to meet Mr. David Green.  So many of Diana’s teen-aged stories included him.  Someday she may even admit he was her first love.
 
 
Dave’s gallery was one of many in the arts district’s converted warehouses.  The walls are starkly white with adjustable track lighting to best show the paintings.  No one was readily visible as we entered.
 
“Dee, you look fabulous!” came from the gloom of a hallway down the side.  A short, stocky man hustled from the back and threw his arms about her, kissed her soundly, and laughed when she stepped back from him and scratched her upper lip and nose.
 
“You kept your mustache!  It still itches me.”  She held onto his hand, swinging it slowly as she had mine as we walked to and from her school a two days before.
 
“Terry, let me introduce Dave Green, ex-neighbor, bon vivant, and man about town.  The best gardener a girl could ever wish for, and from the looks of it, a successful art dealer.
 
“Dave, this is Terry Thorne, the man I intend to spend the rest of my life with.”  If that were the only honorific I ever had in my life, I could die a happy man.
 
“It’s good to meet you, Terry.”
 
“And you, Dave.  Diana’s told me a lot about you in the last few days.”
 
“Ooow, an Aussie!  How delicious.  I’ll tell you the truth about her after dinner.  I’m glad to know Diana Lynn has finally met Mr. Right.”  The way ‘Diana Lynn’ rolled from his tongue made me believe that before he discovered his true sexuality, he did love her as well. 
 
He turned from me and back to Diana.  “It took you long enough.  And why didn’t you call and tell me?”
 
“I didn’t want to jinx us by telling anyone I was in love.  I almost didn’t have a chance to tell him.”
 
He tsked and laughed at her the way only old friends can.  “Go have a look around.  I’ve been framing all day, and I need to change.  You can tell me all about love’s ups and downs later.”
 
A strong handshake but fanciful in his speech.
 
 
We were on our fourth or fifth pub in the Gaslight district.  Dave had caught Diana up on and introduced me to what his many siblings were doing over another fish house dinner; I’ll be sprouting scales before we return to Dallas.  She’d told him about the last few years of her life; she’d made me sound like a man worth having her.  Their stories weaved in and out of each other and had me laughing at how they could understand each other.
 
He’d talked us through the art business and the odd way he’d left landscape design behind and formed his consortium of artists.  It took a long time for all the stories to come out; everyone in town seemed to know him and stopped by to have a word.  Dave introduced Diana as his long, lost love and me as the man who had stolen her away.  Sometimes to couples who seemed particularly close to him, he simply said, “This is Diana Lynn,” with that same loving tone.  He never failed to introduce both of us.   
 
Dave took a 3-inch by 7-inch black and white photo from his jacket and slid it towards me.  “Recognize her?  That was during her wildly cosmopolitan, Dia days.”
 
I’d know those legs anywhere.  Diana in her early twenties.  “You were beautiful even then.”
 
“The copy you gave Mom disappeared.  I think she didn’t want to recognize her little girl was growing up.” 
 
I could understand her mother’s reaction.  The photographer had caught her with a three-quarters view without her knowledge. Diana lounged on the grass in a pale dress looking up at a faceless man before her.  The photographer had captured her at her most sensuous.  It was a fucking sexy picture. 
 
“Keep it.”
 
“But it was your graduation!” 
 
Shut up, Diana.  I want it for nights on the road away from you.  I accepted his gift gratefully.  “Thank you, Dave.  Now, are you ready to wander down memory lane and give me the goss on Diana?”
 
“I certainly am.
 
“Did she tell you about the Rose Parade?”
 
Diana answered for Dave.  “We left a New Year’s party at 1 AM and made it to the non-populated part of the parade route.  We were wrapped up in all the blankets we could snag from our two houses and still froze our asses off.  All the riders on the floats laughed at us.  We looked like a tribe of Indians.”
 
“Until we dropped the blankets and flashed them!”  Dave added.  It’s nice to know Diana will give me the sanitized version, but Dave’s willing to give me the rest of the story.
 
“It wasn’t a flash; I prefer to think of it as we gave them a fashion show.  The party had been formal, and there we were on Pasadena Boulevard in all our finery.  If I’d known we were going to the parade, I’d have worn the black wool, turtleneck dress, not that skimpy brown velvet thing. 
 
“Remember Little Marilyn?  I saw her at the last reunion I attended.  She finally admitted what a crush she had on you.  She wondered where you were.  That was when I thought you were still in Pomona.”
 
“She tracked me down at Vincent’s funeral.” 
 
Diana patted his hand.  “You and Vincent were together a long time.”
 
“I think when Vincent died, my mom had hopes I’d see the light, and she could finally see us married.”
 
“You got pressured, too?  You know, if you’d said anything to her, Mom would have hogtied me and dragged me down the aisle.  She’d have given anything to have you in the family.  She had such an older woman crush on you.”
 
“Sounds like your mum was a few decades too early.”  Though my arm was draped behind Diana, I didn’t feel I needed to stake my claim on her with Dave and not because of his sexual orientation.  I can only hope that confidence lasts throughout our time in Mexico.
 
“She was.  She’d have left Dad in a heartbeat for Dave.”
 
“Remember when we were so broke and Georgia invited us to her wedding?  We painted this rock for them to use for a doorstop.  I made Diana do the backdrop; I did the detail.  Has her painting ability improved over the years?”
 
“As long as the wall is big enough.  She’s still excellent at the broad strokes.” 
 
Diana shrugged her shoulders.  “But my cooking’s improved.  When Dave knew me, I couldn’t scramble eggs.  I still can’t bake.”
 
Tijuana to Rosarito Beach could be any beach development, anywhere in the world.  Over crowded, over developed, over groomed, and homogenised.  The true Baja California begins well south of Rosarito.
 
Baja is rugged, remote, and starkly beautiful in its own way.  Steep mountains rise from the shoreline, covered with scrubby, brown bushes even in what is their wet season.  The coastal road overlooking the Pacific barely holds on to its tenuous grip to land; landslides frequently close the road.  In some places the sand of the desert mingles with the beach sand.  After all the time I’ve spent in dense jungle green foliage, the Baja is dramatically different.
 
Wherever the ocean has created a bay, small villages have emerged.  Brown adobe brick buildings with tile or tin roofs stand cheek by jowl to thatched roof palapa surf camps.  White wooden boats are beached with their crews mending nets beside them.  The settlements are bucolic but for the crushing poverty.
 
For all of Diana’s protestations that Baja is new territory, she knows the way to Eréndira well.
 
“Did you and Ward spend much time down here?”
 
“Most weekends.  The border crossings didn’t take so long back then.”  
 
“Is your time down here how you know so much about the region?”
 
“I know the road and gas stops to make because of sitting in the passenger seat for so many trips.  The geography and plants came from a thorough grounding in Californiana.  We had so many transplants from every part of the Midwest the schools had to teach everything about the state.  All the basic stuff you learn about your home state that you learn from your parents?  Missing.  Their parents knew everything about Ohio; they knew how to make a living in California.
 
“How are you doing about seeing Ross again?  Will you promise me you won’t get into a brawl with him?  This is his home turf.  The Federales will let him go.”
 
“I’ll be glad to see Ross again.  Dino did the right thing in bringing him back.  We need the information he can gather. 
 
“Ward is a different story.  I'm interested in hearing his explanation on why he let you leave.
 
“I’m a better person because he did.  My life is better with you.”
 
“And mine.”
 
 
Diana looked a treat; she always does.  A tiered, full skirt that covered her to mid calf with a matching peasant blouse she’d pulled off her shoulders that set off Gran perfectly.  The off the shoulder blouse accented her full breasts swaying freely.  What drew my eyes to the skirt were the lace insets between the tiers.  She was fully covered, but the lace insets revealed enough to cause my imagination to wander even more.
 
My sausage fingers were drawn to the first lace join at the top of her thighs as she stood next to my seated form.  My head nestled into the curve of her hip.  “You’ve just made what could be a difficult evening worse.” 
 
“Good.  I got this outfit for you.  I gather you like it.”  She leant down to kiss me. 
 
“Very much.  Are you sure the lace is positioned correctly in the skirt?”
 
“For dinner it will be fine.  I can fold the gauze over the lace.  Only you will know what that flimsy piece of material is hiding.”
 
“Bloody hell, Diana.  Why did you have to say that?”
 
“Adding a bit of distraction.  If you’re concentrating on me, Ward stands a better chance of saying what’s on his mind.”
 
“Too right.  Words fail me.”
 
We started our stroll down the beach to the palapa cantina intended to serve these five guest cottages for stranded travelers.  An abnormal high tide would flood the buildings.
 
“You know what’s even better?”  If she tells me she’s knickerless as well as braless, Ross be damned.  Dinner will be late.  “The lace doesn’t itch.”
 
 
ROSS
Tonight’s initial moments were far more congenial than our prior meeting in Dallas and less crowded.  No motorists who misjudged the distance to the next bigger village and needed to stop for the night – Terry and Diana would have the place to themselves.  My beach shack was farther along, closer to the village. 
 
Diana turned her smile from Terry, extended her hand, and I took it.  “It’s good to see you again.”
 
Diana’s changed since I last saw her; the transformation from when she was mine made her a different woman.  She’s lost several pounds since I first knew her, but her figure is still enough to make me wonder how I could have been so stupid as to let her go without a word.  She’d been a mouse back then, but she was much younger.  The way she carries herself tonight made me believe she’s come to terms with her own sexuality, and she likes it.  “You, too.  Hacienda looks good on you.”
 
Terry stepped closer and held out his hand.  “Ross, thanks for seeing me, us.”
 
Diana took a deep breath as she’d done years before when she took a risk; I watched the rock necklace rise and fall with the movement.  “Is the cooler still where it used to be, and is it still serve yourself?”
 
“Yes, on both counts.”  I looked at Terry to measure his reaction to Diana’s and my history being flung in his face.  He shrugged.
 
“It happened.  It’s over.  If she’s at peace with you, I am as well.” 
 
“You two go grab a table, and I’ll get this round.”  Her sense of irony still makes me laugh.  There were no other customers between here and Ensenada.  Terry and I stood by the table in a civilized silence until she arrived.  Diana managed to bring the three Tecates, the salt, and the limes in one trip.  Her cotton blouse was almost transparent where she had held the wet cans around her middle.
 
The manners, which had deserted me in the office that day, allowed me to wait until Terry seated Diana before I sat in the chair across the table from them.  The delay forced me to watch Terry trail his fingers unconsciously across her bare shoulders.  He caressed her in that way because he always touched her skin; he wasn’t staking a claim for my benefit.  Terry’s never seen Tecate drunk correctly before from the way he’s watching Diana.  Maybe he’s always fascinated with whatever she does; how would I know?
 
He’s a quick study.  He popped the can open, salted the top, squeezed the lime onto the salt, used the lime quarter to push the wet salt into the liquid, and dropped the lime into the can. 
 
“Good to have you back, Mate.”  I doubt I get more of an apology than that from him.
 
We drank our beers and watched Raul come out of the sea with our dinner, three wriggling lobsters.  Over dinner, Terry probed me on how I’d found Eréndira and the current political climate in the south.  He’s remarkably knowledgeable about Mexican affairs considering his primary focus is Asia.
 
We laughed and joked about their stay in LA and Diana’s abilities as a tour guide.  I never got the feeling Terry was about to take my head off.  Diana is far more relaxed with me as well.  Their attitude, and the Tecates, made me bold.
 
“Diana, do you want the explanation on what happened to us as I saw it?”
 
“Not really.  But I do want the answer to one question.  What the hell did you do for a living when I knew Ward?”  Diana’d rather deal with facts rather than emotions.  I don’t remember her ever saying she loved me.
 
“Howard Townsend was an alias I used when I was doing some work for LAPD.  State of the art electronics were being reverse engineered.  They needed someone who knew shady deals.  The part about me selling electronics was real.  I got in with the technology thieves and sold to them.
 
“I juggled three or four different aliases at the time.  I never knew who I was when I came home.  I wanted to tell you, but my controller wouldn’t let me.  Then you got your security clearance; you were so proud of it.  I knew then I had to keep you as distant from what I was doing as I could. 
 
“Cindy was one of the thieves.  When she called and you denied Bill lived there, I needed to get you away from me.  It was going to get very dangerous, very fast.  We had to move up the arrests.
 
“I did want to protect you.  When you thought I was being unfaithful to you, it was as good a way as any to remove you from the situation.  By the time I started looking for you, to apologize and tell you the truth, you’d left California.”
 
Terry’d been listening to my story intently.  He sat back, apparently satisfied with what he’d heard.
 
Diana reached across the table and covered my hand in a gesture from long ago.  “We weren’t meant to be.  Everything happens for a reason.  We may not know why at the time, but I have to believe in reason and order.  The optimist in me believes things work out for the best.
 
“I’m not going to give you some happy horseshit about the right woman coming along for you, but you can have a good life.”  She stopped, and her eyes slid back and forth; she seemed confused.  “So can we settle on calling you Ross?”
 
 
I watched him take her in his arms and dance her up the beach.  The sand made their samba look ungainly until she led him to the shore’s edge and the firmer sand there.
 
At one time Diana could have led me to firmer ground if I’d let her.



 
 
NOTES  
The Tea Time Movie with Art Fern and the Matinee Lady on the Tonight Show
This is what Wikipedia has to say about the periodic sketch.
The Tea Time Movie, with "Art Fern" (Carson) and the Matinée Lady (originally Paula Prentiss, then a parade of one shots including Edy Williams, Juliet Prowse and Lee Meredith, then for many years Carol Wayne, then Danuta Wesley, and finally Teresa Ganzel). Carson once said that Art Fern was his favorite character: "He's so sleazy!" Huckster Art usually wore a loud suit, lavish toupee, and pencil mustache, and spoke in the high, nasal approximation of Jackie Gleason’s "Reginald van Gleason III" character. A parody of 1950s-style, fast-talking advertising pitchmen, the Tea Time Movie consists of a rapid-fire series of fake advertisements for products and companies sponsoring a late-night movie. Invariably the jokes refer to his buxom Matinée Lady assistant, and at least once in every skit a variation of the "Slauson Cutoff" joke is made (e.g., "You can find our store by heading down Hwy. 101 until you get to the Slauson Cutoff. Get out of the car, cut off your slauson, get back in the car."), as is a reference to "Drive until you get to... (a map is unfolded to reveal a table fork) the fork in the road!" Art would then return us to today's movie (like "Tarzan and Cheetah Have to Get Married" or "Rin Tin Tin Gets Fixed Fixed Fixed," etc.), followed by an antique. four-second film clip. Back to Art, caught necking with the Matinée Lady before announcing another movie and another commercial.
 
Here are some classic Tea Time Movie lines from IMDB
Hello there, feature-film freaks! Art Fern here, with today's fabulous feature find.
 
Got no job? We don't care. Got a bad credit rating? We don't care. Got a prison record? We don't care. Don't expect to pay us? THAT'S when we care!
 
How do you get there? Let me tell you friends, how do you get there! You take the San Diego Freeway to the Ventura Freeway. You drive to the Slauson Cutoff, get out of your car, cut off your Slauson, get back in your car, then you drive six miles till you see the Giant Neon Vice-Squad Cop.
 
Now back to our feature film! Woody Harrelson, Woody Allen, Woody Woodpecker, Woody Herman, Herman Munster, and Dumpo the Wonder Pigeon, in "Heidi Suffers an Estrogen Avalanche."
 
Here is a link to Art Fern's own appreciation page.
http://www.angelfire.com/tv2/eccentric/artfern.htm#two2
 
A classic Tea Time Movie clip  You may have to increase your sound to hear it well.  The Matinee Lady is the incomparable Carol Wayne.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzSH4biZZ3A

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