What Hamlet Said by Terry Mort

Author:Terry Mort
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McBooks Press
Published: 2021-10-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

As a matter of fact, I had tucked one in my jacket pocket. A toothbrush, I mean. After all, you never know. But when I’d left my rooms at the Garden, I really hadn’t expected anything romantic to happen that night. And experience tells you that even if you’re prepared for anything all of the time, most of the time you won’t need whatever it is you brought. Ask any teenage boy about that Trojan in his wallet. But as an old cowboy actor I knew once told me, it’s better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. He was referring to his six-shooter, but the same reasoning applies to a toothbrush.

I thought our dinner meeting was going to be all business. But it didn’t turn out that way. I had guessed right about some things, though. Having spent some considerable time looking at her photograph, I had imagined that she had reserves of passion that she kept tucked away, or hidden, for reasons that only she could understand. And I was right. They were there. I didn’t need to understand why she kept them hidden. I could guess, but it didn’t matter. I was just grateful that she was not hiding them that night, not hiding them from me.

I was right about something else too. You know the song “Try A Little Tenderness”? It’s often good advice. It was with Amanda. Once again, I wondered what kind of men she’d been with all her life. Maybe they had unlocked her secrets too. Maybe. But I somehow doubted it. Of course, you will think that I am making myself a hero of romance. But not really. I just think that she hadn’t been treated with tenderness very often, and she liked how it felt. And showed it. And responded. For myself, I liked the way her silky legs felt and how she smelled and tasted and how she was lithe and athletic and without an ounce of unnecessary flesh. I liked all that very much. I had imagined her sighs and gasps when I looked at her photo. Tonight, I heard them in the flesh. Much better that way. Much.

After about a half hour or so, and after we had both regained our breath, she whispered “I think I’m beginning to like you.”

“Does that mean you’ll eat barbecue with me at the Twelve Oaks picnic?”

“Why, of course, Rhett darling.”

“In that case we should have more Champagne.”

“We should probably order some dinner, too. I’m starting to get hungry.”

“Okay. What would you say to a little cold lobster?”

I was feeding her a line but didn’t expect anything.

“I’d say-‘Hello, little cold lobster’.”

Ah! And she said it vfith a giggle. I wouldn’t have thought she was capable of a giggle. Well, it just goes to show you. You never really know about most people.

“I think I’m beginning to like you too,” I said. And I was.

“How lovely.”

She was lying on the bed without any covering. She was stretched out languidly like Modigliani’s Odalisque, Or somebody’s Odalisque.

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