McNally's Bluff by Vincent Lardo & Lawrence Sanders

Author:Vincent Lardo & Lawrence Sanders [Lardo, Vincent & Sanders, Lawrence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0399151893
Publisher: G P Putnam's Sons
Published: 2004-08-03T04:00:00+00:00

13

I ARRIVED AT THE JUNO COTTAGE just in time to catch the last five minutes of Casablanca. Bergman, in her lovely wide-brimmed hat, was kissing Bogart, in his lovely wide-brimmed hat, goodbye, before flying off with Paul Henreid and leaving Bogey to saunter off into the fog, arm in arm with Claude Rains.

Georgy, in pigtails, slacks and one of my shirts, sleeves rolled to her pretty elbows, was dabbing at her eyes. “It always gets me right here,” she said, pointing a thumb at where she imagined her heart resided.

I kissed her cheek and inhaled the tantalizing scent of lavender soap which said Georgy had soaked in a bubble bath in anticipation of joining Bogart and Bergman in Rick’s Café-American—no doubt humming the film’s nostalgic theme song. Georgy loves to relax in a bubble bath, lavender or jasmine, after a tough day ticketing speeders on Interstate 95. I have, on more than one occasion, joined her in the aromatic and effervescent waters but that, too, is another story—and it beats playing with a rubber duck, let me tell you.

Georgy returned my kiss with ardor, no doubt inspired by Bergman’s performance. I did the gentlemanly thing and responded in kind. Not an hour ago I was captivated by the freckled face of Marge Macurdy, but now it was Georgy’s impeccable peaches and cream complexion that tickled my fancy. There’s a song (by Sigmund Romberg, perhaps?) that was written with me in mind, I’m sure. When I’m not near the girl I love, I love the girl I’m near. Go on, call me a cad. See if I care.

“You should give that suit to Goodwill,” she noted, eyeing me up and down. “They might find someone it would fit.”

“Cute, Georgy girl. Real cute. Living so far from the ocean I have neglected my daily two-mile swims in the surf and have put on a pound or two. I intend to lose them momentarily.”

“How? By taking off the suit?”

“For starters, yes.”

I left the parlor, went past the galley kitchen and turned left to enter the bedroom. That, plus the bath off the bedroom, constitutes the cottage. I began to get out of my tan gabardine straitjacket and when I was down to my briefs in walks Georgy.

“Don’t you believe in knocking?” I scolded.

“Why? It’s my house.”

“And what am I? Your concubine?”

“Sure. And I’m the pharaoh disguised as a woman.” She put her arms around my waist and squeezed. “You’re getting love handles.”

Feigning indifference, I said, “So you heard about Witch Hazel?”

“Who hasn’t?” She pinched me where once a crab had nipped me while I was skinny dipping with Connie. Now how did Connie get into this?

“Let me put on a shirt,” I begged, modestly.

“Which shirt?”

“The one you’re wearing, that’s which shirt.”

We laughed, kissed and fell onto the bed where she traded her shirt for my...

An hour later I came out of the shower wrapped in a terry robe and found my girl pouring a white Orvieto Classico into two chilled wineglasses. A chicken, roasted and missing a leg and hip joint, sat on the table in the breakfast nook.

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