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“It’s beautiful,” I say sincerely. “It fits you really well.”
This is true because the purple fabric hugs those Double Ds without being vulgar, and the décolletage shows off her big breasts without giving everything away. Small cap sleeves highlight her arms, and then the fabric tapers and skims her middle.
“Oh thanks,” she says, blushing again. “A couple of my friends have asked me to make t-shirts for them too, but I always say no. It really is cheaper to go to Walmart or Costco, even if you have to drive to get there. And I’m always afraid that after I make something for someone, that they’ll see it and hate it. You know how these things are. Buying something off the rack is sometimes way easier than making something custom.”
In fact, I have no idea because I’m not really into clothing or design, but I smile in what I hope is a friendly manner.
“Yeah, I can see why that might be. Costco and Walmart are so good at keeping down prices that it’s incredible. I know what you mean about costs too. Sometimes I pack my lunch for work, but it’s actually cheaper just to go out and buy a meal sometimes. When you factor in the cost of the ingredients, plus all the time it takes to make a sandwich, sometimes it’s easier just to buy everything ready-made.”
Margot throws her head back and laughs, giving me a glimpse of that slender creamy throat as her brown curls bounce. Wow, this woman is really beautiful. How did I get so lucky?
But then she grows serious once more.
“Yeah, so about Buster’s handkerchief,” she begins hesitantly. “My dog actually has a couple handkerchiefs that he wears. He’s has a really silky coat, and I think it makes him look cute,” she admits.
“Where is Buster now?” I ask while making conversation.
She looks around the kitchen and then peers into the darkness of the living room.
“Buster. Buster!” she calls. “Where are you? Where did you go?”
There’s the scrabbling of doggie nails on hardwood and then the large, playful golden retriever reappears in the doorway. Again, he’s got a big doggie smile on his face and his eyes take in the scene with unabashed joy.
“Heya,” she greets as he rushes her while panting. “How are you, Buster? Where’d you go? I haven’t made formal introductions yet. This is Dane Jones. He lives down the street from us.”
Buster turns to look at me, his tail still wagging up a storm. Then he comes over and puts both paws on my knee and yips once.
“Down Buster,” says Margot sternly. “We don’t do that. Down.”
But I merely laugh and run my hands over the retriever’s silky fur.
“No, it’s okay. He’s friendly, which is part of the reason why I like goldens so much. I used to have one as a kid,” I confide.
“Oh really? What happened to him?” asks Margot.
I shrug and then smile.
“Bruno died after fourteen years with my family. But it’s okay. That’s a long and happy life for a dog, and we consider ourselves the lucky ones who got to know him.”
“Oh you’re a dog person!” exclaims Margot joyously.
“I definitely am,” I admit. “But yeah, Buster’s handkerchief was in my back yard. Care to explain how it got there?”
Margot looks totally flustered again.
“Well, I think I had in my pocket for a while, and maybe it fell out and then the wind blew it into your backyard,” she says in a rushed voice. “Yes. Like the balloons at the block party today. They’re probably being blown all over the neighborhood right now, and tomorrow, you might find one or two balloons stuck in a tree in your backyard.”
“I see,” I say slowly, nodding my head as if pretending to consider it. “I suppose there’s no way Buster got away, is there? Maybe he likes to eat rhododendrons? We have some of those in my yard.”
“Oh no,” says Margot stoutly. “Buster doesn’t run away like that. He likes his doggie bed just fine, as well as the ready food and water here. He didn’t escape.”
Dang, this girl isn’t even taking the out I’m giving her. As a result, I decide to be upfront.
“Margot, I know how that handkerchief ended up in my backyard. And I think you know too. We both know, in fact, because we locked eyes on that fateful day.”
Margot gasps then, her face going scarlet.
“Oh shit, you did see me,” she whispers.
“I did,” is my growly reply. “The question is: did you like what you saw?
7
Dane
The pedal’s meeting the metal now. It’s really happening. The curvy girl and I are going to talk about that fateful day when she saw me drilling my wife that final time. Or my ex-wife, I should say.
“Um, I’m really sorry,” she begins quickly. “I was walking Buster and I heard these sounds, so I decided to investigate. I know it was stupid because I went into your yard and trespassed on private property, but I just wanted to figure out what it was. Maybe it was a burglar?” she adds in a hopeful tone.
