“Ours does. It most certainly sits on legs.” Lila glanced at him hesitantly. “Mitch, I hate to bother you but have you noticed a slight odor?”
“Why, no, I haven’t.”
“That silly sink of ours is backed up again. Could you?…”
Mitch had a look. And a whiff. The sink had two inches of fetid brown water in it. “Where do you keep your plunger?”
“In the cupboard under the sink,” Luanne said.
He could hear all sorts of scurrying around in there as he searched for the plunger, shuddering inwardly. There was no telling what lived under there. Or how sharp its teeth were. He took the plunger to the clogged drain and brought up a fist-sized clump of either stringy vegetable matter, hair or, possibly, the earthly remains of a drowned mouse. He didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. But that black cat was watching him from the kitchen table with keen interest. Mitch bagged it-the clump, not the cat-and took it out to the trash. Then he ran the faucet for a minute to make sure the drain was clear.
He was just about to take off when he heard a loud thud upstairs.
“Ah, that’ll be Winston,” Luanne said. “Mitch, would you mind lending us your strong back? He’s a bit heavy for us to hoist out of the tub.”
There were at least eight bedrooms on the second floor. The bath that adjoined Winston’s room was right at the top of the stairs.
He was sitting in an old claw-footed tub calmly soaking away. Winston was a big man, well over six feet tall. He’d rowed at Princeton and still had the broad shoulders to prove it. But the rest of him resembled a sagging old water buffalo. His skin hung from him in loose, billowing folds. Winston’s hair, what little there was of it, was white. So was his handlebar moustache, which Mitch noticed looked kind of ratty and uneven.
Luanne noticed it, too. “Winnie, have you been chewing on our moustache again?”
“I’d rather chew on yours,” he replied, his blue eyes twinkling at her.
“Now don’t you be naughty, dear.”
“What’s that man doing in my bathroom, Lorelei?”
“I’m Luanne. Lorelei is gone, remember?”
“Then what are you doing in here?”
“Helping you take your bath.”
“In that case, get out of that dress and hop in.” Winston reached for her with his wet, soapy hands. “We’ll go for a little spin.”
“Behave, Winnie. You’ll get me all wet.” She bent down to wipe him with a washcloth. He immediately reached for her left breast and gave it a good squeeze. “And please remember you’re a gentleman.”
“You’re mistaken. No gentlemen here. Who is that curly haired fellow?”
“Why, that’s Mitch,” Lila answered.
“ Who?”
“Brubaker,” Mitch said. For some reason, the old fellow had taken to calling him that.
“Oh, sure.” Winston grinned at him. “How are you, Brubaker?”
“Just fine, sir. And you?”
“Horny beyond belief. And I really have to take a piss.”
Luanne shook her finger at him. “Not in the water again, hear me?”
“Okay,” he grumbled. “But only because you’ve got great tits.”
Luanne sighed wistfully. “And to think there was a time when I would have sold my soul for just one night in the feathers with this man.”
“Don’t you get all earthy, too,” Lila said to her primly.
“You’re one to talk,” Luanne shot back. “Considering that wild fling you and he had.”
Lila reddened. “Winston and I did not have any fling, wild or otherwise. That was entirely Lorelei’s imagination.”
“Did you or did you not go to Scranton together for the weekend back in seventy-eight?”
“Strictly to look at a wardrobe cupboard that he wished to buy for her. Antiques have always been a passion of mine, as you know perfectly well. Winston wanted my advice. We stayed in separate rooms at the inn. Why, we never so much as… as…” Lila’s fine-boned face got all scrunched up. Then she ran from the bathroom, sobbing.
“I guess I have to stop teasing her,” Luanne murmured. “She’s getting so sensitive.”
“She’s always been sensitive,” Winston said. “And she had the loveliest titties I’ve ever seen. Milk white, with a birthmark right here under her left nipple.”
Luanne looked at him in alarm. Possibly, it was that specific mention of Lila’s birthmark. “He’s just spouting nonsense now, Mitch. He was always faithful to our Lorelei. Weren’t you, Winnie?”
“We spent that weekend in Scranton screwing our brains out,” he answered happily. “Hey, Brubaker, have you checked out those hot new babes next door? They stretch out by the swimming pool wearing next to nothing. And they’re colored girls.”
“You mean women of color,” Mitch said.
“You can see them through the trees if you get over next to that fence.”
“Winnie, I want you to leave those people alone. They have enough trouble with those awful reporters. Besides, we haven’t been introduced.”
“Sometimes they even get up and dance,” he prattled on. “Shake those butts of theirs. You don’t see butts like those on white girls. By God, I’d like to take a great, big bite out of-”
“Okay, we’re done here,” Luanne announced firmly. “Mitch?…”
Mitch grabbed Winston by one wet, slippery armpit while she reached across him for the other. They’d just managed to hoist the old fellow up onto his feet when Callie Kreutzer came bouncing past the open door on her way to the stairs.
Callie didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the sight of the naked old man standing there in the tub. “I’m off to the academy, Luanne!”
“Have a lovely day, dear,” Luanne responded sweetly.
“Don’t go running off again!” Winston called out as Callie started down the stairs. “I’ve got something huge here for you!”
“Winston, behave!” Luanne barked as she began to towel him off. “I can take it from here, Mitch. Thank you so much.”
By the time he’d made it outside Callie was getting ready to ride off on her bike, her art portfolio slung over one shoulder. She was quite a gifted painter. Her miniature still lifes were amazingly luminous.
“Callie, are you okay living here?”
“What do you mean by that?” Callie possessed a voice that was, well, nasal. She sounded a lot like a spacey high-school girl. Looked like one, too, for that matter. She was twenty but she could easily pass for sixteen. Barely five feet tall with long, straight blond hair, chubby chipmunk cheeks and big gray eyes. Mitch doubted she weighed over a hundred pounds. She hid her slender figure inside an oversized, paint-splattered T-shirt and baggy jeans.
“I mean that Winston is getting worse. Has he ever?…”
“Not to worry, Mitch. He’s totally harmless.”
“Plus it smells awful inside of that house. Maybe we should find you somewhere else to stay.”
“No way. I’m totally cool here. My room has an incredible view of the water. And the girls let me fling paint half the night out on their sun porch. I can put on an old bikini-or not-and just let it fly. Which, like, totally keeps me sane. Because once you walk in the door of the academy everything you do has to represent. I have a great set-up here, honest. Besides, when Winston’s lucid he’s really very insightful about my work. He was a marvelous draftsman. Um, okay, maybe sometimes I…” Callie hesitated, her lower lip clamped between her teeth. “I do get the feeling he’s, you know, watching me when I’m flinging paint. From outside the window, I mean. But that could just be my imagination. And, hey, if it makes him happy to stand out there eyeballing my tush, it’s no big. Besides, I have an open invite to crash with June on board the Calliope any time.”
Callie had been romantically involved with June Bond for a couple of months. Thanks to him, she’d landed a cushy part-time gig as the Bond Girl on those inane “Just ask Justy” commercials that ran day and night on local TV.