Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (12 page)

“Well. As long as we’re trapped here, Ms. Nuckeby, I’ll take the moment to apologize for my…you know…my earlier…eh…” I let it hang there. At least the words, if not the actual item in question.

She waited, apparently a bit lost or confused.

“Erection?” she said, maybe
not
so lost or confused. “Oh, that’s all right. I didn’t mind. Honestly, I’d have been disappointed it if
hadn’t
happened.”

She laughed a bit, and I melted at the sound of her delicate tones. I could see a bit of her smile in the small amount of light coming in under the door and wished I could see more. More
smile
, that is.

Okay, other things too.

“As it is, I was kind of flattered actually,” she said.

That surprised me. Who would have thought? I looked down into the darkness and wondered if seeing it now would flatter her even more. It never felt so…
big
. Like it was filling the entire closet and at any moment might take on a life of its own, knock her down, and start rubbing itself all over her like a neglected pet.

“More importantly, Mister Wopplesdown, I hope you didn’t think I was being unprofessional, or
provocative
in some way. Walking out as I did. You know. Topless and all.”

“No, no. No, of course not. Many of our designs
are
topless—you know…by…em…design. And you were marvelously professional.
Visibly
professional.”

“And, of course, I don’t mind being seen that way, you know.”

Bloop.

I said nothing. I was expending all my energy fighting to keep my panting erection down, boy, down.

“Topless,” she added, taking my silence to mean—I don’t know, lack of understanding? Ignorance? Having become a eunuch since last we saw one another?

Gloop.

“Otherwise I couldn’t do it,” she continued. “Model lingerie, I mean. You have to have confidence in yourself, right? Know you’ve got something worth looking at.”

Glorp.

“Indeed,” I said.

“I just thought you should know,” she said, her voice and stance relaxing a bit. “I appreciate my job. I
need
my job, and I didn’t intend to jeopardize it in any way. When your grandfather came in so angry, insisting that I stay away from you…”

“Yes. Well, he has other concerns. Some of them valid.”

“Oh, I know. We’ve all heard the stories. Quite a libido your family has.”

“We pay extra for that.”

“So I hear. Anyway, it’s drummed into the models before we leave the agency that we aren’t supposed to date
any
Wopplesdown— male, or female,” she paused, and her voice lowered a bit. “No matter how desperately we may want to.”

There was a rather pointed edge to her last sentence fragment that made me seriously wish that I was either a) not a Wopplesdown, or b) at a comic book convention. Unfortunately for me I was neither, and, c) didn’t have the brains to leave well enough alone.

“I suppose,” I said, “that’s not a problem though. The ‘desperately wanting to’ part, I mean. I can’t imagine any…eh…Wopplesdown appeals to you well enough that you might feel…em…in any way…you know…
desperate
about them.”

“Oh? You imagine
that
, do you?” she asked, rather too seductively I thought. Or perhaps it just felt that way, my being naked and all.

“Are you saying there may be some…” I swallowed with some difficulty. “…A little…a
tiny bit
of…em…
desperation,
you know, to date a…uh…a Wopplesdown?”

“There is
one
I find somewhat attractive,” she said, breathing deeply herself.

“My sister, Mimsi?”

She laughed again. A mesmerizing sound.

“She leans that way, you know,” I said.

“Everyone knows. No. It’s definitely one of the
male
Wopplesdowns.”

“Ah,” I said.

“Your grandfather.”

“
What?”

More laughter. It melted me.

“Oh, he’s so hot,” she said sarcastically. “When he came charging at me, threatening me—it was hard to contain myself. Especially when he began verbally berating me. I love it when an older man treats me like a bad child. Particularly when I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s so sexy.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” I said, smiling. “Sooooo—
not
that Wopplesdown, then?”

“No. Not
that
Wopplesdown.”

I breathed deeply and leaned closer to her. “Any Wopplesdown within earshot.”

I felt a tantalizing bit of her brush against someplace it certainly wasn’t expected to and my temperature rose high enough to bake a potato.

“A lot closer than that,” whispered Wisper.

“Um…wow. Okay,” I said, stunned and amazed. And still naked.

“But,” she began, pulling back slightly, which made me a bit fearful. “I never imagined there even being a possibility, at all, of acting on that attraction, I mean. He and I…we come from such different worlds.”

“You mean because your closets are smaller.”

Another laugh. I was on
fire
.

“Actually,” she said, “I meant a difference a bit more significant than that.”

She could properly use the word ‘significant’ in a sentence. What a girl!

“The only real difference between closets,” I said, “is the clothes hanging in them.”

“Or
not
hanging in them.”

“A Wopplesdown could afford to
fill
your closets with all the clothing you could ever dream of.”

“But could a Wopplesdown be comfortable wearing what he finds in a Nuckeby closet?”

“I would wear anything you asked me to,” I said, more meaningfully than even I expected, “if it made you happy.”

She paused. I heard her breathing deepen, and I saw a smile spread warmly across her face.

“Really?” she asked, and I heard the heat in her voice. It made me weak in the knees, ankles
and
hips. “You think you could be happy with me—living in my world? In
my
closet? Wearing what I wear?”

“I could be happy with you completely naked,” I said with confidence, given that I already
was
happy with her completely naked.

She giggled, hotly; she felt startlingly close and seemed to be breathing harder. Was it possible for either of us to breathe harder at this point? How long before all the air was gone from this tiny room and we both passed out? I had decided I wanted to kiss her and felt it might be more romantic if I managed it without fainting in the middle.

“You see, Ms. Nuckeby…“ I said, the words hanging a bit in my throat, “if I were to ignore the combined wisdom of our many, highly paid legal counselors on this subject and be dangerously honest, I find you—
truly
—the most attractive women I’ve ever seen, in person or on the Internet. And your personality is certainly scoring some…eh…
significant
points in this closet.

“To expose myself further—I mean, legally, I mean, not…em…you know—I would love nothing more than to find some way for us to…uh,” my voice trailed off. The room was filled with quiet breathing. I slowly, cautiously, took her hand. It trembled slightly at my touch. “But—you see—I have this
problem
…”

And as if on cue, Woodruff finally reached the front door, and once opened, in burst my problem himself.

“
Where’s Corky?”
I heard Grandfather bellow from out in the foyer.

“I’m never coming out of this closet,” I said.

“Oh,” Ms. Nuckeby said, withdrawing her hand. “So, it’s
true
.”

“What? Oh,
no!”
I said, almost too loudly. “I meant literally ‘this closet’. That’s my grandfather just arrived.
He’s
the problem I have.”

“Oh,” she said again, her voice dropping to a safer whisper. She stifled a laugh. “I guess I don’t blame you. He seems a bit…difficult.”

“Word problems are difficult, Ms. Nuckeby. Grandfather is an uphill mountain mud-run dressed in cement.”

I could hear him moving around in the foyer, shoes clapping in circles as he undoubtedly tossed coat, gloves, hairpiece, and whatever else to poor Woodruff, who like as not wanted to toss them right back.

“Mister Wopplesdown is not in, sir.”

“Bullshit! His car’s right out front.”

“Mister Wopplesdown is…” Woodruff stalled. “…In another part of the building, sir.”

“Well, get him. I need to talk to him before the others get here.”

The others? What OTHERS?

“The others, sir?” Woodruff asked. Clearly almost as agitated as I, though for entirely different reasons I’m sure.

“Yes. The family’s coming over with a few guests. We have a solution to this Corky problem.”

Corky problem?
Ms. Nuckeby gasped. Did they know she was here? The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Turned white. And fell out.

“Would you care to adjourn to the study, sir? I’ll endeavor to find Mister Wopplesdown, and direct him to you.”

“Good. And bring me one of those big tumblers from the kitchen. I hate those tiny glasses he keeps in his liquor cabinet.”

“Of course, sir.”

“If he spent half the money on glasses that he does on these damn funnybooks, he might have some grownup friends instead of retards like that Wiggen boy.”

“Yes, sir,” Woodruff agreed, a bit too cheerily.

The nervous clicking feet moved away and there was a momentary silence. Then Woodruff opened the closet and began hanging Grandfather’s coat between Ms. Nuckeby and myself—rather metaphorically.

“Your grandfather is here, sir. He…”

“I heard! Get me some clothes, Woodruff.”

“Very good, sir. What should I select from your rather expansive wardrobe? Would you prefer the cotton pullover, and tan slacks, or are you feeling more in the mood for the
other
cotton pullover and tan slacks?”

“Ha! Aren’t you the charmer this evening! Bring me anything, Chuzzlewit! Just get them
now
, please.”

“Very good, sir.” Having hung the coat, he closed the door on myself and my delightful houseguest.

For a long time Ms. Nuckeby and I stood in silence, and I didn’t hear anything from the outer rooms. Then, after a seeming eternity:

THUMP

Pause.

THUMP

“Oh, dear God. I’ll die of old age waiting for him.”

“At least I’ll be right beside you, taking care of you in your twilight years,” Ms. Nuckeby said in that smiling-voiced way of hers. I warmed and calmed all at once.

“You know, you could likely escape, now,” I said, not wanting her to. “Before someone else arrives.”

THUMP

“Probably a good idea,” she said. “Why don’t you take that coat and run upstairs? We’ll make a break for it together.”

“I’m better off waiting. If Grandfather catches me with my bare bits rubbing against the inside of his good coat, he’ll feed me to starving Pomeranians.”

THUMP

“He owns Pomeranians?”

“He’d buy some, starve them, then slather me in bacon grease and toss me all into a very small cage.”

“Kinky,” she said. Then sounding genuinely sad, “Well. I suppose this is where we say goodbye.”

My heart sank. I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted to kiss her. Parts of me wanted to do a lot more than that.

Bloop.

“I…eh…suppose so,” I said, not kissing her.

She waited. Did she
want
me to kiss her?

THUMP

“Okay,” she said, still waiting. “Well. I guess I’ll go now.”

She reached for the knob. The one on the door, unfortunately.

“So, do you suppose…em…” She paused.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I…” She couldn’t bring herself to ask whatever was on her mind.

THUMP

Damn the bloody lines. “Ms. Nuckeby. Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

Not the most romantic way of putting it, I suppose, but honest and to the point. In the dark, I could
feel
her smile.

“I’d like that,” she said.

“We could go down to Bourdaine’s,” I told her. “I’ve never been. But I hear their coat closets are to
die
for.”

She laughed. I overheated and had to turn slightly sideways to avoid poking her in the ribs.

THUMP

“I doubt it will be as much fun as this one,” she said and opened the door.

Light flooded in and nearly blinded me. Or was it her stunning beauty?

Ha! I’m such a sap.

She turned and looked at me, then her eyes were pulled down by the gravity of my manliness, which I had forgotten was now exposed to the illumination from the foyer, and she grinned with obvious pleasure. It was an unexpected reaction, and a satisfying one. Better than screaming and throwing things certainly.

“Had I known, I might not have opened the door,” she said and smiled at it.

I nearly pulled her back inside. Then, for a brief moment, the thought flashed,
We hardly know each other
. But being a man, it faded almost instantly.

“It’s very hard,” she said, staring.

“Yes. It really is.”

“Is it bruised?”

“No. That’s just…um…the bad light in here.”

“Oh,” she said, still staring at it intently. “Kind of a waste not to take advantage of it, don’t you think?”

Incredibly, it got harder. And throbbed.

“Oh, my!” she said.

I gulped. “Um, Grandfather is in the next room.”

She looked up at me sadly and sighed.

“I suppose he’s in every room, really.”

She was right. He was like a ghost, haunting me, Jacob Marleylike complete with chilled bones, chains, and moans. I was an idiot. This was my home. I could have sex with a supermodel in my closet if I wanted. To hell with lawsuits. You aren’t
really
considered rich if you aren’t being sued anyway.

Unfortunately, before I could say or do any of the wonderful things my fevered brain was finally starting to imagine, Ms. Nuckeby reluctantly and very slowly—glancing down repeatedly and smiling, I noted—closed the door. As I stood inside, aching for her to return, I heard her tentative footsteps on the floor of the foyer padding for the exit, and felt the loss of her for the second time that day.