The Big Bang! Theory - A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind (14 page)

The second margarita wore
down Judy's resistance and derailed her common sense. The dress,
which the clerk called Caribbean Blue not turquoise, sported a
crisscross deep V-neckline and white, banded empire waist, with box
pleats. "You don't think the neckline is too showy?"

"You know what they say. If
you got 'em, flaunt 'em. And lord knows you got 'em." She stepped
on the gas, flattening Judy against her seat. "I was thinking the
other night, if there was a way to sell breast tissue on the Black
Market, you'd be rich."

Judy put one hand
protectively over her cleavage. "Eek. That's just plain gross.
Sometimes you scare me."

"Sometimes I scare myself.
A Mensa brain is both a gift and a curse."

Judy was still trying to
decide if Pru was being serious when she added, "Besides, this
isn't about you, remember? It's a tribute to Buddy, and since Buddy
loved boobies, he's going to love that dress."

Judy relaxed. That simple
truth had emptied her checking account of her last one hundred and
sixty-eight dollars. A foolish expense? Maybe. But she'd make Buddy
proud. And once the reception was over, she'd track down Wiley and
set the record straight.

As if reading her mind, Pru
gave Judy's arm a quick squeeze. "Don't worry, girlfriend. Before
long you'll be with Judge He-
Can
-
Be
-The-One." Naturally, she laughed
at her own joke.

Judy simply smiled and
crossed her fingers.

~~

Normally, Wiley detested
stepping outside his comfort zone without a plan or safety net, but
Judy didn't leave him any choice. His stomach heaved in a sick, yet
giddy, sort of way. Fletcher talked him out of proposing on the
spot. "Jeez, Dad. Haven't you heard of the word: dating? You don't
have to marry every woman you fall for."

"My modus operandi, isn't
it?"

"I'm not saying you
shouldn't marry Judy. I truly hope you do, but I'd like to see you
two kids date for a few weeks before you tie the knot."

They'd both laughed. Sound
advice. Possibly doable.

Once he got past his shock
when she compared him to her mother, Wiley took a long, hard look
at himself and his life. When had he started to believe his own
press? A part of him wanted to shout, "Would the real Wiley Canby
please stand up?"

The real Wiley Canby wanted
a life that included an honest connection with his son. Wiley
didn't give a damn if Fletcher was gay or straight, employed or a
beach bum. He'd find a way to support his son's dreams whatever
they were. So, he made some calls and put his money--and some
investment capital from a few friends who weren't shy about sharing
tales of their sex lives--to work.

Now, he needed to mend
fences with Judy. Would he have preferred to do so privately? Of,
course. But Fletcher insisted Wiley needed to "Go big or go home."
And once Fletcher pointed out that Judy had suffered a terrible
humiliation that resulted in her losing both her job and her
self-respect, what choice did he have? "Using your status as a
judge to publicly absolve her of any guilt would be more than just
a nice gesture," Fletcher said. "It will prove you put Judy above
your public approval rating."

"Is Lewis okay with this?"
Wiley asked. "I don't want to highjack his father's funeral for my
personal agenda."

"Buddy wasn't just a dirty
old man. He was a romantic. Lew and I both think Buddy would
heartily approve of whatever it takes to get Judy to say 'I
do.'"

So, after the twelve-gun
salute, Judge Wilson Canby, dressed in his black robes and roasting
in the late afternoon sunlight, stepped to the small podium set a
few feet to one side of the California Korean War Veteran's
memorial wall. He immediately spotted Judy standing beside a slim,
over-dressed woman in high heels. By contrast, Judy's lovely blue
dress with simple white accents looked classy and
polished.

He cleared his throat and
spoke into the mike. "Hello. My name is Judge Wilson Canby. My son,
Fletcher, and his good friend, Lewis Fusco, have asked me to say a
few words on behalf of the family. I regret that I didn't have the
honor of knowing Robert Roy "Buddy" Fusco, personally. But from
many sources I can say with confidence he was a unique,
larger-than-life character."

He paused to let the
fifteen or twenty members of the audience murmur their agreement.
He used the time to make eye contact with Judy, who made no attempt
to hide her shock. She reached across her friend to touch
Fletcher's arm. Fletcher smiled and gave her a thumb's up, which
Buddy's son echoed.

Wiley consulted the note
cards Lewis had provided to relate many impressive facts about the
late Buddy Fusco. When it came to the part about being preceded in
death by his wife, Wiley felt his throat close up. Outliving the
one you love was not easy, but it sure as hell beat dying alone and
lonely. That would be his fate u
nless he
could convince Judy to share the rest of his days with
him.

"Remembering Buddy today,
carrying on his name and legacy, is his beloved son, Lewis,
daughter-in-law Rebecca, and grandchildren, David and
Brianna."

The children flanked Lewis.
His ex-wife and her companion stood off to one side, as did
Fletcher, Judy and her friend. Wiley watched as Brianna, a
delicate-looking sprite, laid a spray of gladiolas at the foot of
the memorial. Buddy's ashes had already been interred in the ground
beneath a small, American flag marker. The headstone was on
backorder, Lewis had told him.

Wiley took a deep breath
and let it out, slowly. "No one wants to die. Yet that is what we
are set on this earth to do. We live. We procreate. We age. Some
end the journey with grace and wisdom. Some with a thumb to the
nose. " He demonstrated and his audience chuckled. "Instead of
throwing in the towel when it was time to retire, Buddy Fusco shook
that towel like a red cape taunting a bull. He zipped around town,
first in his convertible, then on his signature
bicycle."

"His babe-mobile," someone
said with a gruff chuckle.

Others murmured in
agreement.

Lewis lifted his arm and
displayed a tiny key and a metal figure of an iconic pin-up
girl.

"Betty Grable," a gentleman
in a wheelchair called. "What a babe!"

Wiley didn't know the whole
story behind the key fob, but apparently most of Buddy's Heritage
House friends did.

"Buddy embraced
life--"

"He embraced a lot more
than that," a female voice interjected. The comment set off a chain
of high-pitched giggles and murmurs.

"That he did," Wiley
agreed. "And I, for one, admire his live-life-to-the-fullest
attitude. Buddy Fusco is my new hero. He lived--and died--on his
own terms."

He saw heads nod in
agreement. Judy, he noticed, wiped away tears.

"Fortunately for Buddy, he
wasn't alone when he passed. He had the great good fortune to be in
the presence of his dear friend, Judy Banger."

Her eyes went wide with
surprise. She obviously hadn't expected to be singled out in
Buddy's eulogy. Her cheeks turned that unique shade of pink he
loved.

"Many of you know Judy.
She's one of the most open, loving, genuinely authentic human
beings I've ever met. I can say without hesitation Judy Banger is
the love of my life."

The crowd's collective
inhale nearly covered Judy's high-pitched peep. "What?"

"I'm glad Buddy died on his
own terms." He almost added, "doing something he loved," but nixed
it for the sake of the children present. "But his timing couldn't
have been worse for Judy. As any celebrity will attest, the court
of public opinion is fickle and often unkind. Despite the fallout
she's had to endure, Judy soldiers on...the way Buddy--and his
compatriots laid to rest on this hillside--did when they fought for
our country."

He knew the last was a
stretch, but his audience didn't seem to mind. A few crossed
themselves. Several dabbed tissues to their eyes. The only person
who mattered to him was Judy. Was she moved? Embarrassed?
Mortified? She stood too far away-and the sun was too bright--for
him to read her emotions clearly, but the glitter of tears told him
she'd been touched by his words. Hopefully, she was moved enough to
give him a second chance to prove they were meant to be
together.

"As you can see, I'm a
judge, not an ordained minister, but I'd like to close with a
prayer. Heavenly Father, please accept the soul of Buddy Fusco into
your midst. Please comfort his family who miss him greatly and will
continue to feel his absence for all of their days. Please
strengthen the resolve of his many friends to embrace life fully
and live as Buddy did--with passion."

A double-entendre Fletcher
acknowledged a few moments later. "Nice job, Dad. Awesome way to
end it."

"Thank you, Judge Canby. I
truly appreciate you taking this on," Lewis said, shaking his hand.
"And, for what it's worth, I think you and Judy would make a great
couple. I know you'd have my dad's blessing."

Wiley wanted to believe
that, but the only opinion that truly mattered was Judy's. He
glanced up in time to see her walk toward the rear of the memorial.
He quickly shed his robes, stuffing the slippery mess into
Fletcher's hands.

"Go get her,
Dad."

"Not so fast, hot
shot."

Wiley nearly flattened the
petite woman in the colorful dress who blocked his way like a pit
bull in drag. He vaguely recognized her as Judy's friend from the
gym. Another image tickled his memory but he brushed it aside. No
time. He needed to catch Judy before she got on the bus. "Excuse
me. I need to talk to Judy."

"Well, that means going
through me. I'm her BFF. That stands for I've got her
back."

"I thought it meant Best
Friends Forever?"

"Are you always so literal?
That does not bode well for your relationship with
Judy."

Wiley's highly reputed
patience evaporated and his fingers flexed, preparing to bodily
pick up the woman and set her out of his way. Fortunately, Fletcher
grabbed the lady's skinny, overly tan arm and pulled her aside.
"It's okay, Pru. I promise. Dad loves Judy, and when he loves
someone he doesn't give up. Ever. I know that, now."

Wiley nodded, too overcome
with emotion to speak.

"Oh...okay. It's not like I
could stop him. I left my whip at home."

Whip?
An image of a woman in a leopard print dress...Fletcher
naked...Judy's breasts flattened behind a scrap of black
lace...
No
. The
past didn't matter. If he'd learned one thing from writing Buddy
Fusco's eulogy, it was to focus on the present--and the people in
it. He needed to find Judy and tell her that.

~~

Judy hid in the bathroom of
the Visitor Center long enough to regain her equanimity. Seeing
Wiley in his black robes had been shock enough, but hearing what
amounted to a public apology--and reprimanding those who'd treated
her poorly--had been too much. She couldn't think.

But she couldn't hide
forever. Buddy would have kicked her butt for being so
cowardly.

She didn't have to search
long and hard to find him. First park bench outside the building.
The arid, early summer wind whipped his beautiful silver hair in a
playful way. He appeared relaxed, arm casually extended, ankles
crossed. The knee-length khaki shorts, Hawaiian print shirt and
sandals surprised her.

"You wore that under your
robes? It seems so...Wizard of Oz."

His grin stampeded the herd
of butterflies in her tummy.

"Fletcher's dress code. He
said this memorial was all about celebrating life and living it
up." He sat forward, bracing elbows on knees. "I was hoping you
were hiding out inside, not escaping on the bus."

As if on cue, the low
rumble she knew so well from the gym sounded from the parking lot.
Judy reached out with a futile gesture as the air brake released
and the bus pulled away. "That was my ride."

"Not anymore. I told them
you're with me."

Her hands were shaking, her
knees unsteady, but she took a step closer. "Am I?
Really?"

He cleared the distance
between them. "I hope so. With all my heart."

He placed her hand flat on
his chest. "I may be an obtuse idiot, but I'm healthy. I have the
EKG printout to prove it. I love you, Judy. I want to marry you,
retire, downsize. We can live in your place and buy a travel
trailer. The
where
doesn't matter as long as we're
there
together."

She wanted to press her ear
to his chest to see if this was really happening. If
he
was real. "I'm not
Cinderella. Prince Charming doesn't pick girls like me."

He cocked his head and
grinned. "Actually, I think he does. If I'm remembering my fairy
tales correctly, he falls for the regular girl, not the fancy
princess type."

She acknowledged his point
with a snicker. "Well, there's
regular
girls and then there's me,"
she said, motioning to her generous curves. She might have
re-discovered her waist recently but her pant size would always be
in the double-digits. No size-O for her.