see what she’s got left to obliterate.
“One hour,”
she says. “Will that be all, Meester Lee?”
“I guess
really only you can answer that question, Consuela, if you know what I mean.”
“Stop catching
cold, Meester Lee,” she says, softening up here a little if I’m not mistaken.
“To tell you
the truth, I’m a great one for laundry,” I say. “What do you say we just gather
round the bathtub in there and do it by hand. Protect the fibers, so to speak.”
Good ol’
Consuela. Giggles a little to herself, maybe. The smile certainly spreads a
bit, unless I’m mistaken and she’s just showing her teeth. Her eyes get tugged
out so wide by the hair-works I get to thinking she may in fact be Oriental.
May have to brush up on my Taiwanese, I’m thinking.
“Goodbye,
Meester Lee,” she says, hustling out the door.
“Call me
Willie,” I holler after her. “With a W as in without starch , sweetheart.
As in wear the uniform tonight and we’ll take it as it comes.”
Which provides
me the opportunity to spend some time with my nudey self. I get to watching the
skiers out the glass doors plummeting past my little patio, thinking I’ll note
the finer points of alpine sports before I go out there myself to give it a
whirl. The way I understand it, you just strap on those skis and they more or
less take care of the rest, but all the same the snow seems to be winning in
Vail, Colorado. I mean within the space of thirty seconds I count six people,
eleven poles, and three skis coming by, though at sixty miles an hour my
arithmetic may be off. I move a little closer to the windows to investigate.
It’s just terrifying. Right out there not thirty feet from my window is a
pileup of bodies that would make the defensive line of the Denver Broncos
blush. It’s like some supernatural force has snatched up thirty random skiers
and dumped them in a little pile by my patio. Then it hits me. That
supernatural force is yours truly. I am naked before the world, and the world
has taken notice. And it is terrifying, the harm a man can do just by being
naked. I’m thinking somebody needs to make that an eleventh commandment.
Out of respect
for the wounded, I decide to make my exit as graceful as possible and ease on
over into the bathroom, where I pour myself a bubble bath and sud it up while
rehearsing legal arguments in my suit against the paparazzi magazines. It may
be that I drift off for a bit here, since when I come out of the bathroom in a
complimentary robe with the belt done up tight, my suit is hanging in the
closet and my clothes are on the bed all wrapped up in a little paper bow. I
get dressed and polish the boots up nicely with one of those little kits they
leave you on the bathroom counter. Get to feeling so pristine and bored I
figure I’ll give Darling a call. Like most of us, I just can’t seem to get
enough of the insurance industry.
Unfortunately
I seem to have been separated from Darling’s number sometime during my trip
across the continent, so first I call up information in Manhattan and get a
woman who calls herself Jill. Actually she’s sitting in an office in Calcutta, she tells me, and she manages to get me Jean, who after some negotiations puts
me through to Darling. I say hello, but that’s about all I manage to say,
considering he starts squawking about his career and his filing cabinet and who
knows what else. I tell him to slow down and try and speak a little more
distinctly. He tells me that if I don’t return the Shore Madonna folder
immediately, he’s out of a job. Almost starts sobbing right there on the
telephone.
“I’d honestly
like to help you out, Darling,” I say, “but unfortunately I’m in Vail, Colorado doing a little skiing.”
Turns out he
may not be a big winter sports person, Darling, since what I’m hearing is dial
tone. Which fortunately does allow me to call up information and ask to speak
to Jill again. I get passed around to a few Indian girls with
“One hour,”
she says. “Will that be all, Meester Lee?”
“I guess
really only you can answer that question, Consuela, if you know what I mean.”
“Stop catching
cold, Meester Lee,” she says, softening up here a little if I’m not mistaken.
“To tell you
the truth, I’m a great one for laundry,” I say. “What do you say we just gather
round the bathtub in there and do it by hand. Protect the fibers, so to speak.”
Good ol’
Consuela. Giggles a little to herself, maybe. The smile certainly spreads a
bit, unless I’m mistaken and she’s just showing her teeth. Her eyes get tugged
out so wide by the hair-works I get to thinking she may in fact be Oriental.
May have to brush up on my Taiwanese, I’m thinking.
“Goodbye,
Meester Lee,” she says, hustling out the door.
“Call me
Willie,” I holler after her. “With a W as in without starch , sweetheart.
As in wear the uniform tonight and we’ll take it as it comes.”
Which provides
me the opportunity to spend some time with my nudey self. I get to watching the
skiers out the glass doors plummeting past my little patio, thinking I’ll note
the finer points of alpine sports before I go out there myself to give it a
whirl. The way I understand it, you just strap on those skis and they more or
less take care of the rest, but all the same the snow seems to be winning in
Vail, Colorado. I mean within the space of thirty seconds I count six people,
eleven poles, and three skis coming by, though at sixty miles an hour my
arithmetic may be off. I move a little closer to the windows to investigate.
It’s just terrifying. Right out there not thirty feet from my window is a
pileup of bodies that would make the defensive line of the Denver Broncos
blush. It’s like some supernatural force has snatched up thirty random skiers
and dumped them in a little pile by my patio. Then it hits me. That
supernatural force is yours truly. I am naked before the world, and the world
has taken notice. And it is terrifying, the harm a man can do just by being
naked. I’m thinking somebody needs to make that an eleventh commandment.
Out of respect
for the wounded, I decide to make my exit as graceful as possible and ease on
over into the bathroom, where I pour myself a bubble bath and sud it up while
rehearsing legal arguments in my suit against the paparazzi magazines. It may
be that I drift off for a bit here, since when I come out of the bathroom in a
complimentary robe with the belt done up tight, my suit is hanging in the
closet and my clothes are on the bed all wrapped up in a little paper bow. I
get dressed and polish the boots up nicely with one of those little kits they
leave you on the bathroom counter. Get to feeling so pristine and bored I
figure I’ll give Darling a call. Like most of us, I just can’t seem to get
enough of the insurance industry.
Unfortunately
I seem to have been separated from Darling’s number sometime during my trip
across the continent, so first I call up information in Manhattan and get a
woman who calls herself Jill. Actually she’s sitting in an office in Calcutta, she tells me, and she manages to get me Jean, who after some negotiations puts
me through to Darling. I say hello, but that’s about all I manage to say,
considering he starts squawking about his career and his filing cabinet and who
knows what else. I tell him to slow down and try and speak a little more
distinctly. He tells me that if I don’t return the Shore Madonna folder
immediately, he’s out of a job. Almost starts sobbing right there on the
telephone.
“I’d honestly
like to help you out, Darling,” I say, “but unfortunately I’m in Vail, Colorado doing a little skiing.”
Turns out he
may not be a big winter sports person, Darling, since what I’m hearing is dial
tone. Which fortunately does allow me to call up information and ask to speak
to Jill again. I get passed around to a few Indian girls with
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