Free Red Thunder by John Varley Page B

against the
door.
    "Lipstick! Watch the lipstick, you wild man!"
    "Forget the lipstick," I said. Or tried to say, between kisses.
    I was tearing at her skirt and she found my zipper. I wasn't
surprised to see she was wearing no underwear. I took her right there
against the door, then on the floor, and finally with her knees on the
floor and her body bent over the bed. In about half an hour we both
collapsed at the foot of the bed, leaning back against the sheets and
blankets we'd torn up.
    She still had on her silver lame blouse and big clunky shoes. My
pants were over by the door somewhere. I picked up the skirt and held
it up to the blue light from the streetlight outside. It was even
ghastlier that way.
    "Where the hell did you get this?" I asked.
    "Thrift shop," Kelly said.
    "Which one? Whores 'R' Us?"
    "Yeah, I think that was the one." She pulled off the blonde fright wig and tossed it toward my garbage can.
    "Did you have a permit to shoot that?" I asked.
    She kissed my cheek, then bounced to her feet and headed for the
bathroom. The high shoes made her bare bottom do things even more
interesting than usual. She went in, flicked on the light, then the
blouse came sailing out the door followed, one by one, by the shoes. In
a minute I got up and joined her.
    Kelly wears a green stone in her navel. It's big enough to fill the
entire belly button and I'm pretty sure it's a real emerald, but I
wasn't going to ask her, or take her to a jeweler to have her assayed.
She was looking down, fiddling with the tiny gold rings that held it
in. She looked up at me.
    "Something wrong?"
    "What could be wrong?" And really, what could? The emerald set off
her greenish eyes nicely. Her skin was smooth and flawless, except for
some tiny moles scattered around, what the upper classes used to call
beauty spots and put on deliberately. She had lots of blond hair which
she was unpinning. Everything else was where it ought to be, in ample
amounts. Let's just say that picking out a bikini or a thong didn't
give her anxiety attacks.
    She was laying out mysterious female stuff from her crowded purse. I
was far from through for the night, but first I had to answer a call of
nature, and wasn't about to dress and go downstairs, so I used the
sink. Kelly glanced at me.
    "Boys," she said, disdainfully.
    "Hey, it all goes down the same pipes."
    "You rinse that out real good."
    "You're telling me you aren't going to use it as soon as I'm through?" I reached for her arm, but she shook me off.
    "Down, boy. Later. First, I need you to go down to my car and get
the small suitcase in the trunk. I'm not going down there again as
Sally Streetwalker." She tossed me her car keys.
    "Did you have any trouble?"
    "The doorman at the Manatee gave me a funny look. I parked in their lot, all the way over toward the beach."
    "What's in the suitcase? Can you stay over?"
    "Yes, if you bring me the decent clothes that are in the suitcase.
I'm not walking out of here tomorrow and let your mother see that
outfit."
    "Don't worry about that. You're solid with my mother."
    "Whatever."
    "I guess I should bring the car over to our lot. Those bastards might tow it."
    "Good idea."
    "Are you sure you want me going out alone at this hour? I could get mugged."
    "Hey, it was you called me up, remember?"
    She was filling a plastic douche bottle so I pulled on my pants and left.
     
    KELLY DRIVES A green Porsche 921, this year's model,
that cost more than our income at the Blast-Off for two or three years.
When your daddy is the biggest luxury car dealer in northeast Florida
having a rad ride is something you just naturally expect.
    Not that she lacked for anything else, either.
    Kelly.
    Every once in a while something drops into your life that makes you
think that, in spite of all evidence you've seen so far, somebody up
there really does like you. Meeting Kelly is the first time it's
happened to me.
    We went to different schools. She can't help being born rich any
more than I can help