Free Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins Page B

having more adventures than there are nibs for pens. Not once during or following a perilous escapade did it occur to him that the unpredictability of the moment of one's death might provide life with its necessary tension. But ever mindful of the kin of Pan, whose memory no encounter, however dramatic, could obscure, he allowed himself to resent death less and fear it more. And as he passed through one exotic environment after another, learning languages, wearing out boots, he sang his little song:
    "I love the ground-o, ground-o
    A ball beneath my feet
    The world is round-o, round-o
    Just like a frigging beet."
    No, he would not be remembered as bard—nor, for that matter, as warrior or king. Life is fair, however, and in the fragrance industry, his name would one day become an accepted part of the nomenclature. According to Priscilla, the genius waitress, an alobar is a unit of measurement that describes the rate at which Old Spice aftershave lotion is absorbed by the lace on crotchless underpants, although at other times she has defined it as the time it takes Chanel No. 5 to evaporate from the wing tips of a wild duck flying backward.
     

SEATTLE

    IT SEEMED LIKE THE WHOLE TOWN was at odds over the solar eclipse. A lot of people were of the opinion that since in Seattle one seldom saw the sun anyhow, there was nothing very special about not seeing it again. Monday morning would be only a shade darker than usual, they reasoned. The difference, according to others, perhaps the majority, was that Monday was forecast to be clear. With the absence of the cloud cover that normally caused the sky over Seattle to resemble cottage cheese that had been dragged nine miles behind a cement truck, the city, for the first time in memory, would have an unobstructed view of one of nature's most mystical spectacles.
    "Did you walk up to Volunteer Park to watch the eclipse?" was the first thing Ricki said to Priscilla when she came by her apartment Monday noon.
    "Nope. Didn't make it outdoors," said Priscilla, yawning.
    "You watched it on TV then?"
    "No, I didn't."
    "You didn't see it at all?"
    "I listened to it," said Priscilla. "I listened to it on the radio. It sounded like bacon frying."
    "Shit, woman. Sometimes I don't believe you're for real." Ricki looked about the room for a place to sit. The couch and the chair, the most logical contenders, were piled high with dirty clothes, clean clothes, clothes in transition, books, unopened mail, and laboratory equipment. There were also a couple of beets. Ricki elected to stand. "You'd better shift into your hurry-up offense," she said. "The meeting starts in thirty minutes."
    "I can shower on first down, make up on second 1 , and dress on third. If I haven't put it over by then, I can always kick a field goal."
    "Unless you fumble."
    Priscilla slammed the bathroom door. Ricki had to steady a beaker of liquid to prevent a major spill.
    The football repartee was the result of Ricki having talked Priscilla into spending the previous afternoon at the Kingdome, an outing that revealed to Priscilla what Ricki really liked about the Seahawks. It was the Seagals. "Fashions come and go, come and go," said Ricki, "but the length of the cheerleader skirt remains constant, and it is upon that abbreviated standard that I base my currency of joy."
    Today (they each had Sundays and Mondays off), Ricki was taking Priscilla to a meeting of the Daughters of the Daily Special, an organization of waitresses with university degrees. At least in the beginning all the members had had university degrees. The group had some time ago lowered its standards to accept waitresses with only two years of college. That was when Ricki was admitted, back when it was still called Sisters of the Daily Special. "Sisters" had come to sound too political. It suggested a feminine solidarity that the waitresses, in their honesty, considered not just inaccurate but inappropriate. "We're out to grab us some gusto, not cut anybody's