Free Orchid Blues by Stuart Woods Page A

Desert Storm.”
    “We do that at every show,” Rawlings said.
    “How often do you have them?” Ham asked.
    “Oh, every now and then.”
    “Why don’t you put us on your mailing list?” Holly asked.
    “We don’t have a mailing list,” Rawlings said.
    “Well, whatever,” Holly replied.
    “Ham, you want to give me your number?”
    “I’m in the book,” Ham said. “C’mon, Holly, let’s hit the road.”
    “Right,” Holly said.
    Rawlings pulled a small walkie-talkie from his shirt pocket. “Hey, Charlie,” he said.
    “Yeah, Peck?”
    “Our guests are departing in a Ford pickup with a boat in the back.”
    “Got it.”
    Rawlings put the radio away and stuck out his hand. “We’ll see you again sometime, Ham.”
    “Maybe so,” Ham said.
    “You never know.” He offered his hand to Holly. “See you, little … uh, excuse me, Miss Barker.”
    “It’s Holly,” she said, shaking the man’s hand.
    “Bye-bye.” Rawlings turned and walked toward the picnic tables.
    Back in the truck, Holly called Hurd again and checked in.
    “What’s going on out there?” Hurd asked.
    “I’ll fill you in later,” she said, and punched off.
    “What’d you think of our morning?” Ham asked.
    “Funny what Americans do for recreation, isn’t it?”

Sixteen
    HAM DROVE BACK TO HOLLY’S HOUSE, AND, once Daisy had been properly greeted and apologized to for her lonely morning, they had some lunch.
    “I like a ham sandwich,” Ham said, munching away.
    “I believe I knew that about you,” Holly said. “Hence, the ham in the fridge.”
    “I knew a woman once who said she liked a Ham sandwich, with a big H.”
    “You don’t have to spell it out for me, Ham. It’s more than I want to know about your life.”
    “You mean, a father shouldn’t have a sex life?”
    “No, just not one that his daughter knows about.”
    “Oh. I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”
    “Funny, you never asked any questions about my sex life,” she said. “I mean, when I had one. See what I mean?”
    “Point taken,” Ham said.
    “And anyway, how did this woman make a Ham sandwich, without another woman to help?”
    “I wasn’t going to bring that up,” Ham said, washing his sandwich down with a beer.
    “Ham, are you telling me you had a threesome?”
    Ham took another swig of the beer. “You said that, I didn’t.”
    “That is appalling,” she said.
    “What’s appalling about it?”
    “Not the idea of a threesome; just the idea of you in one.”
    “You don’t find the idea of a threesome appalling?”
    “Not if I got to pick the guys.”
    “Now you’re telling me more than I want to know.”
    “Truce on sex lives?”
    “Truce,” Ham said, raising both hands as if to ward off ideas of his daughter in a threesome.
    “Okay, then.” Holly turned her attention to her own sandwich.
    “So,” Ham said, “were you ever in a threesome?”
    “ Ham! I thought we had a truce!”
    “I was just curious.”
    “Well, put away your curiosity.”
    “I just never thought you were the type, that’s all.”
    “The type? What type?”
    “The type to be in a threesome.”
    “I don’t know whether to take that as praise or criticism.”
    “Suit yourself.”
    “You really want to know about my sex life, Ham?”
    “Not really. I mean, not unless you want to tell me.”
    “What kind of father-daughter conversation is this?”
    “One we should have had a long time ago.”
    “Well, we did have it, as I recall, when I was about nineteen.”
    “You call that a conversation? You wouldn’t say a word. I figured you were working on becoming the world’s oldest virgin.”
    “At nineteen?”
    “But then that young lieutenant came along and fixed that.”
    “Which young lieutenant was that?”
    “Wasn’t but one,” Ham said smugly.
    “Oh, yeah? There might have been a platoon of young lieutenants, for all you know.”
    “You thought you could hide that stuff from your old man?”
    “I did hide it from my old