Free Out Bad by Janice M. Whiteaker Page A

plumber."
    "Unfortunately that won't help you too much with
that.  I can do a lot of things, but glazing tubs isn't one of
them."  He gave her a wink.  "Luckily, I know a guy who
can."
    Joe leaned in, reaching for the stopper.  It came out
easily.  That was a bad sign.  He flashed his light down the hole and
chuckled.
    He turned to grab a wire from his bag and found Gwen sitting
on the side of the tub very close to him.  She leaned forward to watch
him, the robe she was wearing gapping at her chest. 
    He tried his best not to notice and kept moving, trying to
work quickly, but her nearness and potential nakedness was making what should
be an easy task, infinitely more difficult.
    Turning back to the drain, he ran the wire down the open
pipe using the hooked end to try and grab the offender.  The longer he
fished around, the more aggravated he became.  Finally, he hooked the clog
and slowly pulled.  First came the matt of yellow gold hair, followed by a
pop as the plastic head cleared the opening.
    "It's a Barbie head." 
    He hooked the stopper back in place and flipped on the
faucet.  The water exited the tub through the drain almost as fast as it
poured in.
    He turned to Gwen and held up the doll head by its slimy
hair.  "Did you use Draino ?" 
    She glanced at the drain and then up at him.  "Is
that bad?"
    He laughed and looked at the slightly melted features on
Anne Boleyn.  "It just means she won't be recovering from her
be-heading."
    Gwen scooted a little closer and he noticed the wrap of her
robe had gotten looser, the soft, smooth fabric slipping from one
shoulder.  She leaned further forward, her face just a few inches from
his, her eyes focused on his mouth. 
    “I really appreciate you coming all the way out here to help
me.”  She looked up at him from under her long dark eyelashes.  She
was so close he could smell the richness of the wine on her breath.
  “Maybe I could make it up to you . ”  She shrugged her
other shoulder, letting the robe slip free of it as well.
    Joe didn’t dare look down, there was no telling how much of
her was left covered.  He tossed his stuff back in his box, quickly
closing it up and standing.  He walked out of her bedroom, only stopping
when he was far enough away that he trusted himself, even then he couldn’t turn
around.  “I think you and I are looking for two different things. 
I’ll let myself out.”
    He walked out of the house to his van, not even stopping to
take the plastic baggies off his boots.  He threw his shit in the back and
jumped in, feeling like he couldn't get out of this neighborhood fast
enough.  Away from the houses that cost twice what his house would be
worth when he finished it.  Cars he would never drive, even if he could. 
A woman he'd wanted so much to believe might be meant to be his in spite of all
that. 
    He shook his head, still struggling to reconcile what just
happened.  He couldn’t wrap his mind around how quickly things shifted,
let alone begin to process how he felt about it.  There was however, one
feeling he could easily acknowledge. 
    Disappointment. 
    Maybe Heath was right after all. 

Eight
    Gwen fished the half-full bottle of wine out of her fridge
and carried it upstairs.  She angrily wiped at her tears with the sleeve of
her robe. 
    What the fuck was wrong with her?  She pulled the cork
and took a swig of the icy cold white she’d opened after work.  The same
wine that took a stupid idea and ran with it until somehow, it ended up
sounding like the best thing she'd ever come up with.
    Dropping her robe on the floor of her bedroom, she went to
the bathroom to fill the now perfectly functioning tub with water so hot it
might burn her skin off.  Maybe it would burn off the hieroglyphics
too. 
    What in the hell had she been thinking? 
    She climbed in the tub, the water barely an inch deep, and
took another long gulp of wine, the liquid cooling her throat as the water
scalded her