Free Cross Dressing by Bill Fitzhugh Page B

was about to go back upstairs to check on Ruth when he had another spasm. He doubled over and decided he had to see a doctor.
    S cott Emmons was in an unemployed funk. He was lying on the sofa in his robe watching television. It was during a break between talk shows that he saw the commercial for the first time. It opened with the Zen master sitting at the edge of a reflecting pool. When Scott saw the red neon Fujioka logo mirrored in the black water, he sat up so fast he nearly herniated a disk. It was just as he had imagined it. He leaned close to the screen, taking in every detail.
    There was a small boom box on the ground in front of the Zen master. Once the scene was established, the Zen master reached out and pushed the Play button on the cassette player. The meditative strains of a koto wafted in like liquid silk. The Zen master looked up peacefully. “A wise man once said,
less
is more.” He paused, as if considering the notion. “But after further contemplation, wise man corrected himself.”
    The Zen master pushed the Stop button on the small boom box and the strains of the koto vanished. Suddenly there was a disturbance on the calm surface of the reflecting pool. The Fujioka logo shimmered as something began to emerge from the pool’s inky depths. A huge big-screen TV and a bank of ominous black stereo equipment with massive speakers rose silently from the water, towering over the Zen master, who looked up at it with a grin. The Zen master pulled a remote control from his robes, pointed it at the glistening wall of electronics. He smiled, then punched the Play button.
    The TV screen and the stereo exploded to life with an insane acid-jazz-metal-rap-rock music video. The Zen mastersmiled knowingly and nodded his approval in rhythm with the beat. An announcer’s voice tagged the spot with a simple phrase. “Fujioka Electronics.
More
is more.”
    Scott tried to scream, but nothing came out. He tried harder, calling on all the strength of his frustrations, but his voice remained silent. The veins in his neck stood out like fat blue snakes as he strained to push the air from his lungs into his vocal cords. Scott began to tremble as he thought about what Dan had taken from him and then, with his crimson face swollen and threatening to explode, Scott blacked out and whacked his head on the coffee table.
    D an gave Michael twenty bucks and the keys to his car. “Do me a favor,” he said, “stay out late.”
    Beverly had finally returned Dan’s call late on Friday. She thanked him for all the roses and said she was going to be in town Saturday night. “I want to see you,” she said. “You were a bad boy to stand me up. I think you need to be disciplined.”
    “I was very bad,” Dan said. “But I’m willing to take my punishment like a man. Just tell me where and when.”
    “Tomorrow night, your place, so you can’t stand me up so easily,” she said. “I’ll be there at eight with some new toys, assuming you’re into that sort of thing.” Click.
    Dan had no idea what these toys were, but he was definitely game. He spent Saturday at the market. He bought multiple packs of AAA-, AA-, C-, and D-size batteries in case Beverly’s gadgets were energy hogs. Then, fearing his old ones were past their expiration date, Dan threw out his condoms and replaced them with a new box. Feeling cocky, he bought the large size, ribbed and purple.
    Back home, Dan cranked the stereo and started cooking. He sang along to a favorite old song, “All I ask of you … is to make my wildest dream come true …” He released two beautifulsea bass steaks into a pond of sweet ginger and soy marinade in preparation for steaming with scallions and shiitakes. Then he spent an entire hour preparing his favorite pan-Asian appetizer. The wine was a buttery California chardonnay. Beverly was dessert.
    Dan’s timing was perfect. He was out of the shower, dried, and dressed with ten minutes to spare. He poured a glass of the chardonnay,