Free Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 01 - Wild Nights by Mary Ellen Courtney Page A

into the idea of designing something bigger than a bug-jammed pinhole to run an altimeter.
    Binky and Ted came out of the office.
    She snubbed Arthur and said, “What’s Mom got on? She’s dressed like Samantha.”
    Arthur excused himself.
    “Nice, Binky,” I said as we watched Arthur walk away.
    “What? She looks like a tart.”
    “Samantha’s kind of young to be a tart.”
    “Oh you know what I mean,” she snapped.
    My phone rang. A. Watts. “How’s it going?” I asked, as I walked toward the glen of everlasting life, or never-ending family, depending on your mood.
    “Fine. I picked up Grandma, no problem. I’m almost to Grub ‘n Scrub.”
    “You’re not going to stop are you? I’m dying here.”
    “Nah. Grandma’s behind schedule. What’s going on?”
    “My mother showed up dressed like a hot middle-aged hooker with her new man. My sister called her a tart. I’m trying to think of an excuse to go for a drive. Will you call me when you’re half an hour away?”
    “Will do.”
    We hung up. I walked back to the family unit plus one.
    “It’s very nice of your friend to bring your grandmother,” said Mom. “I hope it’s not too big an imposition.”
    “It’s fine, Mom. He was coming this way anyway.”
    “You have a friend with a truck?” asked Binky. “How many men do you have, Hannah?”
    “Four or five,” I said. “I’m going to run a few errands while we wait.”
     
    Binky said she needed lunch, so they took off too. I made it back to the freeway, neutral territory in L.A. I went a few exits to Sierra Madre, pulled over and called Karin.
    “Where are you guys?” I asked.
    “Football game. I thought you were burying Ella Minerva and all her treasures today.”
    “We will eventually, but right now I’m hiding out on a side street in Sierra Madre.”
    She was howling with laughter at the story. I could hear Oscar in the background asking, “What? What!”
    “Take pictures,” she said. “Are they fuck me shoes, or fuck me fast ?”
    “Just fuck me . They have backs, but a lot of toe cleavage. I don’t think pictures of this day are a good idea.”
    “So she’s hot for Arthur. Are we?” she asked.
    “We don’t know yet. I have a feeling today will be a test of his character.”
    “And his sobriety,” she said. “I better go; the good parents around me are giving me the evil eye.”
    We hung up. The phone rang. Stroud.
    “You close?” I asked.
    “Yeah, be there in half.”
     
    Binky and Ted weren’t back from lunch. The funeral director had arranged for sandwiches and drinks. Everyone sat in the sun at a stone table and bench encircled by boxwoods trimmed in graduating sizes that swept around them like green arms. A fountain, with a peeing cherub, was the focal point. I thought of the homeless people downtown that pee and bathe in the fountains.
    “Stroud just called; he’s only a few minutes away,” I said.
    “What should we call him,” asked Eric. “Stroud or Alan?”
    “Whatever makes you happy,” I smiled.
    Mom turned to Arthur, “Hannah had a man friend; he had two names, but we didn’t know it at the time. He was a criminal.”
    “Mom, really,” I said. Anna and Eric zeroed in on her; this could get good.
    “It’s okay, Hannah,” she said. “Arthur goes to AA. He hears lots of stories.”
    “I’m sure he does,” was all I could think to say. Arthur gave me an understanding look.
    I went in the bathroom and brushed my hair, wiped off some creeping mascara, and was putting on fresh lip-gloss when I heard the sound of air brakes. Stroud.
    I went outside as he jumped down from the cab. Rex jumped out and disappeared. The funeral director frowned. He probably wondered where he’d find dog shit.
    Stroud was in his uniform of jeans and blue long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His black hair looked longer than I remembered. He could not be described as tall, dark, handsome, or polished. He was shy of six feet tall, stocky, and smelled