Free Footprints in the Butter by Denise Dietz Page A

recommended. Nana Ana would have eaten there because the place looked and smelled, even sounded authentic. In fact, when the man at the counter handed me our to-go package, the only word I could decipher was “cookie.” I thought he appeared disgruntled, as if fortune cookies were too American.
    Ben bit into a fried wonton, chewed, swallowed, said, “I went to Wylie’s house around eleven but I never saw him.”
    “He wasn’t there?”
    “He was busy painting. Patty offered me a Bloody Mary.”
    “Before noon?”
    “Alcohol doesn’t necessarily mean night fare,” Ben mimicked, “especially on a Sunday. Anyway, Patty had already downed a few.”
    “What? Patty never drinks, not since our senior prom.”
    “She was upset.”
    I finally made my selection; hot and spicy bean curds. I felt hot and spicy, so I unbuttoned my blouse down to where my bra would have been, had I been wearing a bra. “Why was she upset, Ben? The reunion dance?”
    “Of course. Wylie ruined it for her.”
    “Wylie ruined it for everybody. I wonder if that was Patty’s tusk.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Patty was supposed to be crowned Queen of the Elephants.”
    Rising, Ben walked across the room. Hitchcock followed. Ben stoked the fire. Hitchcock stroked Ben’s denim crotch with his tongue, then rolled over on his back and waved his paws.
    “You’re right, Ingrid, that’s exactly why she was so upset.” Hunkering down, Ben scratched Hitchcock’s belly. “I wanted to sober her up, so I suggested we take a stroll outside. There’s a wooded area behind the house.”
    “Yes, I know. That’s how I made my escape. From Tonto, the saw-toothed dog next door. The foliage grows wild for three full blocks, and Patty’s house isn’t fenced. Well, the neighbors have fenced it in on one side, but there’s a clear path to the trees and—”
    I hesitated, aware that I was babbling. The bean curds suddenly looked unpalatable, so I grabbed a sweet and sour shrimp with my chopsticks, walked across the room, and glared down at Ben until he stood, facing me. Hitchcock felt my vibes, sensed a silent baddog, and slunk toward the fireplace tiles. “Patty seduced you, right?”
    “Wrong!”
    “You seduced her?”
    “No. I don’t take advantage of drunk—”
    “Baloney! You took advantage of my nebulous state during Stewie’s wake.”
    “That’s different.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I love you!”
    Those four words momentarily halted my verbal onslaught. Then, still seething, I said, “What happened between you and Patty?”
    “Nothing happened.”
    “Patty just stood there contemplating her navel? Or maybe she was contemplating yours.”
    “My navel was hidden by my shirt, belt and jeans.”
    “Aha! What about Patty’s navel?”
    “She took her clothes off. But nothing happened.”
    “She stripped in the middle of a deserted forest and you just watched?” I orchestrated my rage with the chopsticks, and the prawn rode dead air until it landed inside my blouse. “Women seem to do that a lot when they’re around you, Ben. I remember your comatose date at Stewie’s wake. She was naked as a jaybird.”
    “Damn it, Beaumont, you’re fixated on Stewie’s wake!”
    Ben’s anger was beginning to match mine, but I ignored his dark, blazing eyes. “I can’t believe you screwed Patty.”
    “I can’t believe you screwed Wylie.”
    “He screwed me! ”
    “That’s not what he said.”
    “I thought you didn’t see him. I thought he was busy painting.”
    “On the phone, Ingrid. Wylie insisted that you got drunk, weepy, very…shall we say aggressive?”
    “Say anything you like. It’s a lie.”
    “Okay. Sorry.”
    “No, you’re not. Was Patty as good as she looks, Ben? Does a butterfly achieve more than one orgasm?”
    “Nothing happened,” he said for the third time. “I gave her my jacket.”
    “Oh, sure. You covered her beautiful body with your jacket and led her back inside.” Suddenly I realized that Ben’s