Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (61 page)

“Dear
GOD
, are you
insane?”

“Grandfather!” I said, absolutely floored by his presence. “What are
YOU
doing here?”

The crowd parted, pushed aside by the old man’s palpable fury, and opened a clear path between him and me. I said a quick prayer that he was unarmed.

He stood—fully dressed in suit and tie—with Manschingloss, Aunt Helena, and Uncle Pjuter. I could see Biddleby in the car, parked just outside the square and—was that Woodruff near the statue of Homer? What an odd and unexpected assortment of characters.

“Grandfather, let me explain…”

Wisper took my hand, so tightly I couldn’t have let go even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t.

“There’s nothing to explain,” she told the elder Wopplesdown. “Corky and I are here—together—in my home town, and we don’t give a
shit
about your money.”

“Ooooh,” Grandfather growled, smiling slightly, a lion playing with his food, “is that so? Did I not hear him just bid
three million dollars for you?
Is that how much you don’t give a…a shit, as you so eloquently put it—about my money?”

“Ah,” I said, suddenly more nervous. “So you’ve been here awhile apparently. Well, you see, it’s like this…”

“Has he
got
three million dollars?” Sophie asked.

I turned to see her, still beside Morgan, smiling and bouncing with giddy glee.

“’Cause if he has,” she said. “He can afford to pay the hotel bill.”

She looked at me, smiling. “I knew you guys weren’t
real
criminals,” she said, snuggling in under Morgan’s arm. “Ya’ll are too sweet.”

“Hotel bills are one thing. But you are
not
giving this woman three millions dollars,” Grandfather snarled.

“It’s for charity, Grandfather,” I told him, helpfully, “and therefore tax deductible.”

“I don’t care if I get coupons, a hooker, and a plastic toy. There is a principle here, and you are not handing a dime of my money to these
nudists
!”

“It’s not
your
money. I have mother’s trust…”

“Which I control until your thirtieth birthday—unless I determine you are unfit—which you clearly are.”

There was a stunned silence during which my heart stopped beating. Wisper looked at me with serious concern, as I’m certain I went a little pale.

A little. Like the arctic in winter is a little cold.

“Corky?” she asked.

When I said nothing, she touched my chest, and I came back to the land of the living as if I’d been zapped by one of those heartunstopping paddle-thingies firemen and calm doctors use.

“Fine,” I said. “I…or rather
we
…” I corrected, which pleased Wisper no end, “…don’t need your money. Or mine. Because it is mine. But I still don’t need it.”

“Really, Cecil,” Helena interjected. “Don’t be such an
ass.
”

In a fury, he turned to her, and I almost laughed out loud as his mind completely derailed.

Caused by the fact that Helena and Pjuter were completely naked.

Waboombas was right. Helena
was
kinda hot.

“He’s old enough to control his own money,” Helena spat, “and nudists have rights. The boy made a legitimate bid, and he needs to make good on it.”

Grandfather’s lips quivered, his eyes tested their sockets’ ability to contain them, and for a moment he was rendered completely mute.

But unfortunately, only for a moment.

“Soooooo,” he finally managed to say. “That summerhouse situation wasn’t an isolated incident.” He averted his eyes and sniffed in contempt. “Well, I have news for you, my dear sister: Corky is not the only one who is disinherited.”

He turned and stalked off toward the car.

“Like you have control over
that!”
she said, undisturbed.

“Wait a minute,” Manschingloss cried. “You need to rehire Wisper! I will not go to the fashion show with clothing cut for a specific model and
have them hang wrong on some anorexic, wannabe
substitute!
”

But Grandfather ignored him and continued the mad rush toward his escape vehicle.

“Cecil!” Manschingloss called, bumbling along after the old man. “CECIL!”

On their way to the limousine, they passed Woodruff—who still stood near Homer’s statue, staring at it with a calm, almost beatific expression on his face—and Biddleby opened a door for them. They waited a moment for Woodruff, and when it became apparent he wasn’t coming, they leaped in and drove off without him.

Helena smiled and turned to Sophie.

“We’ll pay Corky’s debt,” she told her.

Sophie smiled and snuggled tighter against Morgan. Her innocent trust in the world was inspiring. Even I felt a bit more secure.

But then Pizeley M. Boone and the ever-lurking Washburne stepped through the crowd with two of Nikkid Bottom’s finest in tow.

“And what about your bid, son?” Boone asked. “I can’t imagine this woman intends to make good on the enormity of such folly, and I warned you, you signed a binding contract.”

I looked at Helena, hoping.

“Three
million
?” she asked.

“Three million, one hundred thousand,” Ms. Waboombas interjected, as she stepped through the crowd, still holding River’s branching tributary in one hand. Interestingly, he really seemed to be enjoying it.

I nodded to Helena to affirm Waboombas additional math.

“But…” Helena began.

“Think of the orphans,” Boone oozed.

“Three million, one hundred thousand,” Helena said, and from the tone of her voice, I already knew the answer. “We don’t have that kind of cash available, Corky. Not on this side.”

Not on any side, if my grandfather intended to make good on his threats.

“How sad,” Boone said, not the least bit sad. “Arrest them,” he told the cops.

“Arrest them? Isn’t that a bit extreme?” Helena demanded. “Can’t you just negate his bids, and let the next highest bidder…”

“No!” Wisper and I said simultaneously.

“Oh,” said Helena. “But Corky… ”

“They signed a contract,” Boone snarled. “And for the sanctity of the auction, and in fairness to those trusting souls who bid in honest and sincere good faith, we have no choice, I’m afraid. Arrest them.”

“On what charge?” the cop asked.

“Fraud,” Boone said, smiling. “False representation. Credit card theft. Parking for more than two hours in a restricted zone. We’ll make a list.”

“This is ridiculous!” Helena snapped.

The cops stepped forward.

Then the auburn-haired stunner from the beach stepped forward and jutted an accusing finger at Morgan.

“That’s the jerk who molested me!”

Morgan flinched and moved behind Sophie, who looked confused.

“Goodness,” Boone said, smiling, “Well…arrest them all!”

He was now practically giggling with joy.

“No!” I said.

Handcuffs clawed open.

“Wait, wait, wait… ” Wisper said, as they reached for me.

Boone laughed heartily. So did Washburne.

“Dammit, Washburne!” Wisper snapped. “You…All right! I’ll go with you!”

“NO!” I said, and began to struggle with the cops.

“Stop this!” Wisper demanded of the younger Boone. “You think this is going to make me love you?”

Washburne’s smile fell.

A policeman unkindly jerked one of my arms behind my back and prepared to snap a cuff on my wrist.

“HEY!” I said uselessly.

The situation was looking desperate, and I wasn’t seeing any way out, when suddenly screams exploded from the other side of the crowd.

Two women ran by shrieking their lungs out, and a general cacophony rose urgently above the crowd near the thing they were fleeing. The cops looked that way, and both moved a bit to one side to gain a better line of sight toward whatever was happening, when suddenly the crowd burst apart, and we were given a full view of the horror, the horror, the horror.

It was Mindie.

She had run in from somewhere and had apparently launched herself onto a food table, ravenously inhaling anything that hadn’t fallen to the ground in her mad assault. Then she dropped on all fours and began eating some of that.

She was mostly naked, except for the rags and leaves she still had wrapped around herself in a poor effort to conceal the bits no one wanted to look at anyway as they were still mostly covered in boils, blisters, and rashes.

“
I took off my clothes for food,”
she howled, snatching a hot dog from an innocent—and naked—child,
“
so I get some!”
She bit away more than half the frank, and its bun, then shoved the poor, crying toddler over.
“I took off my clothes for food, SO I GET SOME!
”

Ignoring the little one screaming on the ground, Mindie jammed the remainder of the hot dog into her mouth, sliming her hands and face with remnants of bun, garnish, and meat. Growling, she moved on and continued to wolf down everything she could reach. A man braved potentially serious injury and raced in to rescue the kid, as Mindie the monster’s eyes darted about, wild and threatening, burning holes into anyone who might be contemplating the bravery, or foolishness, necessary to stop her. She even took a few swipes at some of the closer nudists, who squealed in fear, then withdrew as far as they needed to be safe, while still staying close enough to get a good, clear view of the action.

To their credit, the cops broke free of me and ran over to take Mindie down. They encircled her, she swatted at them, and when that failed to frighten them off, she threw food.

“How far the mighty have fallen,” Helena said, with only marginal sympathy. “Obviously, she is not handling her disinheritance well.”

“What?” I asked, stunned. “Disinheritance?”

“Turns out the main reason—maybe the only reason—she wanted to marry you is because her father kicked her out of the house. Felt she had some growing up to do.”

I looked over at poor Mindie, clawing at the policemen trying to restrain her with one hand while she reached for a pie with the other, and watched as the three sailed over a picnic table, through the potato salad, and into a fountain just beyond.

“I believe he was right,” Helena concluded.

Incredible how a little nudity had made
everything
more visible today.

Then, suddenly, it hit me like Washburne’s toe in my temple! This was my chance.

I grabbed my pants, Wisper’s hand, and called to Waboombas.

“COME ON!” I yelled.

And we ran.

Me pulling Wisper by the hand, Morgan pulling Sophie by the arm, and Wendy pulling River by the wee-wee.

It was several moments before Boone and Washburne tore their attentions away from the nude Las Vegas road show extravaganza starring Mindie The Monster, and noticed we had escaped.

“Hey!” Washburne said in that irritating voice of his. “Hey,
they’r
e
getting away!”

But no one pursued. The cops had decided there were more pressing matters at hand with Mindie, and they continued wrestling my former fiancée for all they were worth, pinning her down and lying on top of her. The way they struggled, you would have thought she was a loose, vicious crocodile, and not a doughy, pampered, rat.

“Your penis is touching me!” I heard her wail behind me. “YOUR PENIS IS TOUCHING ME!”

Had things progressed as she intended, those were likely the same words I would have heard on my wedding night, and far beyond.

Then, seeing no one else was coming after us, the auburn-haired girl and her coterie of friends lit out in hot pursuit, resuming the wild chase that had begun on the beach.

“Where are we going?” Wisper asked, astonished, somehow naïvely expecting that I had a plan.

But this time I did.