typea_all (22 page)

     I knew he wasn't going for condoms, and we had milk and eggs in the fridge, so I was baffled. What the hell was he doing? Where was he going close to midnight?

I got under the covers and waited. About 15 minutes later I heard the door open and close, and a minute later Ryan walked back into the bedroom naked and carrying a bag from the local convenient store.

"Where did you go?"

He pulled out a box of plastic wrap from the bag, "I had to buy this, harvest print plastic wrap. I also bought rolls of clear, yellow, and red for some other times. Now stand up over here," he said.

     I walked over. He slid down my panties and threw them on the bed. Then he unrolled the plastic wrap and slowly, starting a few inches above my knees, started gently wrapping the plastic around me.

     "I'm making you a dress to go with those shoes," he said.

     He wrapped it up my legs, around my body, and over and across one shoulder. When he was done, he tore off the roll, and then walked backwards a few steps and stared at me.

     "God, you’re gorgeous. Turn around, slowly."

     I turned around, although it wasn't easy wrapped up like a pickle. When I faced him again, he walked toward me, and took me in his arms and pulled me real close.

Then, starting at the top, he slowly tore off the plastic wrap, kissing my body where the wrap had been.

     When I was totally unwrapped, he walked me over to the bed, gently laid me down, and laid on top of me. When God gave out body parts, he gave Ryan the best skin.

     Damn, those shoes were worth it.

******

     We slept in late Saturday morning, wide-awake but lying in bed holding each other and talking. While I made breakfast, we made plans for the day; a visit to the gym, a drive to Mullica Hill for some antique shopping and sightseeing, then dinner out.

     The gym visit went fine. I took a kickboxing class while Ryan worked out. We went back to Ryan's to shower and change.

     I showered first, and when I got out Ryan said, "While you were showering, I moved your car to another spot in the lot. You weren't parked in a visitor spot."

     "You moved my car?"

     "To another spot."

     "Did you put the seat pad on?"

     "The seat pad? No."

     "But you're wearing your dirty gym clothes. I can't believe you did that."

     "I wasn't that dirty. I was just in your car a minute."

     "That's not the point. You had dirty clothes on, and you sat right on my seat. I told you why I got the seat cushions. Weren't you listening to me?"

     "I said I was sorry. I just didn't think."

     "I'll say you didn't think. Can't you learn? Is it asking too much for you to respect my wishes? Why are you laughing? This isn't funny."

     "It's only your car seat. It can be cleaned, for crying out loud, and with your hands on your hips and your head bobbing back and forth like that, you look like a chicken. Peck, peck, peck."

     "That's not funny, and it's not the point. You didn't listen to me."

     "You're a nut, you know that? You're getting carried away over nothing. So you have to clean your seat, is that more important than me?"

     "Oh, like you're so perfect."

     "I never said I was perfect. You're just so anal about some things."

     "Well, you're not perfect! Your hangers aren't evenly spaced in your closet, and your clothes aren't in color order."

     "Oh, my god. Call the wardrobe police, my clothes aren't in order! You are so type A, you know that?"

     "And look at your refrigerator. You've got 12 apple pies in the freezer. Who has 12 apple pies?"

     "Someone who likes apple pies, that's who."

     "That's not all."

     "What other terrible things do I do that annoy you so much?"

"Okay, you ready? You squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube, you leave the milk out of the fridge too long, and you can't settle on a television station to watch for at least a half hour."

"I'm gone straight to hell for all that. I admit it."

"You never clean this place. There are marks on your kitchen counter left over from God knows what. There's so much paper and stuff lying around it looks like a birdcage. There are pencils on the floor from months ago."

     "Pencils? What are you talking about; I don't think I even own a pencil."

     "Not those pencils, my pencils."

     "What pencils?"

     "From my thing."

     "I don't know what you're talking about."

     "Pencils, from my top."

     "Your top? I'm really sorry; I have no idea what you mean."

     "You know. The pencils from that top I bought. The feathers."

     "The feathers? Then why didn't you just say feathers? What the hell are pencils?"

     "That's what they call the things on that top."

     "What things?"

     "The feathers."

     "Why did you call them pencils? I never heard that before."

     "That's what they're called. That's what the lady at the store said they were called. I've told you that a hundred times. You just don't listen to me."

     "You've never called them pencils before."

     "I always called them pencils."

     "I never heard that before."

     "That's because you don't listen to me."

     "You never called them pencils before."

     "I always call them pencils."

     He picked up a hat from the table. "Here, I'll clean up. I'll put away this paperclip here."

     "You know I always called them pencils."

     He picked up a set of dumbbells. "And I'll even put away these two fountain pens."

     "This place is just a mess, whatever you call things. And you keep it so hot in here, like you're growing bacteria."

"It is not hot in here, that's just you. If you hate it so much here, why do you bother coming here?"

"I don't know. I'm leaving."

I got dressed, grabbed whatever stuff of mine was within reach, and stormed out. I threw all of my stuff on the floor of the car because I didn't want to take the time to wipe it all off, but I did clean off the car seat and put on a cushion before I drove home.

What does he mean, I'm anal?

Chapter 21

     Sunday morning, I figured it was time that I got rid of some of that cake mix. I was in a bad mood so I wore my witch earrings, a matching set of witches on broomsticks. I moved all of the plastic bags into the car, and drove down the street. I stopped a few doors down and gave a two-pound bag to Mrs. Bellows, a very nice older woman who lives alone. Then I drove down the street and turned onto Atlantic Avenue.

     Every intersection in Longport has a painted walkway and a sign that says "Yield To" with a little picture of a person walking.  It’s the law in Jersey that cars must yield to pedestrians in the walkway. Very few places do anything about it, and even fewer put up signs. About only one percent of Jersey drivers know there’s such a law, and even fewer actually obey it. In all honesty, I usually don't myself. I'd like to, but it's dangerous. If I suddenly stopped at an intersection where people wanted to cross, I'd probably get rear-ended and cursed at like there was no tomorrow.

     When I got to 32nd Avenue, however, I saw three very old ladies, two with walkers, starting to cross the street. I glanced in the rearview mirror, didn't see anyone close behind me, and stopped to let them walk across.

     I was a sorry I stopped because they walked so slowly I thought about turning off the car and taking a nap.

     Then all of a sudden I heard this horn blasting behind me. Some yahoo pulled right behind me and was sitting on his horn.  I ignored him for a few moments, and then got out of my car.

     "Can't you see these ladies are crossing the street?"

     "Go around them," he yelled from the car.

     "The law says I have to wait until they clear the street."

     "What law, you dumb bitch?"

     "Hey, don't call me dumb, you moron."

     The guy got out of his car. "Who are you calling a moron?"

     "You, you big jerk. If you were any dumber you'd have to be watered twice a week. Just let these ladies cross the street."

     Just then a Longport patrol car pulled up. The officer got out, but it wasn't Luke.

     "What's going on here?"

     "I just stopped to let those ladies cross the street, and this guy started yelling at me."

     The officer walked up to the other car, and took a quick look inside. "The lady is right. It’s the law in New Jersey. 39:4 – 35, Failure to yield to a pedestrian in a crosswalk will get you two points.  Can I see your license and registration please?"

     The driver didn't look happy, but he showed the officer his paperwork.  "Okay, you can pull out now. Just remember, that is the law in this state." The officer then walked over to me.

     "Thanks, officer. He just started blasting his horn and yelling and cursing at me."  I started to get back into my car.

     "Can I see your license and registration please?"

     "Is anything wrong?"

     "Nothing, it’s just routine when we have any type of traffic incident."

     I reached into my car to get my paperwork, while the officer scanned the back seat.  I gave him my license and registration, and he walked back to his vehicle and sat down.

In a few minutes, he got back out and handed the papers back to me.

     "Can you tell me what’s in the back seat, ma'am?"

     "Do you want a bag? Low fat cake mix. I'm giving it away to my friends. Does your wife, or girlfriend, bake? I'd be happy to give you a bag for all of your trouble."

     "Could you just wait one more minute, ma'am?"

     He went back to his car again and got on the radio. I figured he was asking his wife or girlfriend if she wanted cake mix. Instead of getting out right away, though, another patrol car pulled up. Again, it wasn't Luke. Then both officers got out of their cars.

     "Please follow us back to the station, ma'am."

     "To the station? What's going on? I just stopped to let some old ladies cross the street." Last time I would do that, I thought.

     "We just want to talk to you, and take a better look at the cake mix in the car."

     One patrol car led the way; the other followed me close behind. We drove down Atlantic Avenue and pulled into the police station parking lot.

     "Just follow me, ma'am. Do you object to us taking those bags in for further inspection?"

     "Not at all, but it’s just cake mix."

     "We'll see, ma'am."

     "If you want, call Officer Luke, I mean Walker. He knows me."

"We'll do that, ma'am. Just come this way."

     The worst part of the whole experience was that I'd probably have to sit down in the police station. This meant getting my clothes dirty and having to clean my car afterward.

     They took me into the police station, and we were buzzed through the inner set of doors. "Just have a seat right there, ma'am."  I knew they'd make me sit down.

     "Do I have to sit, Officer?"

     "This may take a little time."

     I waited about 30 minutes until the officer returned.

     "We have a little problem."

     "Do you have a problem or do I have a problem?"

     "I guess you have a problem.  Our test of the substance in question..."

     "The cake mix, you mean."

     "...is inconclusive. We had to call for a DEA agent to perform a more complete test of the substance."

     "You just got to be kidding! Would I be brain-dead enough to carry drugs in the open, on the back seat, and offer you a bag?

     "It could have been a bride. Anyway, I've seen criminals do a lot of stupid things."

     "Hey! Calling me a criminal is one thing, but don't call me stupid."

     Just then, Luke entered the station.

     "Luke," I yelled, "I am so glad you're here."

     "I got a call that they pulled you in. What's the story?"

     The other officer took Luke by the arm and led him to the other side of the room. They talked for a few minutes, periodically looking at my direction. Then they returned.

     "Here's the story," Luke told me. "A routine check of your license and registration indicated a federal flag."

     "You mean like the stars and stripes?"

     "Indicating that the federal authorities have an interest in your activities. With the federal flag on your record, the police have to play everything by the book."

     God, now I have a record for getting free low fat chocolate cake mix.

     "But it’s just cake mix."

     "We have to make sure."

     "Okay, how long will it take the DOA guy to get here?"

     "You mean DEA. A few hours. He's coming from Philadelphia."

     "A few hours!"

     "I'm sorry, there’s nothing I can do."

     Then I had a brainstorm.

     "Luke, the fire station is right next to here, right?"

     "It is."

     "And they have a kitchen, with a stove?"

     "What are you...?"

     "And they have water, right?"

     "Of course, they have water."

     "Give me a cup and a half of water, a bowl, and the oven, and I can prove that this is cake mix. You’ve got plenty for evidence. All I need is one bag and I can prove what this stuff is in one hour."

     "Okay, let's go."

     To my surprise, he handcuffed me to his wrist, grabbed one of the bags, and led me to the fire station.

     "Are these handcuffs really necessary?"

     "No."

     Kinky.

     When we got to the fire station, we went up to the kitchen and he uncuffed me. A fireman gave me a bowl and large spoon, and pointed to the oven.

     "Could you please pre-heat it to 375?"

     I dumped the mix into the bowl, poured in water and mixed it with the spoon by hand.

     "Oh, I need some sort of cake pan."

     The fireman took a very nice pan out of the cabinet. I poured the batter into the pan and slid the pan into the oven.

     "Now we just wait about 45 minutes," I told Luke. "You can put the cuffs back on if you like."

     We sat around the kitchen talking about nothing in particular. From time to time, another officer would stroll in and chat awhile.  The cake started to smell real good, and I tested it with a toothpick to see if it was done. The toothpick came out wet.

     "Just a few minutes more. That doesn't smell like drugs, does it?"

     When the cake was done, I took it out of the oven to cool, and Luke called over to the police station.

     "My chief has to come over for this," he said.

     It wasn't just the chief who arrived; almost the entire police force showed up.

     "Chief, can you taste this and tell us what it is?"

     "I'm not going to taste it first. You taste it."

     "Come on Chief," someone yelled. "Take a bite out of it."

     "Yeah, take a bite out of crime," someone shouted.  These guys were having way too good of a time.

     "Hey, Skywalker. She's your girlfriend, you try it!"

     I knew it! There's no way Luke Walker would get away from the Skywalker joke. Did he say girlfriend?

     Luke came forward, cut a chunk out of the cake and shoved it into his mouth.

     He looked at me with a real serious face. "Ms. Castle, I think you're lying."

     "I'm not lying, this is..."

     "This is too good to be low fat," he laughed. "Hey, Chief. You got to try this."

     The cake was gone in a few minutes, and we were all having a good time, but they still wouldn't let me go. In just another 30 minutes, however, the DEA guy showed up and confirmed that it was just cake mix.  I wasn't upset; I actually had a good time, especially the part about being cuffed to Luke.  And I was also able to give away half of the bags to the police and firemen.

     As I started to drive away, though, Luke ran over to the car.

     "What's up? Want another cake""

     "No, I just want to talk to you about something. Meet me over at Ozzies in about 30 minutes."

     I was intrigued, so I drove to Ozzies, got a table for two and ordered a cola. I nursed the soda, reading the newspaper that Ozzies has for patrons. In about 40 minutes, Luke came in dressed out of uniform, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. I'd have to rank his rear a solid 10.

     "What's up?" I asked. "Why the jeans?"