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Old 09-30-2009, 10:40 AM   #10
Steven Lyle Jordan
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9: The spider-woman go-eth away

None of us moved for about a minute. I was the first, bending over and retrieving the documents from the floor. Kyle was next, with the statement, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Martin was next, with, “Dude, did we just now, like, not die? Cool!”

Then Gail stood up, walked to the door, and closed it. She then turned to me, and said, “Mike that was the most ballsy thing I think I’ve ever seen!” I didn’t notice Martin look at her and start to protest, but a quick glare from Gail kept him quiet.

“Well, I’m just glad it worked,” I said, collecting the documents and slipping them back into the folder. I handed them to Martin. “I’d destroy those if I were you. It’ll help to sell the situation, if you’re too embarrassed to keep them.”

“Not without looking at them, first,” he said, and pulled them out of the envelope. I have to say, I had done a pretty good job whipping up a set of bogus documents, contracts and blood test results, all of which did a pretty convincing job of depicting Martin as HIV-positive, with a less-than-positive outlook, as tested by my small private lab. The website work had further sold the illusion, and all the effort had been worth it to see Veronica’s expression when she thought Martin was already pretty much terminal. “Dude, you do class work,” Martin said finally. He held them up for Kyle to see, but Kyle shrank back from them.

“I never want to touch papers like that, even when I know they’re bogus! I agree, destroy them!”

“No problem,” Martin said. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think I really had AIDS. But… what if she comes back in a year or something, and I’m still here?”

“Just tell her it’s dormant,” I said. “She’s not a doctor, so she can’t question that… but it should still keep her off your—(I shuddered appropriately)— junk. And maybe in the meantime, you can think of some way to pay her off with part of whatever business you go into next. Preferably something legitimate?”

Ironically, even after all this, Martin’s face actually fell. “Legit? Dude… where’s the profit in that?”

I looked at Gail in amazement, before I said, “You have until Veronica comes back to figure that out.” I was pretty sure Martin would catch my drift.

“I catch your drift,” he said. Good: Thoughts leaking. All must be right with the world.

“And speaking of which,” Gail said, “I think it’s time we took off.” She walked over to Martin and gave him a hug. Then she took him by both shoulders, and said, “You, mister, are an idiot. Straighten up your act! Don’t make me have to do this again, or I’ll cut off your junk myself.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Kyle protested. “There’s such a shortage of good junk in this world.”

“Tell it on the mountain,” Gail said, leaving Martin’s side to slip a hand into the crook of my arm. “Come on, lover. It’s been a long day… I’ll bet you’d like some rest.”

“You know it.”

“Too bad you’re not going to get any.”

I sighed. “I know it…”

It was six a.m. again, when we got back to Pete’s apartment. Gail had, as promised, kept me up most of the night in celebration, and I’d even gotten her to show me some of the yoga moves she had used when she worked for Martin. Needless to say, they were great for getting my attention, and they did a lot to make the night last even longer. But I was now tired to the bone, and needed some real sleep.

Just like the day before, as we entered, we heard the toilet flush, and a moment later, Pete came out of the bathroom. He also had the same tired expression, and lack of clothing, as yesterday morning. He looked at us, and said, “It’s getting so a guy can’t walk naked through his own house anymore.”

At that moment, his bedroom door opened. Riley, Pete’s main squeeze and my backup Starbucks connection, walked out of the bedroom, also unabashedly stark naked, and wrapped a hand around his arm. “Please, dear, no free shows for the guests. You’re not off the clock, yet.” She smiled sweetly to us, and led him back into the bedroom, and I heard Pete intoning, “Work, work, work…” as they closed the door behind them.

Gail and I exchanged smiles, then wandered into the kitchen. As I pulled a carton of orange juice from the fridge, I asked matter-of-factly, “Veronica was talking about Pete when she mentioned batting averages, wasn’t she?”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Gail replied. “Especially from her.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “I’d much rather believe it from you.”

“Then why can’t you?” she asked plainly.

“Maybe,” I said, “because you seem to want to avoid telling me anything about your past, or your life, outside of our sexual congress. Why can’t you?”

Gail seemed to consider the question. “It’s… complicated.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“I know,” she nodded. “That’s the problem.”

She handed me an empty glass.



It must be noted that this story’s characters and nationalities do not represent actual persons or nationalities, living, dead, or from another planet. Any similarities to actual persons or nationalities, living, dead, or from another planet, is unintentional, and if you happen to know of any, please keep it to yourself. I just ate.



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C’mon, hurry… I’m late for my yoga class…
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