[plumboz]

Ted and Jerry are the ones most readers mention as their favorite characters in Boomerang (see first excerpt). But coming in a close second, at least with the men in the crowd, is Bethie, so I thought a little excerpt featuring her would round out this thread.


“Oh, Quinny, it’s such a gorgeously beautiful day!” Bethie skipped—yes, she skipped—into the room until she was right in front of Senator Farlow. “I’ve been waiting for the sun for such a long time. Don’t you just love sunny days?” she addressed the question to Farlow.

What a lovely young woman, thought the senator. Absolutely lovely. No, none of that now. He forced himself to turn back to Wilson, who was smiling widely.

“As I was saying,” said Farlow. What had he been he saying? Oh, right. “I would advise you to watch your step,” He made a movement toward the door, but the young woman was directly in his path.

“Bethie, honey,” said Wilson. “This is Mr. Landingham from Five Artists.”

“Hollywood?” exclaimed Bethie. She took Senator Farlow’s hand in both of hers and pumped it vigorously. Her right foot did a little rise and point. “Oh, this is so exciting!”

“I most certainly am not from Holly...Holly...Holly...“ the third syllable of the world’s cinema capital temporarily escaped the senator, who was doing a little rise and point of his own, an event he would have celebrated under different circumstances.

“I was Daisy Mae in our senior class production of L’il Abner,” Bethie said as she worked Farlow's hand. She leaned in close as if confiding a confidence. “And I won Miss Onion Ring Festival twice. In a row!”

“Young lady, please!”

Senator Farlow detached himself from Bethie's grasp and stepped back. He distributed about the room his best effort at an expression of moral outrage, just in case there were cameras. He sidestepped the nude young woman and marched, not a little stiffly, to the door. At the door he turned, prepared to deliver a combination rebuke and reminder of the reach of senatorial power, but there she was, this delectable and absolutely at ease looking morsel, and Senator Wilford Farlow, the man who had been the terror of four presidents, found that his system was operating at such an unavoidably visceral level the words would not come. His Adams apple just bobbed up and down and his lower lip trembled. Damn it all, his mouth was watering. It was with a heroic effort that Senator Wilford Farlow mentally girded his loins and got himself well and truly out the door.

The Lincoln kicked up enough dust on its way out to get even Special Agent Waas’s attention. He tried to take a shot of the Lincoln as it flew past, but found he had used up the entire memory card with pictures of Mrs. Franklin Quincy Wilson II.

Inside the Wilson residence, Bethie felt that a pall had suddenly fallen over what had begun as such a glorious day. She slumped into the Spanish leather desk chair. “I thought you said the man from Five Artists was named Something-berger.”

“Mr. Landingham is even higher up than Mr. Something-berger, my dear. Much goddam higher indeed.” Wilson walked behind the desk and began twirling the chair gently around, much as a parent would propel a playground merry-go-round for a small child.

“It didn’t go very well, though,” Bethie pouted.

“Oh, no my dear. It went very well.” Quinny smiled, but the smile was to himself, not to Bethie. “Very well, indeed.” Then, to himself, he said, “Now all we need is a nice call from our friend Down Under and everything will be fine.”

“Ooh, Quinny,” Bethie giggled as she spun. She held her hand up to her ear, thumb and pinkie out in a pantomimed telephone. “Mr. Down Under,” she purred. “Call for Mr. Down Under.”

“Hmm? Oh. That is not what I meant.” Wilson stopped spinning the chair and gazed at the twenty-two year old, five-foot-four, one-hundred-five pound temptation in his chair.

“Doesn’t Mr. Down Under want to take his call?” said Bethie. “It’s pre-paid.”

What the hell, thought Quinny. As long as it was pre-paid.