Plum Lovin'

8

I dropped Bob at my parents' house and asked them to dog-sit. I had coffee with my mother and Grandma, and by the time I rolled down Betty Beaner's street, it was a little past nine. I parked in her driveway and checked out her house. Average suburbia in every way. Two-story colonial. Landscaped front yard. Fenced back yard. Two-car garage. Freshly painted.

I rang the bell, and Betty answered on the second ring. She was shorter than me and pleasantly round. She had a round face with a nice mouth that looked like it smiled a lot, round wide-open eyes, rounded hips, and big round breasts. She was a Rubenesque woman. She looked to be around fifty.

I extended my hand. "Stephanie Plum."

"I've been expecting you," she said. "Diesel called."

"We thought you might be able to help us with Bernie."

"I can't believe he's running around giving out hives like a senile old fool. I swear, the man is an embarrassment." I followed her through the living room and dining room and into the kitchen. She'd been at the small kitchen table, reading the paper, drinking coffee. It was a charming room decorated in warm tones. Rusts and yellows mostly. Small-print wallpaper and matching curtains on the windows.

Betty poured a cup of coffee out for me, and we sat at the table. I looked down at the paper and realized she'd been looking at the want ads.

"Getting a job?" I asked her.

Betty had a red pen on the table by the paper, but none of the ads were circled. "I've been thinking about it. Problem is, I can't do anything. I've been a housewife all these years."

"Two hundred?"

She smiled. "Yes. At least, it seems like that. Actually, Bernie and I have been married for thirty-five years. He was working in a garage, and I took my car in there to get fixed, and next thing we were married."

I sipped my coffee, and I looked at Betty Beaner. She didn't seem angry when she spoke of Bernie. If anything, there was affection. And tolerance. In fact, she reminded me of my mom. My parents didn't have the perfect marriage, but over the years they'd developed a plan to make things work. My mother made my dad feel like he was king of the castle, and my dad abdicated the kingdom over to my mom.

"I know I'm going to sound nosey," I said, "but I haven't got a lot of time, and I'm trying to help Diesel fix things. What went wrong?"

"Snoring."

"That's it? That's the whole thing?"

"Have you ever tried to sleep with a man who snores?"

"No. The men in my life don't snore."

"Bernie didn't used to snore and then one day there it was… he was a snorer."

"Aren't there things you can do about snoring?"

"He refuses to believe he snores. He says I'm making a big thing of it, but he wakes me up all night long. I'm always tired. And if I go sleep in the guest room, he gets mad. He says married people should sleep together. So, the hell with him, I'm filing for divorce."

"He thinks this is about talking and sex."

"Of course it's about talking. Talking about snoring! It's not like I wanted to have big touchy-feely discussions with Bernie. It's not like I asked him to join a book group or something. I just wanted him to listen to me. When I say I can't sleep, I mean I can't sleep]"

"And what about the sex?"

"I threw that in as a bonus. I figured, what the heck, if I was going to complain I might as well do it right."

Betty circled an ad in the paper with the red pen. "Here's one I bet I could do. They're looking for tollbooth money collectors on the Turnpike."

"Have you thought about counseling?"

"Are you kidding? Do you think a man who won't admit to snoring is going to sign up for counseling? I even tried recording him. He said it was a trick. He said it for sure wasn't him."

"If I could get Bernie to admit to snoring, would you take him back?"

"I don't know. I'm getting used to being alone. The house is nice and quiet. And I get to watch whatever I want on television. Of course, it was a real pain to have to shovel the walk when it snowed."

"This looks like a three-bedroom house. Suppose I could get you your own room with your own television for those nights when Bernie snores? And suppose I could throw in better sex? I don't know firsthand, but I suspect Diesel knows what he's doing. I could get him to talk to Bernie."

This got both of us smiling. Diesel and Bernie discussing sex. Worth the price of a ticket right there.

I decided to take the Pleasure Treasure bag to Jeanine while I was in sex-help mode, so I called and told her I was on my way over.

"Thank goodness," Jeanine said. "I have a date tonight. I was afraid I was going to have to fake an appendicitis attack."

Twenty minutes later, I was at her door.

"Here it is," I said, shoving the bag at her. "Everything you need to know about sex… I think."

Jeanine looked inside. "What is all this?"

"You've got a beginner's-guide-to-sex book. And a video that I've never actually seen but Diesel thought looked hot. And then there are some oils. Directions are included. Assorted condoms. And the salesclerk threw in a vibrating penis as a bonus."

Jeanine pulled the penis out of the bag. "Eeeuuw."

I agreed. It wasn't the most attractive penis I'd ever seen. But then maybe it wasn't a fair comparison because lately I'd seen some top-of-the-line equipment.

"It was free," I said by way of apology.

Jeanine paged through the book. "This looks helpful. I always wanted to buy a book like this but could never get up the nerve."

"I thought you could read the book, and then if you have questions you can call me, and I'll try to answer them."

"Maybe I should start with the movie," she said. "Do you want to watch it with me?"

"Think I'll pass. My experience with these movies is that they're made for men and mostly show a lot of boob."

"That would be disappointing," Jeanine said. "I can see that in the locker room at the gym." She peeled a sticky strip off the front cover and gasped. "Holy cow."

I looked over her shoulder. "Double holy cow."

"It's a man," Jeanine said. "And he's naked. I haven't seen a lot of men, so I'm no expert, but I didn't think they came this big."

I took a closer look. "They must have used Photoshop. This is a horse wanger."

"It says on the cover that it's all real and nothing's been retouched."

I took my jacket off. "I guess I could spare a few minutes to make sure everything's authentic. Wouldn't want you getting wrong information. Go ahead and pop that bad boy into the DVD player."

"It's eleven o'clock," Jeanine said. "Almost lunchtime. Maybe we need a glass of wine to get through this."

I agreed. This had all the earmarks of a movie that required booze.

Twenty minutes later, we were sipping wine and leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen.

"This is a car crash," I said. "One of the worst movies ever made. And I can't tear myself away from it."

"Yeah," Jeanine said. "I might have to watch it again just to make sure I've got it all straight."

The doorbell rang, and we both jumped.

Jeanine squeezed her eyes shut. "Please God, don't let it be my mother."

"Does your mother live in the Burg?"

Jeanine hit the pause button. "She lives in Milwaukee."

"So chances are good it's not your mother."

"It was a gut reaction."

Jeanine opened the door, and Grandma leaned to the side to see around Jeanine. She spotted me on the couch and gave a little finger wave.

"I knew that was your car out front," Grandma said. "I'm on my way to the funeral home now that my lips have deflated enough so I can talk. Elaine Gracey is being laid out for a special noon viewing. Your father's off to the lodge with the car, so I had to walk and I'm about froze." She gaped at the television screen where Big Chief and Vanessa Dickbender were frozen in full rut. "I bet you're watching cable," Grandma said. "These reality shows just keep getting better and better. I wouldn't mind sitting down to watch some. Just until I get warmed up. Are you drinking wine? A glass of wine would be real nice."

I heard a car door slam outside, and moments later Jeanine's bell rang again. Jeanine opened the door, and Lula looked in at us.

"I was driving by on my way back from church, and I saw the car and I thought I saw Grandma come in here," Lula said. "Are you guys having a party? Dang, whose hairy ass is that on your television screen?"

"Big Chief," Jeanine said.

"He's the best," Lula said, taking her coat off, pushing in next to Grandma on the couch. "Are we having wine?"

Jeanine brought two more glasses and the bottle, and I hit the play button.

"Now see this here," Lula said, watching Dickbender work over Big Chief. "I've done this lots of times, and she's doing it all wrong."

"Lula was a professional," Grandma told Jeanine. "She was the best on her corner."

"Darn right," Lula said. "I knew what I was doing."

Jeanine filled Lula's glass with wine. "Maybe you could give me some pointers."

"Sure," Lula said. "I'm retired now, so I can share my secrets to being a successful 'ho. The thing is, you gotta get a good rhythm going. My signature move was to do it to 'Jingle Bells.' Everybody loves 'Jingle Bells.'" Lula beat out the rhythm on the coffee table. "Jingle bells. Jingle bells. Jingle all the way... unh!"

"Boy" Jeanine said, "this is just what I need to know."

"Yep," Lula said, "you just keep singing 'Jingle Bells,' and before you know it you can collect your fifteen dollars and leave."

"I could do that," Grandma said. "I can sing 'Jingle Bells,' and I could use an extra fifteen dollars."

Vanessa Dickbender let out a shriek, and we all sucked in some air.

"What was that?" Jeanine wanted to know "What happened?"

"That might have been a orgasm," Lula said.

"Yikes," Jeanine said. "It sounded painful."

Lula sat back. "Yeah, it was probably fake, but I guess it was supposed to be a big one."

Jeanine poured herself another glass of wine.

"I think he's getting to the end," Lula said. "I can tell on account of all the veins have popped out in Big Chief's face, and he looks like he's gonna have a heart attack. How long's he been doing this anyway?"

"It's been going on for about forty minutes now," I told her.

"Nobody got staying power like Big Chief," Lula said. "He did it in the back of a car one time for ninety minutes. The film is a classic. And I hear they had to hook him up to one of them IV fluid bags when he was done."

"This is kind of scary," Jeanine said. "Maybe I should learn CPR."

"It won't be scary," I said to Jeanine. "You'll be fine. Just keep singing 'Jingle Bells.'"

It was early afternoon when I dropped Grandma off at my parents' house.

"Sorry you missed the viewing," I told her.

"That's okay," she said. "It's not every day I get to see a real good educational film. And I'll get another crack at Elaine tonight."

I watched to make sure Grandma got inside, and then I took off. I drove two blocks, and my cell phone rang.

"I'm right behind you," Diesel said. "Pull over and park. I want to talk to you."

I parked at the curb and got out of my car. Diesel did the same. He was driving a shiny black Corvette that was in direct contrast to all the other salt-and-grime-encrusted cars on the road.

"Nice car," I said. "Clean."

"How'd it go with Betty Beaner?"

"Turns out Bernie snores."

"And?"

"Betty can't sleep. She wants her own room, so she can sleep."

"That's it?"

"She wants a television in the room. And she wants better sex."

"Honey, we all want better sex."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Diesel said.

"Someone needs to talk to Bernie."

"Not me."

"I thought you were the big sex hotshot."

"I do okay, but I'm not giving Bernie a birds and bees talk. Guys don't do that. It's… weird."

"Yes, but you're an Unmentionable guy."

Diesel had his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets, and his face set on don't mess with me.

"Fine," I said to him. "Have it your way. Don't talk to poor Bernie. Go shut him down."

"I don't believe this," Diesel said. "It just gets worse and worse. Bad enough I have to play cupid to a butcher, button maker, and veterinarian… now I have to be sex therapist for a guy who gives people a rash."

"It could be fun. Male bonding and all that. And while we're on the subject of sex instruction, I delivered the bag to Jeanine and watched the movie with her."

This got a grin out of Diesel. "Did you like it?"

"It was horrible, but we watched it twice."

Diesel laughed out loud.

"It's the ultimate chick flick. When Dickbender screamed at the end Jeanine turned white and had a third glass of wine. How's the Bernie hunt going?"

"It's not. I can't find him," Diesel said. "I'm getting no vibes at all. Does his wife know how to get in touch with him?"

"No. I left her my card, and she said she'd call if he made contact. How about Annie? Anything on her?"

"Can't find her either," Diesel said. "It's like the two of them have gone to the moon."

"They can't actually do that, can they?"

"Honey, we're a little freaky… we're not NASA."

I was hit by a gust of wind, and I hunkered down into my jacket, my breath making frost clouds in front of me. Diesel pulled me close and snuggled me into him, and I instantly felt warm. The heat burned in my chest, curled through my stomach, and headed south.

My voice rose an octave. "What are you doing?"

"I'm warming you," Diesel said.

"I don't need to be that warm."

"Hey, I'm just sharing body heat. I can't help it if it gets you all bothered."

"I'm not all bothered."

Diesel smiled down at me.

"Oh crap!" I said, looking up at him. "You've got dimples."

"That isn't all I've got."

I jumped away. "I'm leaving. I'm going to check on Charlene Klinger."