Slice

BUCKHEAD SPRINGS

She'd first told him about it that night coming back from Peggy and Jimmie's when they'd gone over for dinner and cards afterward. Lee not seeming as downbeat as he'd been and the evening a pleasant one, with no talk of the Job or any other subjects that might bum anybody out, and they were both in a cuddly mood when they drove home that night.

He loved the look of metropolitan Buckhead after dark. It always seemed to him to look like the best of both worlds, the familiarity and predictability of a small hometown environment coupled with the pizzazz and dazzle of a big city at night. Invariably Jack would recharge a bit at the look of the lights of the city skyline and the surprisingly big-town feel of a vast cosmopolis when he drove through South Buckhead and down Main toward Buckhead Springs, and saw that string of bright lights and all the glittering nightlife in the distance.

She rode close to him and her perfume was intoxicating. She seldom failed to arouse him up close like this, and as always, when he glanced over at this lady he could never quite fully believe was his, she stirred that kind of desire and admiration in him. Donna's scent mingled with the car interior making the vehicle smell newer, more luxurious than it was, and her nearness made the lights a little brighter. They had Laurindo playing on the tape deck.

“That's nice."

“Just your basic unamplified, six-string, open-face guitar sandwich. He do play."

“He play good, Laurindo do."

“I play good too. Wanna play later?"

“Umm. And I wanna play Saturday too but not what you think exactly.” She snuggled against him. “I want you all to myself all day Saturday."

“I'll have to look at my calendar. I have a very busy schedule. My dance card is very full at this time of the season. I'll check."

“You do that little thing. Make room in your busy schedule for Donna. All day Saturday. Really."

“Okay. Whatcha got planned?"

“Just something,” she told him mysteriously.

“I don't like surprises. Tell me."

“I won't tell. You can do anything you want and I won't talk."

“Are you saying your lips are sealed?"

“I won't go THAT far.” She giggled a womanly giggle. “I mean let's not get crazy here. I won't say that my lips are sealed but I won't spoil my surprise. Just be mine alone all day Saturday."

“I'll see if I can clear the decks. Tell Racquel and Heather I just don't have time for them Saturday."

“You're too kind to me. Whatta guy."

“I know."

When Saturday came she woke him up with kisses and fresh juice and coffee and they had breakfast in bed.

“I made you a card.” And she handed him a card with the legend HAPPY BIRTHDAY written across the front and then he remembered it was his birthday. “I hope you like homemade greeting cards because I couldn't find one I liked.” He told her he did and opened it and inside a drawing of a big heart she'd written his birthday message. He read it out loud.

“I love you, my husband. You have made my life a dream that I thought would never come true. When you are away from me I feel the way you hold me and when I make up our bed it makes me tingle just to see your imprint in the sheets. I love you a lot and I will be yours forever. You are the best man I've ever known. All my love.” And he turned and they kissed over the Xs drawn across the bottom of the card.

“That's enough. That's for later,” she said, drawing away from him. He looked at her with such love and in that second he couldn't imagine that he'd ever bad a life without her.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he told her. “So. Get dressed and come into the Official Birthday Room.” The Official Birthday Room was the living room. There was a box, a large, beautifully wrapped box, and he opened it. There was a beat-up baseball and two well-used gloves, together with a note.

This is the old-time saturday you told me about. Remember the way it was when you were a kid? Playing catch with your dad? Going to Shepherd's Drugstore with your pals? Then reading a comic book out under the trees? Going to the double feature at the Orpheum? Have fun! Love—xxx, Donna.

“I'll be your dad. I get the catcher's mitt, so—let's go, son,” she said. She had a little trouble keeping the cap on all that hair. Finally she hairpinned it in place somehow, a Mets cap that had been a gift to Eichord from a guy he'd worked with once, and he followed her out into the yard.

“Burn it in there,” she said. She had on one of his old shirts and a pair of shorts you couldn't see somewhere under the shirt tail. “Burn one in to your old dad."

“Hate to say this but you don't look anything like old dad.” She pushed out even the voluminous shirt front.

“Cut the talk, son, ‘n burn one in."

“Okay.” He pitched one to her.

“Come on, boy,” she told him, “you can throw harder than that. I'm not no sissy girl."

“Right, Dad.” He threw another.

She hopped around blowing on her hand. “Okay,” she said, “that wraps up the catch game. Besides I gotta get these rented gloves back.” He laughed. “You made Dad's hand sting. Later you can kiss it and make it well."

“I aims to please."

“I hear that. Okay. It's time to read our comic book under the tree.” She went and returned with a sack in her hand, motioning for him to come with her. They sat under a red maple.

“Look what came in the mail."

“What on earth?” It looked like one of the old-time comic books that he used to subscribe to. Sure enough, there was an old mailing sticker on the familiar brown paper with his name and his address where he'd grown up. “Where in hell—"

“I'll never tell.” She had found an old copy of Children's Activities Magazine and soaked his mailing label off the cover and glued it to the wrapper she'd made for the comic. He removed it gently from the container and opened it.

“MY GOD! Walt Disney's Comics & Stories! I haven't seen one of those in thirty years. Where on earth?"

“Some guy up in Missouri sells old comic books. I remembered you telling me about the covers."

“Huey and Dewey and Louie with Uncle Donald,” he said, smiling one of the biggest smiles she'd ever seen on his face. The nephews were watching Donald about to go skiing. But two rows of tiny animals, birds, and assorted hangers-on had lined up on the back of each of Donald's skis. “That's the way I remember them. I got this one, and Tarzan and Red Ryder. Three comics a month from the same company—I'll never forget it."

“I know—I know. I wrote it all down. I thought about getting you a Tarzan, too, but I didn't know how you'd feel about my selling the car, so I held off on that one.” They laughed.

“Okay,” Donna told Jack when he'd finished perusing the adventures of the ducks. “Let's go to the drugstore.” They went off to the side of the house and there was something about the size of a Volkswagen parked in the space between the Eichord's house and the next-door neighbor's.

Eichord said, “I think I can guess. By the size of it you've purchased a time machine and we're going to get in and go back to 1947?"

“That's right,” she said, going “Tadaaaaaaaa” as she pulled the sheets off the surprise.

“Oh, NO!” He laughed. “Where on earth did you get THESE?"

“That's a long story. When we were in Dallas I remembered you talking about the drugstore, and drooling about the old days at the drugstore, and those sundaes and the ice water after the bad game, and your description of the big fan overhead, and the little wire chairs with the heart shapes, and the marble table. Anyway, I saw an ad for the table and chairs at a garage sale, so I got ‘em for us."

“Perfect."

“Well, the table is wood and not marble but you can pretend."

“Yeah.” He sat down on the tiny chair with great care.

“Wait there,” she told him. She returned from the kitchen with a sundae, complete with fudge topping, nuts, whipped cream, and a cherry.

“AHA,” he yelled in recognition as she also placed a glass of water in front of him.

“Yes, sir. Only the best for my darlin'. A genuine Coca-Cola glass full of old-time ice water."

“I love it,” he said with heartfelt feeling, taking a delicious, incredible bite of the ice-cream concoction and a sip of the cold water. “Just as I remember. Wonderful."

“Okay."

“Fabulous. Pure essence of Shepherd's Drugstore.” He finished in a wave of nostalgic contentment. Some wife.

“So far so good. Let's see—the game of catch. The comic book. I got ‘em out of order but anyway—then the drugstore. Okay. Time to go to the show.” She pulled him back into the house and led him to his easy chair in front of the television in the living room and picked his feet up, sliding an ottoman up under his legs, then slipping his bedroom shoes off. He was still dressed in slacks, T-shirt, and his old Leo Gorcey pinback hat that he'd worn to play catch in. Nobody's perfect, he thought wryly.

She sat a small box in his lap.

“You're KIDDING! A CRIME CLUB movie! A serial! MY GOD IS THIS REALLY THE GREEN HORNET! FROM 1939?” He read the tape labels out loud. “How in hell did you find these?"

“Same guy I got the comic book from.” She took one of the tapes from him and went over to their video machine. “I've been practicing. Watch.” She had learned how to insert the tape. She pushed play. “Have fun. I'm going shopping,” she said, leaving Jack Eichord mesmerized in front of a buzzing hornet's image as his childhood began to flash before his eyes.

He watched four chapters of the old Green Hornet movie, wishing there was someone he could talk to who would understand the delight of the experience. Somebody he could tell about Al Hodge, whose voice had been synched to the lead character's speech. Al Hodge, out of the time warp on Eichord's happy birthday. He was halfway through the Crime Club movie when he heard the car pull up.

Donna blew in with her arms loaded down.

“Need a hand?” he said, revealing no intention to move from his seated position.

“I think I'll be able to manage. You having a good time?"

He smiled and nodded.

About fifteen minutes passed and he heard a radio playing or some music coming faintly from the bedroom. Another ten minutes or so and the movie ended, so he shut the equipment off and got up, then went into the bedroom to tell her how much he was enjoying his day.

“Mmmmmm,” he said. Donna was in a wispy thing that covered her shoulders and most of her large, high breasts. Matching wisp of a bikini. “Nice.” God, she looked good.

“Fire-engine red."

“Yeah,” he said, his heart in his throat.

“Come on over."

“Okay,” he said, wasting no time.

“Do I know what you like or what?"

“You know what I like."

“Do I know the way you like it?"

“Nnnn.” He tried to answer but his mouth was busy.

She took him through the sex just as she had the rest of his birthday surprises. Making it all for him, leading him, orchestrating it so their lovemaking would be just the way HE wanted it, just the way any man would like it. Biology and Mother Nature took over and when she was through he was spent, spread-eagled across the bed in blissful, or so it appeared, immobility.

But inside his copper core that thing that was with him all the time now remained cold and untouched. It was loathsome, whatever it was, because it had diminished the joy of the day and made fabulous sex routine, and the thing was all the more annoying because he couldn't put a handle on it.

He labeled it as apprehension, and Jack suspected that Jimmie was bringing this down on him, but when Jack felt apprehensive about something he could normally isolate the reasons why and do something about the emotion. This was something else and it was dogging him all the time now. A dark, unidentifiable silhouette of something too far away to see with clarity.

Neither the Hornet nor Kato nor Donna Eichord's tastiest ice-cream treats could manage to dispel the sense of foreboding he carried. A shadowy thing that he knew would be taking form soon. A paranoiac, ominous suspicion and dread that made Eichord unfit for the company of lovable ducks.