Slice

BUCKHEAD SPRINGS

“Whatcha doin'?"

“Umm, everybody I can,” he promised her, “and you're next. Pull up some mattress and park that gorgeous bod."

“Okay. You've made me an offer I can't refuse. Here we come.” And a band dropped something small and fuzzy and gray beside Jack. “Herrrrrrrrre's Tuffkins!"

“Well, hello, pal."

Tuffy attacked one of the pieces of paper scattered across the bed.

“MasterCard,” Donna said, “we're bored and we wants some hot action."

“Did you say something about hot action?” She nodded. “You don't mean like THIS, do you?” And he jumped on her and began what he called a frontal nuzzling attack.

“AAAK,” she screamed “Truce!"

“Say what?"

“Uncle! Help! Stop. I give. I'm not bored anymore."

“Uhhhh. How about you, Tuffy? Are you bored?"

The cat wisely ignored him.

“Tell me the truth."

“Yeah?"

“Who's the sexiest woman you've ever seen—and don't say me."

“Don't say me? Okay. No problem. I won't say me."

“You know what I mean. But I want to know. First one who pops into your mind. Not counting present company. The real sex goddesses. Marilyn. Those kinda girls. Who was your favorite?"

“Who wants to know?"

“I wants to know. Me and my pal Tuffkins want to know."

“Marilyn."

“Who else?"

“Bardot?"

“Yeah. I can see that. Brigitte at fifteen was unbelievable."

“My favorite Bardot was at forty, if you're serious. One of the loveliest pictures of a woman I can remember seeing was that shot of her next to the baby seal, talking about the seal-killers. She was about forty as I remember, no longer the sex kitten, but doing something about animal cruelty. I recall she hugged this gorgeous seal and said whatever it was she said about the seal culls—the harvests or whatever those heartless assholes call them—and she said a line I still remember. She said they killed seals to make fur toys and coats for stupid women."

“God"—Donna sat up in the bed—"you know, I remember that too."

“She was one of the first big stars to say that. I don't know if it did any good. But it was such a strong indictment of those rich ... I don't want to say the word to you—you know the kind of woman—those hot-shit jet-setter Fifth Avenue sluts. Anyway, she went on to say to this little seal, she hugged it and said, But we'll get ‘em. Meaning the furriers or the stupid women or the guys who slaughtered the seals for a living. And I said right back to her, No baby, no you won't, but it's a lovely thought."

“There's a lot more fake fur sold now. She may have helped, honey."

“You don't fight city hall and win. You don't screw with human nature and prevail. You don't alter the course of evolution. We like to run everything out to the edge. Push it to the max. It's what will take us down. We'll find safe nuclear energy too irresistible. Or we'll keep building that first strike capability against the other guys and one day some nutcase will find a way to leave his or her mark on history with the push of a button. It's human nature."

Donna wished she hadn't gotten this one started. He had seemed so gloomy and downbeat the last few days. He'd leave for the office, as she called it, in a good mood and come home that night bummed-out and depressed. She reached out and ran a soft band across the side of his face. “Ooooh. Barbed wire."

“Yeah?” He smiled.

“Not shaving today, are we?"

“Just hadn't got the energy. I got a bad case of the lazies today,” he told her, scratching the kitten behind the ears.

“Do you know something?” she said, leaning very close. “I've never told you this, Officer, but I've never kissed a man with a beard before."

“That's a coincidence,” he said. “Neither have I."

And she laughed into his mouth.