The Boys from Santa Cruz

2

Lordy, I have died and woke up in heaven, thought Pender. Big old canopied feather bed, white curtains stirring lazily in the open window, sky the color of faded jeans, little birdies singing like they were having a contest-and he wasn’t even hungover. Song lyrics jockeyed for position in his head, and “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’” triumphed-it may not have been original, but it was awfully goddamn apt.

All the while, though, there was something small and nasty scratching at the back door of Pender’s consciousness. He tried to ignore it, but it slipped through while he and Amy were making sweet morning love, and he went embarrassingly limp.

“What is it?” Amy asked him, surfacing from under the covers.

“I just remembered where I’m supposed to be this morning.”

“I knew it-I knew you were married.”

“No, that’s not it,” he said miserably. “I mean, I am married, but that’s not it.”

Warily: “What, then?”

“I couldn’t…I mean, you wouldn’t want to- Aw, fuck it!” And suddenly, without any particular sense of having made up his mind, or even having thought it over, he knew what he was going to do. Or rather, not do.