Ladies Who Lunch.

Billy was downstairs, so I was watching Under Siege. It was the only way I could watch the film without getting a blow by blow description of the manifest idiocy of Casey Ryback versus the unsung genius of the other clown.

Deb:  Beth!  Hi, how's by you! How was the trip?

Beth:  Wonderful, marvelous!  What are you doing for lunch?

Deb:  Tossing some raw meat down the stairs, other than that nothing
special.  Why?  Where's Sam?

Beth:  Heading back you your neck of the woods.  I thought we might debrief
each other over a salad.  Billy in the basement again?  Where's the 
Setter?

Deb:  Blew this popcorn stand.  Does the name Jade mean anything to you?

Beth:  Somebody Ryan goes to when Billy gets too much for him.  Why don't
we get together someplace?

Deb:  Soumds like a plan.  I'll snag some legal tender from Mr. Gotrocks.
Where?  When?

Beth named a local restaurant and we set a time.  I called to arrange 
for a taxi, then went to make the withdrawl from the Main Branch of the
First Bank of Billy.  I pounded on the basement door for a good five 
minutes.  Eventually there was the sound of seven-league boots on the
stairs and I was faced with a very sweaty and perturbed Billy.

Billy:  What the hell you want?

Deb:  Money.  Then I'll go away.

Billy:  What for?

Deb:  Nefarious purposes.  Quit jacking me around.

Billy:  You're not gettin' a damn dime outa me unless you tell me what for.

Deb:  Lunch.  With Beth.  Satisfied?

Billy:  Why they hell didn'tcha say so.  How much d'you want?

Deb:  How much you got?

Billy:  You and I are gonna tangle, baby...here.  Get me a damn sandwich
before you go and take the cellphone.  I'll call.

Simple enough to do as he asked, and doubtless prudent as well since he
was dusty and sweaty and extremely anti-social.  I constructed a huge and
excessively sloppy dagwood and put it on a plate by the basement door.  I
pounded on the locked panel once, hollered 'FOOD' and bolted before he
could come out and yell at me some more.

It was easy to find Beth.  All I had to do was look for the glow.  She
had ordered Heinekens and shot me an utterly blinding grin of perfect
happiness when the waitress brought me to the table.

Deb:  Girl, that is the most intensely well...er...

Beth:  It is.  And I was.  I am.  I devoutly hope I will be again.  So, is
the basement going back to Chaos Central?

Deb:  I strongly suspect so, though I officially don't know a damn thing in
case I fall into Sam's clutches again.  Never mind Billy.  We know Billy.
What about Sam?

Beth drank thirstily.

Beth:  I don't know where to start.

Deb:  Anyplace is fine with me.  I'm not picky.  He..um...declare himself
yet?

Beth:  No...but he gave me this.

Beth pulled the pendant out of the collar of her blouse and held it out
so I could examine it.

Deb:  How pretty!  When did he give you that?

Beth:  Yesterday, just before we started back.  He must have picked it up
while I was at a meeting or something.  He told me he wanted me to have
something to remember him by when we weren't able to be together.

Deb:  Never thought I'd see it...Sam Gerard, hopeless romantic.

Beth:  He was telling me about his childhood.  It sounded so hard.  I kept
seeing this little boy desperately wanting someone to notice him.  He said
he's more like his father than he wanted to be, and he has to keep
reminding himself not to close up.

Deb:  The boy's going against every bit of conditioning he had, isn't he?

Beth:  Exactly.  When he gets involved, he really gets involved - he's
as intense about relationships as he is about anything else.  He said when
he found a woman he wanted, she was going to get it all.  And he wants me.
How was your week?

Deb:  By way of comparison...not bad.  I spent it in a Roach Motel, when
I wasn't following Strannix all over hell.

The cellphone by my hand rang.

Deb:  Just a minute.  I'm being summoned.  Yes, Dear Heart?

Billy:  Shut up and listen.  Write this down.

Billy recited an address, which I scribbled on a napkin.

Billy:  Got it?  Take a taxi here when you're done feedin' your face.

Deb:  Mot much choice, since I had to take a taxi here.  Wouldn't occur
to Captain Ahab to bring the Pequod and come pick me up, would it?

Billy:  Not a chance.

I heard an intercom someplace behind him.

Deb:  Where are you, the county morgue or someplace cheery like that?

Billy:  Keep it up.  I'm buyin' you a truck so you can go home when you
wanna.

Deb:  A truck...well, bless your mercenary heart, Billy-boy.  I'm sure
you have reasons totally unconnected with philanthropy for buying me a
truck.  Why don't you just fly me to Rochester and I can drive my shitbox
from there?

Billy:  Shitbox ain't there anymore.

Deb:  I left it there.

Billy:  I know that.  It's why I told Ryan to go ahead and take it.

Deb:  What?  Madman Gaerity's got my car!  It's not paid for yet, you 
slimeball!  Who told you to go ahead and give Ryan my damn car?

Billy:  You ain't gonna need the damn thing.  You're gonna have a truck.  
Besides...I'm just hackin' into Ford Motor Credit now and...there, paid off.

Deb:  You lost me.  Paid off?

Billy:  What's it sound like, punk?

Deb:  Like somebody got screwed?  Would it be ignorant of me to hope that
some money somehow actually changed hands?

Billy:  Come on, baby, I said I hacked in.

Deb:  Crap.  So...what sort of truck are you buying?

Billy:  Suburban.

Deb:  My butt!  I don't drive Chevies!

Beth was only getting half of this, but she hadn't known Billy for as 
long as she had without being able to guess at the part she couldn't hear.
She ordered appetizers and more Heineken, while listening closely and
stifling laughs.

Billy:  You drive what I buy, punk.

Deb:  You just paid off my Escort.  I'd sooner drive that than a damn old
rotten Suburban.

Billy:  You know what F-O-R-D stands for, baby?

Deb:  Please...Fix Or Repair Daily, Frigged Over Road Disaster, Flip Over
Read Directions, F'd Over Rebuilt Dodge...shall I go on?  Little boys wear
bowties...

Billy:  Aw, shut the hell up!  You don't want a Chevy, what the hell do you
want?

Deb:  An Expedition.  Black. Eddie Bauer model, with a CD player and 
leather interior.  Four by four.  Got that?

Billy:  Shit!

Deb:  No, an Expedition...

Billy:  Christ on a pogo stick!  I'll find one!  Keep the damn phone on!

Beth had heard Billy's last, and was laughing delightedly.

Beth:  Man, you're runnin' him!  He must really care for you to take all
that!  If it was me, he'd put me up against the wall.

Deb:  You think so, Beth?

Beth:  Oh-oh.  Wistful.  You haven't...

Deb:  I think so.  Never thought I could before now.

Beth:  Don't even think about using the 'l' word.  He'll run.

Deb:  Told me not to even bother, it wouldn't make any difference.  If I
pissed him off, I'd be gone.

Beth:  Sounds like him.  Now, here's the kicker...if I'd said what you
said he'd bounce me around the block.  What do you have to do to piss him
off?

Deb:  I don't think I want to find out, I'll tell you that much.

Beth:  And what's that around your neck...his Annapolis ring?  I've never
seen that out of his drawer.  He's gettin' at something.  If I were you, I'd
play dumb and let him get around to talking about it.

I was unable to really respond before the appetizers and the Heinekens
came.  We told the waitress to keep the green bottles coming - apparently
hadn't learned from our last run-in with the pride of the Netherlands.
After the appetizers had been consumed and the most recent Heinekens 
drunk, we ordered salads.  The light lunch was hardly capable of combatting 
the effects of multiple beers, but by that point sobriety seemed to be the
least of our concerns.  We were a little tight and a lot giggly by dessert,
and we kept on sinking the beers.

Beth:  Maybe we oughta go fin' Billy.

Deb:  He's'posta call an' he didn'.  T'hell with 'im.  Wanna 'nother
beer?

Beth was open to that.  I was open to the one she offered me.  We were
just pretty darn open, generally speaking, and stayed that way through
most of the afternoon.  We were wide open and ripped as hell when Billy
finally called.

Deb:  Howzit hangin, Dude?

Billy:  You been drinkin, baby?

Deb:  Like a damn old fish.  Got my Expec...Expung...Expectorator?

Billy:  Your what?

Deb:  My Expe...Exploder?

Billy:  Yeah, I got it.  Shut up and listen...

Beth:  Ze gotcher truck?

Deb:  Dude sezze does.  Wherena hell izzit, Dude?

Billy:  Don't be callin' me dude, punk.

Deb:  Don' be callin me punk, Dude.

Billy:  Stay on the damn line.  Get in a cab and let me talk to the cabbie.
Understand me?

Deb:  Okey-dokey, Billy.

I hung up on him and Beth and I headed for the door.  The phone was
ringing insanely, but we both had to ignore it if we wanted to pay our
bill and find a taxi.  Finally, when we had a cabbie who didn't know if
he was amused by us or terrified that one of us was going to blow chunks
in his cab, Beth grabbed the phone.

Beth:  Huh?  hang up?...

Beth was about as bad off as I was.  It took two or three more attempts
on Billy's part before he was finally able to talk to the cabbie.

Billy:  Damn, I oughta paddle you, but you'd puke.  Shut up, sign where I
tell ya.  Siddown, pipsqueak.

Beth:  Okay, dude.

Deb:  Yup, Billy.  Okey-dokey, Billy.  You betcha, Billy.  Whereza truck?

Billy:  Comin' from Amarillo on a damn slow car hauler...

I must have been more plowed than I thought.  I stepped close to Billy
and grinned stupidly up into his face.

Deb:  Oooh, Studley, I owe you one...

Billy peeled me off him and poured the both of us into the Suburban for
the ride to Beth's.  I was instructed not to return until I sobered up.

TO BE CONTINUED...