Lou Starr was in bed reading, covered to the waist by a sheet. He’d set the air at sixty - eight and heard the compressor kick on outside. He pushed up the glasses that were falling off the end of his nose and stared at the signature hole of a new Robert Trent Jones PGA golf course called Whispering Palms.
He fondled the medallion that was hanging from a gold chain around his neck, resting on a sweater of chest hair. Lou said, “Want to see the best - looking new hole in golf?” He tilted the magazine toward Karen on the other side of the king - size bed, two feet of mattress between them.
Karen didn’t say anything. She was propped up on pillows, the bedsheet angling across her chest revealing the pale white skin of her shoulder and the round curve of a breast. She was watching a sitcom on a Sony flat screen that hung on the wall a few feet away.
“It’s a six - hundred - yard par five,” Lou said. “Longest one in golf.” He grinned now, imagining himself on the tee looking down the fairway. He took a couple practice swings with his Fusion FT-3 driver and blasted the ball three hundred and twenty-five yards straight down the pike. Hey, Tiger, beat that.
Lou hit his second shot over a bunker and a water hazard - on in two. He lined up the putt and sent the ball forty feet over a swale - left to right - for an eagle. He grinned big and closed the magazine and placed it on the table next to the bed. He took off his reading glasses, put them on top of the magazine and turned off the light.
Lou slid over next to Karen, touched her shoulder with his index finger, tracing a line down her arm to her elbow. He was horny. She’d been putting him off for a couple of weeks. First it was her period. What could he say about that? Then her allergies kicked in. What allergies? She’d never mentioned them before. And the past few nights she’d been too tired. From what, Lou wanted to know? All she did was go to the mall while he worked his ass off. He was wondering what he’d gotten himself into. They’d been living together for eight months and he was sure there were monks who got laid more than he did. Well he was going to get some tonight. He demanded it.
Lou moved his hand under the covers, stroked Karen’s thigh, her hip, the smooth round point of her pelvis under the nightie.
Karen pushed his hand away. “Come on, Lou. Not now.”
“Not now,” Lou said, “when?”
She was watching Pardon My French, this stupid fucking sitcom.
Karen said, “Chuck’s getting married.”
She sounded like she knew him. “Well, we’re engaged,” Lou said, “in case you forgot. How about my right to a piece of ass every couple months whether I need it or not?” He slid away from her, rolled over on his side.
A few minutes later it was over. He could hear the announcer’s voice say: “Pardon My French has been brought to you by Levitra. The more you know about ED, the more you’ll want to know about Levitra.”
Lou got a kick out of that, Levitra for all the losers who couldn’t get it up. He was fifty-six and still had a hard-on like a steel post. He glanced at Karen - hoping she’d slip her nightie off and attack him - this good - looking woman who was more interested in TV than sex. What was wrong with this picture?
He watched her yawn and close her eyes. The switcher slipped out of her hand and fell on the bed. Her eyes flickered open. She yawned again, picked up the remote and turned off the TV. It was dark, the room was quiet except for the ticking of his clock.
He’d been asleep for some time - he was sure of it - when he heard the noise. It was loud too, like something breaking, a window maybe, he couldn’t tell. He looked at the clock. It was 2:48. He turned toward Karen. She heard it too, her eyes were big, a nervous look on her face.
“What was that?” Karen said.
She sat up and opened the drawer of her bedside table, took out her Airweight .357 and turned towards him. He was bringing the .45 out of his drawer, racking it. They got up with their guns and moved around the bed and went through the doorway into the living room.
Bobby saw them come in the dark room, holding guns, barrels pointed up like TV cops. They didn’t go together, Bobby was thinking. The guy was short and hairy like a gorilla. The girl was something though - lean and pale with skinny arms and nice jugs he could see hanging under the thin fabric of her nightie. He knew their names, Lou and Karen.
Bobby made his move coming in behind them, pointing the .32, telling them, if they moved, he’d blow their fucking heads off. Delivering the line like he meant it, surprised by the sound of his voice in the quiet room. They bent down and placed their guns on the carpet, and now Lloyd entered from the other side of the room.
“Folks, step back here, have a seat, will you?” Bobby said it friendly and polite, no reason to be rude now that he had their attention. He waved the gun motioning them toward the couch.
Lou said, “What the hell do you want?”
“Have a seat over here, we’ll let you know,” Bobby said.
Lloyd picked up the .357 and the .45. Bobby was wondering why these suburbanites were armed in the first place, not to mention the large calibre handguns. Lou grabbed an afghan off the couch wrapped it around Karen’s shoulders and they both sat down.
“Come with me,” Bobby said to Karen. She didn’t hesitate, got up and headed toward the bedroom.
Lou said, “Hey… where are you taking her?”
Copyright © Peter Leonard, 2009