Tinseltown Riff Page 25
In short, as Molly got that familiar distracted look, Ben could step in. Because if Molly showed up on her lonesome with the confiscated pigeons in tow, sloshed or not, Granny would let her have it and boot her off. “But if she saw Ben and he told her the story—wangled in the best way—Granny would be real happy and maybe even grateful for the male company. And for saving her granddaughter from a fall from grace. That way, everything would be forgiven.”
And, Molly added, ‘cause it was his birthday to boot, Ben would be offered all the barbeque and Cabernet Sauvignon he could handle. Plus a great outdoor tent and lots of peace and quiet to lick his wounds.
“Yeah,” said Molly, loosening her grip on the wheel. “That could do it. For the time being that could do it just fine.”
“I see,” Ben said, finally getting a chance to speak. “Talk about wangling, I didn’t have to say a word.”
“Not bad, huh? I do amaze myself sometimes. Like the pigeon idea. Would’ve worked too, given half a chance.”
“And enough rope, you could’ve hung yourself.”
“Oh, really? Then forget it if that’s the way you feel. Forget the whole thing.”
Molly peeled out, passed a dozen cars in the right lane and kept the pedal tromped to the floor.
“That’s not how I feel,” Ben blurted out.
“If that’s the way you treat a girl after all this.”
Way too beat to keep this up and worried she might blow a gasket, Ben said, “Okay, all right ... use me, I give.”
“I mean, what do you take me for? What do you think is going on here?”
“You tell me and we’ll both know.”
“Then why didn’t you hop out while you had the chance?”
“Hey, let’s just drop it, okay? Slow it down.”
“No, let’s have it, right now.”
Feeling more and more woozy, Ben leaned his head back as the truck rolled on.
“Come on, Ben. It’s a little late in the game to pretend to be tongue-tied.”
Noticing a teasing tone in her voice, Ben rubbed his right knee, failed to stifle another yawn and said, “Cute. That’s real cute. Will you slow down before we have an accident?”
Veering back into the right lane Molly said, “I would like an answer, please?”
Ben yawned a tad longer and deeper.
“I mean, what are you afraid of? What’s really going on with you?”
“Me? What is this? The ol’ pot calling the kettle black?”
“Come on, before you flake out on me.”
“It’s nothing. I can handle it.”
“Talk to me.”
“Look, missy, you don’t spell things out for the planet’s flightiest female.”
“Oh, I see.”
“That’s right. You don’t come out and tell her you’d like nothing better than to wind up around the ol’ campfire with her and Granny. And no matter what, you just want to be with her. You don’t leave yourself open like that. Not after all this.”
After a long, palpable silence, almost imperceptibly, her features began to soften. There was a glint in her eyes and the most winning smile in the world. She eased off the gas pedal, stroked his left knee and said, “All right then ... good deal ... Let’s just say we’ve got us a maybe for sure.”
Ben smiled right back at her and said, “You’re on.”
He fought off a few more yawns. After receiving another pat, this one on the shoulder, he knew he was going under. He reached down and retrieved the Hollywood souvenir pillow and curled up against the side panel.
With the ocean breeze wafting in, the curving roadway and horizon began to resemble the cover of Dr. Seuss’s birthday book with its ribbons of candy cane in cinnamon, tangerine and grape. His right knee continued to throb. But, all in all, he had to admit he was having a good day.