Nina an’ me was settin’ on Grandpa Ross’s back porch a few weeks later with a quart of Rye’s best brew, enjoyin’ the full moon an’ celebratin’ me solvin’ my first homicide. Nina was wearin’ short, tight cutoffs an’ a man’s white dress shirt with the tails tied together in front so she looked like Daisy Mae.
Admirin’ her legs, I could feel my blood pressure rise—among other things. As far as I could tell—she wasn’t noticin’ any part of my anatomy, much less admirin’ it.
“Homer,” she said, “you ever been drunk?”
“Why’d you ask?”
“Just occurred to me, I never seen you outta control. Never even heard mention of you bein’ drunk. Ever.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Drunkenness in a man is a great fault.”
“Regular drunkenness is a fault, in a man or woman. Occasional drunkenness is a natural state. You ever been drunk?”
“I axed you first.”
“Once. No, twice. Once in the service.”
“What was the other time?”
“When I was eight. My daddy left his jug down where I could get into it. I swear he did it on purpose so I’d get sick an’ leave the stuff alone.”
“Which is just what happened.”
Like I may’a mentioned, Nina’s always been sharp.
“Which is what happened. You ever been drunk?” I axed her.
“Nope.”
“How’s that?”
“Momma always tole me if I got drunk, men’d take advantage. Was she right?”
“Some men would.”
“How ’bout you, Homer. If I got drunk, would you take advantage?”
I gave her what I hoped was a sly leer. “Whyn’t you get drunk an’ let’s see?”
She punched me in the upper arm. “Homer!”
Did I mention she punches like a mule kickin’?
“Hey, that hurt! I oughtta run you in for assaultin’ a peace officer.”
She moved over closer an’ gently touched the spot she’d hit. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Want I should kiss it, an’ make it better?”
That sounded promisin’. I looked to see if she was makin’ fun of me, but she didn’t seem to be sneerin’. I nodded. She kissed my arm, an’ that did make it better.
“You got any other spots hurt, Homer?”
I ’membered that great scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, where Indiana Jones keeps pointin’ to various places on hisself he figures it’s okay for Marian to kiss. An’ she kisses every one. I figured it was worth a try, but there was somethin’ naggin’ at me. “Nina, are you drunk?”
“Not yet, Homer.”
I wasn’t sure I could believe her.
She moved a little closer an’ sort of leaned against me an’ said, “Meanwhile, you got any other spots?”
I pointed to my gun-shot leg, an’ she kissed it. When I pointed to my shoulder, she kissed that, too. Naturally I pointed to my chin, then a little higher up.
In the end, it was pretty much like that scene from Raiders. Only I didn’t fall asleep.