The Nightrunners Part 12

The angel was on the beach and she was looking at him. She had her hand over her mouth, was bent double and laughing; the worst kind of laugh, one of those sneaky kind you hold behind your hand so it won't explode like a bomb.

A wave came in, and his suntan lotion floated up. Neat. The radio cost $19.95 and what floats up? The $2.98 suntan lotion.

He clutched the lotion, looked at the angel. He could see teeth on either side of her hand now, and he was surprised to discover that a person really could grin from ear to ear.

This was beginning to make him a little angry.

He stood up, moved his foot about in the sand, hoping to find the radio. No luck.

"Pardon me," he said, looking at the angel, who looked close to hyper ventilation.

"Wha . . . ?" she tried.

He slapped wet sand from his legs and bathing suit, waded to sh.o.r.e. The towel clung to him like a sash. The suntan lotion was clutched in his hand like a blunt instrument-well, it was a thought.

"Pardon me," he repeated. "Someone tell you a good joke?"

"Unnuh," she said, and it just got out from behind her fingers before she exploded into hysterical laughter.

"No, huh?"

"... n ... no." Didn't she know it was impolite to drop to one knee laughing?

"No?"

She took a deep breath, stood. "Just saw a good joke."

"Nice."

"Are you always so clumsy?"

"Mostly just when I'm trying to impress good-looking women."

"I'm impressed."

"I can see that. Works every time."

"I see. You see an attractive woman and you fall down?"

"It's a killer, isn't it?"

"Have you thought about using leg braces when you go girl watching?"

"The braces rust in this salt air."

"So you don't think leg braces would solve the problem?"

"Speaking of legs, that's certainly a nice pair you use to carry you around."

"Oh, so it's my legs you noticed, nothing else?"

"How can I tell you I like your brain when we haven't even met. All I know is what I see, and I like that. But maybe I'll find out you're not too bright and that you have disgusting bathroom habits."

"Oh, I don't think you'll have to worry about finding out much."

"Uh-oh, hurt your feelings. I'm just saying I'd like to find out if you're . . . smart."

"I'm smart enough to see where this is going. And that's what I'm doing, going."

"Guess I said something wrong, showed my a.s.s?"

"Yes, you have-in more ways than one. And it's very white and not very good-looking. I think I saw pimples on it."

"You did see . . . ?"

"It was hard to miss."

"Look, I was just trying to impress you- "You have, all right. Go fish for your radio."

"Look, look, don't walk off. I fell. You saw my a.s.s, and then I tried to impress you with my suave recovery, and I was doing okay until I had a male chauvinistic relapse, the stuff about your legs. But I mean . . . you wouldn't wear that if you didn't want men to look . . . s.h.i.+t."

"Open mouth, insert other foot." She bent to pick up a large blue towel from the beach.

"That yours?" he said, and immediately regretted it.

"No, I steal these when I come across them. Sew them together and they make fabulous bedspreads, great Christmas gifts."

"I don't seem to be doing so good."

"No, you don't." She began walking away.

"Hey," he said, bounding after her, "you can't walk away like that."

"Oh no, here I go."

"You can't do that. Don't walk away like that."

She turned a furious face on him, slung the towel over her shoulder. "How about like this?" And she began taking long, ridiculous strides.

Montgomery couldn't help himself. He began to laugh.

She went a few more steps, turned with her hands on her hips, then she laughed.

"Hey, you," she said, "walk this way," and she started off across the sand taking those ridiculous strides, and Montgomery followed mocking her walk, and pretty soon they were side by side laughing.

They stopped walking.

"Look," Montgomery said, "I'm sorry. Let's start over."

"All right."

"My, but don't I know you from somewhere?"

"No. My name is Becky s.h.i.+ner."

"And my name is Montgomery Jones."

"Have you considered changing it?"

"Often."

"That's one of the worst names I've ever heard."

"Not quite. The middle name is Buford."

"You're pulling my leg?"

"I wish I were . . . s.h.i.+t."

"Maybe later."

"Yeah?"

"Down boy."

"Sorry."

"Montgomery Buford Jones. Hummm. G.o.d, that's awful! Are you a second or a junior?"

"Actually, I'm a junior, but forget that."

"Montgomery Buford Jones, Jr-"

"You're not forgetting."

"-will you buy me a hot dog?"

"You kidding? I'll rob the G.o.dd.a.m.ned stand if you want me to."

"I'll settle for you buying me a hot dog. We'll knock over a filling station later."

Not long after, Montgomery got money from the glove box of his car. They bought and ate hot dogs, they walked along the beach holding hands, and talked until the sun p.o.o.ped out and the moon checked in. They discussed everything. Politics. Religion.

He told her about his part-time job and she told him about her part-time job, and he told her how he was finis.h.i.+ng up college in a year at the University of Houston, and she told him she was doing the same and wasn't it amazing that they had never met, and he said, I'll say, and wouldn't it be nice if we took some cla.s.ses together, and she said yeah, and then he told her things about himself, and how he had tried out for sports in high school and had fallen down a lot, and she told him how she had been on the track and swim team and had been quite good at both, and for him not to take this personal, but it didn't look as if he had become any more athletic than before, considering his dramatic entrance into the water today, and he laughed at that, and they continued to talk about anything and everything until it was very, very late. They went to his apartment in Houston that first night.

on me.

on me, Monty.

"Monty. Oh, Monty."

"What?"

"Remember me, your wife? The girl lying next to you on the beach towel? Will you put some suntan lotion on me?"

"s.h.i.+t, I'm sorry. I was daydreaming."

"About long, brown legs, I bet."

"Yep."

"Well, you s.h.i.+t."

"About yours."

"I bet."

"I was."

"Don't snow me, Mr. Montgomery Buford Jones, JR."

He put an arm around her. "I was thinking about how we met."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Oh, and how was that? I don't seem to remember.

Seems you've always been with me. Like a birth defect."

"There's always plastic surgery."

"You'd just leave a scar."

"I hope so."

"Were you really thinking about my legs?"

"Yep."

"Do you ever think about other women's legs?"

"G.o.d forbid."

"Monty, come on."

"Sometimes?"

"Do you ever think about more than the legs?"