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Black and Single Blues
by Dwight Hobbes

Part 46

Next morning, his thoughts still wouldn’t leave him alone. Jealousy or no jealousy, temper or no temper, the gal was way deep under his skin. He couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. He went to Central Park where he headed, for no particular reason, toward the zoo and caught sight of a fetching female walking hand in hand with her hunk.

They smiled and chatted. She touched his arm, laughing, bouncing her head off his shoulder. He cupped his palm around her waist. Keith wistfully looked after as, oblivious to him, they kept going. He hummed the melody to “Some Guys Have All the Luck”.


How in the hell do you get someone to want you back? He firmly believed you can’t make someone want you. With him that was a mantra which is why devastatingly gorgeous women never drove him quite as crazy as they did other guys in his line of work. You ran into them all time. If you developed a crush on one and didn’t know how to get over it when she didn’t have one on you, you were going to make yourself insane every time you saw her, especially when she was with another guy. Or, for that matter, a woman.

A cover girl he’d always run into in the theatre district made his pulse run riot but, wouldn’t give him the time of day. He learned to live with it.

This was different. Lesli once had wanted him. And, now, that he thought about it wouldn’t have got so mad if she didn’t still want him. Didn’t mean, however, she was going to take him back. She was stubborn enough to hold out until that want died, which meant he had to get to her before that happened. So, what was he going to do?

It wasn’t about just regaining the interest of some casual bed partner. Take her some place nice for dinner, out to see a good show and it pretty much was a done deal. No. Lesli had left angry as a hornet’s nest, probably spent a week cussing him out and if he called her, just might hang up on him after giving him a fresh cussing out. Well, maybe not.

One thing, she wouldn’t cuss him out over her work phone. His spirits were about to brighten when he realized she might simply not take the call and merely have her assistant brush him off.

Getting a breath of fresh air turned out not to be as helpful as he’d hoped it would. Well, he was going to go watch the otters, anyway, a never ending source of amusement. He’d seen a special on History Channel, PBS, whatever the hell station it was, with a pair of those rascals in a river, underwater, tossing some poor turtle back and forth like a Frisbee.

The first time he’d gone to see nature’s original pain in the a** in real life was at the enclosure here, where some genius had put them in with spider monkeys. Those otters lived to make life miserable for those poor monkeys. They’d lurk in the water; wait until a monkey was far enough out on a branch for his tail to hang down overhead. Shoot up, nip the little guy’s tail, and land right back in the water.

It wouldn’t hurt the monkey, just scare the living hell out of him and he’d go racing off, chattering, hysterically climbing up and down the tree. Keith wouldn’t be surprised if the otters were sitting around underwater, having a beer, playing cards, laughing their a***s off.

NEXT WEEK, Part 47: Ginger breezes in.

Copyright Indie Gypsy Press

 





 
 

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