Page 126 - The Geography of Women

112 Jack Fritscher

“Oh, Wilmer!” Mizz Ludicrous said. “You’re so
romantique!”
Hasten, Jason! Bring the basin! “You better get him to
put it in writin,” I said. “He’s a vacuum cleaner salesman.”
“Shut up,” Mizz Lulabelle said.
“Wait one big fat minute,” I said. “You mean, all this
time I been waitin for somebody who never was invited
to come?”
“I didn’t say Jessie wasn’t invited,” Wilmer said. “I
never said she wasn’t comin.”
Mizz Lulabelle jumped right in. “An you never said
she was.”
“Yes, ma’m, he said she was comin,” I said.
“Wilmer,” Mizz Lula whined.
Wilmer looked me square in the eye. “Ambiguities,
my dear, are what make a successful salesman. Look how
in this unambiguous town I’ve made ambiguities work for
ambigu ous you.”
What a pair! You could almost believe they were meant
for each other since the dawn a monkey business.
“Tell me,” I said, “how you could seduce, divorce, an
abandon a woman like Jessarose for a woman like Mizz
Lulabelle.”
“Hey, Sport,” Wilmer said. “Be a sport, huh? Play the
game.”
“What game?”
“Wise up for once in a blue moon! The game that’s
goin on, runnin circles around you. Did your Daddy nick-
name you Sport for nothing?”
“Am I missin somethin?” I asked. “Like one a your
damn big ambiguities?”
Wilmer broke away from Mizz Lulabelle. “Yeah.”
“What?”

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