Ramon, the dating expert, was doing his best to counsel Arturo, who sought help because his love life was a zero, had always been a zero. Ramon was under contract to provide for Arturo ten dates, one of which had to have at least some degree of success -- meaning at least a second date or a romantic encounter. Failing that, Arturo’s money was to be refunded. Thus far, nine dates had failed miserably and Arturo was down to his last one. Ramon had just one girl left for him, and this girl’s record as far as dating was concerned was no better than Arturo’s. Her name was Penelope, and Ramon described her to Arturo as thus: “She’s got some cans, man. This much I can tell you. Cans as big as…well…big cans.”
“Cans, really?” replied Arturo.
“And stems too,” added Ramon. “Stems, gams, whatever you want to call them.”
“Stems?” said Arturo. “She’s got stems?”
“Like a dancer, you know?” said Ramon. “A ballet dancer with the long legs. And I’ll tell you the best part…”
“It gets better?” asked Arturo, incredulously. “How can this be?”
“Of course it gets better,” said Ramon. “For my favorite client I get nothing but the best girls. Let me tell you something, Arturo, this girl…this girl…well, she’s got an ass that won’t quit. That’s the best part. That ass didn’t quit today, it won’t quit tomorrow, and it sure didn’t quit yesterday. That’s what I’m saying to you, my friend.”
“She’s got all this,” said Arturo, “and you think she’d go for a guy like me? Is this even possible?”
“A guy like you?” replied Ramon. “Hell yes, a guy like you. You are Arturo Romero and nothing can stop you. Nothing. You are a red hot fire cracker!”
“Me? You really think so?”
“You just need a little back story,” said Ramon. “Now work with me.”
Ramon advised Arturo that he needed to add an edge to his rather ordinary personality. He needed to learn to play a little hardball every once in a while, show everyone who was boss in this town. The ladies want that out of a man, Ramon counseled, they would respect his power and revel in his protection. By the end of their date he would have Penelope in the palm of his hand, he would have her cans in the palms of his hands. All he needed to do was to tell her this…
Arturo spied a girl sitting alone in a booth at the bar they’d agree upon for their date. She looked like a woman from a 1940’s movie. Her dress was vintage, her lips bright red. She wore a red scarf over her hair. Arturo extended a single red rose as he approached the booth. “Might you be Penelope?”
“I just might be,” she replied, taking the rose from his hand. “And are you the Latin lover I’m supposed to be meeting?”
“I certainly am,” said Arturo. “May I take a seat?”
“Please do.”
Arturo and Penelope shared pleasant small talk while enjoying drinks and appetizers. But Arturo had been this far along before, with nights like this ending with a simple handshake and some vague promises for a future date, which never materialized. It was time for him to play some hardball, just as Ramon had advised. “Before we go any further,“ said Arturo, “I have to come clean about something.”
“Uh-oh,” said Penelope, “here it comes.”
“Hey,” said Arturo, “I’m a hard guy and I have hard things to say.”
“Say, I’m no easy dame either,” Penelope replied. “Spill it.”
“It’s just that, well, I used to bang. In my past I used to bang a little. That’s the truth of it.”
“Bang on what?” asked Penelope. “Pots and pans on New Year’s Eve?”
“No, that wasn’t it.”
“Bang on what?” she continued. “The drums? Are you a drummer in a band?”
“No, not that at all.”
“Erasers?” asked Penelope. “Did you get detention and have to bang on erasers?”
“No,” said Arturo, “nothing even close to that.”
“Because that’s what they used to do, before the modern day.”
“I know that,” said Arturo, “I do know that. But that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”
“Well, what are you banging on then?”
“I was in a gang, okay?” said Arturo. “I was a gang member. I banged with a gang because I was a gang member. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What kind of gang are we talking about here? Did you steal horses? Were you in a horse thieving gang?”
“A horse thieving gang?” said Arturo. “Are you kidding me? What is this, 1875?”
“Well how am I supposed to know?” replied Penelope. “What’d you do in this gang?”
“You know what a gang is, don’t you?” asked Arturo. “You wear the certain colors, you stand on the corner and flash signs. That kind of stuff.”
“What kind of signs?” asked Penelope. “Peace signs?”
“No, not peace signs,” said Arturo. “Gang signs. With the fingers and the guns and the…”
“I like this one sign where aim your thumbs down and put your index fingers together. It makes a heart, see?”
“Oh brother,” sighed Arturo, “this isn’t working at all. This is awful. I should quit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Who am I kidding?” said Arturo. “I wasn’t in a gang. That was just a ruse.”
“So you didn’t bang?
“No,” he admitted to her, “I didn’t bang. I was trying to play hardball with you. I was trying to get you interested in me. I meant no harm. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” said Penelope. “That’s okay. So you didn’t bang. You’re still okay by me. But see, I have to come clean too. The truth is, though you may not have banged, I did.”
“You?” said Arturo, exasperated. “You’re telling me that you banged?”
“Well, just with myself. I was a gang of one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Arturo. “You can‘t call it a gang if you‘re all by yourself.”
“Well, I didn’t need anybody else,” said Penelope.
“What did you do?” said Arturo. “I won’t tell anyone. I‘m no snitch.”
“I robbed a bank. That’s what I did.”
“What!”
Penelope told Arturo of a hot summer day, a yellow dusty kind of day without a single breeze to stir up the air. She was poor, jobless, with really nothing left to lose. On impulse she disguised herself beneath a scarf and robbed the first bank she came upon. Penelope managed to escape back to her apartment okay, but a dye pack the bank had inserted in her money bag exploded, discoloring much of the loot she’d scored. With the money she was able to salvage, Penelope bought a tandem bicycle at a pawn shop. She’d never even ridden it, never had a partner to ride with. “They call me the Kissing Bandit,” she told Arturo, proudly. “I guess because of my bright red lipstick.”
“You’re the Kissing Bandit?” said Arturo. “I’ve heard of you. You’re wanted. Did you know that?”
“Of course I know that,” she replied. “But they probably don’t want me all that much. I hardly got anything.”
“Still, bank robbery is frowned upon.”
Penelope agreed. She then had an idea. “Say, Arturo, how’d you like a second date?”
“A second date?” he replied. “Wow, that’d be new territory for me.”
“Sure, a second date,” said Penelope. “I’ll break out my tandem bike. I’ll sit up front, and you can ride in the back and flash gang signs at all your friends.”
“I don’t think I’d get shot to death for doing that, but more like ridiculed to death. I don’t believe gang signs have ever been flashed from the back of a bicycle built for two.”
“You can sit up front then,” said Penelope. “I don’t mind. I tell you, we’ll have high times you and me. High times and big laughs.”
So began a quaint courtship and eventually a life of crime for Arturo and the Kissing Bandit, although Arturo wasn’t too impressed with the nickname the press had given to him. In bed, under the covers, he angrily shook the newspaper in his hands. “Do you know what they’re calling us?” he asked Penelope.
“Who’s calling us what?” said Penelope, absently filing her fingernails.
“Them, everyone, the police,” said Arturo.
“What are they calling us, dear?”
“The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” asked Penelope.
“Well, every adult is more or less oval-headed,” replied Arturo. “Is that the best description they could think of for me -- the only description?”
“Hey mister,“ said Penelope, reaching for him under the covers. “I don’t know about anybody else, but I like an oval-headed guy.”
“But don’t you understand that that isn’t unique? Don’t you get that?”
Penelope just laughed. Arturo wasn’t much to look at, but he had in his bed the Kissing Bandit, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
The end.
Postscript: The Kissing Bandit and the Oval-headed Guy are still on the loose. Who could ever arrest -- or even suspect -- a couple of hard core bank robbers on a bicycle built for two?
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| Welcome Cordelia Katie Scarlett Schulte! |
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| art by Arlette Malivernier |
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| A Snowman's Christmas |
haha! great!
ReplyDeleteYay Arturo!
ReplyDelete