Page 3 of Pete and His Precious

“Oh, my precious darling, you are the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

I smiled. It’s my neighbor. I’ve never actually seen her, but her voice is sultry and smooth and sounds like a well oiled engine, or maybe a cat that has never scratched anyone. Cats are not my favorite, but anyway, her voice just soothes me more than a hot shower and hot food and gives me the peace that I’ve been longing for and I close my eyes.

“Your lips are so rosy and beautiful and your nose is strong just like your jaw which looks like it was chiseled from granite and I can’t ever get enough of running my hands through your full head of hair.”

I smile a little with my eyes still closed. I know she’s not talking about me. My hair can certainly not be described as a full head, in any sense of the word, but she wouldn’t be likely to say, I love running my hands over your smooth, bald head. Except, I still do have a little bit of hair up there.

My brothers teased me that I need to hurry up and find a girl before I lose it all. But I feel like when I find the right girl, she’s not going to care how much hair I have. Maybe I am overestimating the female species, and for some reason, crazy animal lover Naked Woman popped into my head.

I shove that image out as fast as I can. I don’t want her ruining this time of relaxation. Sure, I know my nameless neighbor is not talking to me, but it’s easy to pretend that she is.

Her voice continues on, and I feel myself relax. I’m not even sure what she’s doing. Whether it’s a book, or movie, or what. But, I’m tempted to respond.

Just to thank her for giving me a little bit of relaxation after a difficult day. Or to let her know how much what she’s doing encourages me.

But, she might be a cop hater too. What do I know? And, she might not appreciate me putting into her life. Plenty of people don’t. I know how belligerent some folks can get when I do it in my official capacity, because they’re breaking the law, or close to it. I can’t imagine how upset they’d be if I did it just as a normal person.

Maybe my job has made me a little bit bitter. It’s definitely made me tired, and I’m about ready to get up, when my phone buzzes.

Normally I would answer right where I am, but if I can hear her that easily through the wall, I’m sure she can hear me, and I don’t want to disturb her. So, I swipe my phone, but don’t say anything until I’m in my bedroom, where I sit down on the edge of my bed.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” a voice that sounds vaguely familiar says, but I don’t place it. “I am calling to ask you for a favor.”

“Okay,” I say, wishing I could figure out who it was. It was just a phone number that came up, one that I don’t really recognize. I can tell it’s a woman’s voice, and an older woman at that. All I know is that it’s not my mother. Thankfully. After the day I’ve had, I’m not sure I could handle her too, although I love her to pieces. Truly. She’s just... A little much sometimes.

“We're having the fall festival at the Baplodist Church, and I was hoping that you would be able to volunteer for the face painting.”

I am silent for just a moment. Volunteer means something different to me than what it does to her, apparently.

“I am not artistic. I can’t even draw strict stick figures.”

“That’s perfect. I’ll put you down. I’ll need you to be there at eight o’clock in the morning, and you’ll have to stay until at least five.”

“I might be doing security for the event,” I say, knowing that parents do not want me to be drawing on their children’s faces. Unless they want their kids to run around looking like someone accidentally threw up on them, which is basically what my stick figures look like, they’d be wise to keep their children away from me. Unless... Unless this woman is secretly trying to sabotage the festival?

“You are not. I’ve already called the station.”

“I’m sorry I missed your name,” I finally say, or should I say I finally find my backbone. Sometimes I have a tendency to be a bit of a pushover when it comes to women. I don’t like to be too forceful. I know that in my job, sometimes I have to be, but I was brought up that a man never hits a woman, and he shows her deference by opening her doors and carrying packages for her and that type of thing. My dad is a great example of that. I’ve always tried to be as much like him as I can.

The lady laughs. “Mrs. Higginbotham. From the Baplodist Church. I see you every Sunday.”

“Right.” That’s why her voice sounds familiar. I hear it, and I don’t even turn and look, I just speed walk in the opposite direction.

“I’m sorry. Now I know who you are. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize your voice.”

“Why don’t you program my name into your phone, and then the next time I call you you’ll know exactly who it is.”

The idea that there’s going to be a next time strikes fear into my heart, and maybe that’s why I don’t get any words outtelling her that I can’t possibly paint people’s faces. Particularly children. I’m...not that great with children. I’m a little bit scared of them to be honest. They’re so...sticky, and unpredictable.

“All right. I’ll be a bit with more specifics. You’ll have a partner, and it’s possible that you also might have to take a turn on the dunking booth. I’ve only gotten two volunteers for that currently, and neither one of them are at the age of consent.”

Age of consent? What in the world was she talking about.? I feel like this woman, who should be five steps behind me, has just blown circles around me. That’s a testament to how terrible my day was. It has to be.

“I’ll be back in touch at some point in time.”

She hangs up, and I’m left holding the phone to my ear, feeling like I’ve just been run over by a truck. Like my day wasn’t bad enough.

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