CHAPTER 6--GIFT SHOP GIRL

November, 1996

And before too long, I fell in love with her!

-Lennon, McCartney

I

n the beginning she wasn't the sugar-spun sister, as I said, she was the gift shop girl. It was in late November when Louie met her at a hospital gift shop.

It was back when I wanted to do some deer hunting in the Hill Country. Unfortunately, so did some other guys, who put me in a hospital for a month when they mistook my ass for the rear of a Whitetail buck. Paramedics kindly hauled said sorry ass to the nearest emergency room, which in this case happened to be at the Austin Diagnostic Medical Center in North Austin.

It was almost brand spanking new. Swear to God, Queen, it looked more like a hotel than a hospital. Huge atriums. Glass elevators. Open spaces. One day early on, I was sitting in bed all drugged up, and Louie mentioned that he met this cool chick in the gift shop downstairs. Didn't really think much about it. Next day, he told me he asked her out, and that they were going to go to a movie that night. That wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

When Louie related to me the next day what went on, he seemed different. Like he had changed. Overnight. He was giddy, Queen, like you and I were when we first met. He was in love, the little shit.

"So was she good?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?"

"That I fucked her, amigo. No, and that's weird thing. I wanted to but then I didn't, but then I tried anyway, and she pretty much made it clear that she's not interested. She just wants to be friends."

"Are you OK with that? I used to hate hearing that."

"Yeah. I think so. I don't know. For now, anyway."

Shit, what was happening? Louie not getting laid? For all his strangeness, and his single arm, Louie still was drop-dead handsome. And when he was working with the magic box, the girls just loved it. And he'd blow his money and they'd turn around and blow his mind and his dick, and he was happy. Or so he seemed. Of course, we were stuck in Central Texas, hundreds of miles from the nearest casinos. Two days later, I was feeling somewhat better, less drugged out, as it were, and was sitting up watching CNN. Suddenly, there was a very light knock on the door. The curtain was drawn so I couldn't see who it was.

"Hey it's open, and nobody else bothers to knock. You must not work here," I said.

"Truth be told," came the reply, that of a female.

She appeared from behind the curtain and I knew who she was immediately.

"Ah," I said. "You must be Ginny, the gift shop girl."

"Yes, me, the poor gift shop girl. It's Ginny. Ginny Seton."

She extended her hand. Reciprocated.

Assuming her name was spelled "Jenny," I quickly found out it was Ginny.

"Your name is Jenny, as in Jennifer, right?"

"No. No. No. No. No. It's GIN as in gin rummy, or gin and tonic, and E as in ecstasy. Not Ginny, like Guinea Pig."

"So that's you birth name?" I asked.

She paused.

"OK, my real name is Gennifer, but it's with a G, like Gennifer Flowers. I was only twelve at the time, but I knew enough to know that the people who kept asking me how Bill was were making fun of me. So I started going by Ginny. My mom hates it, but, hey, it's my life, right?"

"So, what brings you up to the fourth floor?"

"I don't know. Louie has told me so much about you. He really likes you, you know. Says you have been there for him where no one else has, not even his parents. Well, I mean, it's tragic what happened. But along you came, like a real father."

Shit, I must admit, she was a cutie. Louie sure knew how to pick 'em. Of course, at the time I had no idea how much trouble she was going to be. Now, Louie hadn't bothered to say how old she was. All he had said was that she was young. Eyeing her up and down I figured her age to be somewhere around 21 or 22.

It's like no matter how old I got, and there I was pushing 50, I still could always relate to the younger generation. And gift shop girl and I got along pretty well that day.

Almost too well.

Before I knew it, she leaned in real close, practically sitting on the bed. Now, the doctors had said I would be released in a day or so, and sure, I was feeling a whole lot better since they took that lead out of my ass.

But was I feeling THAT recovered?

Besides, this was Louie's girl, I kept reminding myself. Of course, my dick was saying yes. Must admit, Queen, in that moment I really wanted her. There was something about her energy, her manner. I had almost made up my mind that hell, Louie gets plenty of pussy, and here I am, a lonely middle-aged man. But then she started showing me everything in her wallet: pictures of pets, old boyfriends. When she showed me her driver's license picture, I thought she looked kind of pretty with the long hair she wore in her picture, and asked her, "Hey, so why'd you cut your hair?"

And she got this real sour look on her face and said "Why can't I meet one guy, one fucking guy, who doesn't ask me, 'Why'd you cut your hair?'"

"Sorry," was about all I could say.

It was looking at that picture when I finally noticed the date of birth on her driver's license.

She was born on March 1, 1980. By my calculations she was on the verge of 17. On the verge! Sweet 16. Imagine my reaction, confronted with this new information, when she leaned real close to me, laughing, touching my face and beard with her hand.

"I like men with salt and pepper beards."

"Does Louie know you're only 16?" I asked, now consciously to discourage her.

"To me age really doesn't matter."

She tried to kiss me.

"To me it does," I said and pushed her back. "What if someone walks in?"

"So?"

"So, look, I'm old enough to be your grandfather, and, well, does the word jailbait mean anything you?"

Now, usually hell hath no fury like a woman scorned but in the sister's case, she just blew it off like it happens it all the time. It was like she just moved on past looking for Mr. Next.

Moving towards the door to leave, she turned around and looked at me, and and asked: "Hey," she said. "Would you sleep with me if I were legal?"

"There's a slight possibility that if you were legal five minutes ago, yeah maybe.”

She moved back, closer to the bed.

"Really?"

“Really.”

Her eyes lit up.

"Give it a few months. In Texas the age of consent is 17."

"I don't believe you."

"Don't. So I hear you smoke too much?"

I decided not to push the consent issue.

“Hey, what happened to leaving."

"In a sec," she said looking at her watch. I noticed she wore lots of sterling silver jewelry.

"I paged my friend Brittany. She should be downstairs in about ten minutes. Yeah, I smoke too. Louie doesn't like it. Like that's what I need, another mother. Rags on me to no end."

"Yeah, he gets on my case, as well, but what can I tell you. I started so long ago, back in the sixties while I was in Vietnam, that it's become a part of me."

"You were in the Army? That figures.”

“What do you mean?”

"All the guys I ever met are either married or in the military," she informed me. Shit, you know what I'm thinking: She's not even old enough to vote yet and could say a thing like that, that every guy she meets is either in the military or married. Kids grow up just too damn fast these days.

"Louie was never in the military, and he's not married" I noted.

"Yeah, well Louie's OK I guess, just not my type."

I took for my pal. "Why not? You have a problem with the fact that he only has one arm? That he's Latino?”

"No, that doesn't really bug me. I could get used to something like that. And I've dated Mexicans before. Blacks. Race means nothing to me. It's just that he, well, he doesn't have any ambition. I want to marry a guy who makes lots and lots of money."

I didn't like where this conversation was headed.

"Well, since I was in the Army, was married once, and am not rolling in dough, guess I'm not your guy either."

Her mouth drew to an irresistibly sexy smile.

"Tell me about Mr. Rooster and the magic box."

You know, I'm definitely going to have to have a talk with that kid.