82 Desire

occasionally took out his aggressions on yellow balls.
    He still had hopes for the vagabond life, once he started actually living it. He could just sail to the Bahamas and gunkhole around, living on the boat and buying groceries now and then, occasionally consuming a beer at a bar in some lonely port, so as to keep in touch with the human race. That was all he really needed.
    But in the meantime, he was uncomfortably dependent on Dina Wolf. She was just so damn fascinating to try and figure out. Plus great in bed.
    He’d taken to calling her so much she had said, “Don’t you think we’re moving too fast?”
    It stopped him cold. It really hadn’t occurred to him they were moving anywhere at all. He was so taken aback he could only stammer. “I didn’t … I mean I don’t…”
    She nodded. “Right. And that’s how men and women are different. Look, you’re recently out of a marriage, or maybe still in one, I can’t tell, and you’re not used to being alone. I, on the other hand, have a life, such as it is. I don’t want you messing it up.”
    “Messing it up. You mean it’s messy having me phoning when maybe you’re entertaining someone else? Or… you mean you’re spending too much time with me and not getting enough sleep?”
    He was trying to think of other explanations when she said, “Are you being deliberately obtuse, or are you really that innocent?”
    Russell felt like some bumbling professor in a Jimmy Stewart movie. What was it with this girl?
    She said, “Listen, let’s understand each other. You’re just looking to pass the time, but you’re taking all my time. This is usually considered a sign of serious intentions.”
    Though they were only talking on the phone, he was blushing. “Dina, listen, I’m sorry. I never for a minute meant to give you that impression.”
    “I know that. Dean, and you didn’t.” She sounded angry. “What I’m saying is, you’re breaking the rules—you can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”
    He was hugely embarrassed. His mother had taught him better than this—or at least he knew that was how one behaved when dealing with women like Bebe. He had somehow thought that women one met in places like the Bootlegger played by different rules. He simply did not know how to deal with this woman. What the hell was he supposed to say now?
    But she saved him. “Look. Think about it and call me back when you feel like it, okay?”
    She hung up, leaving him exhausted.
    What the hell to do? He put his hands behind his head and lay back on his bunk, feeling about as depressed as he’d ever been in his life.
    And then slowly, a plan began to form, a plan born out of the outrageousness that had spawned the Skinners—a plan that made him laugh.
    He called her back, held his nose, and pitched his voice a couple of octaves higher than normal: “This is Western Union, we have a telegram for Miss Dina Wolf, please do not interrupt—our time is of the utmost essence. Is Miss Wolf available, please?”
    “This is…”
    “Please do not interrupt. Mr. Dean Woolverton requests the pleasure of Miss Wolf’s company at dinner Wednesday night and dancing afterward. If such an arrangement meets with Miss Wolf’s approval, Mr. Woolverton will call for Miss Wolf at seven-thirty o’clock. Dress is, of course, optional. It will not be necessary for Miss Wolf to bring her own bottle.”
    She chuckled. “A for effort, Dean. But not A-plus, since Wednesday’s tomorrow night. And by the way, it’s Mrs. Wolf. As it happens, I’m free.”
    A dial tone buzzed in his ear, and he felt suddenly bereft. He hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed their time together, or how callously he’d seen her merely as a way to pass the time. That “Mrs. Wolf” bit hurt—she evidently meant he’d never even asked her if she’d been married, but surely he must have. He wasn’t that self-involved.
    He wondered what she did on nights home alone by herself. He hadn’t heard a television. Maybe she read. What? he wondered. Romances? The classics? Self-help books, maybe— Women Who Love Men Who Are Truly Buttholes . Maybe that was what the lecture was all about.
    He grabbed the copy of Sailing magazine he’d picked up at Eckerd, and then thought twice about stereotypes. But there was nothing else on the boat except a Travis McGee novel he’d bought for the local color. He fell asleep reading it.
    In the morning he awoke feeling excited for the first time since buying the sloop. He