J is for Judgement

high enough to make his flushed face glow, and his pug nose had a ruby cast that gave him the kindly look of a K mart Santa Claus. He was shorter than I and therefore didn't seem that threatening. In fact, he had a puzzled air about him that made me want to reach out and pat him on the head. I realized I'd seen the guy twice in my constant cruising of the hotel in search of Wendell and his lady friend. Both times I'd spotted him in the bar--once alone, his elbow propped up, his cigarette ember weaving as he orchestrated his own lengthy monologue, once in a party of bawdy guys his age, overweight, out of shape, smoking cigars, and telling the kinds of jokes that inspired sudden martini- generated guffaws.
    I had a decision to make. I slowed myself to a leisurely pace. I reached over and lifted his glasses gingerly from his face, folding the stems so I could tuck them into my shirt pocket. "Hey, stud. How are you? You're lookin' good tonight."
    His hands came up in a helpless gesture of protest. I unbuttoned my right sleeve, while I gave him a look of lingering assessment.
    "Who are you?" he asked.
    I smiled, blinking lazily as I unbuttoned my left sleeve. "Surprise, surprise. Where have you been all this time? I been lookin' for you since six o'clock tonight."
    "Do I know you?"
    "Well, I'm sure you will, Jack. We're going to have us a good old time tonight."
    He shook his head. "I think you've made a mistake. My name's not Jack."
    "I call everybody Jack," I said as I unbuttoned my blouse. I let the flaps hang open, revealing tantalizing glimpses of my maidenly flesh. Happily, I was wearing the one bra not held together with safety pins. In that light, how could he tell if it was faintly gray from the wash?
    "Can I have my glasses? I don't see very well without them."
    "You don't? Well, now that's too bad. What's the deal here .. : you nearsighted, farsighted, astigmatism, what?"
    "'Stigmatism," he said apologetically. "I'm kind of nearsighted, too, and this one eye is lazy." As if to demonstrate, the gaze in his one eye drifted outward, following the flight path of an unseen bug.
    "Well, don't you worry none. I'll stay real close so you can see me good. You ready to party?"
    "Party?" The one eye drifted back.
    "The boys sent me up. Those fellows you hang out with. Said today's your birthday and everybody pitched in to buy you a present. I'm it. You're a Cancer, is that right?"
    His frown was slow and his smile flickered on and off. He couldn't quite comprehend what was happening, but he didn't want to be unkind. He also didn't want to make a fool of himself, just in case this was a joke. "It's not my birthday today."
    Lights were being flipped on in the room next door, and I could hear the woman's voice rise in anger and distress.
    "Now it is," I said. I pulled out my shirttail and peeled my blouse off like a stripper. He hadn't taken a puff of his cigarette since I arrived. I took the lighted cigarette from his hand and tossed it over the railing, and then I moved closer, squeezing his mouth into a pout like I intended to kiss him. "You got something better to do?"
    He laughed uneasily. "I guess not," he said in a little puff of cigarette breath. Yum yum.
    I kissed him right on the puss, using some slurpy lip-and-tongue stuff I'd seen in the movies. It didn't seem any sexier when other people did it.
    I took his hand and drew him into his hotel room, trailing my blouse along the floor like a feather boa. As Wendell came out onto his balcony, I was in the process of closing the sliding glass door behind us. "Why don't you relax while I clean myself up. Then I can bring a little soap and warm water and we'll clean you up, too. Would you like that?"
    "You mean just lie down like this?"
    "You always make whoopee with your shoes on, honey bun? Why don't you take them old Bermuda shorts off while you're at it. I have to take care of a little something in the other room, and then I'll be right out. I want you ready now, you hear? Then I'll blowout that big old candle of yours."
    The guy was unlacing one sturdy black business shoe, which he pulled off and tossed, peeling off a black nylon sock in haste. He looked like somebody's nice, short, fat granddaddy. Also like a five-year-old, prepared to cooperate if there was a cookie in the offing. I could hear Renata, in the next room, begin to shriek. Then Wendell's voice thundered, his words indistinguishable.
    I gave my friend a little finger wave. "Be right back," I sang. I