Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

too,” I said warmly. I terminated the conversation shortly afterward, promising to send her several copies of my article when it appeared, and suggesting that it was possible that one of the paper’s photographers might be getting in touch with her in the near future.
    “Let me know in time, will ya?” she said. “So I can get my hair done?” I assured her that I would.
    “Virtue triumphs once again,” I told King. He wagged his tail. “That makes three or four times already this year, and it’s still months before Christmas.” Another wag. All I’d been after was some general background to feed to Benny for him to pad his spiel with—in the unlikely event his spiel needed any outside help—and I’d stumbled onto a useful little bonanza.
    I called Phineas, by way of Derrone the receptionist.
    “Ici Phineas,” he caroled.
    “Hey, good-looking,” I said, “lei Vic. And how are they hanging these days, and I of course refer to your floral baskets?”
    “Swaying merrily,” he said. “So what is up with you, caro? Those two freaks aren’t out fouling the sidewalks already, I hope, I hope?”
    “Perish the thought,” I said. “It’s about something else.” I then proceeded to tell him what the something else was.
    “Icky, ickier, ickiest!” he exclaimed. “In the privacy of one’s own little waterbed is another thing, but not in public places, please. And also, I’ve always thought there was something fearsomely tacky about masturbating before Happy Hour, at the very earliest.”
    “I must deeply concur,” I said.
    “So what could a mere petal-pusher like moi do to assist you in your no-doubt ferocious counterattack?”
    “Just be yourself,” I told him. “Just drop into a certain gay movie house, the p.m. show would be best, buy some popcorn, enjoy yourself, go to the bathroom, then depart. What could be simpler?”
    ‘Why am I suspicious, I wonder,” he said. Then he called out to one of the girls, “No, no, dummkopf, the stolonifera, not the diffenbachia!” Then, to me, he said, “Why me? If it’s so simple, why not you? Too chicken, I bet, to go near a gay movie house, let alone into the washroom.”
    “Too something, that’s for sure,” I said. “But also I don’t want to spy on a poor, persecuted minority, you’ve got the right to privacy if you want it.”
    “Well, mercy buckets,” he said.
    “There are a couple of other factors involved,” I admitted. “Although he shouldn’t be, there is an outside chance the owner might be hanging around and he knows me, although I did take care not to let him see me standing up in all my statuesque glory but tall or short I’d still stand out in a gay movie house because what stands out most in a gay movie house is someone who isn’t.”
    “All them nervous blushes,” Phineas said, “give you away every time.”
    “To say nothing of the sweaty palms,” I said.
    “When?”
    “Wednesday afternoon? I’ll scoot by your place first with a little present for you.”
    “Why do those words fail to thrill me?” he inquired. “Ciao, bambino, must run, see you when I see you.” I then tried my amigo Benjamin. He was in, and surprisingly alert, considering it wasn’t even noon yet. I told him what was going down. He wanted to know how come, because he thought it was all over, given the bind we had Gall and Garrison in. I told him about Joe and King and said, that’s how come. He said to include him in, naturally. He agreed to come by the office Wednesday morning late-ish so I could give him all the details and whatever equipment he’d need. When he’d hung up and gone back to bed or whatever, I took a deep breath and called up Evonne Louise Shirley at her school.
    “Hi, sweetheart,” I said as soon as she was on the line. “Want to go to the movies Wednesday with your main man?”
    “I’m not sure, Victor,” she said.
    “You’re not sure?” I said.
    “No.”
    “Tell you what I’m sure about, honey,” I said. “This is the third time recently you’ve put me off. Now I know it’s a ludicrous question, but are you seeing someone else?”
    There was a pause. Not a refreshing pause, a long, highly suspicious, mighty worrying pause, a pause about as much fun as menopause. Finally she said, defensively, “What if I am? It’s only been for coffee so far.”
    “May one ask who this mocha maniac is?”
    “He’s a replacement history teacher here at the school.”
    “And may one ask what this coffee