I made a motion to get up when he said, “Now I have a question for you.” I settled my weight back down on the cushions. “Take a look around the room. There have to be fifty people packed into your home tonight. Of everybody … who’s prettiest?”
“Mom” sprang into my mind without a nanosecond’s pause, but I judged he wouldn’t want a mama’s boy answer. And he didn’t want Lori, my girlfriend, as an answer. And to tell you the truth, Lori was far from the prettiest.
I looked around the room. Most of the women wore dresses or skirts or whatever. One woman wore tight jeans. Very tight jeans. And a silky short-sleeved green blouse (that matched the color of her eyes) that glided over her breasts as she swayed and turned with the music. She had shoulder-length red hair, and I mean bright natural red, that was a big mass of curls the way that actress that was married to the guy in that religion had when she was younger. She also had light freckles on her face that were placed just right.
And those jeans—those jeans clutched at her butt (the most amazing butt I had ever seen) so that each cheek was defined by their dividing line.
“Auntie Lee,” I answered.
“Auntie Lee,” he echoed. “Good choice. My choice too, if you don’t count your mother.”
If we don’t count her. I agree. I nodded that agreement.
“LEE!” he called out across the noise and the song, the line about how wonderful the guy’s girl was that night. “LEE!” he called again.
That got her attention and she looked over without stopping her solo dance. She turned on an gigantic open-mouthed smile in our direction. Uncle Zack raised his index finger over his head and made circles in the air. She laughed, put her right hand on her stomach and did a series of slow spins while gracefully circling her hips—all accentuating that great ass.
My aunt was sultry wrapped over gorgeous and sugar coated with sensual.
My uncle had met her while she was trying to break into Hollywood. She was another extra-beautiful creature who didn’t get the breaks, unless meeting my uncle was a break.
“Your Auntie Lee. How long have you known her?”
“Seems like forever,” I said without taking my eyes off her motions, her hair, her hips … her ass. “You’ve been married for ten years, and you dated her for a while so I guess I’ve known Auntie Lee since I was six or seven. Real young, anyway. Like forever.”
“And you like her?” my uncle asked. “You’ve always gotten along?”
“Auntie Lee? Oh yeah. Of course. What’s not to like: she’s smart and funny and caring. Yanno … everything.”
I wondered where this was going and why these questions, especially during the party.
“Good … good,” he said. He was always so cool and confident and sure of himself. But he looked like he was hesitating. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, looked to see no one else was near and said:
“I want you to make love to my wife.”
I thought I didn’t hear him right or was being pranked or something. I stayed looking at him for a long time. I didn’t say anything; he didn’t say anything. Nothing was said. For a long time.