His best features - "the only ones he ever used to have," she might be adding, given the mood she's in - were his fingers and lips; and he always tried to put them to the best possible use. . .Right now that meant folding paper napkins into intricate origamilike patterns (look! now a rabbit! now a dove!) while whisperwhistling the tune "Hula Girl," half for her benefit and half under his breath.

Best he could do, given the circumstances.

Facing each other across formica without a whole lot to talk about. . .At the same Sure Bet as at the beginning of their togetherness; even the same stickied table. . .But back then:

. . .she letting out mmmmms and gusty-relish lipsmacks and laughing, often, with the kind of throaty overtone that gives listeners the sensation of being kneaded by a warm washcloth. . .

. . .he needing a place to live; she happening to know of one nearby; it happening to be her own; she saying c'mon c'mon and grabbing his hand, taking him away round the corner, over the threshold and into her own personal dimension with its perpetual scent of Tareyton smoke and Anne Klein perfume. . .

. . .this the first act in a play of gratuitous kindness (quite in keeping with her Sagittarian nature, as she herself was to suggest) and the result: Springtime, and not merely springtime, but what would have been Springtime even in November. . .

. . .he nevertheless waiting for many minutes, for many hours for her to spring some ransomlike surprise on him; but the only demands she makes are those of the fleisch, and these he meets with fingers and lips put to the best possible use. . .Her eyes might see with twenty - twenty clarity but are distractible, misdirectable, taking no notice of what his hands and mouth are up to until. . .

Alacazam!

Legerdemain, milady!

"You are so WEIRD!" she exclaiming in high delight. . .

Deep now in genuine November they dabbled at their Sure Bet orders, not exchanging melty bites as was once their habit, nor licking bowls clean between them both à la Sprat & Wife. . .And her response to his origamiwork?

"You can be so bizarre sometimes."

Lighting up an undelighted cigarette. . .That bedeviled expression on her face again. . .His every effort at sleight-of-hand resulting in a thud. . .Butterscotch sundae dripping too, but when he asked her for a napkin to mop it up. . .

"You've got all those already!"

Things had been like this before but never so long, nor so wide, nor so deeply depressant as deep now here. . .So half under his breath: I love a pretty little hapa-haole hula girl she's the kind that's got the wiggle (hula girl) that can kinda make you giggle (hula girl). . .

. . .HAWP. . .

. . .somebody clutching at him, going "HI-ee," and who the hell? oh no!

Be careful what you whisper for. . ."Hello how are you?"

"You can TALK!"

Yes, all too recognizable this one was, but from where?  That sorority show of dammit course. . .He the clever conjurer with his Harpo Marxy shtick, singling out the most approachable décolleté female present. . .His pretended perplexity at not finding a coin in either of her ears; then, with longdrawn whistle, producing a handful of suitably palmed change from inside her approachable neckline.

Or so it appeared. . .This was a turn necessitating the deftest, most dextrous of touches, not to mention many enjoyable hours of practice. . .And when it worked as with Miss Delta Delta here it came off wonderfully well: squeals of mock-outrage and a spot of snugglebunnying afterwards.

All very innocent of course.

But her appearance at the Sure Bet, deep now here: woefully mistimed. . .And she was saying?

". . .really terrific we all thought so I mean I just loved it when you did that you know that trick you did with me, with my, YOU know, I mean how'd you DO that?  I thought I was going to DIE I mean it was just so great. . ."

Thank you Delta Dawn, confessing now to overfondness for doublestuff ice cream Oreo cookies. . .Would he like a bite?  No?  Oh please, you're waging SUCH a battle with the scale and have absolutely NO willpower you mean just LOOK at you. . .

(And your happily hovering acres 'n' acres of tweetybird.)

"Well I guess I better run while I still can. . .I mean honestly if I hang out around here any longer I might just up and bust!"

Exit Hapa-Haole Hula Girl with a "BYE-ee" and extra shouldersqueeze.

Enter sundae spoonful into his mouth - not for refreshment but to be bit down upon, and hard.

Busying himself with what remained of his butterscotch. . .Not daring to glance across the formica at his Sagittarian roomie, who for some little while had made no move and said no word. . .Until:

"Why don't you just tag along after her then?!"

"What do you mean?" he responded around the spoon.

"Feeling her up with your eyes!"

"I was doing no such thing. . ."

". . .oh no, don't pay any attention to me; all I do is SLEEP with you!"

Pivoted every head in the Sure Bet. . .He, at whisperwhistle level: "All right now, let's not argue about it. . ."

"Oh poop I'm not arguing about a goddam thing," she said, dousing her cigarette in his sundae dish. . ."Let's just go the hell home okay?"

And up she jumped. . .He following more slowly, not quite by her side, into the spiteful November twilight; back round the same corner, over the identical threshold. . .Jiggety jog.

After such a scene it is not the easiest thing for two people to occupy a single waterbed. . .Still less so when their attempt to watch the Late Show keeps succumbing to faulty reception.

Out of bed she snorted finally, clad in an old ruffled dress shirt from his preHarpo act. . ."This'd be real cute to sleep in," she'd said upon appropriating it, and "By golly!" he'd remarked later that night, "looks like I left a couple rabbits in this shirt. . .and look! here's a pair of doves. . ."

Now she twiddled with knobs and antennae, only to lose the signal altogether. . .So To Have and Have Not was deemed to be not-haveable; the TV was switched off, as were the lights. . .With an awful SQUORTCH she flounced back down alongside him, leaving no doubt that however delightfully women might be shaped, there never seemed enough padding on their elbows (ouch!) or knees. . .Especially those belonging to a frequent tosser and turner and heaver of furious sighs.

In the heavebroken silence he attempted a few words, but glibness was not among his best features, and in a voice like an icepick she went: "Okay fine forget I said it. . .Forget I said anything. . .Forget I'm even here, why don't you?"

"Well," he soothed, "let's just go to sleep now. . .Good night, sweetie."

"Don't you call me sweetie," she replied, turning definitively away.

So. . .And soon would come the recurrent dream of recent nights: himself alone onstage with a banjo, no a mandolin, no a ukulele, each of them unstrummable.

A dreamless minute was allowed to pass.

Then fingertips were brought into play, gently, steadily, patient as she used to be with his incessant practice of the lowcut trick. . .Ruffles and flourishes and mystifying misdirection: all marks of a good conjurer. . .Letting her think that your uncanny hand is heading over there when in fact it's moving over here until. . .

Hey presto!

And before the night grew too much colder she chose to roll herself over and recollect him in her tropical embrace.

Whew! he went, adding puckered lips to taste familiar Tareyton breath and Anne Klein aura. . ."Who's not my sweetie?" he intended to ask, so thankful was he for this fresh chance to fall asleep in her arms. . .But very shortly he was asleep in her arms, which so infuriated her when she realized it that she reached down and tweaked him a good one and he woke back up with a posthaste HAWP.

(Flag on that play, ref; but offsetting penalties.)

"Maybe we ought to forget this whole night ever happened!"

"That's fine with me," he agreed.

"Well why didn't you say so?"

"I just did."

"Ewwwwwww!. . .Well good night then. . .If you ever do want me, just whistle. . .'You know how to whistle, don't you?  Put your lips together and BLOW!'"

He couldn't see the expression on her face, but it certainly sounded frightful. . .Not least when she appended a single explosive demonstration, nose-to-kleenex, before thrashing back to her side of the waterbed.

Wooooooo the wind outside agreed.

And he, shrinking under such covers as he was still allotted, shivered awake for many minutes, for many hours, prey to double-edged anticipations. . .

. . .she having nothing to do with him tomorrow or tomorrow night, or the next day or the night after that either. . .She leaving the apartment early, staying away late, not coming home till the wee hours or at all. . .And where she will go, and with whom, and to do what, all being matters about which he'll prefer not to speculate, given the circumstances. . .

Legerdemain, ladies and gentlemen!  Behold this empty hat. . .No more in it than there is up my sleeves, yet given your kind attention I shall produce from this hat all sorts of magical stuff. . .See here! now a rabbit! now a dove! now I tear them into tiny pieces and mix them up, adding a butterscotch sundae handed to me by my Beautiful Assistant and then, before your baffled eyes, I shall put them back together again, starting over from scratch. . .

So bring on your strum-me-not banjo, your mandolin, your ukulele yearning to be free: there's no time like depressant.

Author Bio

P. S. Ehrlich was once reading Jitterbug Perfume in a West Coast public cafeteria when Tom Robbins himself walked by.  “Hey!” said Tom, “is that a good book?”