The men laughed and took their drinks. Victoria took the
remaining martini and held it up for a toast.
“To the Order of the Fern,” Harvey said, celebrating the
absurdity of their association, “May it take root and provide a
delightful garden in which we may host more soirées like this,
drinking sweet nectar from the bosom of Aphrodite, all the while
planning a return trip to Eden.”
Victoria was moved. Of course, if this third-rate swill was sweet
nectar, that put her closer to afterthought than Aphrodite, but the
intention was there. She took it as an official burial of the tomahawk.
“To Harvey and his big noodle,” Victoria toasted, “Let’s pour
more sauce on it!”
“Hear, hear,” the men agreed. The three of them threw back their
drinks, and Victoria grabbed Harvey’s arm. “Well, I suppose we could
get down
a little before we all go up to seventh heaven or wherever.
C’mon sugar!”
He tried to refuse, but she pulled him onto the dance floor.
Immediately, Victoria executed a vicious bear hug and let her weight
drop so that he was left with only two choices: stand still and support
the burden, or tumble forward on top of her. Though Harvey had
quickly progressed from hatred of her to mild tolerance, to the
beginnings of affection, he was not sure that he wanted things to go
much further than that, and so remained standing where he was.
Finally, so as not to look idiotic standing still on the dance floor with
a strange older woman stuck to his torso, Harvey decided to look
slightly-less idiotic by swaying mildly from side to side as Victoria’s
legs, which were dangling in the air, swung gently to the beat of the
song thumping from Milo’s boom box.
Everybody needs somebody to love.
Meanwhile, Milo was in his car doing his best to create that same
need in the immature heart of his new paramour. He usually found
hitchers quite easy, but a new breed could be found on the roads
these days who seemed to feel that despite the fact that you offered
them a ride and drinks and laughs, they didn’t owe you anything in
return. In fact, Milo suspected that some of them legitimately wanted
rides to real places and were not just looking for a good time. This
was disturbing, because it seemed to go against the very grain of the
traveler ethos which maintained that getting there was half, if not all,
the fun. That was the way he lived his life, man. Cruise the yellow
brick roadway and try to find your Oz before you run out of gas or get
H O L Y S H I T !
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