8. Walter #2
“What was that about?” Hildy asked, frowning as the tremors from the clown parade faded.
Walter hesitated, hoping she would catch on before he had to say it. He raised his eyebrows at her, but she shook her head.
“A misunderstanding.” He cleared his throat, fully intending to leave it at that.
Hildy frowned at her hand—still clutching his thigh—and then Walter’s crotch, conveniently located in front of her face. After an agonizing silence, she tipped her head back to look at him. “Did they seriously think I was going down on you in a bouncy castle?”
As if the location was the improbable part. Walter made an unsuccessful attempt to laugh.
“Your fly isn’t even open. Not even speaking of the logistics.”
“I think your hair was blocking that area,” he pointed out. “They couldn’t see—you know.”
“Whether Little Walter had come out to play?” She was enjoying herself now, in inverse proportion to his discomfort. “You could have been permanently incapacitated. One bad bounce and that’s all she wrote.”
“Can we stop talking about this?” It would have been a painful subject even if Hildy wasn’t speaking to his zipper.
“Oh please. We’re both grown-ups. It’s not like I’m corrupting you.”
Walter reached for her, thinking to put an end to the argument by helping her up.
She scrambled away on all fours, so of course he had to give chase.
“Dream on,” she taunted when he ricocheted off the nearest wall.
He lunged for her, almost getting an arm around her waist. At the last second, Hildy reversed course, knocking into him like a wrecking ball.
“Take that.” She rolled sideways, but didn’t make it far enough. Walter collapsed on top of her at a diagonal, as if they were a human X.
“Stop breathing so hard,” Hildy panted. Their stomachs were pressed together, pushing back and forth with every inhale.
“I’m sorry my need for oxygen offends you.” Walter tried to shift his weight without kneeing her, but every movement resulted in more of his body rubbing against hers.
The strangest thing about being this close to Hildy was that it didn’t feel strange enough, despite how long it had been since they last touched.
Then again, strangeness was a relative term in the current setting.
It occurred to him that they might have been better off all these years communicating through light wrestling, instead of using words.
It was a relief to set down their weapons for a few minutes.
He wondered if Hildy had noticed it too.
“Is this how a waterbed feels?” she mused. “Must have been like trying to have sex on a trampoline. I wonder if that’s why the birthrate fell off in the 1970s.”
It was hard not to admire the workings of her brain, sniffing out possible stories in the most random places. “I think it was the economy. And birth control.”
“I like my version better,” she said, wriggling out from under him. Walter rolled onto his back, lifting his hips to make it easier for her. When she was free, he sagged back onto the floor, watching her crawl closer.
“Yes, Hildy?” he said, when she was kneeling at his side, staring down at him.
“See? That is how you should always address me. ‘Yes, Hildy. Whatever you say, Hildy. Your wish is my command, Hildy.’”
“Whatever you say, Hildy.”
“Never mind. Your delivery is all wrong.”
“So much for my career as a ventriloquist’s dummy.”
“Pretty sure they already have one at this wedding, and it is one hundred percent possessed.” She brushed her curls out of her face. “Here’s what I came to tell you. Are you listening?”
“You have my attention.” Walter saw no need to admit that this was a permanent state.
“The party’s over.”
“Which party would that be?”
“The one where you run amok all over my beat. Reporting and pillaging. From now on, you’ll be dealing with me.”
“You’re going to do the reporting?”
“Yes, Walter. I appreciate your lack of faith.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant, though he doubted Hildy would believe him. “I didn’t think the mighty editor had time for that kind of thing.”
“I do whatever needs to be done. I’m a Jill of all trades. The Swiss army knife of journalists.” She leaned closer. “Not some dewy-eyed intern who thinks you’re fabulous because you used to chase celebrities.”
“Funny, that’s exactly what it says on my CV.”
She did not look amused. “Consider yourself warned, okay?”
“Is that a threat?” Because he could think of worse things than the prospect of running into Hildy all the time.
“Yes. So don’t fuck with me.” Hildy pressed a finger to the slight divot at the base of his chin. “Are we clear?”
He gave a slow nod, careful not to dislodge her hand.
Her gaze locked on his mouth. “Is that a smile? Are you laughing at me right now? You should be taking this a lot more seriously, Walter.”
“I’m not laughing at you.”
“Don’t lie to me either.”
He wasn’t. But he also couldn’t admit that he was glad not to be alone in the freaky darkness, even if she was here to deliver an ultimatum. “I’m afraid you’re not as frightening as the clowns.”
Hildy grunted, unable to argue. “Next time I’ll do the makeup.”
“Don’t forget the wig.”
“I never forget anything, Walter.” She paused to let the barb strike home before lurching to a stand. He watched her sway drunkenly toward one of the exits.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You’re not staying for the paintball rave?”
“Hell no. I’m just here to mess with you.”
“Seriously?”
“Like you said, not my scene.”
“Too scared? Don’t want to sully your shiny brand with something edgy and dark?”
“So what if I like pretty things? You can pretend that makes me a lightweight, but the truth is that I choose where to put my focus. Which means nightmare on emo street is all yours.”
After she bounced out of sight, Walter let his head flop back against the floor. He always needed recovery time after a run-in with Hildy, and tonight was no different.
His thoughts swarmed like bees. Jealousy that she’d left while he had to stay. Annoyance that Hildy got the last word. Confusion as his body replayed every scrap of physical contact, like a miser counting the contents of a piggy bank.
If what she’d told him was true, he was looking at a lot more encounters like this one—minus the bouncy castle and (God willing) the clowns.
And here he’d been worried the wedding beat might be getting a little stale.