The Undertaker

She ignored the question and turned on the living room lights. “Here,” she beamed. “Look what I got you.” She looked like a little kid at Christmas as she dumped a big bag of clothes on the floor next to me. She picked up a short-sleeved blue-striped dress shirt, a pair of dark gray Dockers slacks, some socks, underwear, a belt, and a stylish light-gray herringbone sports coat. “Usually I know a guy a whole lot better before I go buying him clothes, but that plaid had to go. I guessed at your sizes, so try them on.”

I took one of the shirts and a pair of slacks and rose slowly to my feet. I unbuttoned my shirt, and pulled it off. The next thing I knew, she was standing next to me looking intently at the big bruises on my back and ribs.

“Man, I thought you were bull-shitting me,” she whistled. “You really are all black and blue back there. They did that?” She walked around me for the full view, running her fingers lightly over the bruises.

“Hey,” I winced. They looked worse and hurt a whole lot more than they had in Uncle Ike's and in the nearly twenty-four hours since I acquired them.

“Sorry. The doctor is just checking.” Then she grabbed my hands and looked at the bruises around my wrists. “What's with these? They look kinky.”

“Kinky?”

“Well, you know…” she tried to feign demure.

“Leather straps.“

“Don't you just hate that?” She saw the wad of paper towels stuck to my lower abdomen and her mouth fell open “What the hell is that?” she asked as she took another drink from the beer can, gently pulled the paper towels forward, trying to look underneath.

“Hey!” I pushed her hand aside. “Tinkerton did that with a scalpel. I was strapped naked to an embalming table at the time…”

“Yeah, kinky. Your sex life is your business, but it looks to me that somebody got a little carried away with the moment, didn't he?”

It was my turn to give her a look.

“Okay, I won't go there. But that needs looked at. My aunt's got some first aid things in the cabinet,” she said as she turned and walked away. “So down on the floor, I'll be back.”

“Sandy… “I tried to argue, but she wouldn't hear about it.

She came back with some alcohol, bandages, and a towel to put under me, and handed me the beer. “Drink and scootch your pants down a little.” I looked up at her. “Don't be a child. I'm trying to clean this thing out, not get personal.”

I lay back and did what she said. The alcohol stung but I was surprised at how gentle her fingers were as she worked. Finally, she taped some gauze pads over the cut and stood up. “See all the things I can do?” she said. “Now get up and look at the new clothes.”

“Thank you,” I said sheepishly as I stood up and started to unzip my jeans. She just stood there, so I motioned for her to turn around.

“I have three brothers, you know.”

“Yeah, but I'm not one of them. Now turn around.”

She turned her back to me and looked out the balcony door to the dark city below while I changed behind her.

“Where'd you get all this stuff, I asked.”

“Some men's stores over on Michigan Avenue. Don't worry, I moved fast.”

“You paid cash, didn't you?”

“Cash? Oops. I used plastic. I never thought.”

“My fault. I should have warned you. When they look at the charge slip and see what you bought, it won't be hard for them to figure out I'm with you, not after you left work and didn't go back home.”

“But they don't know where we are,” she said.

“True, but Tinkerton will flood the streets with people. You sure there's no way they can trace you here through your aunt?”

“No. She's one of my mother's half-sisters. If you think the Kasmareks are fun, they won't get squat out of the Chickarellis or the DePieros.”

“Okay, you can turn back around now,” I told her as I slipped on the jacket.

“No need, I've been watching you in the reflection on the sliding glass door,” she laughed as she turned around and looked me up and down proudly. “Voila! One of my finest creations, the new Peter Talbott.”

I looked at myself in the hallway mirror. “You did good, you really did.”

She stepped closer, smiling happily for the first time that day. “It was fun buying things for someone who at least half-way appreciates it,” she said as she looked up at me. I could tell from her nervous energy that she wanted to touch me or hug me or kiss me if I gave her even the slightest opening, and I couldn't let that happen.

“I appreciate it, really.” I turned away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room.

“Great,” she said awkwardly. “Look, I have another idea.” I turned and looked back at her, questioning. “Every now and then, I do get one, you know.”

“Did I say anything?”