"Thanks," said F-Cup Fitzgerald. "it's a Stutz Bearcat." He shook Post's hand. Fitzgerald grabbed his suitcase, pulled it out of the backseat, and started to walk toward the house. Ted Post tried to take the suitcase out of Fitzgerald's hand, but Fitzgerald held onto it all the way to the front door. The Posts' house was built into the side of a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, maybe 30 miles south of Carmel. The roof was sod, with air vents sticking up here and there, and grass growing out of it. It did indeed look like a suitable place for deer to graze.
Ted Post was walking him into the house. Ted was in his early 30's, brown hair, narrow eyes, thin lips, and a round face except for a square jawline. He seemed to be in good shape, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt.
"And this is my wife Jennifer," Ted said. Jennifer Post had an oval face, olive complexion, black hair with prominent eyebrows, a somewhat pointed nose--and, Fitzgerald could hardly miss, a knockout bod. Even though the non-descript t-shirt and jeans, anyone could see that. She seemed about in her early thirties, too.
The interior of the house was vaguely New Age, overstuffed couches in primary colors, track lighting, large wine rack (large rack, Fitzgerald thought, eyeing Jennifer Post again), lots of booksheleves filled with books, and stacks of books on the floor that couldn't have fitted into the available shelves. Fitzgerald appraised the wine rack: it contained Robert Mondavi and BV chardonnays, many Carneros pinot noirs, a Stag's Leap merlot, and a Ridge zinfandel. "I'm putting your suitcase in the spare bedroom," Ted Post called.
"Have a seat," Ted Post said. Fitzgerald sat.
"Wine?" Jennifer Post said. Fitzgerald nodded and she poured him a glass of chardonnay.
Fitzgerald sipped his wine and shifted in his seat; he removed what turned out to be a Matchbox car out from under his buttocks. "Oh, that," Jennifer Post said.
"Yours?" Fitzgerald said to Ted Post.
Jennifer Post shook her head and took a gulp of wine. "That's our little boy's," she said. "He's at a friend's house, until morning," she said. She placed the little car up on a shelf. The three of them drank wine.
"Nice car," Ted Post. "You should see his car, honey." Fitzgerald took them both to the driveway to check out the Stutz Bearcat, that took another five minutes. The Posts stood in the kitchen doorway, arms around each other, they kissed once briefly, and then Jennifer went back into the kitchen to check on dinner; Ted followed her a minute later and started preparing the salad. Fitzgerald had a few seconds to check the couple's video collection: once you got through the inevitable children's cartoons and Finding Nemo, there were plenty of R-rated movies. Once you got past those, Fitzgerald noticed, there was Duke of Knockers II, and Der Champion, and The Mountie, all starring Letha Weapons, plus Boobtown which did not.
Fitzgerald managed to get his hands off the offending tapes by the time Jennifer Post stuck her head out of the kitchen: "You're not macrobiotic are you?" Fitzgerald shook his head. "Or vegetarian? Or no-red-meat?" Fitzgerald shook his head. "Cause Ted and I will eat anything." From the kitchen, Ted Post howled with laughter at that last statement. While he was in the kitchen, Jennifer followed Fitzgerald out to the deck. It was a redwood balcony with a fine view of the Pacific. To one side, screened in by a redwood lattice and some small pines, was a hot tub, bubbling away.
"Generally we get these wild ocean breezes, but it's calm tonight. It won't be cold out at all." She paused to bend down and feel the water in the hot tub. "Your picture doesn't do you justice," Jennifer Post said. "You're much nicer-looking in person."
"Thank you," Fitzgerald said. "Ted's had your picture on the Internet for a long time, and he sent me a picture of himself. And he asked me for a picture to show you. By the way, was it your idea to invite me, or his?"
"Oh, we sort of collaborate on these things, you know. But I think he does it mostly to please me. I keep telling him he doesn't have to, but he says he wants me to be happy." Jennifer paused, then the two of them walked back inside. "I see you've been *perusing* our video collection. What do you think of her?"
"Of whom?" Fitzgerald asked innocently.
"Of Letha," Jennifer answered. Fitzgerald blushed like a young boy with his hand caught in the maid. "You don't have to answer that," Jennifer said. "Ted's that way, too. Loves women with big boobs. So what do you think?" Jennifer Post stuck out her chest a few more millimeters. "You like?"
"Yes, very much," Fitzgerald said sincerely.
"Dinner!" Ted Post called from the other room. The three of them walked into the kitchen to eat dinner. The food was delicious, and another bottle of wine went with it. . . .
After dinner, Fitzgerald took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, prepatory to helping with the dishes, but the Posts (Jennifer in particular) wouldn't have any of it. "You just relax. Go out on the deck and look at the ocean," she urged him. After the dishes had been put in the dishwasher, the Posts came out and stood at the railing next to Fitzgerald and made small talk about living where they lived, about sights to see in Monterey, good wines, and so forth. Fitzgerald finally ended up with his shoes and socks off and his feet on a step in the hot tub, drinking wine from a stemmed glass.
A few minutes later the Posts came out in bathrobes and walked up to the hot tub. Without any further discusion, both of them whipped off their robes: Ted Post had on blue trunks and Jennifer Post had on a black bikini. Ted obviously worked out--he was in good shape, but not Olympic caliber shape, Fitzgerald noticed. For some odd feeling, the thought made him relieved. Jennifer Post's body, however, would've won an Olympic medal if the event was "Outstanding Tits, Ass, & Legs." The Posts eased themselves into the hot tub and drank wine as Fitzgerald sat with his feet in the water and his trousers rolled up like Huck Finn. The Posts drank just enough wine to get tipsy.
"Climb in," Jennifer Post said.
"I didn't bring any trunks," Fitzgerald demurred. Ted Post was just watching this exchange, grinning, with one arm around his wife.
"So just strip down to your underwear! You've got more in your suitcase, don't you?"
Fitzgerald nodded stupidly and began to take his clothes off. The Posts watched him do this. Fitzgerald was strangely glad he was in pretty-good shape. Of course, when you were fictional, it was easy to stay ripped. . . .
The three of them drank wine for a few minutes, Fitzgerald sitting across from the Posts. Finally:
"Um,--" Jennifer Post laughed, "what should I call you? I can't keep calling you Fitz, can I?"
"Try 'Scotty,'" Fitzgerald said.
"O.K. 'Scotty,' can you do Ted and me a big favor? Can you go in the kitchen and try to find the corkscrew? It's in one of the cupboards somewhere."
Fitzgerald looked from Jennifer, who was smiling coquettishly, over to Ted, who was smiling indulgently.
"Oh, I get it," Fitzgerald said after another moment. "OK."
Fitzgerald got up, dripping water, his briefs sticking to his body, and slushed his way back into the Posts' house, getting wet footprints on the carpets. he went in the kitchen and loudly slammed the cupboard doors closed a few times and then leaned back against the counter.
After a minute or so, Ted Post walked through the kitchen door.
"So," Fitzgerald said nervously, "I'd like to say thank you for dinner and I hope I passed the audition."
Wed Mar 03 20:16:43 2004