Two Ships ~~ Parts Five & Six

What Has Come Before: It's January of 1996, and... Oh, hell, if you really want to know what's happened before, go read the previous chapters! Thanks for your time!

*  *  *  *  *

The coffee was great, the breakfast was filling, and Millie was nice enough to give us the key to a different room (with a working heater). None of the other motel guests showed up at the restaurant while we were there, so Millie sat down with us and talked... and talked...

Art stayed in the kitchen, which was fine by me. The old grump.

It was still snowing when Eve and I entered our new room shortly before eleven a.m.

"So, now what?" asked Eve.

"We can sit here and tell each other our life stories, or we can watch TV... assuming the set works."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Have you forgotten the heater in the other room so soon, doll?" She smiled. "Besides, maybe she figured we wouldn't be interested in watching TV."

"She called us 'young marrieds,' Dan, not newlyweds. And either way, we're neither."

"Mm. So, TV it is?"

"Yes, let's do that! Millie said they have that new cable channel, TCM!"

"Oh, yeah, Turner Classic Movies! That's the one that shows all the old films! Too bad we don't have popcorn. I'd gladly let you eat out of my box."

"Nice try. I may be a 'goody two-shoes,' but I'm no dummy. I know about that trick. The boy buys popcorn in one of those collapsible boxes theaters sell it in, places the box on his lap, and when the girl reaches into the box she finds more than she bargained for." I didn't reply. "Right?"

"Yeah. Hey, it was just a joke. You know that."

"Oh, I know. But one you didn't think I'd get. Am I right again?"

In response to that, I just sighed, and made a mental note: Do not underestimate this little lady a second time.

As the snow continued to fall, we spent the afternoon alternating between watching old movies and talking. At one point, I braved the elements and walked outside to grab a couple more sandwiches from the machine, and some sodas from the machine next to it. (No popcorn available, in case you're wondering. Heh.) Stupid, really, considering that we could have had a much better meal, and for free, if we'd gone to the motel restaurant.

But I wanted Eve all to myself, if that makes any sense.

We sat on the floor in front of the TV set, not three feet away from each other. Eve and I talked about a lot of things, between classic comedies on TCM. She was willing to talk about the early, happier days of her marriage, but artfully parried any attempts I made to talk about her current situation with Russ. I in turn regaled her with the ups and downs of my failed marriage. In fact, as it turns out, Eve had married Russ somewhere about the same time as my relationship with Tammy had fallen apart.

We talked about our individual upbringings. My one sibling and I had been raised by a loving, workaholic mom who'd shocked small-town society in the early 1960s by "daring" to divorce her unfaithful husband. Eve, on the other hand, had been raised in a large, tightly-knit family which she seldom saw since her move from Oregon to Iowa when her husband's company had transferred him several years ago.

In terms of what I'll politely refer to as "romance," Eve and I seemed as different as could be. I was never a monk, neither before I married Tammy, nor after my marriage fell apart and I was a so-called free man again. But at least I can say that I was a faithful husband. And when I was in my twenties, and touring the Northeast bars with a moderately successful blues band, I had plenty of opportunities that my wife back home need never have discovered, had I taken them.

Eve had told me that morning, of course, that Russ was the only man she'd been with since their marriage, but during that afternoon she confided in me that he was the only one she'd ever been with at all. And when I -- nosy li'l cuss that I am -- asked if she had been a virgin on her wedding night, she told me as politely as possible that it was none of my business.

With any other woman, I'd have guessed that meant she hadn't been. But somehow, with Eve, I got the feeling that the opposite was the case, and that she was hesitant to admit it because, true to form, I kept teasing her about being what she called a goody two-shoes.

I sort of surprised myself at one point, soon after we'd eaten our late lunch, when I idly observed that I tended to swear a lot... at least, up until the previous night. Not so surprisingly, she asked why I was acting differently from the norm. "I'm not sure, doll," I answered, "There's just something about you that makes me wanna clean up my act when I'm around you."

She seemed genuinely confused by that. "Oh?" she'd said, "And exactly how much 'cleaning up' does your 'act' need?"

Then it was my turn not to answer her.

Eve shook her head and looked into my eyes with those blue eyes of her own. Yeah, I said blue. My impression from a distance, when I'd first noticed her at that truck stop, was that they were either brown or hazel. But they were neither. They were a deep, dark blue, a shade I'd never seen before, a shade that was -- like the rest of her, inside and out -- strikingly lovely, and unique. "I'm not perfect," she said, "and I'm no angel." I really wanted to tell her that she certainly seemed like both to me, but I kept my mouth shut. "I'm not some wide-eyed innocent, either. You can be yourself when you're with me, Dan." She suddenly got this impish look on her pretty face. "Well, within reason."

I felt very odd just then, and had to fight the powerful urge to kiss her that swelled up inside of me.

She must have seen something on my face, or again, in my eyes, because she almost whispered, "What is it, Dan? What on earth are you thinking?"

Well, you asked, damn it. "I'm thinking... that I've never wanted to kiss anyone as strongly as I do you, right now."

I expected her to jump back about a yard or two, but she just smiled a funny smile and said, "Ohhh... Well, don't." She said it firmly, but gently, as if guessing (correctly) that simply saying that was enough to keep me from doing so.

It was definitely time to watch another movie.

TO BE CONTINUED... NOW! (Part Five was so short, I didn't dare try to get away with only that!)

 

During the late afternoon, Eve and I both ended up falling asleep on the floor in front of the television. I woke up first, somewhere around six. I looked over, and there she was, two feet away, sleeping on her side with one of "our" bed's pillows beneath her head. I'm not sure how long I sat there staring at her before she finally opened her eyes... which is a shame (the "I'm not sure" part, that is) because that's the first thing she asked me as she saw me, and smiled.

"Hey, doll," I said, in greeting.

"Hey, yourself," she replied. "How long have you been studying me?"

"Studying?"

"Well, it seemed like a more polite term than 'staring,' Dan."

"I dunno... Maybe ten minutes, maybe fifteen... Maybe an hour."

"Cute. Why didn't you wake me?"

"I didn't see a reason to. Plus, you looked so peaceful, and beautiful, just resting there."

"Thanks," Eve said, sitting up. "You're not too shy when it comes to flattery, are you?"

"I wouldn't call it flattery. Flattery generally means excessive, and insincere. I plead mea culpa to excessive, but I only compliment someone when I mean it. And you really are beautiful."

She grinned. "Okay... if you say so."

"I do, doll. Because you are."

"Okay, then, so what do you want to do tonight? Granted, with this blizzard, our options are still limited. But we still get free meals, don't we? No sense in you continuing to shell out money to that sandwich machine. And Millie said that Art might entertain any guests who show up at the restaurant." And she also invited me to join in, I thought.

"Yeah, right. I can only imagine what he calls entertainment."

"Dan... Why not give him a chance before you judge him?"

I thought "judge" was a bit harsh, but coming from her... well... not so much. "I was just basing my opinion of him on the attitude he gave us when we checked in, and the fact that he gave us the room with the busted heater," I said, somewhat defensively.

"Well, we did wake him at, what, two in the morning?"

"Something like that..."

"I can only imagine how you would have reacted, being woken up in the middle of the night."

I couldn't suppress a laugh at that one. "Okay, doll, point taken." I shook my head in mild amazement. "You really can see the good side of everyone, can't you?"

"Almost everyone," she teased. "I'm still not too sure about you." The smile on her face let me know she was kidding.

I resisted the urge I suddenly had to take her in my arms. Not for anything more than a hug, I should add. But I knew all the signs; I was falling for her. She was so good-hearted, it touched a side of me that usually doesn't get touched. "Hm. You seem to trust me, somewhat." She nodded, but didn't reply. I suppose there was no need to, really. "Mind if I ask why?"

"Why I trust you? Or..." She smiled mischievously. "Or why I seem to trust you? Fishing for compliments, Dan? Or even flattery?"

Oh, I liked the way she played word games!

Eve suddenly looked at me seriously. "A lot of things could have happened last night, but didn't. And I don't just mean the most obvious one, which is that you slept beside me and didn't try anything."

"That was the hardest part," I admitted. Well, second hardest, perhaps, I thought, but decided to keep that crude little joke to myself. "But I knew what would happen if I'd even leaned over for a friendly, innocent little kiss right then."

"What would have happened, exactly?"

"What would have happened?" I repeated. "Well, you would have slapped my face, screamed at the top of your lungs, and gone running to tell Art to take his shotgun out of mothballs." She smiled, flashing those captivating pearly-whites of hers... "You know he's got one, too," I added.

Eve laughed, then turned serious again. "No... I don't think I would have slapped you. Not for just trying to kiss me, if that had been all you'd done. I would have gotten out of the bed, true, and..." She looked at me even more seriously, if that were possible. "And I would have been very disappointed in you at that point."

And now I knew exactly why I hadn't "tried anything," not even an attempt at a "friendly, innocent little kiss."

My guess as to her exact reaction may have been a bit off, but I knew that her still-forming impression of me would have been ruined. I'd sensed it the previous night. But it was only at that exact moment during our conversation that I consciously realized how very important to me Eve's opinion of me in general had become, even at that earlier time.

Damn. I was indeed falling for her.

"Uhhh... Sweetheart," I said -- and I didn't miss the slight rise of her eyebrows at my use of that particular term -- "I think you and I should go check out the restaurant. Now."

TO BE CONTINUED

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And now, before I sign off...

Conservative columnist Ben Shapiro...

...and Blogger-blogger Patrick Hatt!

Separated at birth???

(Hey, Pat: If this part bugs you for any reason, let me know ASAP and I'll delete it!)

Thanks for your time.

The Lure of the Tracks

When I was quite young, my parents, my sister, and myself went to a place called Edaville Railroad in Carver, Massachusetts. For no particular reason, I'd assumed for some time that it was closed. I was wrong, as I discovered just last night! Edaville Railroad still operates, under the name Edaville USA. I was glad to learn that.

There's a train track near my home, about a 5 minute walk away. Sitting in my apartment late at night, I can hear the train's whistle and even feel the vibrations as it passes. I can't describe how it makes me feel, but it stirs something deep within me. And whenever I stay somewhere near enough to a train track so that I can hear the occasional train going by, I get that same feeling.

There's a quote from John F. Kennedy about the sea, and the romantic feelings it evokes.

"I really don't know why it is that all of us are so committed to the sea, except I think it's because in addition to the fact that the sea changes, and the light changes, and ships change, it's because we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting biological fact that all of us have, in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea - whether it is to sail or to watch it - we are going back from whence we came." (9/14/62 Remarks in Newport, RI at a dinner for America's Cup Crews)

So, what's the attraction of the railroad? It seems to be something deep within us as opposed to learned behavior, which is odd considering that ships (and the sea) have been around thousands -- millions -- of years, but the railroads are a relatively new invention. Two hundred years is just a small span of time when measuring humanity's history.

Nevertheless, something about trains -- possibly the freedom associated with getting on something that rapidly takes us away from where we are in a manner that defies turning around and going back at any point -- brings out a similar feeling in people. I know I feel it.

Do you?

Thanks for your time.

Buzzards Bay Railroad Bridge, Cape Cod, Massachusetts

Terrific Tid-Bits -- PART THREE of a Two-Part "Comical Wednesday" Post

Well, fellow babies... The post I'd originally planned for this week's Comical Wednesday got away from me, so to speak, so I'm adding some little treats pertaining to last week's Mr. Terrific post! Part Three of Two, y'might say!

You can be Mr. Terrific in a role-playing game...

Omitted last time: The scene where Superman finds the fresh-killed body of Mr. Terrific, from JLA #171!

Veronica Sinclair, a villain known as Roulette, believes that Terry Sloane (also spelled "Sloan" over the years) was her grandfather (although storylines have suggested that he may be her great-uncle instead). Although she is a villainess, she operates within her own definitions of "fair play."And if she really admires the guy, why'd she let them color his uniform incorrectly here?

And, finally, you can create your own Mr. Terrific!

Next Week: Spotlight on two Canadian superheroes which spawned two American heroes!


Thanks for your time.

Two Ships ~~ Part Four

What Has Come Before:

It's January, 1996.

Our story is being narrated by "Woody," a mid-thirtyish New Englander who is currently in Iowa.

Helping out Eve, a slightly younger, pretty married woman he'd met at a truck stop, Woody ends up transporting her (in his sister's Corvette, which he'd borrowed for the trip) to a motel during a terrible blizzard. After dealing with the curmudgeonly motel manager, a totally bald elderly fellow, Woody and Eve go to their motel room.

The room's heater is broken, and the two end up sharing a bed -- a rather large bed -- for a strictly platonic session of sleep.

* * * * *

The next morning, I awoke to find myself alone in the bed. Eight million movies I've seen told me immediately what had happened. She'd stolen my keys -- okay, okay, Julie's keys -- and stolen the Corvette, leaving me stranded in this little motel.

I leaped out of bed, threw off the bathrobe, and reached for my pants.

It was then that the bathroom door opened, and Eve emerged. She was wearing the same outfit as she had when I'd met her, of course. Her hair was still up, and looked wet. I assumed she'd taken a shower before dressing.

"Good morning, Woody," she said.

"Uhhh... Hi, Eve." I felt a little embarrassed that I was standing there in my underwear with no pants on. (I would've been even more embarrassed if she'd known what I'd been thinking about her... but I wasn't about to tell her.) It's not like she was staring, or anything -- she wasn't -- but she wasn't looking away, either.

"I figured I'd let you sleep," she said.

"What time is it?" I never wore a watch.

Naturally, she did. "It's still early. Not even nine." While I put my pants on, she sat down on what had been her side of the bed last night. "Last night was... very strange, and very unusual... for me, Woody. To say the least."

"Yeah, for me, too."

"I've never slept with anyone but my husband in eleven years of marriage."

"We didn't sleep together," I protested. "I mean... well... yeah, we did sleep together, but..."

She laughed and nodded. "I meant it literally. I've never shared a bed with any man but Russ, in any sense of the term. Especially one I knew nothing about! And I want to thank you for not... trying anything."

"Mm." I was uncomfortable with what she was saying, somehow, and tried to make a joke of it. "Well, I was pretty tired, you know?"

"You say that like you would have tried something if you hadn't been tired, and... well... I doubt that."

"You're right. I wouldn't have."

"I wasn't worried about being raped, certainly, or I never would have invited you into the bed with me -- Lord, that sounds awful! -- but you didn't even make a..." She hesitated.

"Make a pass at you?" I said.

"I was going to say... make an attempt to seduce me, or even cuddle up to me."

"Well, to be honest, Eve, I didn't think you'd reciprocate. I was right in assuming that, wasn't I?" She nodded again. "Good! Because I think you're a freakin' doll..."

"So you keep saying," she said, cheerfully.

"And if I thought I'd passed up a chance at a little extra warmth, shall we say... I'd really regret it." She looked a little uneasy. "I meant that as a compliment."

"I know, Woody. I'm just not used to compliments."

"That's kinda hard to believe. Women who look like you usually get more than their share."

"No. No. Not me."

"Oh. Shame. You're really beautiful," I said, meaning it. We were both silent for an uncomfortable minute. "You're right about one thing, though. We really don't know anything about each other. We know each other's names, I know you have a husband named Russ, you know I have a sister named Julie, and..." I paused.

"And?"

"And I know you and your husband are on the outs in some way, or you would have called him last night." A second, grimmer thought struck me. "Or... He is still alive, right?"

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?"

"You could be a widow, for all I know!"

"Oh! I thought you meant something more sinister, like..."

I started laughing, and slipped into my piss-poor Bogart voice again. "Or maybe you offed the poor bashtard, and took it on the lam, shweetheart?" She laughed. I continued, in my normal voice. "No, don't worry, doll. I think you're about as likely to kill someone as I am to..."

"To rape someone?" she suggested, playfully.

"Yeah. Heh. You see? We know plenty about each other! We both know that I'm no criminal, and neither are you!" I thought for a moment. "Well, we'll have plenty of time to learn about each other while I drive us back to that truck stop, assuming I can even find the freakin' thing!"

"I wouldn't get your hopes up where that's concerned, Woody."

What did that mean, I wondered? Was she lapsing back into last night's veiled insult habit? "Why? Are you saying you don't want to learn more about me?"

"No, silly, nothing like that! I mean..." She stood and walked toward the drapes covering the picture window near the useless room heater. Opening them -- and flooding the room with brightness -- she said, "Well, see for yourself."

All I could see was snow. Well, pretty much. We'd arrived in the middle of one hell of an overnight blizzard which was still raging. The snow was higher than the base of the picture window, in fact.

"I'd imagine that your sister Julie's Corvette is buried by now," she said. "I doubt we're going anywhere anytime soon!"

"Terrific," I muttered.

Eve sat down on the room's single chair. "There wasn't a coffee machine next to that sandwich machine, was there, Woody? I would kill for a hot cup of coffee right now!"

"Ah-hah!" I teased, "So you really are a killer!" She giggled. "What makes you think I can even get outside this room to find out?"

"Well, I'm sure the motel manager has shoveled the walk..." she said, somewhat sarcastically.

"Him? He's probably gonna wait until half his guests die from starvation, so he can sell them to the other half as fresh meat!" I smirked at her. "Uhhh... You wanna split that ham sandwich, doll?"

"That won't solve the coffee problem, will it?" Eve got up from the chair and walked to the closet, where she'd hung her coat. "I need caffeine. It's just about my only vice."

"Why am I not surprised?" I said, grinning.

"What, by my being a caffeine junkie?"

"No, that you don't have many vices! Even the word 'junkie' doesn't sit well on you."

"Cute. You really think I'm a goody two-shoes, don't you?"

"Well... aren't you?"

"I'm not as bad as all that!"

"You mean, as good as all that!" I was still grinning, only even more now. I was enjoying this friendly banter. So was Eve, evidently. "Anyway, maybe you're right. You did take your bra off in front of me..."

She started laughing again. "I did not! I took it off in the privacy of my own car, you!"

"But you couldn't wait to tell me about it," I said, and suddenly her face turned serious.

"Oh, good grief, you don't really think there was anything behind my telling you that, do you?"

Hm. She was suddenly serious, so I followed suit. "Hell no, doll. If I really thought that, I would've tried something last night. But I didn't."

Her smile returned. "No, you didn't."

We were both startled by a knock at the door. I brushed by Eve as I rushed to it. "Better let me get that, doll. It's probably Baldini coming to see if we've kicked off yet, so he can serve us for breakfast!"

It wasn't the old man, it was a pleasant-looking woman in her seventies. His wife, I assumed (correctly, as it turned out).

"Good morning, folks!" she exclaimed. "I almost didn't knock. It almost sounded like you were arguing."

"No, ma'am, just some goofing around."

"Oh, good, good. I hate to see young marrieds having a spat."

Young marrieds? thought I. Oh, yeah, "Mr. and Mrs." on the register.

"Oh my gosh, we weren't that loud, were we?" asked Eve.

"Nonsense, child! I was on my way here anyway."

"Is it already check-out time?" I asked.

"No, that's not until ten, and as far as today goes, even later than that."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that Governor Branstad's declared a state of emergency, and he's asking everyone to stay off the roads if at all possible. We have seven rooms occupied, including yours, and I've talked my husband Art into allowing anyone who wants to stay here to do so for free."

I couldn't help cracking a smile, thinking of the old grump who'd checked us in late the previous night, or should I say, early that morning. "Free, huh? For how long?"

Art's wife smiled. "Well, for tonight anyway. We run a small restaurant -- used to be a proper lounge, back when we could afford the liquor license and entertainment -- and Art's hoping enough of you folks will eat to make some of the money back he figures we'll lose giving away our rooms like that!" We all laughed. This lady was definitely the "yang" to her husband's "yin," I felt. "He's a love, but he's an old grump sometimes, too." My words exactly, I thought.

She continued. "Anyway, you two needn't worry about paying for your meals today. I insisted they'd be on the house when I found out Art stuck you in the room with the broken heater. He hates being woken up in the middle of the night, but won't let me check anyone in after ten p.m. or thereabouts, bless his heart."

I thought, The sonofabitch did that on purpose?!? Bless his heart, my ass! I almost said something to that effect, but I somehow sensed that Eve was ready with another kick if I did so.

Art's wife pointed back toward the office. "So anyhoo, you two just come down to the restaurant whenever you're hungry. We can't get a plow to come and clear the parking lot yet, but the canopy's made it easy for our son Lenny to shovel the walkways. Coffee's always hot and fresh, and the kitchen's open from six to six!" She suddenly rolled her eyes. "Oh! I'm Millie, by the way, and you've met Art..."

"I'm Eve," said my "wife," "and this is Woody."

"Woody, like Woody Guthrie?" asked Millie. Him again! She looked at me inquisitively. "Are you musical?"

"Yes, actually. I play guitar, and I sing."

"Really! Art has an old Dobro. Maybe you could provide some entertainment for our guests?"

"Uhhh..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Woody! I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that."

"No problem."

Millie smiled. "Nice to meet you folks. Now I got to go, still two more rooms to cover!"

And off she went.

After I'd closed the door, I looked at Eve. "Boy, she sure can talk!"

"Oh, stop, you! I thought she was nice."

"So did I. Just sayin'."

"Why didn't you tell me you were a musician when I asked you?"

"Well, I never said I wasn't. I just asked you what made you ask me that."

"Fair enough. So... Race you to the coffee pot?"

"Let's walk. I'm still tired. And maybe we should hold hands, being 'young marrieds' and all?"

"Don't get carried away, smartie."

"Heh. Sorry, I kinda like the idea of being paired off with you."

"Oh, really."

"Yeah. Even if we don't..."

"You can keep that thought to yourself, Woody," she said, shaking her head. "And... would you mind if I called you something other than Woody?"

"Like what?" I said, walking to grab my coat from the closet (where Eve had hung it sometime before I awoke, obviously).

"Like, your real name."

"If you like." I paused, and mumbled, "It's... Wilbur."

Eve burst out laughing. "It is not!"

"Okay it isn't," I admitted, "and it's a good thing, too. Your laughing at it like that would sure give me a complex if it were!"

"So, are you going to tell me what it is?"

My mouth twisted into a sly smile. "It's Adam. Maybe Adam and Eve were stranded here for a reason. Ya think?"

"What I think is that Dan or Danny suits you better!" she said pointedly.

That floored me. "Dan?"

"Yes. 'Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Casey,' remember?"

"Got it. You read over my shoulder when I signed the register."

"Mm-hm. Now, let's go get some breakfast." She blinked. "Oh, dear! I mean, if you can afford to pay for both of us."

"No problem, doll. On the house, remember?"

"That's right. That's right. All set?"

I was. Off we went.

Funny thing was, I hadn't really been kidding about wanting to hold her hand. What the hell was going on here?


TO BE CONTINUED

Two Ships ~~ Part Three

What has come before:

Well, it's complicated...

It's January of 1996.

The narrator of our story, "Woody," is a New Englander in his mid-thirties who was about to make his way home from Iowa when a blizzard hit. He had just met a thirtyish young woman named Eve at a truck stop. Her reasons for being there, as opposed to being at home with her husband, are as yet unclear.

Eve had no money with her, so when her car wouldn't start due to lack of fuel, Woody offered her a chance to sleep in his car -- actually, his sister Julie's car -- in the truck stop's parking lot. Unfortunately for both of them, the borrowed Corvette's heater was useless. 

*  *  *  *  *

The Corvette had an automatic transmission; its gear shifter was between the seats. I put my foot on the brake and reached down to put the car in reverse gear, and felt something made of cloth on the shifter. I looked down, and smiled. It was Eve's bra! She'd brought it with her. Cute, I thought, echoing her earlier remark. I tossed it into the small area behind the seats, and started backing up. The car fishtailed a bit in the snow. That was a bad sign, I thought.

Eve woke up immediately. "What are you doing?"

"We have to find a better place to sleep. This heater's no good!"

She started playing with the controls on the heater, to no avail. "Oh, dear," she said, the way I'd say "Oh, shit," or worse. "This heater's no good at all!"

"Thanks for clearing that up, doll."

I was on the highway by now, and the driving had already gotten a little touchy. I was not looking forward to roaming around aimlessly in this crap!

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"We have to find a room for the night... and don't read anything into that!" I snapped.

"What about my car?"

"It's parked at a truck stop, Eve. There are trucks and cars parked all over that place, covered with snow. No one will think twice about it, I promise." I glanced over at her. "Do you know of any cheap lodgings around here?"

"Not really."

"Well, I sure don't! I'm not from around here."

"Don't I know it."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Are you kidding? Your Northeastern accent, the Connecticut plate on your car... I mean, your sister's car..."

"Oh. Gotcha." I smiled at her. "You're very observant, you know that?"

She smiled back. "Thanks. Uhhh... Watch the road, Woody."

I must have driven for over an hour before I found a motel. The manager -- an elderly guy with a totally bald head -- walked into the cramped office and sniffed at us like he was trying to see if we were drunk.

"Whatcha doin' out this time o'night?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, we were headed back to New England, but didn't want to take any chances in this snowstorm."

He stared at me as I signed my name in the register book, prefaced by "Mr. and Mrs." so he wouldn't think we were two sinful souls using his precious motel as a trysting place.

"Any food around here?" I asked, as he pocketed my money and unceremoniously threw our room key on the counter.

"What, you want room service now?" he asked, sarcastically.

"I just wondered!" Grump.

"Sandwich machine by the swimming pool area... which is locked, by the way."

"The sandwich machine is locked?"

"No, the swimming pool area is locked!"

"Aw, shucks. I was hoping for a swim before retiring." Eve lightly kicked me in the leg.

As we walked toward our room, I spotted the sandwich machine a few yards away. We stopped at the door and I handed Eve the key. "Here, doll. Let yourself in. I'll be right with you."

"I can't believe you're still hungry."

"I'm not." She stared at me. "But you are, aren't you?" She continued to stare at me, open-mouthed, as I walked away from her. I looked back. She was still staring at me. I made an odd hand gesture which meant "Get in the room!" and she finally did so.

When I entered the room, carrying a ham sandwich and a mid-sized meatball sub, Eve was still fully clothed and seated on the room's single, plushly-upholstered chair. The room was lit by one light, which was on the wall above the bed's headboard. "Okay, what's wrong?" I asked her.

"What's wrong? This room is a single! There's only one blasted bed!"

"It's a good-sized bed," I offered.

"It's still one bed!"

"Well, what did you expect? If I'd asked for two beds, The Great Baldini would have asked more nosy questions! He probably would have thought we were going to push the beds together, and call seven or eight of our drunken buddies here to have an orgy!"

I handed her both sandwiches. She opened the meatball sub and began eating it. "Instead of that cute little 'Mr. and Mrs.' stunt, you could have said I was your sister Judy..."

"Julie..."

"And I could have shown him the car's registration to prove it."

"And what if he'd asked for your ID, Julie?" She frowned. "Thought so. Anyway, a single is cheaper."

She smirked. "And you're the one paying, right?" Like I thought that she "owed" me something now... ?

"Don't start that crap, please? Look, you take the bed, and I'll sleep in the chair, or on the floor, or in the freakin' bathtub, okay? Any one of them is better than the seat of a Corvette."

"You're really serious," she said, stuffing the last of the meatball sub into her mouth. I had to smile, thinking she must have been starving to eat that quickly. I was sure that under more normal circumstances, her eating habits were much daintier and ladylike.

"Uh-huh. Now, why don't you check the closet and bathroom to see if this dump provides any bathrobes, while I fire up the heater?"

"Okay." She smiled at me, shed her winter coat and dropped it onto the bed, and checked the closet. It was empty. She grabbed her purse and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Throwing my coat on the chair, I walked over to the heater -- the first room heater ever built, or so it looked -- and started fiddling with the knobs.

A few minutes later, Eve emerged from the bathroom. She was wearing a light blue bathrobe, which looked a bit old, but otherwise presentable. Over her left arm were her clothes. Over her right was another, similar bathrobe, presumably for me. She had her hair up, and somehow managed to look quite lovely. I couldn't help but notice that she had great legs.

One look at my face told her something was wrong. "What." she said flatly.

I couldn't hide the defeat in my voice. "The heater doesn't work," I sighed.

Naturally, Eve walked over to the heater and played with the knobs as I had minutes earlier. Finally, exasperated, she shouted, "It doesn't work!"

"Wow, deja vu," said I. "May I borrow your coat, milady?"

"My coat?"

"Yeah, for a blanket!" I lay down on the floor, fully clothed, on my back. "Or not. I'm tired. Good night, doll."

I closed my eyes, and moments later, felt Eve tenderly placing her coat on top of me. "Lift your head, dear," she said softly, and she put one of the bed's two pillows on the floor beneath my head.

Shortly thereafter, she shut off the light. I started falling asleep almost immediately, until she snapped the light back on again a few minutes later. I sat up, eyes open. "What the hell...?"

"Woody, this bed has an electric blanket. And it works. And..." She paused for what seemed like an eternity before finishing her sentence. "the bed is big enough to comfortably fit two."

With almost any other woman, I would have assumed, or at least hoped, that I was about to "get lucky." This time, I knew better somehow. But Eve had evidently grown to like me and -- dare I say it -- trust me enough to let me get some of the only warmth which that freakin' room was going to provide.

Eve left the light on, and turned toward the bathroom door so that her back was to me. The second bathrobe, the one for me, was at the foot of the bed. I stripped down to my t-shirt, socks, and underwear, threw the bathrobe on over it all, and slipped under the covers. I stayed as far away from Eve as I could without falling off of the bed itself.

I didn't even think to turn off the light. I lay there on my back once again, eyes closed, trying in vain to think of anything but the fact that only inches away from me was a sweet, beautiful, intelligent, maddeningly-attractive woman who was either naked or only wearing panties beneath her own threadbare bathrobe.

Of course, as you're no doubt aware, trying not to think of something -- or someone -- only insures that you think about it -- or her -- all the more.

I'll be honest. I couldn't help thinking that if she had reached over to me, I would have shown her exactly how much I desired her, doing my best to balance urgency with the gentle touch I'd expect her to want from me in return. Yeah. If.

Gotta love this mind of mine, you know? I can never turn it off.

It was at about this point in my thoughts that Eve sat up to turn off the light which I'd left on, and muttered, "Oh, dear!"

"What?" I said.

"I... I think I just realized w-why they call you Woody," she replied. Embarrassed, I rolled over onto my side, facing away from Eve as she turned off the light.


TO BE CONTINUED

Mr. Terrific... Loser? -- Part Two of a "Comical Wednesday" Post

Howdy, fellow babies! Before we resume with the overview of DC's Mr. Terrific, I've got some news for y'all. Due to a small but fervent demand in public and in private, the serialization of "Two Ships" will now come to you not once, but twice weekly, tentatively on Mondays and Fridays. That will still give me leeway to do my random posts and my regular Comical Wednesday posts, as well as muck around with the occasional Theme Thursday or Sepia Saturday entries.

And now... Part Two of "Mr. Terrific... Loser?"

*  *  *  *  *

Last time, I treated you with a history of Terry Sloane (also spelled "Sloan" over the years), a/k/a Mister Terrific, a 1940s character revived in the 1960s by DC Comics. I'll start you off by throwing the last few sentences of the first segment at you:

Apparently, there wasn't enough about Terry Sloane for anyone in comics -- readers as well as DC's own writers and artists -- to find particularly dramatic. So, during a period in the late 1970s when my youthful comic-reading habits were at a relative low, the following issue of Justice League of America appeared:

Where's Terry Sloane on that cover? Think about it.

Briefly: Mr. Terrific came out of retirement -- comics' way of saying he donned his silly costume again -- to warn the Justice Society (and the Justice League as well) that an old JSA foe, the Spirit King, had returned to cause trouble. 

The threat was real. The next time we saw poor Terry was when the members of the JLA and JSA found his corpse. The ordinarily death-obsessed comic business allowed Mr. Terrific to be slain off-panel, without even an illustration of him on the cover!

"But," you may be saying, "the second part of that two-parter must have avenged Mr. Terrific's casual killing, right?" Wrong. Thank you, writer Gerry Conway! (The same writer who'd killed off Spider-Man's girlfriend Gwen Stacy a few years earlier, by the way.)

Hell, they didn't deal with the Spirit King until years later. No lie, fellow babies.

And that panel above is about as much respect as the poor b@$t@rd got for years afterward.

A 1989 series called Hero Hotline had a character called Ms. Terrific, but other than the ripped-off uniform, no one ever bothered to explain the connection, if any.

The real Mr. Terrific even started getting a few covers once the 1990s hit, because some of the folks at DC had the same fondness for the old characters as I did and do.

Yeah, I know, I know... "He's dead. What's with all the new crap?" Well, luckily for people like me, there's such a thing as a flashback story. I mean, you have seen movies about Abe Lincoln, right?

1997 saw the debut of a new Mr. Terrific, Michael Holt. I'm not going to discuss him here, but only because 1. this post is already too effin' long, and 2. I'm not incredibly familiar with the character anyway.

Through the magic of time travel and other such plot devices, the two Mr. Terrifics -- or would that be Misters Terrific? -- have met.

By the way, fellow babies, I'm not a big fan of action figures, but I want one of these!

But I'm not the only fan of ol' Terry Sloane. The relatively recent book pictured below has a back-up story featuring Sloane, written by none other than Pulitzer Prize-winning author Michael Chabon!

But who if anyone, you wonder, could really do something that could justify Mr. Terrific's existence, and pacify over-aged "kids" like myself who felt that the character had somehow been cheated?

Why, scripter James Robinson, of course, in his outstanding Starman series which I've dealt with before.

 The Jack Knight Starman, son of the original Starman, Ted Knight, had an occasion to speak with several of the deceased JSA members, including Mr. Terrific. (Hey, it's comics; don't ask.)

Terry: Having "Fair Play" as an emblem. That's what people remember. That's why they loved me. It was so corny, naive. But people bought it.

He continues...

Terry: I was always a second-stringer. Whatever that factor is... that thing that makes a great superhero... I didn't have it.

Jack Knight rises to the occasion.

Jack: The words "Fair Play." They're only corny and naive... Hell, they're just plain dumb... but only if you didn't believe them yourself. If you believed them... enough to wear them proudly like you did... maybe that makes you the greatest hero of them all.

Terry: Oh, I believed them. I still do. I'll believe those words forever.

Heh. Somehow, I'll bet he does.

*  *  *  *  *

And now for something a little more frivolous and light-hearted than usual. Just to show you how delightfully incestuous the field of comics can be, let's see how many ways today's post ties into several of my previous score of Comical Wednesday posts!

• The briefly-mentioned Ms. Terrific appeared in the Hero Hotline series.  Hero Hotline was created by Bob Rozakis and Stephen DeStephano... who also created 'Mazing Man!
• Mr. Terrific's "Fair Play" emblem was not on his chest, but on his stomach... as were the emblems of the Fat Fury and Lt. Hercules!
• The Starman tie-in is kinda obvious...
• As a member of the JSA, of course, Mr.Terrific appeared in All-Star Comics.
• CBS' Mr. Terrific was shown at 8:00 p.m., and followed on NBC by a similar parody superhero, Captain Nice, at 8:30.

So, as I so often say, see how these things all come together?

Thanks for your time.