Phil Got Home

Hank watched as Janet gained the two top stairs and disappeared into the kitchen.  He couldn't help but think how those jeans fit like they were supposed to.  Not tight in the least yet formed to her like they were made for her.  He chastised himself.  This was Janet.

He wouldn't forget though, the image of her pulling on her jeans to leave, that night, so long ago.  Maybe it just seemed so long ago.

He reached the kitchen himself as Phil was taking down the bottle of Jager from over the fridge.

"Tongue-punch her fart box?  Did you learn that talk at Vasser?" Phil laughed as he struggled with the seal on the new bottle.

"Janet, I'd like to tell you how I had to convince her not to fellate me in the parking lot and wait until we got to her place. I'd also like to tell you that no sooner had I closed the door to her apartment, she was all over me like a wildcat and how I had to pick her up in mid-coitus and carry her to her bedroom to finish her off on a bed like a lady deserved to be.  But I don't tongue-punch and tell!"

"Didn't get any, did ya?"

"Not even a sniff!" he laughed.  "Maybe it had something to do with Hank's dick." he said, filling his tumbler half full of the liqueur.

"My dick?"

"Yeah.  She said she wouldn't fuck me if I used your dick and Conrad was pushing."  The Phil, shit-eating grin appeared.

"I told you she was a bit nuts.  Though her not fucking you isn't much proof of that."  This got Janet a'tittering.

"Her not getting horned up at the thought of your dick likely proves her sanity.  Though her not being subject to my intoxicating personality presents a paradox.  OK.  She's fucked!"

"Though, by neither of us." Hank clarified.

"You two are a couple of sad cases!" exclaimed Janet.  "You two maybe should consider paying for it.

"Pay for it?  While we have you?" Phil chortled.

"In your fuckin' dreams old man!"

She really didn't know, did she?

"Who wants wine?" Janet asked.

"OK." Hank said.  She poured him a glass, from the cupboard.  A tumbler of wine.  Phil didn't think she learned that at Vasser either.  He smiled inwardly.

Phil settled into the couch, with the remote, his glass in hand, and the bottle beside him.  Janet settled into the bean bag.  She was the only one who used it.  It really didn't add much to the decor, but Hank wouldn't get rid of it as long as it had a potential occupant.

"No way!  The Blues Brothers!  I love the Blues Brothers!"  Phil was ecstatic!

"Cool!  I love Ackroyd!" exclaimed Janet.

(Note to readers......I hate "exclaimed".....it's so......Hardy Boys literature!!!)

Hank took this as a cue to retire again to the basement with his glass.....or tumbler...of wine.  These two would be amused for a bit and he really wasn't into the Phil rendition of 'getting the band back together' especially his analysis of the "goat piss into gasoline" line.

Hank set up to sand the last of the baseboards for the bathroom.  Sander, paper, vaccuum and the AKG headphones.  The noise-cancelling headphones were perfect.

He really like the peace the work gave him.  Sam Roberts in the earphones.  The buzz of the sander in his hands.  The visual of the varnished succumbing to the bare.  Well that was pretty fucking artsy, he thought.  Although, changing.....the simple thing as changing something......was good.

He was lost in his work....in the music....which had now become Nickelback...."Something In Your Mouth"....was quite the transition from introspective to overtly sexual.....not such a bad thing.  It was kind of a denoument, he thought. 

A touch on his shoulder startled him.

Janet was looking at him.  He removed the headphones.

"I'm heading home."

"You can't drive!"

"No silly.  Of course I can't.  I called a cab.  Just wanted to let you know I was heading out."

"You could just crash here."

"No. I couldn't.  It wouldn't be safe.  I need a haven Hank.  And you would be that for me tonight.  But it wouldn't be safe.

The short retort of a horn broke the mood. 

"That's my cab.  I'll see you tomorrow..

"Sure" said Hank.  He gave her a 'thank-you-for-not-feeling-that-I-am-a-safe-haven' peck on the cheek.

"Be good." he said.