Love's Little Instruction Book by Mary Gorman Read Free Book Online

worse than Dave had thought. Denise and Presley had installed themselves in the front seat right next to the door and were making animated conversation with Howard Kartstein, the station owner who sat with his wife behind the driver. The closest available seat — for two, himself and the cooler — was halfway down the aisle, across from one of the college student interns, who had himself plugged by the earphones into an MP3 player. He wasn’t quite singing a cappella, but his eyes were closed and his lips were moving. Whatever zone he was in, Dave had a feeling that it was a better place than sitting on a bus seat passing the time with meat.
    About ten minutes into the trip, Presley suddenly got up into the aisle and grabbed hold of the microphone. “Are we there yet?” she asked cheekily. “No? Well, to help make the time go faster, I’m going to put on these home movies of last year’s trip to Mount Wamsutta, which were put together by Manny and Pat from engineering. Rock on, guys!”
    It started out innocently enough, with scenes from the bus ride and Paul Lund grilling up some burgers. But then came a close up of Dave, brandishing a tall, overly garnished hamburger. Dave cringed, remembering what was coming next. Manny wouldn’t leave him alone and had filmed him as he ate every last bite. He raised the burger to his mouth, opened his mouth like a whale about to eat Ahab, and … the camera cut to a close up of a denim-clad, female backside that widened to reveal that the ass in question belonged to Presley, who whirled, and laughed saying, “Stop following me!” There was a shot of one of the programming directors making a diving catch for a Frisbee, followed a fast succession of three station workers fanning the softball. Then back to Dave, who was still chewing that first bite of burger. A shot of Paul Lund dropping a burger into the coals, then scooping it up with his spatula, glancing around quickly, then brushing off the cinders and slipping it onto a bun, followed by Dave, still chewing. Three more softball players went down swinging, followed by the secretary with the book, sitting in the shade and still reading. Back to Dave, who had just taken another bite, and Manny’s voice asking, “Hey Dave, is it good?” followed by a long pause while Dave held up one finger, nodded and sped up his chewing, caught like a diner whose waiter had a vendetta, unable to reply. Three more ballplayers who failed to connect, and then a shot of Presley executing a fantastic wind up before hurling the ball across the plate — she had been a starting pitcher at her community college. Then back to Dave eating. And finally back to following Presley, who turned to the camera, wagged a finger and warned, “If you follow me in here, you’re going to lose a testicle,” before disappearing into a hallway which was then obscured by a closing door labeled Women .
    Dave sunk in his seat, mortified. He had as much of a sense of humor as the next guy, but he felt embarrassed, almost violated. He had been hoping for some way that he could attract Denise’s attention, but not by looking like a fool. The sales manager that ate New England. Some joke.
    The trip to the shore took just over an hour, most of it spent in negotiating the crowded throughways of Boston. A cheer went up as they arrived and Presley stood up, took the microphone and said simply, “Ladies and gentleman, I give you … The Beach !”
    Already responsible for the meat, Dave tossed his towel over his shoulder and disembarked. He didn’t need to linger by the bus, but he waited anyway. He hoped to land a spot not far from where Denise would be based and he couldn’t very well do that if he got there before her. He stood near the front of the bus, the cooler under his arm, watching while the others unloaded the gear that had been stowed in the bottom of the bus. He lingered until he saw Presley and Denise go by, carrying a small tote bag and a large boom box. He