They ended up at the Timberline Wilderness Lodge and Pancake House, and Mimi clapped her hands at the silk-flowers-and-waterbeds ambience of the room, fondled the grisly jackalope head on the wall, and started running a tub while Alan carried in the suitcases.She dramatically tossed her clothes, one item at a time, out the bathroom door, through the clouds of steam, and he caught a glimpse of her round, full ass, bracketed by her restless wings, as she poured into the tub the bottle of cheap bubble-bath she’d bought in the lobby.He dug a T-shirt and a fresh pair of boxers to sleep in out of his suitcase, feeling ridiculously modest as he donned them. His feet crunched over cigarette burns and tangles in the brown shag carpet and he wished he’d brought along some slippers. He flipped through both snowy TV channels and decided that he couldn’t stomach a televangelist or a thirty-year-old sitcom right then and flicked it off, sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to the splashing from the bathroom.Mimi was in awfully good spirits, considering what she’d been through with Krishna. He tried to think about it, trying to make sense of the day and the girl, but the splashing from the tub kept intruding on his thoughts.She began to sing, and after a second he recognized the tune. “White Rabbit,” by the Jefferson Airplane. Not the kind of thing he’d expect her to be giving voice to; nor she, apparently, for she kept breaking off to giggle. Finally, he poked his head through the door.She was folded into the tub, knees and tits above the foamline, wings slick with water and dripping in the tile. Her hands were out of sight beneath the suds. She caught his eye and grinned crazily, then her hands shot out of the pool, clutching the hunting knife.“Put on the White Rabbit!” she howled, cackling fiendishly.He leapt back and she continued to cackle. “Come back, come back,” she choked. “I’m doing the tub scene fromFear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I thought you were into reading?”He cautiously peeked around the doorjamb, playing it up for comic effect. “Give me the knife,” he said.“Awww,” she said, handing it over, butt first. He set it down on the dresser, then hurried back to the bathroom.“Haven’t you read all those books?”Alan grinned. “What’s the point of a bunch of books you’ve already read?” He dropped his boxers and stripped off his T-shirt and climbed into the tub, sloshing gallons of water over the scummy tile floor.
They ended up at the Timberline Wilderness Lodge and Pancake House, and Mimi clapped her hands at the silk-flowers-and-waterbeds ambience of the room, fondled the grisly jackalope head on the wall, and started running a tub while Alan carried in the suitcases.
She dramatically tossed her clothes, one item at a time, out the bathroom door, through the clouds of steam, and he caught a glimpse of her round, full ass, bracketed by her restless wings, as she poured into the tub the bottle of cheap bubble-bath she’d bought in the lobby.
He dug a T-shirt and a fresh pair of boxers to sleep in out of his suitcase, feeling ridiculously modest as he donned them. His feet crunched over cigarette burns and tangles in the brown shag carpet and he wished he’d brought along some slippers. He flipped through both snowy TV channels and decided that he couldn’t stomach a televangelist or a thirty-year-old sitcom right then and flicked it off, sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to the splashing from the bathroom.
Mimi was in awfully good spirits, considering what she’d been through with Krishna. He tried to think about it, trying to make sense of the day and the girl, but the splashing from the tub kept intruding on his thoughts.
She began to sing, and after a second he recognized the tune. “White Rabbit,” by the Jefferson Airplane. Not the kind of thing he’d expect her to be giving voice to; nor she, apparently, for she kept breaking off to giggle. Finally, he poked his head through the door.
She was folded into the tub, knees and tits above the foamline, wings slick with water and dripping in the tile. Her hands were out of sight beneath the suds. She caught his eye and grinned crazily, then her hands shot out of the pool, clutching the hunting knife.
“Put on the White Rabbit!” she howled, cackling fiendishly.
He leapt back and she continued to cackle. “Come back, come back,” she choked. “I’m doing the tub scene fromFear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I thought you were into reading?”
He cautiously peeked around the doorjamb, playing it up for comic effect. “Give me the knife,” he said.
“Awww,” she said, handing it over, butt first. He set it down on the dresser, then hurried back to the bathroom.
“Haven’t you read all those books?”
Alan grinned. “What’s the point of a bunch of books you’ve already read?” He dropped his boxers and stripped off his T-shirt and climbed into the tub, sloshing gallons of water over the scummy tile floor.