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RUBY33-8
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1994-05-15
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96 lines
Copyright 1994 (c)
RUBY GOES STRAIGHT?
Careful coiffure. Conservative business suit, sensible shoes.
The only giveaway was the "So many men, so little time . . . but
take a number" tote bag. I picked my jaw back up off the desktop.
"Ruby?"
"Hey, sugah. Ah got a problem," she drawled, less-than-
daintily draping herself on the edge of the desk.
I raised an eyebrow. "My dog ate your wardrobe?"
"No, 'course not--but one of Freeman cats is missing. Never
mind." She adjusted, uh, something. I suspected she was still
wearing a spandex tube-top under the conservative white blouse. "Ah
wanna get recepti . . . respecti . . . aw, you know. What Aretha
sings about!"
"Uh, Ruby, she sings about respect. I think everyone who knows
you respects you enough to leave town when you show up." I paused.
"Are you trying to tell me you want respectability?"
"Yeah, that's it. What you said," she beamed. When Ruby beams,
I get nervous.
"Begin at the beginning, Ruby." I settled back, and she
started talking . . .
***
"Well, sugah, ya know ah kinda get around. [I bit my
tongue--her travels are legendary.] Ah been a lot of places, done
a lot of diff'rent things. More an' more, the places ah go are
gettin' awful crowded, ya know?
"They got all these rules. Kent's Place got rules, an' ah
left. Seems like the more people they get, the more rules they get.
Ah'm not supposed to go anywhere without a license or a permit or
something. It's gettin' so a girl can't even fly a Lazy-Boy without
a pilot's license!"
"Anyway, ah figgered you'd know somebody who knows somebody
who can get me some sort of license for what ah do. . . "
***
She went on in the same vein for another half-hour or so. As
she talked, an idea began to take shape in the deepest recesses of
my slightly-twisted brain. Suddenly, my chair tipped forward with
a thump.
"I have your solution, Ruby." She stopped, cocked her head.
"Thank you, Charles Schultz. Okay, here's what we do . . ."
***
Several days later, Dave Barry quivered in his underground
bakery. Somehow, the Begonia woman had managed to find him. She
cornered him in a flour bin, held out a piece of paper and a pen,
batted her false eyelashes.
"Could ya sign this for me, sugah?" she said.
***
Herm Holtz had fled to Canada, barricaded himself in a small
cabin north of Moose Jaw on the shore of Last Mountain Lake. She
found him. Somewhere she'd found a pair of high-heeled snowshoes,
and she was carrying a piece of paper and a pen.
***
Dale Lehman was sure she'd never find him. He dressed himself
in rags, moved to a dumpster in the South Bronx. Sitting in front
of a can of Sterno, roasting a Vienna sausage on the end of a
coathanger, he congratulated himself on his ingenuity.
Ruby cleared her throat, held out a piece of paper and a pen.
Dale fainted.
***
Kent Ballard had new bear-traps installed. He added an
additional row of anti-personnel mines to the perimeter. He buried
himself under a mound of hay in the barn. He was itchy, sober, and
kept sneezing.
She found him, gave him a paper to sign.
***
On a tropical paradise, in the middle of a sugar cane field,
Dick Burkhalter caught his breath. Kent's call had come late last
night, and Dick had immediately thrown a couple of pairs of shorts
and a wad of bills in a knapsack. She'd never get here in time, he
thought. A couple more hours, and he'd be long gone.
The cane rustled. There she was, pen and paper in hand. Dick
whimpered.
***
Rick Dawson, Franchot Lewis, Sharon Skelly, Rosemary
McGuire--she tracked them all down, and they all signed. They
didn't have much choice. Those who resisted had to put up with Ruby
day and night until they signed.
Ruby is nothing if not persistent. She finally had one hundred
signatures, just what Michael Hahn had told her to get. She tucked
the slightly-soiled, dog-eared document in her tote bag, hopped on
her hot-pink Harley, and headed back to Miami. She had a smile on
her face, a song in her heart, and a silver leather mini-skirt on
her butt.
***
Huh? The document? Oh, that. It didn't really mean much, all
things considered, but it kept Ruby out of Michael's hair for three
months. It was an official-looking paper, and read:
"This document absolves its bearer, Ms. Ruby Begonia, from all
blame. We the undersigned certify that, no matter what happens, Ms.
Begonia may not be held responsible for any damages, be they
physical, mental, or financial, resulting from her zany antics. It
ain't Ruby's fault."
END