Tami Beethoven

"All that feels like a hundred years ago. Besides," taking a pause to swallow, "I feel sorry for her... She's probably like Samantha, all frustrated sexually."

Rod noticed the Cherish circlets, jiggling invitingly on her nipples as she swallowed. "How is the design business going?"

"Well. Quite well. Gretch and I are working on a full outfit for the International show, if I get picked. I just can't get the boots right. I don't know what it is, I have no sense for footwear. We might have to just have her in dress sandals or something.

"And then there's this problem." Tami got onto the floor and shook her shoulders, making her breasts bounce side to side. It reminded him of Brigid's test to see if her circlets were on securely. Then Tami jumped up and down, making her breasts bob.

"What is that all about?"

"The outfit just doesn't have the right support for the breasts. Gretchen's keep falling out. It's pretty embarrassing for her, even though no one's there to see except me. You know how she is. The topographical formulas work out, looking at the scans I've taken of my own bod, but Gretchen's boobs keep falling out anyway."

"Her boobs are different from yours." Not as firm, undoubtedly.

"It should work out the same. It's still a puzzle. Other than that, the dyeing is working out good. We've got six colors going."

"And this one?" He pointed to her circlets. "Which is that, teal?"

"Yes. Pretty good color ID for a hetero guy!" She looked down at them. "Goes good with my plum hair." Looking at the plum pubic bush bisected by the teal C-string, it was hard to disagree. "Say Rod, now that I can wear some little bits, can I follow my true professional ambition?"

"What is that?"

She patted his head, then caressed it, her white hands always a contrast to the dark brown elegance of his shaved scalp. "Why being a topless dancer at Teaser's, of course! Watch!" Hands on her hips, with subtle motions of her shoulders she made the left circlet trace a clockwise circle in the air, while the right one circled counter-clockwise. Rod could only whistle and clap.

"That reminds me," Tami said, getting up on the table to eat again. "Yvette's coming over tomorrow."

Rod rolled his eyes. "STILL at Teaser's?"

"She seems OK. She's got me half convinced that you can work there and not be desperate, or nuts."

"After all the effed-up girls you've rescued from that place?"

Tami shrugged and gulped down more gluey casserole.

. . . .

"Looks damn unacceptable," Acting Dean Anthony Noyes said, appraising the scene from the Dean's Office window up on the top floor. It was rather dark out, due to the snow clouds, but he could see something like this pretty well.

"Me, I don't mind," George Halifax said, leaning forward almost into the pane, stuffing a potato chip into his mouth, wiping a broken piece off his already-greasy tie.

They were watching the apparently naked form of Ms. Tami Smithers on one of the concrete tables, spreading her legs wide for a little crowd of faculty and students who were well bundled up on this cold and windy day. Of course, she was showing off her C-string. Over the past few days this had been a common sight.

"It shows progress, those little bits covering her privates and her tits," Halifax said. "Almost sexier than wearing nothing at all."

"I know, but we can't have her spreading her legs all over the campus. She's never done anything like that before and it just looks like hell. She's always acted so . . . modest."

"You know all you have to do is say something to her and she'll stop," Halifax said, searching a pocket for a doughnut. Then he remembered he ate it an hour ago. "Why begrudge her a few last days of happiness?"

Noyes shook his head. "The Pentagon. The damned Pentagon!"

Halifax, for once not chomping on food, said, "You're going to go along with it? Sometimes your connections are not, you know, helpful."

"Or at least not the right ones. My crowd left a long time ago... So what do you think?"

Halifax arranged his bulk over the comfy chair next to the window and sat. "They approached you with their idea, and you should let her know. How can you not? She's an adult, in the eyes of the law."

"She'd wonder how they found out about her project in the first place."

Leaning over to look down at Tami, spreading her legs for a new crowd, merrily pushing her crotch in their faces, Halifax said, "She doesn't seem like the suspicious type."

"I just don't want her getting mixed up in all that -- crap," Noyes said.

"It's a stinking business," Halifax nodded. "A stinking business!"

Noyes exhaled. After a moment he said, "Another problem is what to tell Girardo."

"Well he'll be sure to have Konrad look at it." The fashion department professor who was also an intellectual property attorney.

"And I bet I know what that guy will say," Noyes said. "He hates anything connected with the military."

"Getting busted down and drummed out because you're gay can do that to you," Halifax said. "Even if it was twenty years ago."

Now, down below, the wheeled figure of Homer Winant came into view. Accompanied by Omar, Homer's replacement as grounds crew chief. They stayed back at a distance, watching Tami spread her legs for yet another crowd. The C-string was not visible from Noyes's viewpoint but of course he knew it was there. A couple of people reached in between Tami's legs to touch it.

Listlessly, Noyes said, "And it gets her off campus after she graduates."

"Yes, yes, yes... There's always that."

"What can we do? What ELSE can we do?" Noyes said. "Tell her about the Pentagon grant proposal... when we know she can't really say 'no'?"

. . . .

As this conversation was taking place, Homer and Omar, a husky, dark-skinned native of Cuba, approached Tami as she hopped off the table, reached back to flick some concrete dust off her butt, and picked up her bookbag.

"You graduate in a few weeks, my congratulations in advance," Homer said. "We have something to talk about. Let's take you this way."

Tami followed them, not asking any questions, probably because she had a sense of what they wanted. In fact she could read their minds, as she overtook them and strode toward the big black metallic sculpture. They watched, intently as ever, the motions of her muscular thighs, the tight bare butt, the bare back, flushed red in the blustery cold. Finally they arrived and glanced at the little name plate on the socle.

"Tami Takes Flight".

Abstract but not overly so, a creation of the late Jan Latimer, the eminent sculptor who was on the faculty for so long. A nude young woman, one leg out behind her, bent forward at the hip, arms extended, as if she really were about to fly. The shaping was an exquisitely accurate rendition of Tami's curves (at least as they were at age 18), though there were no specifics except for the eyes and nose and some lines on the feet that indicated toes.

"Being that the conditions under which you posed for this were, no fault of Jan's, to be sure, but questionable," Homer said, "we want to leave it up to you to decide what to do about this."

"If you want," Omar, who was still her boss, added, "you can help us break it down and put it into storage. Or the other guys can do it without you. Or, we can move it onto the back lot."

Tami looked up at it -- it was about five times her size -- then jumped up to one of the arms. Her breasts, tight and red with the cold, bounced as she swung herself up on top. She looked down at them, hands on hips. The cold metal must have been like ice to her bare feet. Not that Tami would mind, after all this time.

Some people stopped to watch. Now, in a loud voice, the all but naked woman said, smiling, "No, keep it!" And, on top of the statue, she raised one leg out up behind her and spread her arms, giving an exact impression of the statue below her, the pose she assumed as ordered so long ago when she was a scared and mortified teenager. It was so striking a scene that people flipped out their cell phones to take pictures.

. . . .

The snow fell ever more heavily on the way home and Rod was almost in danger of getting hypnotized by the flakes hitting the windshield. By the time he pulled into the driveway it was totally dark and there were two inches on the ground. It would be good to see Tami. I wonder what extra bits of fabric she could get on today? Maybe bigger circlets? Maybe a string around her butt to hold up a thong bottom? It was like the Brigid dreams in reverse order.

He stamped the snow from his boots and took them off before he got to the kitchen. "Home, Babe!" he announced.

Not hearing a response, he stood still, standing there in his stockinged feet and his coat and hat and gloves. Then he heard sniffling.

He was immediately concerned. Tami hardly ever got a cold. He padded into the bedroom and saw her at the desk, minus C- string and circlets, red eyed, tears down her face, staring at the computer screen.

"What's wrong?"

Tami sniffled again and looked at him through bleary eyes. "Joe."

Part 62

Rod's heart stopped. Her little brother Joe was due back next month. "Is he OK?"

Tami nodded. "No, not that. Thank goodness he's OK. But they just extended his tour eighteen months. And he's going into a combat zone."

Rod closed his eyes. "Jesus." They had both heard on the news of this kind of thing happening. And kept themselves from thinking that it could happen to Joe. Well, now it had happened.

"And..." Tami had a hard time getting the words out. "Dad is killing himself working all hours at the hardware store. He was looking forward to getting some help from Joe, counting the days!" She stared down at her bare sole grinding into the floor.

"SHIT!!!" Suddenly she slammed her fist onto the desk, causing the keyboard to fall against her knee. She kicked the keyboard away and it disconnected and rattled across the floor. Then the mouse, which she always kept on the floor, got a kick.

Rod could only approach her sobbing nakedness and pick her up, taking her into her arms like a sick child. Then he gently laid her onto the bed.

He sat next to her. "I'm sorry to hear that, Babe."

Tami sniffled and wiped her nose. After she caught her breath, she said, "And here I am lying about in college. Dad is trying to make ends meet. Joe is fighting a war. And I'm just dawdling around."

"Hardly. Nobody has worked harder in school than you."

"Well it's not helping my Dad, isn't?" She looked over at the dresser. The C-string was on top, next to her circlets. She looked at these, her entire wardrobe, for a long time. Then she said, "Yvette will be here for dinner. I'll ask her about Teaser's. Dad needs some cash."

Rod was so horrified he was speechless for a moment. "Babe, don't even think about it!" It was so out of place, he couldn't even picture Tami dancing in front of creepy jerks stuffing filthy dollar bills into her . . .

"Why not? On a good night Yvette makes three hundred dollars." Tami got up wearily and looked at herself in the mirror. Then a languid grin. "I don't mind saying my body will probably be the best one in the place."

He was glad to see a little lightness. "No doubt. The other girls will be jealous of you. Prepare for a catfight." Which Tami, of course, would easily win.

Still, asking Yvette for a job as a stripper should be avoided. Rod said, "Maybe you should call Yvette to cancel. This is a bad time to entertain guests."

"No, it's too late." Rod was ready to talk her out of it but then the doorbell rang. "Well here she is..." Tami got up and took a deep breath, her breasts heaving. She wiped her eyes dry with the blanket, briefly checked her hair in the mirror, made a quick adjustment to a pubic curl which had gotten out of place, and got the door.

It was a glum supper. Tami brought out the bean salad and stew she had made and they ate listlessly. Yvette tried to be cheerful, telling her about her parents' new house in Montreal, how her boyfriend Pierre was nicer recently and they might be living together again, about her plan to go to the "Lycee", apparently some kind of secretarial school, in a town called Saint Bruno de Montarville. But the oppressive gloominess beat her down until she was as silent as her hosts.

Finally Rod said, "You have to forgive us, Yvette. Tami's brother Joe is in Iraq. We just found out that his tour has been extended another year and a half."

"Tour?"

"Yes, time of his... uh, assignment. He's a, what, a Specialist Third Class now?" Tami nodded.

"Oh. Some of the guys at the club were in Iraq. I very much hope your brother is well. Is that a far place?"

"Yes," Rod said.

After a moment, Yvette said, "I like your country but I am glad I am... Canadienne."

Tami and Rod ate silently, deciding not to voice any reactions they might have. Mostly Rod was thankful that Tami was not asking about a job at Teaser's.

Yvette, clearly feeling miserable, said, "Please to think that I should go."

"No," Tami said. Then, looking out the window at the night, where the snow had stopped, she said, "I've got a plan." She went to the sink and bent down to get something from the lower cabinet. Yvette looked at Tami's butthole, winking in their faces, and wondered once again how this always-naked woman could be so free of shame. Even most of the dancers at Teaser's, getting totally naked in the private dance booths, were shy about exposing that last, most secret part of themselves.

Tami placed a bottle of Irish whiskey on the table with a loud thump. "I want to get smashed. Anyone want to join me?"

"I have to drive home," Yvette pointed out.

"You can stay over," Tami said. Then she grabbed a twelve- ounce class and poured it half full. And quaffed it like it was orange juice.

Well, Rod always knew that Tami had this capacity. Anyone whose favorite drink is a martini... Tami poured another.

"Well, OK, Babe, count me in," he said, though he filled his glass half full of water before she hit him. Why the hell not? Somehow it seemed the proper thing to do. Bad news and nothing to be done about it. Tami wanted to get drunk and they should get drunk with her. Why not?

He tried to drink as fast as Tami but it was not easy. He had never liked whiskey, it was too strong for him, and after the first glass he felt the dizziness kick in. Through his disorientation he saw Yvette put her glass out, though she mixed it with cola that Tami got from the fridge.

The three drank and then retired to the living room, where Tami put some oldies CD's on, Beach Boys and Beatles which she said Joe liked. Tami brought in some chips. Rod took a final belt of whiskey and announced he was turning in. He walked into the bedroom, still in his clothes, and fell onto the bed like a dead man, not moving. Yvette and Tami followed him to see this and giggled.

It turned out Yvette had almost as much capacity for alcohol as Tami. "You must be half Irish," Tami said as she staggered up to change a CD.

"Ooohh, I know this one," Yvette said, picking out an Enrique Iglesias CD. She danced to it as Tami watched. "They play this at the club." Tami laughed as Yvette did some dancer moves, exaggerating the swing and sway of the hips, the mugging at the guys sitting around the stage. The Canadian girl was glad to lift Tami's spirits. She did a modified limited strip tease, getting down to her bra and panties and socks, flinging away each piece of clothing like a stripper from the old days, when the girl would start the set fully clothed and take her time.

After the last CD finished, the two young women sat on the couch silently, Yvette feeling exposed but looking heavily clothed next to her always naked friend. Finally Tami said, "Thanks for hangin' out." She got up on unsteady feet and drank the last of the whiskey straight from the bottle. "You can... shtay in the guest room." Then to Yvette's surprise, she violently stamped her tough sole on the hardwood floor. "F**KING SHIT!! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!!" Her breasts bounced with each stomp. Her bleary eyes blinked. She seemed about to throw the bottle on the floor but changed her mind.

Then, "Good night." And she was off to bed with Rod.

. . . .

Her dream, where the naked Tami, brandishing a machine gun, was leading a platoon of heavily clothed soldiers into battle, was interrupted by a double horn honk. She recognized it with alarm. But it wasn't part of her dream. And then another double honk. She woke up, head pounding, and lurched out of the guest room, and then put on her coat. She didn't go outside but looked through the kitchen window, and out past the Jeep and the old yellow VW Bug out to the street.

Yet another double honk. The tall figure on the motorcycle, out on the plowed street, seemed to look straight through her. "Come out, 'Vette!"

She slipped into her boots and crept outside the door. There was no moon out but the snow everywhere had its own dull glow. In a loud whisper she said, in French, "You should not be here. Please go. I'll see you at the club."

"No way. You belong with me!" He was in one of his moods again. "Do I have to come in and make you?"

To Yvette's horror, a strong, naked, and somewhat drunk woman appeared behind her. "Who is that?" Tami said.

Yvette paused but knew she had to answer. "Pierre."

Tami's eyes flashed. "Jesus! What's he doing here?!" Then she yelled out, "Go home. She doesn't want you here!!"

"Shhhh!" Yvette whispered to Tami, holding her hand up. Tami pushed the hand down.

"You stay out of this!" Pierre shouted.

"No, YOU GET THE F**K OUT OF HERE!" Tami surged past Yvette and stomped out into the fluffy snow. "You heard me, GO!!"

At first Pierre was shocked to see the naked woman striding toward him, barefoot in the snow. Then he smiled. Another one of Yvette's dancer friends, the kind of stunt one might see from a crazy stripper chick. As she approached him he prepared to grab her by her skinny arms, wait as she pretended to struggle, then give her a big wet kiss. Maybe they'd be into a threesome . . .

But Tami ran up to him and to his utter astonishment pushed him off his bike. Then kicked him in the crotch with her bare toes. He tried to get up and land a few punches, but the naked girl, sliding and dodging and hitting, was too quick for him. Bare feet on snow are slippery, but unhindered by clothing she was quicker than him. Snow flung up around them, kicked up by her toes as the struggle continued, Tami's breasts bouncing, her muscular thighs flashing, her fists swinging, always hitting their target.

It was all Pierre could do to retreat and hop onto his bike and gun the engine. He forgot to be careful with the plowed-over snow surface and the bike slipped out from under him. On his second try he managed a more controlled ride and was soon out of sight, the engine sputtering away in the winter night.

Yvette didn't know what to think as she saw Tami, standing up in the street, catching her breath, snow on her hair and her pubic bush and encrusting her toes, watching where Pierre had escaped. Then Tami turned and scared the hell out of her as she approached her with the same violent intent.

"WHAT THE F**K DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING, TELLING THAT CREEP WHERE WE LIVE?" She shouted, apparently too drunk to realize that half the town could hear her, or at least the ones who were up at 1 a.m. "You know how -- dangerous that is??! Do me a favor! Get that f**ked up head of yours straight! Jesus!!"

And now Tami stormed back into the house, leaving Yvette out on the doorstep, alone with her thoughts.

She was mortified to the bone, and got back to the guest room and tried to think. And then tried to sleep. Then she got up and thought she might apologize to Tami. But Tami was snoring that loud Tami snore, face down next to Rod in their bed, her foot sticking out, melted snow and some street grit on her bare sole.