Damn! He'd forgotten to break his date with Bambi. Why he'd made it in the first place was beyond him.
4
"Rip, I thought you'd never get done with your show." Bambi wrapped her arms around Rip's neck and pressed her boobs against his chest.
"Sorry, Bambi." Making a determined attempt to disentangle himself form Bambi's chokehold, Rip tried to step back. "We aren't dating anymore. How was I supposed to know you were waiting for me?"
Rip realized he'd been less than tactful when Bambi's expression fell, and she looked up at him with her saddest poor-little-puppy-dog-eyes expression-the one she used whenever she wasn't getting her way. Once again, she wrapped her arms around his neck, locking her fingers behind his head. "Wow, I thought you'd be happy to see me. What happened? We had a good thing going? We always had a great time, didn't we?" Her singsong voice grated against Rip's tired nerves while her double-D breasts rubbed circles against his shirt, irritating the skin beneath.
Her flirting hadn't had its usual effect on Rip since his first date with Casey. He'd tried dating her after Casey had dumped him, but his attraction to Bambi had lost its fizz. And, since Dave's announcement at the station, Rip's mind had been completely occupied with his future co-host and her taunts.
That wasn't any reason to be abrupt and rude toward Bambi. He took a deep breath, loosely draped his arms around Bambi's waist and leaned back so that he could look at her while he spoke. "Look Bambi, I'm really beat. I just want to grab a pizza and head back to my place to get some rest." He glanced around the parking lot. "Can I escort you back to your car?"
She shrugged out of his embrace, her pout sinking into a definite frown. "I was hoping we could go dancing. It's been a long time since you took me dancing."
His feet ached at the thought. He'd hoped Bambi would get the idea that he wasn't interested anymore. Hell, he hadn't called her in weeks. "Really, I'm too tired. But I don't like leaving you alone in the parking lot. Where's your car?"
She shrugged. "I let my friend borrow it. She dropped me off here an hour ago."
Rip pushed his hand through his hair. Great. Now he couldn't get rid of her as fast as he'd hoped. "You're on foot?"
Bambi batted her eyes. "Not if you give me a ride."
Groaning inwardly, Rip shrugged off his fatigue and forced a smile to his face. He had dated her a couple of times BC-Before Casey and once after. "I'll give you a ride to your car. Where did she take it?"
"The Piki Tiki, of course." Her happy smile reappeared, and she hooked her arm through his, dragging him toward his Mustang.
"Oh, yeah, of course." He swallowed a sigh and tried to infuse enthusiasm into his smile. "I'll drop you off there."
As he drove to the bar, he reminded himself that the Piki Tiki had been one of his favorite haunts. He liked the appetizers, loved the beer and enjoyed shooting the bull with the bartender. What wasn't to like? Unfortunately, he'd had to curtail his visits to the bar to avoid Bambi.
The woman chattered from the time she climbed into his vehicle to the time she climbed out at the bar.
Rip must have supplied the appropriate uh-huhs to her inane observations. By the time they arrived at the Piki Tiki, Bambi bubbled with good humor.
"Do you see your car?" he asked as he shifted into park.
"Not yet, but I'll check inside for my friend. Why don't you come in with me?" She tugged on his arm. "Just until I see if she's here."
Because he couldn't leave her, not knowing if she would have a ride home, Rip sighed and got out. He hadn't seen Hank, the bartender in a while and a beer sounded good after the day he'd had.
Even before they set a foot inside, Rip winced at the sound of a loud rock 'n roll hula tune blaring from the open doorway. As they entered, Bambi yanked him to a stop and stood on tiptoe to talk to the stuffed, toy Toucan bird in a cage next to the fake palm tree. When the Toucan repeated every word Bambi spoke, she giggled, just like always.
Frankly, Rip was bored with the routine. Bambi did the same thing every time they came in. The novelty of the toy should have gotten old by now. But with Bambi, every day was a new day or a new experience.
With her next "Polly wanna cracker?", Rip lost his patience with the game and grabbed Bambi's elbow to usher her inside.
"Party pooper." She frowned at Rip, but immediately forgot her anger as she bobbed in time to the music while crossing the room. She clamped Rip's hands to her hips and formed a two-person conga line to the bar.
Rip gauged the sea of male faces that followed Bambi's, or rather her breasts', progress across the floor. With any luck several of them would give him a respite from her company by inviting her to dance and maybe escort her home so that he wouldn't have to.
When he'd started seeing her again-following his two dates and subsequent brush off with Casey-Bambi had seemed like a breath of fresh air, energetic and effervescent. She had since lost her appeal to Rip. A cocktail waitress in a men's club, she was pretty in an airheaded-cheerleader kind of way, a complete opposite of Casey Cramer. Bambi's bottle-blond hair was poofed out wide with hairspray, and she wore enough makeup for two women painted on her face, and a skirt no decent woman would be caught dead in.
At first, her physical assets had had remarkable effects on his libido. Unfortunately, Rip was beginning to notice little things about Bambi that drove him nuts.
Like her voice. It grated on every last nerve. It was soft and girlish when she spoke, but when she grew excited, she squealed like bald tires on a rain-slicked road.
Rip wondered if she was really too dense to know that her breathless little speaking voice probably stemmed from near-asphyxiation due to the fact she wore her clothing three sizes too small.
Then there were her breasts, which had impressed him with their gargantuan proportions. However, they had become an inconvenience. They got in the way of every activity he enjoyed-like reaching for the remote, watching TV...and breathing. Once, Bambi had nearly smothered him to death when his nose got squashed between the cantaloupe-sized pendulums.
"Hey, Rip, you want your hat?" Hank, the bartender, called out to him as he maneuvered Bambi up to the bar.
"Hi, Hank. No, thanks. I'll take a mug. Give me the usual." Rip gave Hank a tired smile and grimaced at the Hawaiian straw hat that hung on a peg behind the bar. The hat sported two plastic cups attached to the sides with a straw running from each cup for his sipping pleasure.
Hank slid a mug full of draft beer across the counter to him. "Don't need to prove a point, anymore?"
Rip shook his head. "That was all part of the Rip O'Rourke show. I had to build an image for my show. The hat and the beer are reminders of my college days." And how his father would have been livid to catch him drinking like a sailor. Rip had always liked doing things his father wouldn't approve of. And the hat and beer went right along with the image he portrayed as Rip O'Rourke, the talk show host. He made it a point on his show to announce his favorite bar. Before long, many of his listeners came to see him. It was all part of his promotional plan. And it had worked surprisingly fast. He was quickly becoming a household name in Austin.
Rip drew on the mug, the cool beer sliding down his throat. Then he set the glass down, released a satisfied sigh and leaned his elbows on the bar, ready to talk. "How's it going, Hank?"
Hank didn't hear him, his attention centered on Bambi as she leaned over the counter for a toothpick umbrella. Her most notable assets spilled from the top of her low-cut T-shirt, dangerously close to falling out of the neckline.
Rip smiled ruefully. He and Hank went back a long way. The TCB met at the Piki Tiki as often as their busy lives allowed. Whenever Rip needed a friend to talk to, and his TCB buddies weren't around, he could count on Hank. The man was always there to listen. And tonight, Rip felt like talking, but before he could engage the bartender in some restorative man-talk, Bambi pulled at his sleeve.
"Come on, Rip," Bambi begged. "Dance with me, while I wait on my friend to show up."
Hank laughed. "I don't know how you keep up. She makes me tired just looking at her."
As drained as he was, Rip didn't know how he'd keep up with the younger woman. He managed to dance through several tunes, pretty much just swaying from foot to foot while Bambi did her version of the bump and grind in circles around him. It wasn't until the DJ announced the start of the wet T-shirt contest that Rip was able to escape to the bar.
"Do you need a refill on that beer?" Hank asked, swiping at the counter with a rag.
"No, but thanks." He slid onto the barstool and downed the last dregs of the warm beer. "Can I get a couple of pain relievers and a shot of whiskey?"
"Got a headache, have you? I thought that was the woman's line. Tell you what, how's about I give you the pain relievers and a gin and tonic-minus the gin."
Hank pulled a bottle from beneath the counter and counted out two pills, and then handed him a glass of water to wash them down.