Jill Read online

  Jill

  By

  Jay Hughes

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  ISBN 1-58873-079-4

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2002 by Jay Hughes

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information contact:

  Renaissance E Books

  P. O. Box 494

  Clemmons, NC 27012-0494

  USA

  Email [email protected]

  CHAPTER ONE

  I lurched out of a slumber, gazed into the blackness and found the alarm clock. Six-oh-four. I sprang to my feet.

  Sort of.

  I bumped head-first into the bathroom door, kicked the fuckin' thing open and went in to do what people do when they lurch to their feet at a little after six in the morning.

  In the dark.

  I should have turned on the light.

  It's important to note that almost nothing goes on in the bathroom that's more exciting than that, but on the rare occasions when something more exciting does happen, I'll be there.

  I could tell the story about the time Jill locked herself in because I grabbed her by the boobs while she was slicing cantaloupe.

  I won't tell that story. Some matters are private.

  I scuffled around in the dark, still determined not to turn on the light, and found what seemed to be my robe.

  "Where the hell are you, Klinger?"

  I went to the door, looked out into the snow and cursed myself for having dozed off without letting the little fucker back in.

  Klinger is my dog. And he's missing. He's been missing since six-oh-four in the morning when I woke up and realized that I'd put him out so he could do his own rendition of spoil-the-bathroom.

  That was four hours ago.

  I opened the door, scoured the front porch, saw Klinger tracks leading up the steps, around the doormat and ... into the night.

  Klinger is a dachshund. At last measurement, four inches of snow was on the ground. Klinger is a boy dog. His pecker is pickled.

  Telling myself there was no need to panic, I groped my way back through the living room, found some clothes, a coat, my boots and gloves. Dawn would not come for another hour.

  "Klinger!"

  I followed his tracks around to the back door. He'd stopped there briefly. Then he went somewhere else.

  I would too, if I were a dachshund, standing pecker-deep in the snow in the middle of January.

  "Klinger!"

  In the dark, I could see it was futile. I thought about calling the neighbors to see if the little brown bugger had shown up, but it was ... a little after six in the morning. Sunday. I could have called the police, who would have had me arrested for dog abuse. The charge: contributing to the de-peckerization of a dachshund.

  There I stood, in the snow, freezing my ass off, worrying about Klinger and imagining what he must be thinking.

  He's been my buddy for about four years. I named him Klinger after the cross-dressing guy on the M*A*S*H TV show.

  I wandered back toward the house, looking here and there, calling out his name. If he's nearby, he's pissed.

  A cross-dressing dog. I wondered if maybe Klinger the dog was gay. It's possible, I suppose, but then ... why would a dog need to be gay? If you can lick your own balls, hey, go for it.

  I could just see the little guy wandering into a gay-dog area of town, hanging around, pissing on a fireplug, then slithering down to the corner, waiting for passing cars.

  "Hey, sailor, want some action? Am I gay? No, but I can lick my balls."

  Hey, this isn't funny. "Klinger!"

  Nothing.

  I went indoors and plotted strategy. First, I'd need daylight. I could follow his tracks if I could see them. "Hold out another hour, buddy."

  I brewed a pot of coffee, heard the newspaper delivery person slam the daily Belch against the front door and flipped on the CNN hourly ration of boredom.

  "And in news from Indiana ... Klinger is missing. Local authorities plan to arrest Jay Hughes, the dog's owner, for contributing to the de-peckerization of a dachshund."

  I have made national news, but not for that reason. You'll understand later.

  I stared out the east window, hoping like mad that the sun would come up today. With my luck, this would be the one morning that would just ... not ... become ... day.

  If you think picking a bathroom door lock with a hairpin is a long, arduous process, try waiting for sunrise.

  When the phone rang, I jumped about eight feet. It had to be news about Klinger. "Hi, Jill. Klinger is missing."

  "Go find him."

  "It's dark."

  "Wait till daylight."

  "Why are you calling me at this evil hour?"

  "To get you up and see if you wanted to have breakfast with me. I guess you have to find your dog. I bet his little pecker is frozen." Jill had a way of finding the mental screwdriver and driving it straight into my forehead.

  It's why I love her so.

  That and the nifty things she can do with fruit.

  Don't ask. We'll get to that part later.

  After we find Klinger.

  ***

  Her look was stern. Through those deep black eyes, I could tell she was angry.

  "You should be strung up on that tree out there," she said.

  This is not as angry as Jill can get, but I think she sensed a little panic in my demeanor. "Just help me find him," I said.

  "Which way?"

  I pointed to the back yard where I'd seen Klinger's tracks disappear into the shadows. By now it was daylight. We'd have a chance. I was certain the little fellow had found shelter, probably at Maud Perkins' house across the alley.

  Klinger doesn't like women, but he tolerates Maud. He likes Jill because she isn't human. Klinger is like most dogs; they get along well with people from other planets.

  Plus, Jill likes me and so does Klinger. I feed him. I also feed Jill, but she sits at the table. Klinger wants to sit at the table.

  "You'll be lucky if he even wants to come home," she said, disappearing around the house toward the tracks. "Klinger!"

  "Klinger."

  Jill stopped at the gate and looked north. I stopped right behind her and looked south. "He went to Maud's," I deducted. "See his tracks."

  "Go get him!"

  Yep, Jill was pissed at me.

  "Hey," I said, "it was an accident."

  She shooed me ahead toward Maud's back gate. I don't know how Klinger got it open, but he did. I followed his prints along the sidewalk, up the steps ... there, I knocked.

  A little 200-year-old white-haired woman eased open the door, peeked out and cleared her throat.

  "Is Klinger here?"

  She gave me that you-asshole look. "Little fellow almost froze his pecker off."

  "Can I get him?"

  "You ain't fit to own a dog, Jay."

  "Maud, please. It's freezing out here."

  "Should'a thought of that before you let the little dickens run loose in the snow, middle of the night. He's like to froze." Maud peered over my shoulder. "That green thing out there with you again? Oughta keep to your own kind."

  "Jill's not going to hurt you." I jumped up and down, waiting for Maud to let me in. "Can I get Klinger?"

  "He's in the basement."

  I pushed at the door, and Maud gave me some resistance. "Do you want a reward?"

  "I'm gonna call the cops on you." She opened the door and let me into the kitchen. Then she went to the hallway, opened a door and let Klinger out.

  He growled.

  "See, he don't like you, Jay. You and that green thing." Her gnarly little finger moved in the dim morning light.

  "She's not green, Maud. Just seems like it."


  "She's a colored. Ain't even a real person."

  Klinger stretched and yawned, looked up at Maud, growled at her, wagged his tail and eased over to me. I picked him up and all was well. I gave Maud ten bucks and went out the back door, armed with Klinger, who wagged his tail when he saw Jill.

  In the morning light, Jill was greener than usual.

  ***

  "How do you put up with this snow?" she grumbled.

  "It only happens in the winter," I said. I gave Klinger a pat on the back and sent him scurrying to his pile of rubber toys. I don't think he was interested, which is why he pissed all over the front of the couch.

  Dachshunds do that.

  Jill fiddled around in the kitchen and made a pot of what she claimed was coffee, sat down at the table and gazed out the east window. "I still can't get used to the sun coming up over there."

  "Earth's a bitch," I said. I sat down next to her, tried to fondle her wrist.

  "Too early."

  "At least Klinger is safe."

  She gave me that dark-eyed stare that only a green woman can give, then she produced a smile. "What do we do for the rest of the morning?"

  "You suggested breakfast. Dawson's doesn't open until ten. I have another idea."

  She yawned. "It is one feature you people have that I enjoy. I used to only do it twice a year."

  "Before you came along, that's about how often I was doing it."

  I could hear Klinger in the other room, either chewing on his rubber rat or destroying Jill's boots. In either event, Jill needed more lessons about sex, and ... there is only so much time in the day to teach her. It wasn't too early, after all.

  Off we went. To the laboratory.

  Undressing Jill was a simple exercise. She was wearing a single-piece jumpsuit that unzipped from the front. So, I unzipped it, pushed it back off her shoulders and buried my head square into her dark green boobs. She stands a little over six feet. I didn't have to bend down too far.

  Making love to Jill is a lot of fun, considering she had never done it for pleasure until she came to Earth. That means, almost anything goes until she says she doesn't like it. So far, I've had no complaints. One rule: no plastic.

  But it does take some doing to get her to relax. I accomplish this by conventional means. Use your imagination here. You have a woman in your bed, and you have her naked. She has long, straight black hair, soft breasts and a body temperature of a little over a hundred degrees. She does not perspire. And she is as strong as a bull.

  She moans in a strange language.

  In the six months we have shared each other, I have never failed to please her.

  And no, I don't expect her daughter to barge in.

  ***

  We argued for a few minutes about whether my ramblin'-man dog would have gotten out if she'd spent the night with me, like I had asked. I conceded her work was at least as valuable as my problems with Klinger.

  Sunday is the only day Jill claims for herself. It's a gruesome, endless task being trapped on a strange planet. She doesn't get out much and it has become a challenge to find quiet places where we can go to enjoy dinner, the world around us, meet new and exciting people.

  Well, new and exciting is a matter of opinion in Coffee Creek. Almost everyone thinks I'm exciting because of Jill and they find Jill fascinating, which has nothing to do with me. It is nice, however, to claim bragging rights to her.

  Not many people keep company with a green woman. I avoid the phrase "sleep with," since a lot of folks would neither understand nor approve. The people who pay my salary would be less than thrilled.

  All the same, most of them know it and that's tough.

  ***

  We drove down Grapevine Hill to Soapy's, a little joint that serves decent American-grown beef and steak fries. Jill was determined to have her first glass of beer. I did not object. Even when we're not working, we're researching. I wanted to see what would happen if I got her blasted.

  Soapy's is off in the woods, about a half-mile from the main road. It's peaceful. Vicki the bartender, and Esmeralda the cook have gotten to know Jill on a personal level. They're past that "so-how-do-you-like-Earth?" stage. As you might have guessed, I have to listen to a lot of female-type conversation that Jill finds useful and Vicki finds necessary. Esmeralda, an immigrant in her own right, has her eye on me. If Jill ever goes back home, Essie plans to marry me and take me back to Guatemala.

  I'm debating. Guatemala is a long way from Coffee Creek.

  I can't recall who said what first, but the big man with the beard did utter something to the short skinny guy about "that alien bitch."

  Jill doesn't mind being called a bitch, but she does get angry when somebody calls her an alien.

  ***

  The police officer conceded she had a right to plaster the big guy in the face and the paramedics said the short skinny guy would recover.

  "You do have to control your temper," I said. "You can only stretch diplomatic immunity so far."

  Jill tried to straighten the Band-Aid that she intended to use on her thumb. "I cut myself."

  "Need some help with it? Want to go to a doctor?"

  "What do you suppose a doctor would do?"

  "Stitch you up."

  She gave me that don't-be-stupid glare. "You people are barbarians."

  "At least we don't go around beating up on customers in a restaurant just because they use the A-word."

  "I'm tired of being stared at like I..."

  "Came from another planet? People with yellow blood aren't real common around here."

  She gave me a scowl. Then she drank the beer. "I like this."

  "What do you do back home when you want attitude adjustment?"

  "Chew on celfa bark."

  "Often?"

  "Two days before the men breed us. Beyond that, you wouldn't understand."

  We'd been over that, too. It was not my business and if I asked again, Jill had insisted I'd regret it. Human or not, she's still a female. One knows one's boundaries.

  I ordered two more beers. I was beginning to wonder which of my two soul mates made more sense. Klinger just pisses on the front of the couch. Jill tells me I wouldn't understand.

  Does anybody plan to fill me in?

  CHAPTER TWO

  "A bathroom," she had told me that muggy July day when Klinger found the rabbit, chased the rabbit and ... stopped abruptly to sniff her leg.

  I honestly believe he would have lifted his leg had she not moved when she did.

  Having never seen a green woman, I nearly pissed my pants. But I am a tolerant sort and figured she had a reason for being green. Tall and green. She was from "her ship."

  I believed it about as much as Klinger did. I did notice he didn't growl at her as he is wont to do around women.

  I let her in to use the bathroom. She spent an inordinate amount of time staring at my television.

  And at my dog.

  I had no way of knowing if she was armed, dangerous, prepared to eat me or zap me with her breasts. I was a bit concerned about her heavy breathing, but I chalked that up to my magnetic appeal.

  "I am a little curious," I said after I got my bearings and offered her a seat on the couch, "about a few things."

  She gave me a peculiar look, one that you'd expect from a woman who just dropped in from the solar system or someplace. "I must have information."

  "No," I said, "I must have information. Is the next logical question one of my taking you to my leader?"

  "Who is your leader?"

  I pointed to Klinger and shrugged. This was an icebreaker moment and I didn't dare blow it. "I suppose it would be the president, but he's out of the country. Next up would be Kissinger or Greenspan. Speaking of green..."

  She got up and looked around the living room, almost touching, but not touching ... gazing, confused. She turned to me. "I am Cheeliol."

  "Is that your name or your country?"

  "Cheeliol is my name. I have no country.
"

  "I'm Jay and this is Indiana, which isn't a country either, although some of us have plans."

  She cocked her head and looked down at me. "Is this a dog?"

  "That's Klinger and he bites women. Usually. Can I ... um ... ask this ... how do you speak our language? Where did you come from and what the hell are you doing here, in my house?"

  "That's three questions. I'm in your house because you invited me and I speak the language because I learned it. Where I come from isn't of any consequence."

  "It is to me."

  She sat down again. Her breathing had eased by now and she seemed a bit more comfortable around me. I think she was beginning to like Klinger, who had shown no signs of his normal aggressive attitude toward females. Cheeliol was even about to pet him when he ran to the front door.

  "Out?"

  He wagged his tail.

  "Gotta let Klinger do his duty," I said.

  "I don't understand."

  "You will." I opened the door and Klinger bolted for the old elm tree out front, did what he does best and high-tailed it back to the house. Klinger didn't want to miss this part. When he snatched his rubber rat from the box and plopped it down at Cheeliol's feet, I knew he'd made a friend.

  I wasn't sure just what I was up against. "Presuming you just got here and have no money, you also probably don't have a plan. Or do you?"

  "No plan. My ship is out there."

  "Out where? Mind if I see it?"

  "Yes, I mind!"

  That resolved, we set about the task of sorting out Cheeliol's immediate future. Food? "Ah, do you eat?"

  She nodded.

  "Bathe?"

  "Yes."

  "The bathroom part is already established. Um ... are there others ... like you? Damn, Cheeliol, what am I supposed to do?"

  She smiled and stroked my arm. I'd been touched by an alien. No electric shock. She felt human. "Let me get adjusted here for a few hours."

  A few hours? "You comprehend time."

  "Of course. And distance and weights and measures and all sorts of things. I didn't come here completely unarmed."

  "That was my next question."

  She smiled and giggled. "Monsters from outer space, coming to take over the world. No, that's not going to happen."

  "That's a relief. I'd hate to be the one who had to snuff you out before you take a foothold."