The Other Secret Agent

I have a dimple in my right cheek. The cheek on my face. I also have a dimple on both the right cheek and the left cheek on my butt, but I’m not talking about those dimples. I am talking about the dimple on my face.

Chicks dig it. Trust me.

Beach Babe said, “What do you do when you are not enticing women to take a drive with you on dangerous mountain roads?”

I said, “What?”

The engine was loud and the top was down.

She said, “I said, what do you do when you are not enticing women?”

I said, “I can’t hear you!” I was messing around; I have excellent hearing, and could hear her not perfectly perfect, but pretty well, I just didn’t know how to answer the question because I’m a secret agent, and we don’t usually answer questions like that.

We were driving on one of the isles of Greece—I mean, one of the most dangerous roads in the world that actually did happen to be on one of the isles in Greece-- Jesus, I find it hard to concentrate when I’m driving quickly in my Porsche Carrera at 127 miles per hour with a beautiful girl I can hear, but only barely, on one of the most dangerous roads in the world!

Her name was Yarnie. She’s known as Beach Babe in the hotels, but everyone knew her as Yarnie around the casinos on account she was a 26 year old yarnie that moonlighted as a prostitute in the hotels along the beach when she wasn’t, you know, dying yarn for knitting or crocheting on her days off.

Suffice it to say, I was driving little miss Beach Babe along one of the most dangerous roads in the world on one of the Isles of Greece at over 100 miles per hour and pretending I couldn’t hear a word out of her mouth, which, by the way, speaking about her mouth, was pouty and painted a playful pink and reminded me of one of my old girlfriend’s mouth which actually also looked like Joni Mitchel’s mouth if you remember Joni Mitchel and her mouth, which I don’t want to talk about on account of she’s dead. My old girlfriend. Not Joni Mitchel.

Yarnie said, “I said, what do you do--”

I said, “Hang on, toots, we got a bogie on our tail!”

“She said, “What?”

I said, “I said, we got a fucking bogie on our tail!”

She said, “What?”

I said, “Jesus Christ! We got a motherfucking bogie on our tail!”

Beach Babe nodded her head pleasantly as though that’s what she thought I said.

We were quiet for some time after that, me concentrating on the dangerous curves, and her taking secret glances at the dimple of mine I may have mentioned, which is on my right cheek, on my face.

The bogie was a green BMW that was gaining on me quickly and didn’t have its top down, which is a dead give-away on this little isle of Greece I can’t tell you about, but I can tell you it’s not the little isle you’re thinking of-- it’s a different one.

It wasn’t just gaining, the BMW; it was suddenly on my ass! It began beeping its horn.

“I think he wants to pass,” Yarnie said.

“Pass? Are you kidding? I’m going 127 miles per hour on one of the most dangerous roads in the world!”

“Well,” she said, “I can’t hear you, but I am pretty sure he wants to pass…”

Like hell, I thought, but then the BMW sped past with the son-of-a-bitch tooting his horn.

“Jimmy!” I said, I tooted my horn back. “Jimmy, you old son-of-a-bitch!”

That guy always cracks me up. I smiled over at Beach Babe. “That’s James Bond,” I told her. “An old friend of mine.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know James…” and something in the way she said that she knew James made me want to take her home and drop her off, or at least back to the dark little casino in the back ally where I found her, and I did drop her off there on account of the fact that I was lonesome and missed my old girlfriend that looked like Joni Mitchel, (if you only just looked at her mouth), that was now dead. My old girlfriend, not Joni Mitchel.

Yarnie said, “Tell James I said hello!” as I drove away.

I said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” but I doubt she heard me.

--750 Words--