“Jesus Christ, Jack, how many times I gotta tell you-more aperture. “Specially when your subjects bouncing ‘round all over the place like this.”
“Didn’t know she was a sexual bunjee jumper, did I?”
Al continued to shake his head in disgust.
“Look, you know I’m not great with a camera, but you can see who he is an’ you can see who she is an’ you can see they’re not playing scrabble. Now that’s good enough for me, good enough for my client, and good enough for the divorce lawyers.”
More head shaking.
“What? C’mon, Al, don’t bust my chops here.”
“When was your first time, Jack?”
I didn’t reply. I wasn’t in the mood to play one of Al’s little games
“She reminds me of Amelia Soarez, you know. You remember Amelia Soarez?”
Now my interest was piqued. Who could forget Amelia Soarez? Greatly endowed by nature’s bounty an image of our voluptuous Brazilian school music teacher of yester-year flashed across my memory bank: Dark haired and big breasted, Amelia Soarez’s ample proportions spawned more schoolboy wet-dreams than Natalie Wood, Ann-Margret and Raquel Welch combined.
“Christ, Jack. How could you forget Amelia Soarez?”
“The Music teacher,” I said.
Al laughed: “We made lots of music together, Jack. Had me back for extra lessons. Lots of extra lesson…”
“And you still can’t play a note,” I said. “How come you never told me about this?”
“I wanted to Jack. Believe me I wanted to. But you were such a little snitch in those days. I couldn’t
