Excerpts
from Big Bruce Baddley
Petaluma, CA, 2002
ISBN 1-931002-16-9
pages 8, 17, 20
She was the kind of woman who makes squads of men on barstools swivel and ogle in unison, silently, before they start to make their gurgly little cracks to one another: “How the hell she hold that pair up?” “I don’ know but she can come over and play at my house any old time.” “Not a bad kisser either.” “Who was lookin’ there?”
…
What hurt him most was that there would be no grandchild through his son. Of course, to be a homosexual in Wyoming is just about the last straw. Or Montana, for that matter, because that’s where Kyle went, to West Yellowstone to operate his own beauty parlor.
…
“Look. That’s a lot of shit. Just ’cause a guy’s a queer don’t make him impotent. I told you, Dorothy. He had this customer. This here rich bitch from Miami, Florida. She liked him a lot—you know how good-looking he is. And he liked her. So they screwed. But they wasn’t careful. Get the picture? So they got this baby now. It’s a boy. And he looks just like Dad. I mean—I mean like he used to look.”
…
“Ethel’s the biggest ass on this hill,” he said.
Ms. Claudia Braunstein went ashen, then smiled a very small smile and said, “God, you’d better not let anybody ever hear you say that!”
“Why not? I’d gladly lose my job to let that ass know she’s an ass.”