Date:         Thu, 16 Jun 1994 15:57:34 EDT
 
 
Another "put down the snake" challenge story, FoDly written by Pamela
Rush and transcribed by Sherry Crabtree.  Too bad our mailer won't
handle the illustrations.
 
Dedicated to Margaret Newman's "uncharacteristically quiet" reflections
on underwear.
 
 
 
                  "Garden of Eden"
 
                        by
 
                     Pam  Rush
 
 
 
 
     "So, what's the occasion?"  Nick's eyebrows rose quizzically as
he eyed the small, brightly wrapped package that Natalie held out towards
him.  His own hands were occupied with righting the overflowing
laundry basket that he had nearly dropped when Natalie had come
barreling out of the elevator as he was about to enter it.
 
     "Oh, no occasion.  It was just a...  I saw this..."  Natalie's
voice trailed off indecisively.  "You know how it is; you've given
me little things now and again...usually after you've *forgotten* my
birthday or stood me up!"
 
     "But that doesn't mean you have to..."
 
     "Oh, I wanted to.  I know I didn't *have* to..."  At least not
unless she wanted to loose the bet with Grace.  Although a gracious
default was looking better and better as an alternative.  What had seemed like
a good idea after a two marguerita lunch and a spontaneous shopping
spree now seemed more than a little ridiculous cold-coroner sober.
It was all Grace's fault anyway:  if only Grace hadn't been shopping
for her boyfriend's birthday present.  If only *she* hadn't bought the
second round of drinks!  If only she had had severe reservations soon
enough to abort the mission *before* she arrived at the loft!
 
     "OK.  Actually, I kinda like surprises," he acquiesced mildly,
rather to her surprise.  Natalie reacted automatically when Nick
snatched the package from her hand and shoved the laundry at her,
clutching the basket to her chest as the grey sweats on top started to
slide again.
 
     "What is it?"  he asked, listening for any clue as he shook the
little box.
 
     "If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise.  Gee, Nick, you have
laundry!"
 
     "Of course I do.  There's a machine in the basement.  What?  Did
you think the elves did it for me or something?"
 
     "It's hard to imagine your doing anything that mundane.  Besides,
most of your clothes look as though they go to the cleaners--or have
just been delivered from your tailor!"  Maybe if she could get him to take the
laundry back she could make a run for it with the package.  She hefted
the awkward basket experimentally.  "Uh, Nick, this is heavy and it's
slipping..."
 
     "Let it.  It's just sweats and towels and stuff."  He was
delicately inserting a fingernail under the sealed paper at one end of
the box; Natalie hated it when people tried to open a present so that
the wrapping looked as though it *hadn't* been opened:  what was the
point?  Of course, one point would be to delay the inevitable for a few
more moments, but Nick's supernatural speed and dexterity were making
short work of even this finicky process.  In another second he had the
box open and was parting the crisp tissue-paper lining.
 
     "Natalie!"
 
     Was it her imagination that his hands shook slightly as they displayed
a pair of skimpy--very skimpy--silk briefs hand-painted with a "Garden
of Eden" motif featuring a snake that wriggled sinuously all the way around
the waistband and depended down the center front holding a strategically
placed fig leaf in its fanged mouth?
 
     "Natalie!...ah...you...uh..."
 
     Nick seemed to be inarticulate with emotion and Natalie was
completely uncertain whether he was slowly turning a very pale mauve
out of outrage or anger.  She had belatedly thought of how prudish
he could be on occasion; or, possibly, the suggestion of Satan
incarnate was rather indelicate under the circumstances and he was
insulted beyond words.  He probably didn't even *wear* underwear;
too bad she hadn't checked three years ago when she had the chance.
 
     "Look, just put down the snake and we'll talk!" she cried, taking
a hasty step backwards as he flourished the offending garment in her
face.
 
     Unfortunately, she had moved too quickly and blindly to maintain
her balance:  she careened off the elevator door and back into Nick
who was still advancing towards her.  The impact sent laundry
whirling in all directions; Natalie twisted wildly, clutched at Nick but
couldn't get any traction (goddam silk shirts, she thought) and
sat down suddenly and hard.
 
     Damn Grace and her stupid bet.  Natalie hung her head and wished
she were *anyplace* else.  Or had never been born at all.  Or
really *was* very, very drunk--maybe passed out.
 
     "Natalie?"
 
     Urgent hands gripped her shoulders.
 
     "Nat!  Are you OK?  Say something!"
 
     "I'm OK!  OK?  I'm just... catching my breath..."  She shrugged
off his hands and sat up straight.
 
     "Don't move!  You may have broken something!"
 
     "*I* would know if I had broken something...besides my dignity.
I'm a doctor."  Natalie automatically started to peel clinging
pieces of laundry off herself and wondered why the bottom of Nick's
laundry basket was full of Schanke's ties.  No...that couldn't
be right.  Her fuddled brain was still refusing to deal with sensory
overload but these slithery, garishly colored bits of silk and satin
couldn't be ties...  They were more like...  Oh.
 
     "Nick!"  She held out a pair of briefs (1) roguishly decorated
with fuchsia and chartreuse parrots against a tropical background--
and that was one of the more sedate patterns of the gaudy selection now
littering the floor.  "How dare you be upset over...over *those*...when
you have...have *these*!"  She shook the offending garment at him.
 
     "I wasn't...I mean, I'm *not*...upset!  I was just, uh, surprised.
Very surprised.  Maybe a little astonished."
 
     "Well, you *looked* upset.  And you made me fall down."
 
     "I'm sorry.  I *am* truly sorry," he said, hauling first himself
and then Natalie to an upright position and making indecisive
brushing motions towards the seat of her pants.  "How about I
apologize by taking you out for dinner?"
 
     "Well.  I guess.  OK," she allowed herself to be persuaded, "if
you'll tell me *why* you wear...that is...  Well, your underwear
is a lot more colorful than the rest of your wardrobe!"
 
     "OK, I'll talk while you eat.  If you'll tell me something I want
to know."
 
     "Well, probably.  What is it?"
 
     "Do these," he asked, holding out the original snake of contention,
"come in women's sizes, too?"
 
              *     *     *     *
 
 
     (1) underwear design suggested by Margaret Newman
 
 Fulsome praise modestly accepted and criticism cheerfully ignored by the
author if addressed to Pam Rush  PKRUSH01@UKCC.UKY.EDU