Page 59 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
The next time she pulls my hair, I hurl. I hurlhard. All down the front of Croc Woman’s shirt.
The crowd gasps.
Croc Woman screams, arms out and leaning back as if trying to dodge my puke. But there is no dodging this puke. It isallover her.
With her arms out and her weight unbalanced, I’m unseated, landing hard on my feet. A shot of pain shoots up my ankle. My only thought: Oatmeal, maple syrup, and brown sugar don’t taste nearly as good the second time around.
Croc woman twirls around to face me, puke flying off her shirt in an arc, splattering the phone cases. The crowd dives to avoid the unfriendly vomit fire.
Vance is still curled up, hands between his legs.
“Did you…” The woman looks down at herself, taking in the river of vomit dripping down her T-shirt. Her nostrils flare. Then she gags. Once. Twice. On the third, she hurls.
Apparently, Croc Woman is a sympathy puker.
Other sympathetic people in the crowd gag and stumble away. Others stare, horrified. The security guards try to slow their run but end up sliding in the upchuck.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and vow then and there never to shop on Black Friday again.
Vance
“What thehellwere you thinking?”I pace the small security office. Or rather, I try to pace as best I can with the bag of frozen peas held to my junk.
Rose is on a fold-out chair with her head between her legs. “I was—”
“You could’ve been arrested. Or hurt.” The shock has worn off, replaced by worry. I change directions, causing a twinge in my balls. “Fuck.”
Rose lifts her eyes from the ground. “I know, but—"
“And what is your brother going to say?”
“My brother?” She sits up, her eyes narrowing. “What the hell does he have to do with it? I’m not a child you need to tell on.” She rubs her boob. “And in case you forgot, I was assaulted. I was tit punched, for God’s sake!” She rubs harder. “It’s still sore.”
I gesture to my pea bag-covered dick.
She snorts. “Okay, well, you might win the most grievously injured contest.”
“Miss West? Mr. Bodaway?” Mr. Rodriguez, the store manager who we met earlier, enters the room followed by a security officer. One who didn’t slip in vomit.
I stop pacing, and Rose smiles at the manager. “Yes?”
Mr. Rodriguez’s soft eyes match his tone as he talks to Rose. “You’re free to go, Miss West.”
My shoulders drop in shock. “Just like that?”
He spares me a glance. “Just like that.” He looks back to Rose. “How are you feeling?” He smiles at her like shedidn’tjust cause a major incident in his store on one of the busiest days of the year.
“I’m fine.” Rose reaches out and takes his hand in both of hers. “I really appreciate all your help with this situation, Mr. Rodriguez.”
He smiles, adding his other hand to hers. “Jorge, please.”
Rose smiles brighter. “Only if you call me Rose, Jorge.”
They share a moment. If Mr. Rodriguez wasn’t in his late fifties and somewhat portly, with a large gold wedding band on his left ring finger, I’d be jealous.
Hell, I think I am, anyway.
“You must be very proud, Mr. Bodaway,” the manager says to me,stillholding Rose’s hand.
