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Another Standing Ovulation

by Mark Plimsoll

Stuart climbed down into the pit unsteadily. The three beer conversation with Amy and Larry replayed in his mind, the sounds of little Ronnie's tiny roars with the play dinosaur, the way Amy got flushed and crossed her arms over the oceanic swells under her apron bib when she asked all those questions about Stuart's two years in Paris, studying art.
"You see, " Larry finally confessed, "Amy once had a bit of work as a model for art classes at the University, but I wouldn't let her go after she got pregnant. I never much liked it that they couldn't study a female figure with her clothes on. So what if it's traditional art studies, she's also a traditional wife, and we've got plenty for her to do around home."
He stood in the loamy black topsoil that fell in with him as he descended the short stepladder through the sandy deposits. The bones that fell out of the deposit lay at his feet; horse bones, mostly. One small bone looked different than the rest, and stuck out of a hard rock as if incorporated into the stone.
Stuart picked it up and played the flashlight over it. He thumbed it and blew off debris, then spat on it and rubbed the spittle.
"What's he doing?" said Ronnie.
"Shuttup and let the man work." Larry shined his own flashlight onto Stuart's hands. "You got something there, Doc?"
Stuart looked up into the blinding glare of Larry's inconsiderately pointed beam. "Yes I do. I can't tell you what exactly, but it looks important."
He clambered up the ladder and Larry helped him get out of the pit. They walked back towards the house with Ronnie jumping up and down to get a look at the rock in Stuart's hands, as Stuart turned it over under his flashlight and described aspects to the attentive gape-mouthed Larry.
"And so, I'd like to get started on this tonight, if you don't mind, right now. I'll need to carefully examine the deposit from which the bones fell from, and for that I'll need some special tools. Since it's not very late, I wonder if someone could go to this address," Stuart takes a pen and pad of yellow post-it notes out of his shirt pocket, "and give this note to my assistant. He will give you tools, and then call the lab to get everything ready for tomorrow."
"You want us to get these tools tonight?"
"As soon as possible. A find like this could be very fragile. Another rain, or a collapse of the pit, and we could lose valuable data forever."
"Could we wait till after dinner?"
Amy came to the kitchen door and stood behind the screen drying her hands on her apron. "What's going on?"
"He thinks we found something!"
"That's right, and I need someone to get into town to retrieve tools from my assistant right now."
Amy looked confused. "What about dinner?"
"Doc?"
"You have dinner every night. How often do you run across an archeological treasure? It'll only take me about thirty five minutes to evaluate this find."
"Hot diggity! Come on, Ronnie! Race you to the car!"
"Don't forget the note."
Little Ronnie ran back and snatched the note from Stuart's hands, his eyes on his lightning feet that scampered across the wood slat porch.
In a few seconds, the car roared to life and the headlights bounced and scanned across where Stuart stood on the porch. Amy raised her hand to wave goodbye, then dropped it to the back of her neck.
The silence of big woods and the drone of nocturnal insects confused around the light surged back as the car lumbered far down the gravel road. Amy's apron fell to the kitchen floor, and Stuart turned to see her open the screen door and step out.
She turned to face him, deliberately stood in the rectangle of light that streamed through the doorway. She looked up at Stuart, her breasts strained against the constraint of buttons that tightly held her shirt closed. "Do you really think you found something important?"
"I'm sure of it."
"You really think so?"
"Voule vous couchette avec moi?"
"Çe sua?"
"Is there any hay in that barn?"
"Yes."
"I'd like to start my initial explorations there. See if this would be a good place to set up shop."
Amy put her arm around Stuart's waist and pulled him towards the barn in long, languorous steps as she unbuttoned her shirt. "You know what I like most about you?"
"No, you hardly know me."
"You're intelligent, and you have almost the same color eyes and hair as my husband."
"You love him?"
"Yes, but that's not it. I'm ovulating."