The Accidental Nudist

"Why stay in a hotel," Carmie said, "when you can house-sit for me for free?"

The coincidence of a major court filing scheduled the same week as her vacation was topped only by the luck that San Diego was enjoying an unseasonable stretch of warm weather for so late in the year. By the third day, I started to wonder whether she'd be able to pry me out of such gorgeous surroundings when she returned. This was definitely Heaven. Even the extensive preparation--and xeroxing!--of a boxful of exhibits and depos was going rather well.

"Instead of coming to the office tomorrow," the attorney suggested, "why don't you just take the box home and go file with the court clerk when they open."

I remembered it while I was in the shower. Certain I'd forget to put everything in the car if I waited until breakfast, I dried myself off, deposited the towel on the bathroom counter, and proceeded--au natural--to carry the box out to the garage through Carmie's kitchen. Even as I set it on the floor and heard the kitchen door close behind me, the fleeting thought occurred that I probably should have checked to make sure it wouldn't lock.

Too late. It already had.

Now here's a pickle of a predicament: I was stark naked at 6:15 in the morning with no house key and standing next to a locked rental in the garage of someone who was 2,000 miles away. What faint light of optimism flickered on the situation was that I'd tossed my raincoat in the backseat, having brought it along in case the weather changed.

Safe behind locked doors, however, it may as well have been back in Sacramento. Frantically, I looked around the garage for something--anything--to put on. Though it's funny in retrospect, I was nearly desperate enough to don a pair of plastic chaise lounge covers like a sandwich board.

The momentary excitement of finding a wire hanger was dampened by the realization I had no idea how to use one to break into a car. What I lacked in street sense, though, was matched by enough escalating panic to plunge it into the door/window sleeve and vigorously jiggle it until--miraculously--I flipped the lock. Pretty cold by now, I pulled on the coat, tied the belt, and reached for the automatic door opener I'd stuck in the glove compartment.

I'm not really sure what I expected was going to happen next. Carmie's neighbors, after all, had never met me. How would they know I wasn't a burglar in a particularly enterprising disguise and claiming to work in a legal office out of town? Even showing them that impressive box of exhibits and depos would probably not have swayed a verdict in my favor.

The first man I tried to flag down as he was getting in his Volvo took one look at my raincoat and bare legs and must have assumed I was a flasher.

The second person--an older woman--beat a hasty path back to the safety of her house. I contemplated knocking on doors to get somebody to call the management company. Assuming anyone did, of course, it could be hours before rescue arrived. Even worse was the fact that no one at work knew where I was staying and, thus, couldn't come looking for me.

As I trudged back to the garage, I suddenly heard the welcome sound of lawnmowers. I'm not sure who was more startled as I turned the corner--the gardeners or myself. I was reminded of the banditos who ambushed Butch and Sundance for the payroll from LaPaz. Between my limited Spanish and their even more limited English, I pantomimed the problem.

"Uno momento, Senora," the leader of the bunch politely said as he went back to his truck. When he returned uno momento later, it was with an American Express card. One swipe on the doorframe and I was back inside.

Thank goodness he hadn't left home without it.

Painting: "Love Locked Out"