Illusion of Luck 5

Cynthia stripped to her underwear and turned on the shower. She liked to let it run a couple of minutes and get nice and steamy before getting in.

She walked back into her bedroom. Soon to be their bed­room, she thought, smiling. She sat down at the small table and bumped the mouse, bringing her laptop back to life.

“Come on now, weatherman…give me a bright, sunny wed­ding day.” The weather had been looking iffy for Saturday.

There was still no change—partly cloudy with a chance of showers.

It had rained on her first wedding day. Looking back, it seemed like an omen predicting a bad marriage. So, she felt a great weather day would mean a great marriage. Silly, she knew—but she really wanted a sunny day.

She thought the shower should be about right, and started to get up when she noticed she had an unread email. She didn’t recognize the ‘from address,’ but opened it anyway.

Your beautiful smile, your silky red hair,
At the edge of the field, you were always there.
Rooting me on to unimaginable glory,
Inspiring my heart in a hero’s story.
But now I’m alone and longing for you,
So, flip up your skirt like you used to do.
Jump into the air and I’ll catch my hottie;
I’ll rip off your clothes and have sex with your body.

“Yuk!”

She deleted the email. Who would send her something like that? This one was even worse than the others. It sounded like the poem was referring to her being on the sidelines of a foot­ball game. She had been a cheerleader in both high school and college.

And apparently the writer considered himself some kind of a hero. Whoever it was, they were no hero to her—at least, not any more.

Cynthia slipped off her bra and panties and stepped into the steamy shower. She would forget about the weird poem. He might even have the wrong email address. Maybe his messages were intended for some other woman—or even for a teenage girl. Yes, that was probably it. Now, it made sense to her. It was just some horny teenage boy sending his sex poems to the wrong email address.

As she rubbed the slippery bar of soap across her body, she thought about the honeymoon and how much she loved Greg. Making love to him would be so amazing.

**********

“You come here every night, don’t you?” Sandy grinned at his old buddy.

“Yep.”

Greg’s red 1965 Pontiac Bonneville was the only car in the back of Dairy Queen’s parking lot.

“Why don’t you put the top down so we can look at the stars? Isn’t that what you usually do when you bring Cynthia here?”

“Only when it’s warm out. But either way, it’s nice.”

“I’ll bet. But what does she think about your obsession with dipped cones?”

“I wouldn’t call it an obsession.”

“So, you don’t eat them as often as you did back in col­lege?”

“No. I eat them more often.”

Sandy laughed.

“But it’s not an obsession. More of an addiction.”

“Well, I’ve never said anything, but I’ve always thought the whole concept was crazy. You put some ice cream in a cone, which you need to eat before it melts—‘cause otherwise it’s a shake, not a cone. You turn it upside down and hope the ice cream doesn’t fall out. Then you submerge the thing in hot fudge. The ice cream causes the fudge to get cold and hard, while the fudge starts melting the ice cream.”

“That’s the beauty of it.” Greg took another nibble from the top of the hard shell.

“And as soon as you take a couple of bites, the chocolate shell cracks and falls in your lap.”

“Not if you’re good.”

“And you know it must have been a man who invented them. Or a woman with no kids. Because no mother would cre­ate something that she knew would lead to little Johnny coming home with black chocolate smeared all over his new shirt and pants.”

“Well, just because little Johnny isn’t man enough to han­dle one doesn’t mean I shouldn’t—“

The chocolate shell broke apart and slid off Greg’s cone.

“The only difference between you and Johnny is those nap­kins spread across your lap. Because you know it’s coming.”

Greg began to pick up each chunk and eat it.

Sandy took a bite of his banana split. “I’ve got to con­gratu­late you again, Man. Cynthia is hot.”

“Easy—that’s my bride you’re talking about.”

“I’ll bet y’all have been going at it like rabbits.”

“Well, not that it’s any of your business, but we’re waiting until we get married.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. We made the commitment and we’ve stuck to it.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, we know that morally it’s the right thing to do.”

“Sure. But that’s never stopped me.”

“And we’ve both lived through rough marriages and we just want to make sure neither of us gets hurt. You know—in case things didn’t work out.”

“Big deal. My marriage went south too, remember. But I’d rather take a chance on getting hurt. I don’t know how you’ve managed to wait.”

“I’ll admit—it hasn’t been easy.”

“You mean, it’s been hard.”

“Yeah.” Then Greg noticed Sandy was grinning at him.

“Yeah, I’ll bet it’s been real hard—every night.”

“Well, sure. I am human. But, how about changing the sub­ject?”

“Okay.” Sandy spooned up another bite of ice cream, banana, and toppings. “You’re off from work tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“We need to sleep in tomorrow morning so we can be rested up for your bachelor party.”

“What bachelor party?”

“I’m your best man, and I’m throwing you a bachelor party. So, get plenty of sleep tonight.”

“Well, who’s coming to this party? You didn’t ask me for a guest list.”

“That’s because it’s just gonna be you and me, Pal.”

“Fine. We’ll come back here tomorrow night and have some more ice cream, and you can give me a gift, if you like. And one of those silly paper hats.”

“Hey—don’t be telling me how to plan the party. You’re the guest of honor, but I’m running the show. So, just wait and be sur­prised.”

**********

Candy watched the bearded man drive his silver BMW into the convenience store parking lot and pull around to the side, near the back corner of the building. There were plenty of open slots in the front, so she figured the guy was there for some­thing other than a bag of chips and a coke.

A chilly breeze blew up her mini-skirt and she shivered. She pressed her legs together tightly to generate some heat. The knee-high boots protected her feet and calves, but her butt was freezing off.

She wrote down the license number as she circled around to the side of the expensive vehicle. He’ll have a big wad of cash, she thought.

Larry Luzor had just stepped out of the car, when she said, “Nice car, Honey.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“I’m Candy. You got a sweet tooth tonight?”

He gave her the once over. Her black hair framed a pretty, young-looking face. The low-cut blouse left little to the imagi­nation, barely hiding her nipples. She was average height, but the high heel boots elevated her to about 5’8”. The long legs were very nice.

Larry had never used a prostitute. He’d always thought of it as revolting. The idea of having sex with a woman who’d been with hundreds of men did not appeal to him.

But this didn’t seem like a typical hooker. She seemed too clean—almost pure. But of course, she wasn’t. He knew she had to be just as skanky as the rest of them. Still—if he hadn’t been in the middle of something important he might have been more than willing to buy what she was selling.

“So, what do you say? Want to get it on?” She smiled seduc­tively.

He was impressed that she had all her teeth, and that they looked white.

“How can I resist?” He grinned at her and winked.

Yes, he would go with her. But not for the reason she thought. He had seen her in his rear view mirror, writing down his license number. And he knew that by morning the store owner would realize the BMW had been abandoned. The police would be called in. And when they contacted Larry, he would tell them his wife left the cabin last night and he had not seen or heard from her since.

So, the police would think Erin had been abducted from the parking lot. They wouldn’t think Larry had anything to do with her disappearance.

But if Candy talked to the police, his plan would begin to unravel. She would tell them she saw Larry getting out of the car. And had a conversation with him. They would gather DNA evidence from the car and the cabin. And the barbecue pit.

So, he would go to the motel with Candy. And he might even let her earn some money.

But she’d never get a chance to spend it.