Illusion of Luck 8

“Hey, Man, we’d better get going soon. Our reservation is for 7:00,” said Sandy.

He and Greg had slept late, ordered pizza, and spent the afternoon talking shop and reminiscing about their college days.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t know if trust your kind of surprise.”

Sandy laughed. “What? You’re afraid of having too much fun? It’s your last night of freedom.”

“But that’s just the point—I don’t want to be free any­more.”

“Look—after tomorrow night you’re gonna be wearing the old husband handcuffs. All I’m asking you to do is forget that for a while and just have some fun with the old Sandman.”

“Okay, I’ll try. As long as you don’t get too crazy.”

“Me, get crazy?”

“Shut up. Just let me check my email real quick.” Greg got up from the couch and walked to his bedroom.

Sandy yelled from Greg’s comfy recliner. “Why? You think you might have something from your wife-to-be? That’s cheat­ing. You two said you wouldn’t talk or see each other un­til the wedding. And emails count as talking. And so do text messages and instant messages. You can’t do any of that, Man.”

Sandy got up and walked into Greg’s bedroom to see for himself.

“I knew you couldn’t hold out.”

“No. It’s from one of my students. He’s telling me he might have to miss his piano lesson on Tuesday. Apparently, he didn’t read the email I sent out to everybody announcing that I would be on my honeymoon next week. I even posted it on my web page.”

“I couldn’t do what you do, Greg.”

“What?”

“Your students can cancel their lessons at the last minute. And then you don’t get paid. You have no control over it. I get paid whether my students show up or not.”

“That would be nice. But on the other hand, all your stu­dents are the same age—late teens to early twenties.”

“So?”

“So, isn’t that kinda boring? I mean, you don’t get the joy of teaching piano to a six year-old girl, or the fun of guitar les­sons with a 67 year-old man.”

“Yeah, that must be a hoot. I can’t believe I’m missing out on that.”

“No, really—it’s pretty cool, actually.”

“If you say so. Now let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

**********

“Thanks again, Sandy. It was delicious,” said Greg.

They got into Sandy’s car.

“Okay. Now for your bachelor party.”

“What do you mean? I thought that was my bachelor party.”

“Oh, no. A steak and a baked potato do not a bachelor party make.”

“Well, thank you for your words of wisdom, Yoda.”

Sandy tried talking in Yoda’s voice. “Off to the party now we flee. Cake of your bachelorhood you will see. Beer shall you drink until you pee.”

Greg laughed. “That’s funny.”

“Thank you.” Sandy smiled broadly and nodded.

“But not very good.”

Sandy pouted.

“And anyway—I don’t drink.”

“That’s okay. Believe me—you’ll still have fun.”

Greg didn’t like the looks of the place—not that he could see it all that well. It was dark outside, and even darker inside.

Sandy gave his name and a young woman wearing a bikini led them to a room and showed them to their chairs. Then she walked out.

“Now what?” Greg had a bad feeling.

“Sit tight.”

Another young woman walked in to take their drink orders. Sandy ordered a Bud Light and Greg asked for a Dr. Pepper.

“I wonder what Cynthia is doing right now?”

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be thinking about her. Re­member?”

“Okay. I’ll try not to.”

After a few minutes, the woman brought their drinks. They had taken a few sips when a huge cardboard cake rolled into the room. Two scantily-clad ladies pushed it into place, right in front of Greg.

“There’s your cake,” said Sandy. “Make a wish.”

“I wish we could just get out of here.”

“Oops, wrong wish.”

A young woman jumped up from inside the cake and it fell apart. Even in the dim light, Greg could see that her breasts were enormous.

Before he could react, she sat down in his lap, facing him.

He couldn’t get up, and didn’t know what to do.

She reached to the center of her chest and unhooked her spring-loaded bikini top and it flew off and hit Sandy in the face.

Sandy caught it and held it there for a moment to take a deep whiff. “Yee-ha!”

Greg’s zipper felt like it was about to rip open.

The woman felt his excitement and rubbed her crotch against it. Then she grabbed his head in both hands and pulled it in between her huge breasts and held it there.

For the first time in his life, Greg feared he had high blood pressure. He would surely die right here in this woman’s arms, he thought. No, no, no!

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her away as he stood up.

She fell on the floor. “Hey—no rough stuff, Dude.”

“I’m sorry.” Greg helped her to her feet.

She moved in close and tried to rub up against him again, apparently thinking everything Greg had said and done was just an act.

“No, thanks.” He held out his hand to stop her and acci­dentally made contact with a breast. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what my friend was getting me into. It’s nothing against you. You’re beautiful and sexy, but—I’m sorry.”

Sandy was laughing his head off.

**********

Cynthia had taken her mother out for dinner and a movie.

“So, what did you think of the movie, Mom?”

“Things would have gone a lot better for that woman if she had married the right man in the first place.”

“Yeah.”

“She knew that workaholic businessman didn’t want kids. He told her so. But I guess she figured he’d change his mind.”

“Yeah. But he didn’t.”

“What about you and Greg? Are you both sure you really want to have children?”

“Yes, Mom. We’ve talked about it a lot. And we’re glad that neither of us had any kids already so we can have them together. We’re very excited about it.”

“Even at your age?”

“I’m only 30. And Greg’s just 35. That’s not too old. It’s not like when you were young, Mom. A lot of couples wait longer now.”

“Okay. Good. Because I really do want grandkids.”

“Then why are you trying to talk me out of it, you silly woman?”

They laughed.

“I just wanted to know if I could count on it.”

“You can count on it. Okay?”

“Great. When?”

Cynthia shot her an evil eye. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

When they pulled into the driveway, Cynthia noticed a package sitting at the front door. After she had parked the car and they had gone inside, she went to the front porch, picked up the package, and carried it into the living room.

“What is it?” said Beverly.

“I don’t know.”

“Who’s it from?”

“Oh—it’s from my Honey.”

Cynthia tore open the box and found a fancy jewelry box inside. She opened it and was amazed at what she saw. It was a beautiful heart-shaped diamond necklace. “Oh, Greg.”

“Let me see,” said Beverly.

Beverly took the box and studied the necklace. “If these are real diamonds, this thing must have cost him a fortune.”

“Oh, here’s a note.”

My dearest Cindy,

“Cindy? That’s weird—he never calls me Cindy. In fact, nobody does.”

When I saw this dazzling necklace I thought of you and the love we share and I just had to buy it for you. It doesn’t com­pare to your beauty, but it’s the most I could afford.

“How sweet,” said Beverly.

“Yeah. What can I say? The man’s crazy about me.” Cyn­thia grinned.

When I think about all the fun we’ve had together and all the great times in the—

“Go on,” said Beverly. “In the what?”

Cynthia quit reading aloud and began reading silently.

When I think about all the fun we’ve had together and all the great times in the sack, it just blows my mind. Remember that time we went at it all night long?

A single tear rolled down Cynthia’s face.

“What’s wrong, Sweetie?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because…it’s just so sweet.”

The necklace was obviously intended for someone else, she thought. Some tramp named Cindy that Greg had been sleeping with on the side.

But, no. Greg would never do that. He couldn’t stand to hurt Cynthia. And the note was not even in Greg’s handwrit­ing—it was typed. It could be from anybody. Anybody who was trying to break them up.

But who in the world would be so cruel?