Illusion of Luck 13

Sandy jumped into fourth position of the reception line. And when it came his turn, he took Cynthia in his arms and kissed her on the lips for a long second. Then he gave Greg a huge bear hug. Leave it to Sandy to act inappropriately, thought Greg. But they wouldn’t hold it against him. It was just Sandy being Sandy. Besides, nothing was going to spoil Greg and Cynthia’s perfect day.

Sandy made a quick pass through the food line and then joined Rebecca at her table with a full plate of sandwiches.

“You’ve got some red lipstick on your face,” said Rebecca.

“Where?”

Rebecca picked up a napkin and wiped it off. She was sur­prised when she noticed Sandy blushing. He likes me, she thought.

He wasn’t really embarrassed by the lipstick was on his face. But when Rebecca touched him—it was like turning on a red light bulb. Sandy hated it when he spontaneously broadcasted his feelings. He wasn’t ready for her to know he was attracted to her. But it was too late now. He could see it in her eyes—she knew. He wanted to grab her. But then he remembered what she had said earlier and held back. He wasn’t quite ready to take a chance on losing appendages. “So, what do you do for living?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“That’s interesting. Most lawyers refer to themselves as attorneys.”

“Same thing.”

“But don’t attorneys think of themselves more highly than lawyers do?”

“Probably. But, to me, it’s like ‘the lady’s room.’ I’d just as soon call it ‘the bathroom’ or ‘the can.’”

“So, instead of regurgitate, for example, you’d say vomit.”

“Or hurl…or barf.”

“What kind of law do you practice?”

“Divorce.”

“Hope you’re not like my ex-wife’s lawyer. She’ll drag a poor guy into court, strip him naked, cut off his balls and hand them to the wife.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes the poor guy has it coming.”

“Really? What kind of man deserves that?”

“The kind who’s drilling his hot young secretary until he gets caught. And when the wife files for divorce, he tries to leave her penniless.”

“And that’s where you step in and save the day?”

“I do my best.”

“How do you prove the husband cheated?”

“You do a little private eye work.”

“You do it yourself or you hire somebody?”

“I don’t trust anybody else to do it. Besides, most of the women I represent can’t pay much, so I really can’t afford any extra expenses.”

“Wow. A real-life private eye—and a divorce lawyer. So, you live here in Coreyville?”

“Oh, no. I live in Sherman.”

“Hey, that’s just up the road from where I live—in Dallas. And just for the record: I never cheated on my wife. I was just a big pain in the butt, according to her and her lawyer. But she knew that when she married me. Actually, I think she might have been cheating. But none of that matters now. It’s history.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a music professor at a junior college in Dallas—techni­cally, an associate music professor.”

“Your students must love you.”

“Yeah, they do. But what made you say that?”

“You’re sort of outrageous, bigger than life—a little crazy. I would think college students like that.”

“But that’s just who I am. I’m not gonna try to be what any­body think a college professor should be.”

“Good for you.”

“On the other hand, I’ve nearly been fired a few times.”

“For what?”

“Well, for example, one time I was talking to my class about various musical instruments, and I said that almost any­thing could be made into an instrument. When one of my stu­dents challenged me, I decided to do a little experiment. I told the class to go out to any room in the building, and for each one of them to bring back an item. Then I would prove it could be used as a musical instrument. So, they did.”

“Doesn’t seem so crazy. How did that get you into trou­ble?”

“The music dean was showing off our brand new building to a couple of board members. Then he took them into his office and invited them to sit for a while and chat. But his brand new plush executive chair was missing.”

“No.”

“Yes. One of my students had slipped into his office while his secretary was in the bathroom.”

Rebecca snickered. “Were you able to make music with the dean’s chair?”

“I didn’t even try. I ran through the hall, rolling the chair in front of me, praying I would get there before the dean discov­ered it was gone.”

“Obviously, you didn’t make it.”

“Nope. So, the student won the argument. I could have played it as a percussion instrument, using drumsticks on the metal chair legs. But he knew I wouldn’t dare beat on the dean’s new chair.”

“Smart kid.”

“Yeah. Too bad I had to flunk him.”

“You didn’t.”

“No. But I wanted to.”

Rebecca started laughing. Then Sandy joined her.

Sandy couldn’t believe he’d meet an eligible woman he liked at Greg’s wedding.

Rebecca had given up all hope of finding a man she could stand to be in the room with. She was enjoying herself so much she could have almost forgotten why she was there.

**********

As Greg and Cynthia hurried through the crowd toward the car, the well-wishers released bright colored balloons into the sky. Greg had requested the balloons, fearful of driving away with tiny rice or birdseed scratches all over his beautiful 1965 Pontiac Bonneville convertible.

Sandy’s string of Just Married cans clanged loudly as they drove away. As soon as they had cleared the Coreyville city lim­its, Greg pulled over at a gas station, put the top up, and cut off the string of cans and threw them in the trunk. He would have tossed them in the trash. But Cynthia wanted them as a keep­sake, thinking it was a sweet, if goofy, gesture by Greg’s knuck­leheaded friend.

“You look nervous, Honey,” said Cynthia.

“I do?”

“Yeah. You’re shaking.”

“I don’t think I’m nervous. Maybe overwhelmed.”

“You’re still worried about making love to me? Don’t be. I mean, you’ve had sex plenty of times. You know where every­thing goes and how it works.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never done it with you. You’re different. Your body is pure, —“

“—I hope you weren’t going to say sacred.”

“Well…”

“I’m not a virgin.”

“Yes, you are. To me, you are.”

“Okay. But you don’t have to get all stressed out about it. We’ll just be a husband and a wife having sex—like God intended.”

He agreed in principle with everything she was saying. But Cynthia was the perfect woman. In every way. And she didn’t even know it.

“I can’t wait to get naked with you,” she said.

“But we can turn the lights down real low.”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.”

“Or turn off the lights altogether.”

“Hey, I’ve seen you without your shirt.”

“And yet you still married me.”

“But you’ve never seen me naked. What if my body repulses you?”

Greg giggled at the thought of it. Then he chuckled. Finally, he roared with laughter.

Cynthia laughed along. “Well, at least I’ve loosened you up.”

“Oh, Baby, I love you. We’re gonna have so much fun together.”

“Yes, we are.”

**********

Larry was enjoying a comfortable chair in the lobby of the DFW Airport Marriott Hotel. The free wireless internet access allowed him to work on his book while waiting for the arrival of the newlyweds. Right now he was just making notes. He wouldn’t actually write and post the chapter until he had executed the plan.

After Greg and Cynthia had gone into the room, he would stand near their door, listening. If anyone walked by, he would whisper that he was playing a joke on his buddy inside.

He figured that soon after entering their room, Cynthia would go into the bathroom to change and maybe take a shower. While Greg was waiting for her, Larry would call the room phone, disguise his voice, and tell him he had accidentally backed into Greg’s car and damaged it. He would ask Greg to come to the lobby so they could exchange insurance informa­tion and go out to the parking lot and look at the car.

Greg would tell Cynthia through the bathroom door that he’d be right back. While Greg was in the lobby waiting for the caller to show up, Cynthia would come out of the bathroom. Then Larry would knock on the door. Cynthia would think her silly husband had gone off without his room key and open the door without even asking who was there.

She would be surprised to see Larry instead of her husband. He would tell her who he was, and that they went to high school together. Then he would offer her a watch as a wedding present. She would think it looked bulky and ugly, but would be kind and accept it anyway. Larry would insist that she try it on, which she would do, just to get rid of him.

But as soon as Cynthia had the watch on her wrist, Larry would inform her that it contained a small amount of explosive material capable of blowing her hand off. He would show her the wireless detonator, invite himself into the room, and close the door. Then he would make her throw on some clothes, grab her bag, and leave the hotel with him.

Greg would wait in the lobby for a few minutes, give up on the caller, and walk out to his car and find no damage. Relieved, but confused, he would go back to his room only to find his wife and her bag missing. There would be no note—no indica­tion as to why his wife had deserted him.

It was an ingenious plan. Larry just wished he could be there to see Greg’s reaction. But that was okay—he didn’t need to see it. He was a writer, after all. The world of imagination was his playground.

He could picture the pitiful look on Greg’s face.