Table for Two

by Rebecca Redshaw

herbal tea

Jill sat at the small round table in the corner of Lois' Cafe as she did every Thursday afternoon from four o'clock to five-fifteen. Since the accident, this hour and fifteen minutes were her only private time. Except for Lois, the owner/waitress/philosopher/and unofficial comedian,  Jill rarely spoke to anyone.


As she removed her tailored cloth coat a man in dark glasses with striking blond hair turned his head towards her. "Getting a little cold out there?"

Space was an unknown commodity at the corner café, so the tables were situated close together.
"Just a bit," Jill turned her face away from the stranger as she sat down and retrieved the library book from her bag.

"Nice to have the afternoon off, don't you think?" The man sipped his espresso and looked out the window.

Jill really didn't have the afternoon “off”, but she ignored his  question because she knew what would happen. He'd ask to join her table and once he saw the scars on her face would, somewhat embarrassingly, make some excuse to leave soon after. If he chose to tough it out for the duration of a casual cup of coffee, he might notice her limp as she walked to the ladies’ room and mercifully he’d be gone by the time she returned.

This scenario was new for Jill. After living a relatively healthy young life with only the usual skinned knees as a kid and acne as a teenager, she learned the accident seemed to bring out the worst in
well-intentioned people.

Jill had always been quiet, a quality often misunderstood as shyness or disinterest.  She didn't date much in college preferring to use her studies as an excuse and upon entering the work force nobody seemed to pay much attention to her. Then she met Jimmy. They dated for two years and she was thrilled with his attentions. He was persistent in discussing commitment and marriage almost from the first night they met.


"Jimmy, I hardly know you. Can't we take things slow for a while?"

But he never did anything slow. He liked fast sports, downhill skiing in the winter and jet skiing in the summer.

 "Come on, Jill you can do this just hold on," Jimmy admonished her when she hesitated getting on the jet ski.


"Be careful, please," she shouted but her words of caution were lost as he revved the motor and they took off across a passing boat's wake. That was the first time he scared her. His eyes glistened with the  thrill of speed and she remembered seeing that same look the night of the accident.
Unfortunately, Jimmy drove like a maniac at every opportunity and her asking him to slow down only made  it worse. Verbally abusive to other drivers he took pleasure in seeing how close he could
tailgate before the offended driver either pulled over out of fear or took Jimmy's challenge in a very dangerous race on the freeway.

Since the accident, her Thursday afternoons at the café were not really "time off" as the stranger assumed but time waiting for trains between appointments. She remembered the day she went back to work. "You see, Mr. Harrington, my physical therapist needs to see me for at least two hours, twice a
week and if it's alright with you, I can maintain my routine every Thursday and Saturday afternoon from one to three..."

"Enough, enough already," Mr. Harrington cleared his throat huskily, shuffling papers and never looking at the once pretty, young woman. "As long as the work gets done but you know I really can't give you any more special treatment from now on."

"No, sir, Mr. Harrington. My PT told me that I have six more months of  rehab and then, whatever else can be done to improve my walk, I'll be on  my own."

Jill knew he hated looking at her since the car accident ten months ago. Once her hair grew back in and she could restyle it to cover the scars, the only visible affectation of that night would be her
noticeable limp. As she closed the door leaving behind her flustered boss, she sighed in disbelief. "My God, what would he do if he knew that after I left the fitness clinic I waited for the next train to go uptown to see my shrink."

This afternoon Jill had walked hesitantly through the crowded café. She'd been coming to this same place for six weeks now and Lois saved her a small table in the corner and brought herbal tea and a slice of lemon cake without Jill even having to order.

"How are you today, Lois? Read any good books?" That's how their friendship had gotten started. Jill always had a library book with her and read to pass the time. It took away the
awkwardness of eating or drinking alone which she hated.

"No, sweetie, those teenagers of mine had me down at the station house last week. Prank stuff, ya know?  I grounded them for two weeks and believe you me," she bent over the table as she straightened the salt and pepper shakers, "the punishment's all mine."

Jill smiled as she dipped her tea bag repeatedly in the metal pot. Lois  was the only person she had met that never once asked her about the scars or the limp and she loved her for that. Jimmy had left her before she was released from the hospital, the jerk. At the thought of Jimmy, Jill shuddered a little and pulled her sweater tightly around her shoulders.

"You catchin’ a cold, honey?" Lois refilled the hot water container. "I can tell Bernie to turn up the heat or ..."

"No, please don't bother. I'm fine."

"Maybe you'd like to change seats?" the stranger scooted his chair back as if to get up.

"No, no, that's not necessary," Jill said a little too loudly.

Lois stood between the two tables her large form blocking their view.  "Say, have you two met yet? You should you know. You both like books. There're too few of us in-tell-ec-tu-als left!" She exaggerated each syllable and tilted her nose to the ceiling evoking laughter from both customers.

"Samuel, Jill. Jill, Samuel." The two customers smiled at one another. "Com'on. The owner will spring for another espresso and another pot of tea. On the house." Lois headed towards the kitchen.

 "Thanks, anyway, Lois but It's time for my train. Nice meeting you, Samuel." Jill buttoned her coat, gathered her book bag and walked towards the front door knowing he was watching her walk and wishing Lois had never introduced them.

Because of her physical therapy plus working on Saturdays, the week flew by for Jill. Thursday, as she walked into Lois', dripping from the rainstorm outside, she was surprised to see Samuel as she had the week before, sitting at the same table staring out the window. Knowing Lois, Jill was sure she had told him she stopped in every Thursday. She was also certain, even if Samuel hadn't seen her scarred face as she left the week before, he had surely seen her limp. Why was he here? Her therapist had told her not to be self-conscious about her appearance and to try and make new friends, date even, 'because in time things would get better.'

“Things,” thought Jill as she left the woman's office. “What does  anyone know about
'things' and how people treat you when you look different.”But there sat Samuel. Lois with her own bustling style was walking towards Jill's table with tea and cake in hand.

"Let me put that wet coat and umbrella by the door, sweetie. No one will bother them, I'll see to that. You remember Samuel, don't you? Sam, it’s Jill. You met her last week."

"Of course," he started to get up from his chair as she passed. "I'd recognize that perfume anywhere. 'Obsession,' isn't it?"

"Pretty smooth, this one." Lois patted him on the back and he grabbed her hand.

"Marry me, woman, and we'll runaway to some exotic island, what do ya' say?"

"What and leave the good life at Lois' Cafe? Not a chance, buster. Just 'cause you're handsome and charming and probably, available," Lois winked at Jill, "doesn't mean you can have your way with me."

Their repartée brought a smile to Jill's face.

"Let me go now so I can tend to the customers who actually tip when they leave this joint."

Jill turned her face away and sipped her tea. Her thoughts raced about Sam. Part of her wanted to talk to him, to get to know him better. The sound of his voice startled her.

"Why don't you join me?" Samuel pushed the empty chair at his table gently with his foot. "You can bet Lois will not rest until we at least pretend to do as  she says."


His voice was gentle and soft and he spoke ever so slowly. And Jill knew that he was right. For whatever reason Lois had made their meeting her personal  challenge. Leaving her books and handbag at her table, Jill placed the untouched lemon cake and tea cup beside Samuel.

"Lois tells me you're a reader, too," Samuel stared out the window. "I read everything I can get my hands on."

"Maybe you'd like to read this one. I've just finished it." Jill reached for the book behind her and set it between them on the table.

"Thanks, but I don't think..." Samuel started to explain but Jill  interrupted. "Oh, please don't feel obligated out of pity. I can always go back to my own table and..."

Sam reached for her hand, "Whoa, whoa, tiger. Where did that all come from? Don't you know the reason I'm not sure?"

"Please don't make me say what we both know to be true. I know I don't look like other girls you may date, that's fairly obvious."

"Jill, Jill, how would I know? We have a misunderstanding here that I want to clear up right away before either of us says anything we'll regret later."

"Later? Regret?" Jill's voice cracked. "I don't see what you're talking about."

"Precisely, Jill. I don't see. When I said I read anything I can get my hands on I meant it quite literally. Don't you know I'm blind?" Samuel  turned his head towards her and she
looked at her reflection of astonishment in his dark glasses. After a few moments of awkward silence, Jill blew her nose unceremoniously into the paper napkin.

He clapped his hands together once and laughed. "I think it's swell that you thought I was being a jerk. Usually, I reserve that right since people pre-judge me all the time because I'm different. But you wouldn't know about that, would you?"

Jill's eyes widened in amazement. Samuel had no idea about her scars or her limp. He liked her!
Just then Lois arrived at the table and placed the check in Samuel's hand. "Sorry to tell you kids this but a certain someone's train leaves in five minutes. Time to pay the piper."

"I guess I better get going," Jill started to take the check, but Sam held tight and placed his other hand on top of hers."I have a better idea. Stay and have dinner with me. Word on the street is that Lois makes a killer chili especially good on rainy nights."

Jill hesitated, wondering what her shrink would say if she canceled her appointment for a date.

Sam leaned forward and whispered, "If you'd rather not..."

"No, please, I mean, yes. It's just that I'm surprised." She felt a bit giddy. "Let me make on phone call."

Walking towards the pay phone in the back Jill saw Lois waiting with open arms to give her a hug.
"See, honey, Lois knows a lot more than waitin' tables. She knows beautiful people when she sees 'em."

Jill kissed the rosy cheek of the plump woman and turned to call her therapist.  She hesitated and turned to Lois.."Thanks for opening my eyes to what's really important, Lois."

"Don't be silly, sweetie. I'm just tryin' to open up another station at my busy time. I don't want you two hoggin' up two prime tables."

Jill glanced toward the front of the cafe where Samuel waited patiently, "Lois, my friend, I have a feeling it will be a table for two  for some time to come."

                                             

About the author:

Rebecca Redshaw is a published author and playwright who lives in the Pacific Northwest. In addition to extensive articles and short stories published in national newspapers and magazines. Her play, A Conversation with Hattie McDaniel was commissioned by the Clallam County League of Women Voters and has been produced successfully at numerous venues.
Rebecca was awarded First Prize in the 2009 Lakeview Literary Review for her short story, Somebody Special and her short story, “Mrs. C” won 2nd place in the Soul-Making Keats Literary Competition. Currently, she is at work on her fourth novel, The Girls Go Fishing and eighth play, Into the Wind. www.rebeccaredshaw.com

"Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be
doing something else."

                                    Gloria_Steinem_

Maddie and Zaid

By Eliza Master

butterfly tea 

            “We both got the Butterfly Tea,” he says in an accent Maddie can’t identify.

            She looks over her laptop and sees that he is handsome. She focuses on his downy beard so as to avoid eye contact.

            “Can I join you?” he says. There aren’t any empty tables left, and hers is a big one that seats four normally.

            “Sure, of course.” She nods at the chair that is diagonal from her.

            “I’m Zaid,” he says, reaching a hand out.

            “Maddie,” she says, shaking it awkwardly. She returns her gaze to her screen, but the assignment on eco architecture doesn’t hold her attention. Instead she sneaks glances at Zaid. She watches him settle in and open his laptop. His dark eyes stare at his own screen.

            “Homework?” asks Maddie.

            “Yep. Psychology. You?” says Zaid.

            “Urban planning,” replies Maddie. She sips her Butterfly Tea, now room temperature. The clock on the wall is ticking loudly. She wants him to like her. Her attention is drawn to Zaid’s hair. It’s sandy brown. She wonders what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.

            “Hey,” says Zaid. He meets her gaze as if he was waiting for it. “Are you free for dinner tonight?” Maddie’s cheeks flush.

            She bites her lip, and says, “I am,” with as much confidence as she can muster.

            “Can I have your number?” Zaid takes his phone out of his pocket and offers it to her. It is warm from his body heat. The case has an anime rabbit jumping toward a star. Maddie taps in her number. “See you soon,” says Zaid. He downs the last of the Butterfly Tea and packs away his laptop.

            Just as Maddie settles back into homework, her phone bings. It’s Zaid; 6- at the YouKai Sushi?

            She has passed the restaurant several times. It’s a few blocks from campus, next to a dry-cleaning shop. Ok see you then J,  she texts back.

            It’s already dark when Maddie arrives at YouKai Sushi. The entrance to the restaurant is down a grimy hallway and through another door. There are just five tables, all of them empty except for one where Zaid sits.

            He stands, and pulls out the chair opposite him saying, “Maddie.” Somehow this makes her blush. She is glad the place is dark. Zaid orders warm sake, which tastes like cleaning fluid to her, but relaxes Maddie’s brain. She tells him a brief history of her nineteen years in just a few sentences. Zaid says that he was born and raised in Morocco, and that he got a scholarship to university.

            No one else shows up for dinner. They drink miso soup and eat sashimi. Maddie is happily surprised that she likes the raw fish.

            “This is awkward.” Zaid clears his throat. She thinks he is going to say something important. Maddie tries to look at both of his eyes at once but ends up focusing on a small crease between his eyebrows. “Well, you see. I’m a Lagomorph.”

            “Huh?” He must be joking, thinks Maddie. She knows that Lagomorphs are animals. Had she heard there is one in a zoo somewhere, or that they are extinct? She can’t remember. “Are you serious?” she asks.

            “Yeah, I’m serious.” Zaid looks deep into her eyes. Now she gazes at each eye in turn. Maddie sees herself reflected in his dark pupils. “Are you ok with that?” Zaid interrupts.

            Maddie runs her tongue around the top of her mouth in a circle. Zaid’s lips are pursed waiting for a response. “What do you mean by Lagomorph?” she asks quietly.

            “I’ll show you.” Zaid turns around in his chair and lifts his shirt. “I have a tail.” On his back she sees a ball of fur the same sandy color as his hair.

            “Oh weird,” Maddie says without thinking. Zaid turns back and picks up the bill, “I’m sorry.” He puts on his jacket.

            “No, your fine. Really,” says Maddie. She stands and impulsively presses a kiss onto his lips. He presses back. She likes the taste of him and decides to not think about the weird tail.

            The following evening Maddie goes to Zaid’s apartment. He has a camera on the ceiling. It’s strapped and anchored by metal hooks.

            “You film bed stuff?” she asks.

            “Yeah, that way I can watch myself sleep. It’s for studying insomnia. I’m writing a paper on it.

            He lights a candle and shuts off the lights.

            “Condom?” she asks.

            “I’m clean, and neither of us can get pregnant from each other,” says Zaid. “Only another male Lagomorph could knock me up.” He smiles and pats his belly. Maddie notices that it has a feminine curve.

            She frowns into the darkness and a sigh escapes. Maddie has an IUD, so pregnancy doesn’t worry her, but diseases do.

            “Have you been tested?” It is her rule to ask first. Unfortunately, the question is always a buzzkill. Her romantic feelings are dissipating, and she’s worried they won’t return.

            “Look,” Zaid whispers. He pulls out a sheet of paper from the night table. It’s from the student health center. The top reads; Patient, Zaid Alami. The results are from three days ago. Maddie’s gaze roves down the column of diseases, she notes that everything is marked negative.

             Zaid leans in and places his forehead against hers. Maddie’s heart swells. She breaths into his chest as he encloses her in his arms. Then she wraps her legs around him and lets herself get lost in his response. She feels like she is flying. Is she falling in love? she asks herself. Afterwards she sleeps soundly against his back, with the soft tail between them.

            The next day Maddie stops by YouKai sushi and gets some miso soup for Zaid. She knocks politely on his door but turns the knob without waiting. The door opens, and she sees that Zaid is at his laptop with the camera plugged in to it.

            “Hi, I brought soup.” Maddie prances across the room toward him. He closes his computer as she approaches. Zaid’s eyebrow hairs are standing on end, but smooth down right away.

            “Oh, hi,” says Zaid tiredly. He doesn’t get up, so Maddie stops on the other side of the desk.

            “Whatcha up to?” She asks.

            “Homework. Kind of busy actually.” She holds out the soup. “Not hungry right now, but thanks,” says Zaid.

            Maddie is frozen, and then she gets it. Last night was a hook up. Her chest contracts but she manages to say, “Totally,” as if he doesn’t matter to her either. She rushes out the door and back to her apartment. Immediately she looks Zaid up on her computer. She should have stalked him the minute he left the coffee shop, she thinks angrily.

            Zaid’s Facebook profile is on the top of the search, but there isn’t much there. Further down the search are other Zaid Alamis, mostly men from the Middle East. Maddie is surprised the name is so common. Halfway down is video called Zaid Gets Laid.

            Of course, she clicks on it. But the video is on a site called RealPorn. It’s $19.95 to join. They want her credit card and verification that she is over 21, which she isn’t. Impulsively she types in her information and clicks the Over 21 bar.

            She is surprised to see that it’s her Zaid talking from the screen. He says, “Do you think rabbits are sexy? Take a look at my tail, it’s real.” The camera moves behind him and Maddie sees Zaid tugging at his tail for the audience. “And this is the rest of me.” The view shows him from the front and Maddie recognizes his manhood from the night before. The introduction runs right into the action.

            There is a guy with an elaborate tattoo on his back, screwing Zaid from behind. The camera zooms in and Maddie can see a scar on the man’s back in same spot as Zaid’s tail. He is slapping Zaid’s legs while he gets off. The camera stays away from both faces, but she sees Zaid’s thigh flinch at every spank.

            Maddie watches the video twice more, remembering the camera above his bed. She makes fists above the keyboard. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears. Does he have her on video too?

            She texts; Did you film us last night???  Zaid doesn’t respond, so she texts again; Answer me! But still, there is no response.

            Maddie marches back to his place and pounds on the door. It’s quiet inside, but she yells, “Open the door!” Nothing happens. Pulling out her phone, she texts; I am not for public viewing! and then; You are a f**king liar- I HATE YOU!

            Weeks pass, and still there is no word from Zaid. His apartment stays quiet. Did he leave town, she wonders?  Maddie checks RealPorn and there is nothing new. She studies hard and does better on finals than she expects. Then it’s summer break, which ends way too quickly.

            When she returns to school, Maddie checks Zaid’s apartment again. Junk mail litters the floor in front of the door, and there is a For Rent sign in the window. Her eyes smart with tears, but a deep breath soothes them. From her room she checks RealPorn again, but all traces of Zaid and his video are gone.

            On the first day of class, she gets a text from him:

            Maddie, I’m so sorry L about everything and that you saw the porn vid. I made that to pay for school, the scholarship wasn’t real. I deleted the film of us, but I have not forgotten how you made me feel. I really like you. I need some help, could you please reply?

            Maddie’s heart softens, but she doesn’t respond. She makes a pledge to herself to stay away from men, especially him. That night she lies awake in bed worrying, and gives in.

            What’s wrong? She texts Zaid.

            Could you come over? Zaid texts an address that is only a few blocks away.

            OK. See you soon, Maddie texts back.

            She throws on a sweatshirt and jeans and drives over. Zaid looks much heavier than he did when they met.

            “Yeah, I’m pregnant,” he says, before Maddie says anything.

            “Ugh,” says Maddie, sucking air between her lips.

            “Thanks for coming by,” says Zaid. Tears are running down his cheeks. He throws his arms around Maddie. At first, she stiffens, but then hugs back. “I really don’t know what to do,” Zaid pleads.

            “What about your family?”

            “There’s no one,” he says, weeping.

            “You could get an abortion,” suggests Maddie.

            “But I’m a Lagomorph; we're not people.”

Maddie mulls over his statement.

“Think I have to barf,” says Zaid, running to the bathroom. Maddie hears him gag, and it sounds like he is panting.

            “Are you ok?” Maddie pushes open the door. Zaid is sitting on the floor naked. There’s blood on the tiles. “Crap!” shouts Maddie. Then she sees something furry beneath his thigh. It is the same sandy color as Zaid’s hair.

            Zaid gazes up at Maddie without reserve. His eyes are teary, and his nose is twitching. Part of his beard is compressed like matted wool.

            “Take her.” Zaid hands the birth to Maddie and forces himself up. The baby is covered with short fur and has long rabbit ears. It’s umbilical cord dangles from in between Zaid’s legs. Suddenly, the placenta shoots out and splats at on the floor. It looks like a murdered octopus. Maddie watches Zaid bite the cord. Her stomach turns as its bloody mucus stains his lips. He tosses the offal into the trashcan unceremoniously. “Got to shower,” he says, disappearing behind the curtain.

            Maddie wraps the bunny in a clean towel and sits on Zaid’s bed. She rocks the infant as if  it is a human baby. Her onyx eyes stare at Maddie intently.

             “Hi,” says Maddie. Then again, “Hi baby.” The bunny is twitching her nose just as Zaid did. She squeaks softly, puckering her lips like she wants to nurse. “You hungry, baby?” Maddie coos.

            “Hey,” says Zaid marching out of the bathroom. He puts on a clean T-shirt and boxers.

            “You had the baby!” Maddie announces. Her words hit the wall and bounce away.

            “Guess I did.” Zaid lays on the bed facing the wall and pulls up the covers.

            “She yours, your daughter,” says Maddie tapping him on the shoulder, but Zaid ignores her. Gently she places the baby under his arm and tucks the blanket around them.  

            “I’ll be right back. She needs food,” she tells Zaid. Maddie drives to a convenience store and buys baby bottles and formula.

            When she returns Zaid is snoring heavily, despite the baby wriggling and squeaking. Carefully she fishes out the child and puts the bottle in her mouth. Her brown lips sip greedily, sucking the formula down. The baby sends affectionate glances at Maddie. Then she burps and closes her eyes.

            Maddie crawls into the bed with the newborn next to her. It smells like rich soil. She strokes the soft fur and the child sighs in her sleep. Zaid flips over, and peeks at Maddie.

            He moves in and brings his daughter close. She squeaks but doesn’t awaken. With a stretch her ears straighten and relax onto Zaid’s cheek. Maddie sees that he has fallen asleep. She lets her eyes close.

About the author 

Eliza Master is a fiction author and a member of Wordos Workshop. Several magazines have published her stories and Wayzgoose Press will publish her three novels; The Scarlet Cord, The Twisted Rope and The Shibari Knot in 2018.

       Eliza is also a potter and builds stoves in Guatemala. When she is home she enjoys long walks in the Oregon rain with her Labradoodle, Samantha    

Slipping Off

by John T Biggs

bourbon  

John smiled at the security camera while the ATM kicked out fifteen twenty-dollar bills.  Photographs put ten pounds on you, but he’d lost thirty so he’d look pretty good in the video.

He fiddled with his wedding band. Looser now that he was thin. It slipped off his finger easily. That had to mean something didn’t it? Something deep and important about marriage and losing thirty pounds. When a man got skinnier, his fingers got skinnier too, but his wedding band stayed exactly the same size. John had a lot of deep philosophical thoughts these days, especially when his calorie count ran low. He put the ring into his pocket. Stephanie would never forgive him if he lost it.

Now for another transaction. He needed $600 for a pair of diamond earrings, a terrific fourteenth anniversary present for Stephanie, and the Seven Eleven’s ATM would only give him $300 at a time.

He reached into his front pocket, where he carried his wallet since he’d lost weight. Too much pressure on the sciatic nerve if he put it in a back one. John smiled at the security camera one more time and concentrated so hard at looking good that he almost didn’t hear his wedding band bounce on the cement floor.

While the ATM spit out fifteen more twenties, John bent over to retrieve his ring. His butt brushed against something soft. He could tell right away what that something was. A man never forgets what a pretty woman feels like.

“Lose something?” Pretty girl’s voice—it sounded like laughter, and music, and the promise of things John hadn’t thought of since fourteen years ago this coming Saturday.

He hadn’t seen her yet, but he knew what she looked like. She’d be the perfect height. Long hair or short; color negotiable. Well dressed, in clothing that accentuated her ideal figure. Pretty girl face, pretty girl eyes, pretty girl smile—file footage from his youth. Stephanie still looked like that in the dark, but after fourteen years, sometimes it had to be very dark.

Her shoes were the first things John saw. Black mat finish with straps over the instep, three inch stiletto heels. Probably Italian. A man can tell a lot from a pair of shoes.

Her smile was the second thing John saw. Lips the color of a ripe red apple. She moistened them with the tip of her tongue.

John stuttered a little when he told her: “Thirty pounds at weigh-in this morning.”  But too much time had passed since she’d asked if he lost something.

She looked confused—good look for a pretty girl. Her features reconciled themselves with John’s fantasy. Five feet nine, way too tall for him. Blond shoulder length hair, way too soft for him to touch. She wore a white top and a gray pleated skirt—halfway between a cheerleader’s outfit and a Catholic schoolgirl’s uniform. Way too young for him.

Confusion could be good. Maybe she wouldn’t figure all the way-too’s out. Not until it was way too late.

“Dropped some change.” He gave her a nervous laugh, in case she’d seen the ring. He stuffed it into his pocket, rolled it between his fingers. It felt like a meaningless piece of gold, hot and awkward, just like him. Maybe she saw it and didn’t care.

John turned to leave before he did something he might regret—not morality so much as the lack of a workable plan.

“Don’t forget what you came for.” She pointed to the tray of twenties he’d been about to abandon.

“How nice. Guess I owe you one.” He figured she was about nineteen years old and well aware of the effect she had on men. He sucked his belly in and tried to look a little more fit, even though he didn’t have to do that any more. No telling how long his new, improved look would last.

“Better make the most of it,” John said out loud without meaning to. The girl looked confused again, but not repelled.

“What?” The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. He was an older man, with six hundred dollars in his pocket. She’d believe him, no matter what he said.

“Perfect in so many ways.” Out loud again, damn it.

He took a deep breath and looked for judgment in her eyes. When he couldn’t find it he told her, “You look exactly like a girl I’ve seen before.” The line was stale enough to grow penicillin mold, but maybe she hadn’t heard it.

“Where did you see her? Maybe it was me.”

“In my dreams,” John told her. “Maybe it was you.”

He got ready to dodge a slap, but she gave him another smile instead.

“I’m waiting for a cab,” she said. “If you’re not doing anything, you could take me where I’m going and tell me all about your dream girl.”

“Okay?” He said as if it was a question.

“Los Hermanos Motel,” she told him. “Do you know the place?”

“What a coincidence. My favorite motel.”

John talked while he drove. He filled the air with words so the girl wouldn’t have a chance to tell him he was old and, out of shape, and ought to be ashamed.

She didn’t say any of those things. She told him her name was Lantana.

“Like the flower?”

She laughed. He wasn’t sure Lantana was a flower name but it was too late to take it back.

“That’s my favorite kind of flower,” he told her. Then it was time for John to come up with a name.

“My name is Charley G. Littlejohn.” There was a little truth in that. He wondered if there was a God somewhere writing all this down. He’d been thinking things like that ever since he started going to Weight Watchers.

“What’s the ‘G’ stand for?”

“Glad I met you,” John told her, just like that.

Her laughter sounded like a wind chime. It struck notes he hadn’t heard for years, but he recognized the melody. He knew what was supposed to happen next, and for a few seconds he was pretty sure he’d find a reason to back out.

He started to tell Lantana about his wife, Stephanie, and how they were celebrating their Ivory anniversary—the big number fourteen. But Stephanie wasn’t into killing elephants, so Ivory was out.

He started to tell Lantana about his son, Phillip, and his daughter Angela. He started to tell her that his parents were watching the kids this weekend so he and Stephanie could break out of their parental roles.

Instead, John said, “This is Los Hermanos,” as he turned into the motel parking lot. He put the car in park, and walked around to open Lantana’s door for her, like he almost never did for Stephanie anymore. He watched Lantana stand up, filing away every detail so he could feel self-righteous later on when he remembered how he didn’t sleep with her.

But then she said,” My room number is 96. Would you like to come in for a while?”

“Ninety Six.” The year he and Stephanie got married. That had to be a sign.

“Sure,” John said, ignoring a clear and concise message from the creator of the universe. “Why not?” A man was entitled to a meaningless affair, just once in his life—and he was pretty sure it would only be this once.

He put his hand on Lantana’s back, just above her pleated skirt, and nudged her in the direction of room 96. John resisted the temptation to slide that hand a little lower. That might come later. The important thing was to keep her moving. Nineteen-year-old girls in motion stayed in motion. Even John knew that much physics.

Lantana tapped on the door of number 96, “So we don’t scare the maid.” But there was no maid inside the room, just a queen size bed with rumpled covers.

“I need to freshen up.” She walked to the bathroom door.

John noticed the bathroom door was closed, like someone might be in there already. But he lost that train of thought when Lantana told him, “Take off your clothes. I want to see you naked when I come out.”

He almost forgot how to work buttons and zippers, but not quite. He folded his pants and shirt over the back of a chair. He put his socks and underpants on top of his shoes. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, trying to figure out which was his best side.

He couldn’t wait to match the girl up to his fantasy. He hoped for a smooth, evenly tanned, well-toned body without scars, birthmarks or tattoos, but right then he would settle for anything. Well . . . as long as things didn’t work out like The Crying Game, or one of those other nineties she-male dramas. And that couldn’t happen, because Lantana’s hands were too small and she had no Adam’s apple.

He’d have to shower after they were through, leave no physical signs for Stephanie. Maybe Lantana would shower with him. John had just fleshed out that image in his mind when a man walked out the bathroom door. A large black man in jeans and a muscle-shirt and a Tazer in his hand.

“Don’t taze me bro,” slipped passed John’s lips while he was deciding whether to hold up his hands or cover his genitals. He never thought of them as genitals unless he was feeling especially vulnerable in that department.

He didn’t know which was worse, the Tazer in the black man’s hand or the look in Lantana’s eyes. She stood behind her armed companion with her right hand on her hip. “Guess you realize, your dreams aren’t gonna come true.”

John was too naked to think of an adequate response, so he fixed his eyes on the man with the Tazer and hoped for the best.

“Sir . . .” That was the best word John could come up with at the moment.

The man with the Tazer smiled—handsome, like Denzel Washington’s psychotic younger brother. His biceps looked like they’d been carved out of a block of frozen prime rib. People probably called him sir all the time. The weapon was a professional courtesy, so John wouldn’t feel obliged to get the crap beaten out of him.

Lantana went through John’s pockets. She took his wallet and his keys. Her partner held out his free arm, and she draped John’s pants and shirt over it.

“You can keep your underwear and shoes, Charley.” After she slid the watch off John’s left wrist she pressed something round and solid into his palm.

“Keep the wedding band too.” The ring still held her body heat. Almost too hot to touch. It was bigger than he remembered. Shinier too.

No clothes. No money. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Sorry, Charley.” Lantana held the door open for her muscular companion. She gave John a finger wave, then shut it.

John slipped the wedding band back on. He practiced telling Stephanie that, “Nothing really happened in room 96. Except a robbery, of course.”

“Still faithful after fourteen years,” he told himself. “That’s the most important thing. Isn’t it?”

He wondered if local calls were free.

About the author

Don’t bother trying to classify John T. Biggs’ stories. They are a genre stew of speculative fiction, anthropology, mystery, and humor written in a mainstream literary style. Native Americans play a significant role in most of John’s narratives. He reworks traditional Indian legends and sets them in modern times, the way oral historians always intended.

Sixty of John’s short stories have been published in magazines and anthologies that vary from literary to young adult speculative fiction and everything in between. Some of these stories have won regional and national awards including Grand Prize in the Writers Digest 80^th annual competition, third prize in the Lorian Hemingway short story contest, and a Storyteller Magazine’s Peoples Choice Award.

John has published four novels: Owl Dreams, Popsicle Styx (Oklahoma Book Award Finalist) Cherokee Ice (Oklahoma Book Award Finalist & OWFI Best Published Fiction Book of 2015), and Shiners as well as a linked short story collection, Sacred Alarm Clock, which includes the OWFI Crème de la Crème winning story, “Twenty Percent Off”.  His series post-apocalyptic novellas, Clementine a song to end the world will be released by Oghma Creative Media in mid 2018.

http://johnbiggsoklahomawriter.com

A Golden Memory

by Shawn Klimek

flaming rum with a dash of tears, poured out in libation 

The wedding was definitely off.  Their relationship was irreconcilably over. 

Heartbroken, enraged, she had cut up and set fire to all of their pictures together, every gift he had ever given her, every trace and relic of the cheating bastard. He was dead to her, now.

Only the ring remained.

Tears blurred her vision as she contemplated the final, shiny, golden artifact of their love.  

Somehow, she felt a part of him was still in this ring.

Scraping it out with a polished nail, she flicked it into the pyre.

The ring she would keep.

About the author

@shawnmklimekauthor/facebook