Once Upon Another Time (32 page)

“Delicate?” I
asked, trying to imagine what could possibly be delicate about a five-foot
eight-inch, wide-shouldered woman wearing size eleven sandals.

Gavin held his
fingers under my chin and canvassed my face.  “Yeah, delicate, flawless
translucent skin, a tiny spray of endearing freckles across your nose, and gorgeous
eyes,” he said as he brushed his thumb lightly over my lips.  “You’re
perfect.” 

“Oh, stop,” I
said, as a reflection from the streetlight shone in his cosmic blue eyes. 
Gavin with his Christopher Reeves Superman good looks had a way of making me
feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet.

“No, really,” he
said, as he slid his arm around my waist.

Maybe it was the
three pounds I’d lost that week, but I did feel good in my sleeveless silky
white blouse, butt hugging black pencil skirt and high-heeled dressy sandals.

I brushed a lock of
black hair off Gavin’s forehead and kissed him softly.  That week I’d taught
him how to use a wallpaper steamer and he taught me how to play pool.  I’d
signed him up for Crate & Barrel’s mailing list and he shared his white
bean chili recipe with me.  Evenings, we’d stroll along Fogland Beach under our
very own umbrella of stars.

That day, we’d
spent the entire day in bed.  We watched old black and white movies, made love,
ordered Chinese take-out, made more love, and snuggled together reading
quietly, him John Grisham, me Nicholas Sparks.  Nothing in my life had ever
felt as perfect as that day.

“Looks like there
must be fifty people ahead of us,” Gavin mentioned, as he kissed my forehead.

“Can you see where
David and Laura are?”

Gavin stepped to
the side of the line.  “They’re right there, about twenty feet ahead of us
standing on the curb under the canopy.

I peeked out from
the crowd and glimpsed Laura’s mass of long, platinum hair, tall lean body in a
see-through blouse, short steely blue silk skirt, and strappy silver sandals. 
“Looks like they’re next in line for valet service.”

A bouncer wearing
a black dress shirt and pants who looked to be the size of Andre the Giant, ten
pounds of gold chains around his neck, scanned the crowd of people waiting in
line ahead of us.  Giggles emanated from a group of women dressed in what
looked like Porn Clam Chic, as Andre pulled back the red velvet rope to let
them into the club. 

While ruminating
over whether my outfit might be a bit dressy for the club, I heard Laura bellow
God’s Son’s name, “Jesus Christ!”  She certainly wasn’t praying for spiritual
guidance. 

“There’s some kind
of scuffle going on,” Gavin said, as we stepped out from the line. 

A wild-eyed,
blonde-headed woman dressed in a blue sequin dress who looked like a Mini Me
version of Jenny McCarthy, was whapping David in the knees with a purse the
size of New York.  When suddenly the three-foot tall mini Jenny threw her purse
to the ground and two fistedly beat on David, while Laura screamed for her to
stop. 

“Has the woman
escaped from an institution?”  I said, as Gavin and I rushed to rescue David.

However, we
stopped short of two feet from him as the miniature Jenny shrieked, “And to
think I actually trusted you enough to marry you, you cheating, lying
bastard!” 

She charged at
David and clamped her canine-like teeth into his thigh.  He let out a howl. 
Strangely enough, the deep grunting noises she made were reminiscent of a
documentary I once saw on the Discovery channel featuring the wildebeest.

The mini three-foot
tall Jenny resembled a dog wrestling a chew toy from its master, while Gavin
tried to separate her from David’s leg.  It was like watching a video of little
people gone wild.

Although Laura’s
pain of finding out about David’s infidelity--with his own wife--wasn’t even
close to the pain Jesus went through on the cross, you’d think it was for as
many times as she kept calling out to Him.  Perhaps she was calling out for His
divine strength and intervention to keep her from killing David.

As the keys to David’s
Porsche flew from his hand, Laura quickly scooped them up from the sidewalk. 
“C’mon,” she said, as she grabbed my arm and forced me into the passenger side
of the car.  My tush underestimated that the seat practically dropped to ground
level. 

Laura hopped in
the driver’s side, shifted into first gear and took off, laying a twenty-foot
strip of burning rubber.

“That no good,
dirty f...”

I’d never seen
Laura in such a rage, and the way she was shouting obscenities you would have
thought she had Tourette’s syndrome. 

I held tight to
the dashboard, as she took a sharp turn onto I-95.  “Laura, slow down!”

I felt bad that I
had left Gavin in that predicament.  However, he was busy helping David, and I
thought he’d agree that Laura needed me more than he did.

“Son-of-a-bitch!”
she screamed, while pounding her fist on the steering wheel.

“Laura, this is
not worth risking your life for, and I certainly don’t want to die.  Please,
slow down.” 

The powerful
engine of the 911 Carrera whined loudly as Laura threw it into fourth gear.  It
might have seemed as if we were traveling at the speed of light because the
convertible top was down on the car, but I swore that if the car were equipped
with a set of wings, we’d have been airborne. 

“I can’t slow
down.”

I pulled my hair
to the side and held it to keep it from whipping at my face.  “You can’t slow
down because the car has suddenly become Christine-like and it’s causing you to
drive us into a crash and burn on I-95?”

“No, because if I
slow down, I’d be able to turn the car around and drive back to the club.  And
if I get this car anywhere near David he’ll end up with tire tracks across his
face.”

“Okay, point well
taken.  However, unless you have crash helmets stored under the seats, and a
pop up roll bar on the car, I don’t think it’s a good idea to drive fast enough
to break the sound barrier.” 

She managed to
slow down to eighty miles an hour.  I eased up on chewing my fingernails, which
I’d managed to trim down to the bloodline.

“What a freak.  I
hate him,” Laura hissed vehemently.  “What’d he do, find her at the circus?  My
God, the crystal ball waxer, the-eye-of-the-newt-and-toe-of-a-frog woman was
right!  He was dishonest.  I had a gut feeling that something wasn't right, but
I would never have guessed he was married.” 

Laura’s voice
cracked as she choked back tears.  

“I thought he was
the best thing that ever happened to me.  I thought our relationship was
great.  We really enjoyed each other, and overlooking the fact that he’s a
lousy dresser wasn’t easy.  I tried not to dwell on his idiosyncrasies, like
leaving his toenail chippings lying on my bathroom floor as if they were going
to biodegrade themselves into the ceramic tile.  I even accepted him wearing
pantyhose.”

“David wears
pantyhose?”  I was stunned.  I’d never once thought of him as being light on
his toes.  Also, I was confused as to why a gay man was dating a straight
woman--as well as being married.

“He wears them
under his wool dress pants because the wool makes his legs itch.  What did I
ever see in him?”  Laura cried out angrily.  The emotion of anger must have
somehow been hotwired from her brain directly into the gas pedal, because I
almost got whiplash as the car accelerated.

“I’m sorry David
turned out to be such a jerk.”  I tried to be as consoling as possible while
hyperventilating, as the taillights of the vehicle in front of us were
one--maybe two inches from our front bumper.

Laura laid on the
horn and radically swerved, my body flung to the right, as we passed the old
man in the car she’d almost ran over.

“Laura, I don’t
want to preach to you at a time like this, but I have a child whose wedding I
would one day like to attend.  Let’s go to my house where we can talk or just
take the next exit and pull the car off to the side of the road.  I’m able to
think better with my feet planted firmly on the ground, as opposed to sitting
in a car that’s going so fast I can hear the wind whistle through my ears.” 

Laura acquiesced
and slowed down to the speed limit.  She drove silently for miles as if she
were in shock and unable to utter a single word.  I however, rattled on about
the tortuous devices I’d like to use on David for putting her through such
heartache. 

She finally
decided to exit off 1-95 onto an eerily quiet country road.  It was pitch
black, there was cow-pie stench in the air, and neither of us knew exactly
where we were. 

“What you and Matt
had together was perfect.  Something I’ve never achieved,” Laura said quietly,
as she pulled the car off to the shoulder of the road.  The sound of gravel
crunched under the tires as she brought the car to a stop. 

“Why do I get my
heart broken so many times?” she asked.

“Laura, I feel so bad
for what David did to you.” 

It was at that
moment that I’d thought back to the day I’d walked into Laura’s office and she
was on the speakerphone with David.  And in my head, I heard David say, “I can
do this.  I can keep it together so Laura will never find out.”  I’d been so
preoccupied with my own life that I had failed to put the pieces together. 
Especially since Laura had expressed her worries at least twice to me.  She
loathed cheating husbands.

 “Well, Matt did
have a stupid accident and died, leaving me alone.”

“But the positive
aspect of dying is that Matt never intentionally hurt you, unlike Robert who
degraded me by sleeping with bimbos.  Women who felt a well-accessorized outfit
should include whips and black leather masks.  Then there were the Bambi
Bimbos, some of them so young, you’d think they’d have to be home before the
streetlights came on.  Now David…a married man!”

As Laura sobbed, I
was at a loss for words.  “I’m really sorry.  You obviously mesmerized the man
to the point of giving him complete amnesia, not remembering he was married.”

Laura let out a
faint whimper of a laugh between sobs, as she pulled a tissue from her purse
and honked into it.  “What makes men think they have the right to cheat on
their wives?” she asked while wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

“Let’s just say,
some men cheat for the same reason dogs fornicate in public--because they can. 
Simple as that, they don’t need a reason.”

“Oh God, I’m a
kept woman.  People will label me a mistress.”  Laura moaned and rested her
head on the steering wheel.

I had tried to run
my fingers through my hair, but they got stuck.  I pulled down on the visor and
looked in the lighted mirror to see that the wind had spun my hair into the
shape of a tornado.  A look similar to the Cone Heads from the old Saturday
Night Live shows.

Out of nowhere,
bright flashing blue strobe lights had appeared behind us.  The glare in the
visor mirror practically blinded me.  “Laura, get up,” I said, while anxiously
nudging her.

She pulled her
head up off the steering wheel and squinted as she gazed into the rearview
mirror.  “What is that?”

“Well, we’re
either going to be beamed up into some alien spacecraft or that’s the cops
behind us.” 

Like clockwork,
we’d both turned to look behind us.  A blur of headlights from three cruisers
pointed in our direction.

“Driver, step out
of the car with your hands in the air!” demanded the loud bellowing voice.

“We’re being
arrested!  I warned you not to speed.”

“They don’t arrest
people for speeding.”

“They do for
eluding,” I said.  “Traveling at supersonic speed, who knows how long they’ve
been chasing us.”  The cramped confine of the front seat had finally taken a
toll on my leg, causing a Charlie horse to shoot up the back of my calf.  I
quickly reached down to rub the back of my leg.

A thunderous voice
commanded, “Passenger, do not--I repeat do not attempt to go for a weapon!  Sit
up straight with your hands in the air where I can see them.”

I quickly righted
my body and lifted my hands in the air.  My fingers trembled; my leg ached.

“Ugh!  I can’t
wait to talk to the brainless commando in charge,” Laura said through clenched
teeth. 

“Driver, step out
of the car.  Hands in the air!”

With full lips
pursed into a tight knot, she reluctantly obeyed and stepped out of the car,
while symptoms of Tourette’s returned.  As she stood beside the car with her
hands raised high, a police officer barked orders at her.

“Now, get down on
your knees, lay flat on your stomach, and stretch your arms out to your
sides!” 

Laura’s long
platinum mane had fanned like a veil, as she spun on her heels and squinted
into the glaring beam of headlights.  “Are you completely insane?  I’m wearing
Dolce and Gabbana!  Besides, I’m a lawyer, I know my rights, and I demand to
know why you are treating me like a criminal!”

While Laura’s
words were still resonating along the dark country road, two police officers
rushed to handcuff her while she tried to wiggle away.

“Laura, stop or
they’ll get you for resisting arrest,” I said, just as I noticed a man holding
a small camera on his shoulder, filming the scene.  “What the hell!” 

At that point, I
had jumped out of the car.  A big, burly figure had rushed toward me and tried
to place the handcuffs on my wrists, while I had hopped in a circle on one
foot.  Sharp pains stabbed at my calf.  The rather large woman officer had
warned me not to resist arrest, while I’d tried to explain that I wasn’t
running away, but that I had a Charlie horse.  She’d finally managed to cuff my
wrists. 

“Ow!  Yeouch! 
Ooh!  Yow!”  I whimpered, as she pulled me along to stand next to Laura at the
back of David’s car.