Rendevous

A flutter of shock glided across Jeri’s blue eyes. What did Fran say?

“What?” Jeri forced a smile.

“I said. It would be great if you were married. Or had a boyfriend, or something.”

“Well, I sleep with Topper, my Irish Setter. Will he do?” Jeri picked up the wine glass, sipped the Pinot Grigio.

“You know what I mean. A foursome. It would be fun.” Fran brushed a red hair from her fleshy cheek.

Jeri tapped her goblet. “I see. That’s why I never see you on the weekends. That’s why I’ve haven’t met your husband Jack. I’m your during the week night acquaintance.” She stole a sip of wine then slid the glass across the table. “I thought when we met at Yoga you were a real woman, not one of those fake ones afraid I’ll steal your husband.” She laughed, “You want fun? What about a threesome?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Fran touched her hand.

“Don’t patronize me.” Jeri shoved Fran’s hand away. The restaurant was empty. Green linen curtains and blue flowers swirled in circles. She stood up, grabbed the chair so as not to fall.

“What’s your problem? Fran grabbed her wrist. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You’re guilty.” She snatched her white fur coat and ran.

She knocked over the dessert tray as she raced through the restaurant. The smell of garlic and oil made her heave. Jeri pulled the glass door open and lunged into the cold night. Frozen air slapped her awake. Her eyes began to tear. She wrapped her woolen coat around her slim body. Traffic noise droned in the background. Street lights beamed down on Jeri, protected her like angel eyes as she scurried toward her apartment on Seventy Second and Lexington. A taxi emerged from the void like a ghost. She waved, but the cab drove past her.

“Am I freak’n invisible?” She hunched over fighting the frigid winds. Only ten blocks, ten blocks.

Finally, she made it to the two story town home, fumbled keys into the lock and slammed the door behind. She took a deep breath into the warmth. Jeri heels tapped across the wooded floor and she dropped, flung her coat and bag across the red L-shaped couch.

A head popped up. “You’re home.” His face was sweet, youthful, too youthful for her fifty years. He slithered across to her and kissed her neck. Jeri threw her head back and sighed. “When are you going to show me off to your friends?”

“I have no friends.” She pushed him away, walked over to the mantle and picked up a picture. A man, surrounded by dark-skinned children, waved, smiling.

“He’s dead, Jeri.”

“He’s my husband. And I don’t know if he’s dead.”

“I know his body wasn’t found. But, I was there. Why do you hold to this delusion? It’s eight months.”

Jeri stood frozen gripping the picture; her eyes flinched as the front door slammed. She screamed. “I want my key back.”