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Shelly Glisan had faith in her husband, unflagging, blind faith. Unfortunately, she was the only one.

Her best friend, Carmen, witnessed Cy Glisan at dinner with a nubile young woman. When Carmen told Shelly, feeling guilty all the while, Shelly maintained her faith.

“I’m sure there was a legitimate reason. Probably a client.”

“They were sitting side by side in a booth.”

“Maybe there was a tear in the bench on the other side.”

“They were holding hands.”

“No doubt saying grace before their meal.”

When Shelly’s maid complained about being unable to remove the lipstick stains from Cy’s collar, Shelly assumed the domestic had mistaken blood for cosmetics. Cy was always nicking his neck when shaving.

When Cy had not one, but two emergency board meetings that lasted from Friday night until Saturday afternoon, Shelly commiserated and made him his favorite meal. She also mowed the grass for him because he was too tired to do it himself. He was often tired, too tired to even…well, a lady didn’t speak of such things in public.

“Wake up and smell the coffee, Shelly!” Her friends Roseanne and Carmen took turns laying out the evidence and pointing to the conclusion that any sane person would reach. “Cy is cheating on you!”

“No. He’s not. He would never do something like that. I have faith in my husband. Please don’t ever bring your nasty suspicions up in my presence again.”

And that was that.

Tragically one night, a drunk driver crossed the center line and plowed into the Glisan’s car, killing both Cy and Shelly on impact.

In Purgatory, the Lord pulled Cy into his office for his final reckoning. Shelly anxiously awaited her turn.

Five minutes later, an angel escorted her into HIS office, resplendent and shiny with tasteful knick knacks and memorabilia spanning eternity.

“Shelly, my child, you have pleased me.” The Lord nodded and steepled his fingers.

“Thank you, Heavenly Father.” Shelly could only snatch quick glances at her Lord as she listened and spoke, HIS magnificence was so overwhelming.

“Your faith and trust has earned you a place in Heaven, the best zip code in the universe.” The Lord shuffled his heavenly paperwork. “Go in peace and dwell among us.”

Shelly rose and bowed her head. She turned to leave but spun around and asked the single question that had been burning inside her. “Lord, can you tell me where you sent my husband, Cy?”

“The fate meted out to Cyrus Glisan was commensurate with the nature of his earthly actions. I am sorry, but Death is indeed where you and your husband will part ways. Does this surprise or upset you, my child?”

“Oh no, Lord. I have always had faith you would do what was fair and just.” Shelly again turned to go but stopped a second time. “One last question, Lord?”

“Ask, my child.”

“Will Cy suffer unending torment and agony? Will he wail and gnash his teeth? Will he have his hopes dashed again and again? Will he regret tenfold every bad deed he ever committed? And lastly will his dick shrivel up and fall off?”

“Yes, my child, that and much worse.”

Shelly smiled and said, “Good.”

Image by Manolo Blanco via Flickr

An hour from theme reveal to online posting for this one.

***************

To say I’m a bad friend is probably on the harsh side. I’ll sign up for bumbling or idiotic, since those adjectives usually earn me a pass. In matters of the heart, however, all is fair in love and war.

“What time did she say she’d be here?” Lance glances at his watch again.

“Relax. The two of you agreed to six’ish, remember. There’s an ‘ish’ in there, so settle down or you’ll blow it.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just…I can’t believe after all this time, I’m finally going to reveal myself as Jessica’s secret admirer.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, after what…ten months at least?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh wait, here she comes.” I point to the doorway. This is the moment the grand performance begins. I suck in a deep breath and paint a big smile on my face.

“Where? I don’t see her.” Lance stretches to his full sitting height leaning left and right to get a better view of the doorway.

“What do you mean you don’t see her? She’s the only one standing in the doorway. She’s talking to the maitre ‘d.”

Lance faces me, his eyes at full mast, jaw slack. “Please tell me you delivered my notes to Jessica Reynolds.”

“Yeah, Jessica Reynolds. She’s right over there.” I point to the woman who has taken a seat in the foyer per our agreement, per Lance’s agreement. “Aww, she’s wearing a red sweater just like she said she would.” I shift my gaze to Lance’s attire. “And you’re wearing a black polo shirt just as you said you would. How sweet.” My snicker comes out a little louder than I want but I cover by coughing into my cocktail napkin.

“Shit, Gill, that’s not Jessica Reynolds.” He slouches lower in his seat. “What the hell did you do?”

“Dude, what are you talking about? That is Jessica Reynolds.”

Lance drops his voice into the barely audible register. “No, it’s not, you dumb-ass. I’ve never seen that woman before in my life. Please, please tell me you delivered my note to the right woman.”

“Yeah, Jessica Reynolds, the woman who is waiting for you to claim her as the object of your secret passion. The future love of your life.” I inject a sing-song tone into my voice as I smile and wiggle my eyebrows.

“I am so screwed, so screwed.” Lance glances over his shoulder at not-Jessica, who is twisting a lock of her hair.

“Are you sure that’s not her? 13 Mockingbird Lane, right?”

“Gill, dammit, no. It was supposed to be 130 Mockingbird Lane. How many of my notes have you delivered to the wrong woman?” He thumbs over his shoulder.

I inject as much contrition as I can muster in the set of my shoulders, the droop of my eyebrows. Even the corners of my mouth assume an appropriate degree of downturn. “Uh, all of them.”

“Shit!”

“I told you to do it yourself.”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Lance leans over the table and props his forehead in his hands.

“Look, she’s here now. Just meet her. You never have to see her again if you don’t like her. We can start all over with Jessica tomorrow. No harm done, okay?”

Lance eyes me warily.

“Okay?”

He throws himself against the back of the booth. “Yeah, okay, alright, fine. I’ll go over there and…” he shakes his head, “get it over with.”

“Good. That’s the spirit. Maybe you’ll even like her. But listen, I’ll go point her in your direction on my way out. I owe you that at least. Drink your martini. It’s on me.” I stand and clap him on the shoulder. “Besides, I have a good feeling about this.”

I stroll to the foyer toward the waiting woman. Not too fast, not too slow.

“Hey, Myra, I mean Jessica. It’s all going as we planned. Lance is ready for your date. Have fun, okay.”

“Yeah you too, Gill, I mean Lance. Have fun with Jessica Reynolds.”

Yeah, like I said before, all is fair in love and war. Perhaps if Lance had read Cyrano de Bergerac in the fifth grade instead of copying my book report, he’d have learned that the messenger gets the girl, panache be damned.