Sam Waterford stood and toasted the fireball in the sky, downing—nothing. Jack scrambled to put some tequila in the glass, with the last drop of wine. He then filled their glasses with tequila as well, making a clear-red cocktail, and they all stood and toasted the…whatever it was.
They were now thoroughly drunk as the ball passed overhead and they leaned back gazing skyward. Screams and shouts sounded in the distance. There was no sound coming from the sky above, no jets in the sky.
Louise then touched his hand tenderly.
“How much do you charge, Sam?”
Jack laughed out loud, kind of like a bark. Sam never felt uncomfortable around women, and had not been surprised by one for years.
“I do not charge, Marie does. I think it is $200 per an hour. She has a sliding scale, multiple booking discounts, ‘layaway’—I always thought that was kind of clever.”
They all had a good long tearful laugh on that note as the ball seemed to pick up speed and a low distant roar came to them. Jack seemed miffed at some technical point, like a gear head criticizing the engine sound of a movie stunt car.
“It should not be accelerating like that. The sound is not right either. Oh hell, Sam, who is your favorite ‘client?”
“Mrs. Dawson.”
Louise was intrigued, and slurred, “You didn’t hesitate. You love her?”
“Yes.”
She leaned back against Jack. “Wow, how tragic.”
He leaned back as they hugged.
“You two are so lucky. You kids are fifteen years behind Marie and I, and you already have what we dare not dream of. We’re just two scented tiki torches lighting the night for a shadowy world of lonely souls, skimming off the angst of the upper-crust of this slimy pie.”
Jack gave an amazed look. “You are a goddamned poet, Sam!”
He then looked at Louise with burning love in his eyes. “Let’s dance. I was too drunk to at the reception and I’m too drunk now—let’s dance!”
Sam hit the tequila again while he enjoyed the look of innocent joy on Louise’s face. Then he knocked back the rest and tossed the glass over his shoulder and began to clap his hands and stomp his loafers on the gazebo deck. “Get up and dance, people! Get up and dance!”
He clapped until he began to sweat. They danced and danced and danced, until his feet were numb and his hands were sore, and still they danced. Eventually they collapsed sweating together in an adorable domestic bundle as Sam eased back and the world swam into darkness, a silent, bright, midday night.
Lord, take them when they are like this. Good people should all get to die like that, in love.
I had no idea I believed in God until now. What the hell, God, is this your plan?
Is there a Noah somewhere in an ark collecting bankers, politicians, drug-dealers, doctors, lawyers and what-not two by two?
Darkness gave way to a dreamless coma-like sleep.
