Hello.
This particular yarn started a long time ago.
I'm not sure why I stopped, I'm not sure why I began again.
But, I added it to my collection. I think it is good. Hopefully you will as well.
I dropped this particular story into 'Novels and Novellas' for a reason. While there is magic involved, it's not really a 'Science Fiction and Fantasy' story. It takes place at what could be interpreted as present day, and I regard fantasy as strictly elves and fairies. Am I right?
You are the judges, of course.
Just a warning, any one of these 'name' stories can 'spoil' another. Yeah, I'm awful.
-contains magic-
-only adults when sexual situations are involved-
-long-
-turn your blue light filters on, folks.-
People handle grief differently, my counselor tells me. She seems to regard my grief as curious, simply because I am wearing my wedding band ten years after my wife had passed away. She also joked with me that I was using my band as a shield, to stop women from getting close to me. I asked her how long she had been living in Los Angeles.
She didn't give an answer.
I told her that my band was actually a magnet for some women, women who wanted to have a romp in the hay without getting emotionally attached.
Janara admitted she had never thought about that. She and her husband had been married for eight years and he had never had a woman come onto him sexually.
For me, it happened at least once a week, I explained. I was going to have to find another brush-off line, because most of the women who came onto me didn't get it when I told them that I didn't have any pet rabbits.
Janara didn't get the reference, either. I told her the name of the movie and she would have to see it for herself. At our next session she told me that she got the reference and that the movie should be remade for the current generation.
***
I was eating at a diner three weeks later, minding my own business, and watching the traffic roll down the street when an extremely beautiful woman sat across from me in my booth.
"Hi," she held out her hand, "I'm CJ."
I didn't want to be rude, so I took the offered hand and did a normal handshake. CJ was a little late releasing mine, and seemed to pout a little when I pulled away. "Benjamin."
"Are you going to finish those fries?" She asked.
"CJ, I'm sorry, but I'm married."
"Hmm. That was a yes or no question."
Sassy.
I pushed my plate across the table, following it with the bottle of catsup. "I don't have any pet rabbits."
She snorted because her mouth was full of fry. She swallowed what was in her mouth and took a swig of my water. "Rabbits don't make good stew anyway, especially when they haven't been skinned. Gerbils are better pets and make good stew."
Sassy, smart, and had a good comeback.
I toyed with my wedding band. "How old are you?"
"That's not polite," CJ scowled. "If you really must know, I'm just a little older than you."
It was my turn to snort. "How old do you think I am?"
"Just a little younger than me."
Brushing her off without hurting her feelings wasn't going to work. "CJ, I'm not interested." I grabbed the check and left her there, munching on my fries. I snagged my waitress on the way to the cashier and tried to give her the money for my meal. She refused, saying that the woman who came to my table had already settled my check and given her a hefty tip.
Looking back at my table, I saw CJ pop my last fry into her mouth. She gave me a little wave after she finished drinking what was left of my water.
Pet rabbits indeed.
***
My evening would be taken by the dinner I had been invited to attend. The restaurant-slash-karaoke bar that I partially owned had contributed nearly one hundred thousand dollars to The Pink Foundation over the past year and that got me my invite. It wasn't unusual for me to be invited to events around the city. I made good money managing the bar, and that allowed me to be generous to causes dear to my heart.
The Pink Foundation was my dearest cause. My wife Louise had died of breast cancer ten years ago, and I was still grieving. Louise had followed the protocols exactly: She got an annual mammogram, did self-examinations weekly, everything. The protocols hadn't failed her, the cancer had swept through her body like a literal tidal wave.
Louise and I had been in Columbus, Ohio, having dinner with her daughter from her first marriage when she passed out. We got to the hospital, and after the doctor examined her, she came out to talk to me.
Her first question was to ask me if Louise had passed a recent mammogram. I told her that Louise had just gotten a clean bill of health the previous month. The doctor's face went into total disbelief mode. She told me that Louise had advanced breast cancer and was surprised that she was even mobile.
I told the doctor she had to be wrong, Louise and I had done a two-mile run that very morning. I got the twisty face again, then the doctor asked me if she could perform an MRI. I agreed, and she went to write the order. Orderlies whisked her past me a few minutes later, the doctor coming to talk to me again.
She finally introduced herself as Markie Harris and that she had been in emergency medicine for only a year. She had previously been a general surgeon. I asked her why she had made the switch, and she had told me that she wanted to treat people as people and not just as slabs of meat on an operating table.
I went to the ER waiting room to talk to Louise's daughter Jenny about what was going on. She was in total shock that the doctor said her mother had advanced breast cancer. She said that there was no way that could happen and demanded to see the doctor. We didn't have to wait long, Doctor Harris came out into the waiting room and waved us back.
She told us what the MRI had found: Louise not only had advanced breast cancer, it was metastatic and was everywhere in her body. Jenny gasped in disbelief, and I told Doctor Harris that what she was saying was impossible. She shook her head and told us there was nothing medicine could do for Louise.
Over the period of just a week, Jenny and I had watched in horror as the cancer swept through Louise's body. In one of her lucid moments, she told Jenny and I that she was in no pain, she was just extremely tired. The lucid moments became fewer and shorter until she closed her eyes and didn't open them again.
***
I looked at the band on my finger. Yes, my Louise was gone. She would want me to move on, wouldn't she? Jenny had given up on trying to get me to take the ring off, calling me old and cranky, and even one time: cantankerous. She said she loved me and that even though she wasn't my biological daughter, she'd always call me 'dad.'
I fiddled with the ring, trying to take it off and failing miserably. I got some Vaseline to help me, and the ring finally got past the knuckle and slipped the rest of the way off. I went into my bathroom and was starting to wipe the Vaseline off my hand when a pang of guilt hit me.
Why was I feeling guilty? Was I betraying Louise by taking the band off? I tried to put it back on my finger and it wouldn't go past the knuckle. In fact, my knuckle had swollen a bit because of the fight to remove the ring. I went to the bathroom, trying to get my hands clean. There Vaseline came off my hand with tissues, and then I wiped off the band. I carried the ring into my bedroom and placed it on Louise's dresser. I had a second thought and pulled open the top drawer.
Louise had a ring holder in that drawer. It was originally from a jewelry store, having the velvet crevices in which to squeeze your rings. When the government had finally released Louise's body, I had taken her engagement and wedding bands and put them into that holder. I placed my wedding band beside Louise's and closed the drawer.
I didn't know what I felt as I drove to the banquet hall where The Pink Foundation dinner was being held. I kept it together, mostly because I wanted to honor Louise's memory by attending the event, an event dear to my heart.
Security gave a brief glance at my invitation and waved me through. Just past the name tag table was the seating chart, which told everyone where to sit. I moseyed through the tables, verified my spot and went to observe the crowd. This particular hall was my favorite because it had a second-floor balcony from which I could observe the people below me. I spotted the security immediately, even though they were trying to be unobvious.
The six men with bulges in their jackets were expected. There were an equal number of women wearing suits which were feminine enough to not immediately give them away, but functional enough to allow them to respond to a threat. The firearms were a tool of last resort, I knew that even The Diamond Stalker, a man who had terrorized Melissa Johnson for five years, had been very powerfully arm-locked and led out of an event like this one with little comment.
Then there was the security planted among the guests. The men could have been me, year-old tuxedos, just a little rough for the aristocrat crowd. The women security were dressed as guests, but all wore the same type of bracelet and had the telltale glint of earwig posts sticking out of their ears.
