The Black Widowers Tale

"Gotcha, bitch," Ivan Latreille said to himself. The six-foot-tall, brown-skinned, dark-haired and ruggedly handsome, forty something Afro-Canadian fellow looked at his reflection and smiled. He wore a somber black suit, white silk shirt, black tie and black dress pants. Proper attire for a funeral. Nine days ago, Ivan's cheating wife Deirdre Watson died in a car crash with her boss Stephen Stewart, the bastard that she was cheating with. It all happened during a pile-up on the 417 Highway, one of Canada's worst. Ivan had nothing to do with the accident but he couldn't be happier with the results. Widowerhood is so much cheaper than divorce...

"See you soon, doggo," Ivan said to his little dog Harriet. The small white dog woofed affectionately at her master. Ivan filled the dog's three water bowls and also left her plenty of food. He filled three bowls with beef jerky, goat meat and chicken. Small dogs do eat a lot. Ivan doesn't care for most people's company because the human race is simply vile. Ivan doesn't consider himself a sociopath. He is merely a realist. He stepped out to go take care of some nasty bit of business. Time waits for no man, after all...

Ivan got in his car, a red SUV and went to meet with a certain group of well-dressed suckers ( also known as friends and family ) at church. Ivan's twenty-plus year marriage to Deirdre Watson produced a son and a daughter. The son, Junior, was in his second year at McGill University in Montreal, Quebec, and living with his boyfriend Sebastien Dugue. The daughter, Darlene, was done with college and working as a stripper while also ironically haranguing about modern feminism. These days, Darlene was part of that contingent of ladies who prefer the company of bears to that of men. Hmm, perhaps Darlene should venture alone in the woods one of these days, in bear country, and see what happens...

The Church of Bonne Esperance, located in downtown Ottawa, is within walking distance of the Rideau Shopping Center. Ivan rented the venue for Deirdre's funeral. Ivan used the mall's parking and walked a couple of blocks to the church. Got to save a buck or two anyway he can. Life in Ottawa isn't cheap. He walked in and met with friends, family and acquaintances. Keeping his facial expression quite somber, Ivan shook hands, hugged folks, offered platitudes and received words of support and encouragement. Ivan wanted to shout to the mountaintops about how relieved he was that Deirdre was gone, but that just wouldn't do.

"I just cannot believe Deirdre, my beloved wife and partner is gone," Ivan said to Robert Watson, his brother-in-law. Actually, now that Deirdre is dead, doesn't that make Robert Watson Ivan's former brother-in-law? Ivan pondered that as he kept a sad face while shaking Robert's hand. How long is a handshake supposed to last anyway? The pudgy, blond-haired and green-eyed bozo gave Ivan an unwanted hug. Ivan never cared for Robert but was cordial to him during their decades-long relationship. Ivan thus hugged Robert and patted him on the shoulder.

"I am here if you need anything, Ivan," Robert said, tearing up. Ivan nodded sagely and then politely excused himself. A short distance away, at the front of the church, the offspring awaited. Ivan greeted Junior and Darlene, who were there with their significant others. Junior, tall and lanky, brown-skinned and dark-haired, was there with his boyfriend Sebastien Dugue, a burly ex-football player turned fitness trainer. Ivan hugged Junior and shook hands with Sebastien.

"We are all in shock, Dad," Junior said to his father Ivan as he hugged him once more. Sebastien looked on as Ivan endured an awkward hug from Junior. Ivan patted Junior on the shoulder and then went over to his daughter. Aloof as usual, Darlene coldly watched her surroundings. Ivan nodded at Darlene and gave her a half-hearted hug. Ivan almost ignored Darlene's significant other du jour, a tall white guy named Charles. Charles is one of those male feminist and male vegan types that Darlene approves of. Just like the last one, whose name Ivan couldn't remember. Ivan knew Darlene was cheating on Charles with a macho trucker named Scott. Isn't life grand?

"I just cannot believe she's gone," Darlene said, and Charles nodded. Ivan looked at Darlene. Tall and slender, with brown skin and dark hair, Darlene's features were a blend of African and European. Darlene favored her mother Deirdre in looks as well as temperament. Deirdre Watson had been an ice queen, and many people thought Ivan married her for her money. Folks had no idea how insufferable Deirdre could be. Alpha-type women don't like Alpha males but prefer Beta males. Hence why Darlene was dating Charles here.

"Sir, if you need anything," said Charles, interrupting Ivan's train of thought. Ivan looked at Charles. The tall, skinny, red-haired and green-eyed ponce looked sincere. Ivan clapped Charles on the shoulder and wondered how much of a dolt he was. Charles was the epitome of the modern man in western society. The dolt worked for the Canadian government as an analyst with the Canada Revenue Agency and yet seemed okay with having a girlfriend who quit college one credit shy of her MBA in order to become a stripper. Modern women are crazy and modern men are weak. Ivan couldn't stand either Darlene or Charles. He had to get away from them and quick...

"Thank you, son, take care of Darlene for me," Ivan said with a fake smile. He nodded sagely at Darlene the witch and Charles the weakling and went to meet with the Priest. The Priest in question, Father Jean-Paul Meunier, a chubby, balding Quebecer with cold blue eyes waved at Ivan as if they were old friends. Ivan shook hands with Father Meunier and the old codger offered words of priestly wisdom. Priests perform Baptisms, Weddings and Funerals all day and every day. Of course they always know what to say.

"In these trying times, Faith is what you must turn to, my son," said Father Meunier. Ivan thanked the priest and then the ceremony got underway. Ivan sat at the front row with his wayward son, his witchy daughter, and their insignificant others. The church was full of Deirdre's former friends, family members and colleagues. Deirdre spent many years working for Statistics Canada and had a lot of friends there. Ivan never cared for Canadian government workers. The fuckers beat you over the head with their commitment to diversity and then treat you like shit just because you don't look like them. What a bunch of phonies.

"It's the little things in life that are best," Ivan thought to himself. He smiled at the delicious irony of the situation. Ivan and Deirdre had been headed for divorce until fate intervened. At the front of the church, Deirdre Watson lay in her coffin. In life, Deirdre had been quite the looker. Tall, blonde-haired and slender but with a nice ass, Deirdre reminded Ivan of porn star Jill Kelly. Ivan and Deirdre met at Carleton University in Ottawa, and theirs was a great love affair. The handsome, athletic Haitian immigrant and the tall, cold blonde beauty. Isn't life grand? Life is grand, until it isn't. Now Deirdre Watson is dead. Life is grand...for Ivan!

After the funeral, Deirdre Watson was buried at the Notre Dame Cemetery in the East End of Ottawa. Ivan had fond memories of that part of town. Ivan insisted on holding the shovel that dropped the first pile of dirt on Deirdre's coffin. While Ivan looked sad, inwardly his spirit soared. The witch was gone. Ivan was finally free. In his college days, prior to meeting Deirdre, Ivan spent a lot of cash on Vanier-area hookers. In those days, the area was full of hot French Canadian women, mysterious Lebanese women and freaky African women who fucked random men for a fee. Ivan missed those stress-free days. He fucked a lot of hookers, never the same one twice. Good times. Of course, marriage came along and ruined things.

Three days after the funeral, Ivan took a leave of absence. The Neiderman Corporation, for whom Ivan had worked the past sixteen years, had no problem with that. Ivan checked his various bank accounts. He had sixteen thousand four hundred dollars in his Scotiabank account. Fifty four thousand seven hundred and eighty dollars in his Royal Bank of Canada account. Twenty eight thousand six hundred and sixty six dollars in his Toronto Dominion Bank account. Not bad. Deirdre had been worth three hundred thousand dollars but left it all for Junior and Darlene, not Ivan. The bitch continued to haunt Ivan even in death.

"Time for a vacation," Ivan said to himself. He looked for flights to the Caribbean and found some. A few days later, Ivan and his dog Harriet were on the beach in Cuba. There were gorgeous women of all hues going about in bikinis, and Ivan certainly enjoyed the view. Lying on a hammock, Ivan sipped a Martini while the dog ate some delicious beef stew. Getting the hell away from Ottawa felt good. Ivan felt like leaving all of his problems behind. If Ivan never saw his dullard son Junior, his witchy daughter Darlene, his annoying brother-in-law Robert or his co-workers at Neiderman Corps again, it would be too soon. Time to give life another chance...