A good marriage is at least 80 percent good luck in finding the right person at the right time.
The rest is trust. – Nanette Newman
The old man was leaving town the next day and he was taking her with him. Least he could do. Already skipped out on the Olympic Trials. The 2016 USA Olympic Team would be the umpteenth squad he’d failed to make since he’d become a runner. Umpteen in a row. Consecutively. One after another. Missed Hayward Field, Tracktown.
Loved hanging out at the Wild Duck, having folks tell him how good he looked.
Loved the young redhead even more. Their tenth wedding anniversary called for a week in Cedar Key. Wanted to go somewhere special. Thought about Paris and Brussels but seemed too dangerous. Thought about Charleston but seemed too dangerous. Thought about Orlando and San Bernadino and Columbine and Newtown but seemed too dangerous.
Cedar Key was ninety minutes away and on the water. They decided the two of them were unlikely to be any happier – simultaneously – anywhere else in the world. But would the off-the-beaten-path magic hold up for a week?
He thought about their own magic.
A Category Five hurricane blew through town. Had to take a hard right turn to get there. Magic. Then… Surprisingly, even for him, the old man became President of the largest, most prestigious service organization in the area, the Punta Gorda Kiwanis.
Suddenly, even for him, had to go to convention in distant town. Meanwhile, a young blonde, her boss had an extra ticket for a convention in a distant town. Stupid mixer sock-hop. Fluffy middle-aged women in poodle skirts and multiple ponytails. Bald men in varsity lettermen jackets.
He turned down five chubby chortling black ladies wanted to take him downtown. Said no. He could maybe handle two or three but not five. Alone with his fourth vodka tonic, sunglasses indoors at night his only costume. Across the room a little blonde with glasses, trim little figure. Redhead, she’d have been exactly just his type.
Never noticed her.
The old man had told the story this way.
So, I was forced to attend a convention in Tampa, some two hundred miles north. First night there, about to call it an evening, I am sitting alone, a soul patch under my lower lip and a fake name tag, when a cute little blonde approached and said, “So, how’s Willie’s night going?”
To which I replied – ever so suavely – “Better now.” Loved it when attractive women asked him about his Willie.
Well, anyway, they went outside and walked and talked for hours. She told him a whole bunch of scary shit about her life and then they got into the elevator where they kissed deeply for a long time.
She still claims he grabbed her ass before they went back to their own rooms.