Perfect Match (4 page)

“I didn’t let her do anything. She…she just did it to D.R.
and me, without any warning.” He stared at the floor.

She snorted. “You expect me to believe that you two he-men
couldn’t control that scrawny old woman. There’s more to this than you’re
telling me, Rodney.” She downed the rest of her beer, grabbed another from the
fridge, and swilled half of it in three swallows, some running down her chin,
dripping onto her short, white tennis outfit.

Rodney looked at her with a mixture of pity and
embarrassment.

Wilma’s eyes became glassy; her words slurring a bit. “You
know, Rodne-e-y, I don’t think I need to look for a job; I need to look for a
man who wants me-e-e. That’s what I need.” She took another long gulp of beer,
sat the can on the gleaming granite counter and pushed herself against him.
“Rodney, I’ve got nice breasts and I’m hungry for you to be on top of me, but
you never show interest in me-e. Take me to bed and have sex with me,
please-e-e…

He pushed her away, his face flushed with anger. “Wilma,
don’t start with the sex stuff, not with all the other pressures, don’t start
screwing with that old argument about our differences.”

She swayed, focusing more with her head than her eyes. She
belched and then started to laugh, the beer loosening her emotions. “You’re
right, we’ve been screwing with that old argument for years, but…but…but we
haven’t been screwing each other.” Her laughter trailed on and on before
turning to a wail of rejection, hurt, and disappointment. She slumped to the
ceramic floor, sobs shaking her.

He sat and leaned against her, taking her hand in his. “It’s
okay, it’s okay. I understand, really I do.”

She sniffled and leaned closer to him. “Rodney, you’re such
a good man. I know that about you. And I thought all the things you do for me
and all the stuff you give me would be enough, but it isn’t.” She paused. “I
know you’d rather be with your best friend, Thomas, than a woman. I do understand
and accept that, but I need something special in my life also. I’m 49 years
old. You’ll always be my friend, but I know I’ll never have your heart.” She
squeezed her eyes, as silent sobs quaked through her.

She shook her head. “How did we get like this? I thought we
were perfect for each other.”

He took time to think about her question. “As humans I think
we make the wrong decisions for the wrong reasons. We think life is simple, but
discover that it’s complicated, or maybe life is simple but we manage to
complicate it.”

There was a patch of silence.

She looked up at him. “Rodney, will you sleep in my bedroom
with me tonight, just one last time? We don’t have to do anything intimate. I’d
just like for you to hold me like you used to.” Her voice cracked.

He squeezed her hand and said, “It’ll be my pleasure,
Wilma.”

Silence stretched through the 9,000 square-foot house filled
with two empty souls.

D.R. went back to his top floor penthouse condominium. He
tossed the plastic bag of personal items from his former office on the floor of
his walk-in closet. He felt restless and was stewing with a humiliating mix of
never-before-felt emotions. That troubled him, but nothing that Jack Daniels
couldn’t fix.

He headed for his bar and broke open a bottle, stirred a
two-finger drink in a small glass, with two ice cubes and a splash of mixer. He
was well-known in the local sports bars for his call for D.R.’s “two-by-two.”

He walked from room to room, sipping his drink faster than
usual. He looked out the full-length glass windows in the high-ceilinged living
room, with a mountainous view stretching for miles. The top-floor height always
gave him the feeling of being “on top,” but he had this fleeting feeling of
falling and that his personal fame was false and somehow fading away.

With another drink in hand he dialed his best partying
friend from college, Billy White. “Hey, man! Meet me at Gotcha’s. Let’s belt a
few drinks and bang some women tonight.”

He sipped his drink while they talked.

“I’ll need to shower down first, but I can be there by eight
o’clock.” Pause. “See you then, Billy.”

He refreshed his drink and headed for the shower.

Feeling relaxed after a shower, with custom navy slacks and
long sleeve white sport shirt, and three Jack Daniels, D.R. was primed for the
evening. He was very aware and very alert when driving. He was very much in
control. He prided himself in being aware of his alcohol tolerance.

The crowd was buzzing when he entered Gotcha’s Sports Bar.
It was mainly a 20-ish, 30-ish crowd, so D.R.’s age was pushing the upper
limits. He knew that, but he’d gotten really good at denial. He and his Jack
Daniels “two-by-two” drinks were good at beating back reality.

He found Billy in a back booth with two giggling women, with
short skirts and flimsy blouses. Both looked sexy and he really didn’t care
which one he ended up with, although the one seated with Billy looked older,
much older, like 30-ish.

He and Billy had always had common tastes in women ever
since their partying days at Western Carolina University. There were a few
times he remembered when he and Billy had swapped dates half-way through the
night. Wild times, he thought, chuckling to himself.

He slid in the half-circle booth and began to crowd the
blonde next to him. “He-y-y guys, what’s happening?”

She laughed, as her left breast brushed against his arm.
“Not much, but I’ve been hearing how you and Billy know how to get things
cranked up.” Her breath was heavy with alcohol.

A dream come true thought D.R., as he looked her up and
down.

Billy laughed and glad-handed him “How’s the biz world?
Still making millions?” Billy and D.R. knew how to juice chit-chat with their
pick-up hotties. Lots of loud laughter, jokes that weren’t funny and macho talk
about money and success.

They thought it impressed the women, but most women knew it
was all fake, but they didn’t care. They were just out for free drinks, free
food, and fast cars. And they’d trade a little fooling around in the dark with
a drunk guy. Drunks were easy and soon fast asleep. Jokes on them.

Billy got a fast start in real estate, but with fast
spending and fast living, and the housing bubble, he’d been struggling. D.R.
had noticed for several months that Billy’s clothes had a worn look, too tight
or too loose, and a button missing here and there. If he didn’t get his act
together, D.R. might have to distance himself from his old college pal.

Another two hours, more dinks, more hacking laughter. D.R.
said, “Why don’t we split off and make this a two-some?” He winked at his blonde.
She squeezed his thigh.

He said, “Billy, where are you two going?”

Looking a little uncertain, he said, with a jerk of his
chin, “Over to her place for a night cap and some night action, right, Sandy?”
Sandy rolled her eyes, but smiled.

D.R. took the young blonde’s hand and slid out of the booth.
He gave a fake yawn, and said, “We’ll see you guys. I’ve got some early stuff
in the morning, so I’ll call you tomorrow, Billy.”

“Hey, sure thing man. Y’all behave yourselves.”

More send-off laughter, but Billy looked glum, as D.R.
swayed toward the door with his arm around the blonde.

The breath of fresh air felt good, but D.R. was feeling his
drinks. He dropped his keys twice before getting into his flashy Corvette.

The blonde couldn’t keep her hands off the leather seats and
the glitzy dash of the car. “Oh my, what a car!”

“Like it?” He loved it when his dates admired his car.

“Oh, yeah, like it, but like you lots more.”

Music to D.R.’s woozy brain.

He burned rubber leaving the parking lot, almost hitting a
woman with a baby carriage in the pedestrian right of way. He jerked the wheel
just in time, slamming the blonde against the door.

She screamed.

“Slow down you crazy. You almost hit that woman.”

He snapped. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” She felt a little uncomfortable with his
sudden mood change.

“Okay-y,” he said quietly.

He made a few turns and was soon in a darkened part of town,
with a scattering of abandoned and boarded up houses.

“Why are we down here? You don’t live in this section, do
you?” She peered into the darkness. She saw movement beside one of the darkened
houses.

D.R. stopped abruptly at the curb, the Corvette’s mufflers
grumbling, as the engine idled.

He grabbed her wrist. “You don’t tell me how to drive or how
to do anything else. Understand? Now get out of the car, and you can walk back
to town as slo-o-w as you want to. Out!”

She grew frightened at his tone, his look, and the movement
she’d seen in the shadows. Her voice quivered. “You take me back. Take me back
now!”

Anger flavored with alcohol flamed inside him. He grabbed
her pocket book flinging it out the window, spilling the contents on the
buckled sidewalk. “You now have a choice. Leave your pocket book and I’ll take
you another five blocks and put your ass out of the car, or you can get out of
the car and retrieve all your credit cards, ID’s, money and stuff, and if
you’re fast enough you can jump back in the car and ride back to town with me.
What’s it going to be?”

She was crying 19 year-old teenage tears. “Please don’t make
me do this. All I said was for you to slow down. What was so wrong about that?”

“I’ve had enough bitches telling me what to do today, so get
out of the damn car.” He grabbed her wrist again. She jerked free, opened the
door. She was more afraid of him than the shadows of the night.

He yelled, “You’re nothing but a street tramp.” The red
Corvette roared off, tires squalling through the night five blocks away.

The blonde scrambled to pick up her pocket book and
contents, cutting her knees and hands on broken glass, as she grabbed at the
sidewalk. The night grew still and then she heard movement behind her. She
turned, still on her knees.

The flickering street light offered just enough light that
she could see a black man approaching. Raw fear tore through her shaking body.
“Oh God, please don’t hurt me.” She thrust her pocket book forward. “Here, take
this I’ve got college money, but you can have it, just please don’t do anything
to me.”

He leaned over her. “Now sweetheart I’m not going to hurt
you, and I don’t want your money, I just want you...” he swept the area with
his eyes, “to tell me what’s going on.” He was close enough to smell the
alcohol on her breath.

“Who…who are you? How…how… do I know who you are?”

“Lower your voice, ma’am and I’ll tell you.” He studied her
a moment, his eyes making a sweep of the surrounding area. “I’m a plainclothes
detective with the Asheville City Police Department. But you’ve caused such a
commotion, you’ve probably ruined my plans for the night.”

She froze when he reached down, his big hand enclosing her
upper arm, lifting her to standing.

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? You’re black.”
Her eyes searched his dark face for answers. Her shaking hand clinched her
see-through blouse at the top button.

He chuckled very low. “Yes, I’m black. I was born that way,
and my mama was happy about that. The night is black also, and ain’t it
beautiful out here?” He lifted his arms to the night sky.

She stared at him, still trembling.

“I heard the man in the red car call you a tramp. Was he a
black man?”

“No.” Her voice was low.

“He was white and rich, wasn’t he?” The detective had
recognized the red Corvette when it first stopped in the street. D.R. and his
red Corvette were known about town.

She nodded her head.

“He sounded like he wanted to hurt you.” The detective spoke
quickly into a small microphone attached to his dark sweatshirt. She could
barely hear back and forth short talk, beeps, and signals. He ended the call.
“We’ve got a police car rounding the block, coming down the street to see that
you’re safely taken care of.”

At the sight of the police cruiser, her shoulders slumped
with relief. The car pulled curbside. A black female officer got out of the
passenger side. The detective said, “Good to see you this evening, officer.
This young lady needs some help.”

He turned to the blonde. “They’re going to take care of you,
ask you some questions, file some reports. You’re going to be okay, but I don’t
want to see you out on the streets again like this. And you need to be careful
who you pick for your friends.”

She nodded, and then started crying again. She reached out
and hugged the detective. “I’ll never let this happen to me again. I’m sorry I
didn’t trust you because…because you’re black…I’m real messed up…thank you for
being a nice man and helping me.” Her alcohol breath fumed the air.

He gave a nod to the female officer. She helped the unsteady
blonde get in the back seat of the cruiser. As the car pulled away the blonde
raised her hand to the detective, but he’d disappeared into the shadows.

The detective, standing in a shadowed, weedy, lot, looked
skyward and whispered, “Oh, Lord, why did you confuse us with all this
diversity. You know we’re too immature to handle it. By the way, what color are
you?”

The red Corvette streaked down Interstate 40 at 110 miles
per hour. Blue lights and sirens sent signals that the chase was on. D.R.’s
foot was flat on the accelerator, as he cursed “the bitches of this day.”

The wall of lights and sirens jacked up his emotions even
more. He’d outrun them; he’d done it before.

He’d made some tricky turns to lose the cops. He’d driven
the roads around Asheville more than any damned cop.

The police cars faded in his rearview, but they’d radioed
other cars to join the chase. The Corvette hurtled toward famed Beaucatcher
Tunnel, built in 1929 through the side of a mountain. He entered the tunnel at
117 miles per hour. Ten seconds later, after the flaming red road machine
scrapped, careened, flipped, and rolled twice, it slid from the tunnel and
rested on its side at zero miles per hour, a wheel spinning feebly, hot twisted
metal cooling in the night air.