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It was after dark by the time Marci dragged the last of Lou's clothing out on to the porch. She went into the house and poured herself a glass of wine. She cried, contemplating the rest of her life, starting with telling the children that Daddy wouldn't be coming home anymore.She met Sonny at the tennis courts. Their paths had crossed casually for several months until one day they were paired by lot in a Mixed Doubles tournament. Tall and handsome, broad shouldered too, he sported a bushy mustache. Marci had been divorced for a year. Though looking for a step-father for her children, she had not found anyone tempting enough to entice her into bed. Her fingers, and that little mechanical object that ran on batteries, gave her all the sex she needed to survive. Idly, almost nostalgically, she wondered how his mustache would feel on her clit if he was tongue-fucking her.Marci played tennis three times a week at least; she considered herself a damned good player. Sonny, though ten years. He thought about the story again, remembering the tenderness of the scenes and the tone that ran through the entire piece. Then he understood. She had connected with his soul and he had rushed things. Her story proved that she was a deeper person than that. He needed to make her understand what was going on in his heart and to do that, he’d have to open himself up to this total stranger that so eloquently described his soul without knowing him. ‘I know what to do.’ * * * * * He sent the invitation with a bouquet of flowers. I’d like the pleasure of your company for dinner to apologize and to talk with you. Choose anywhere you wish and call me on my cell. Please give me a chance to explain. Gale. Three o’clock. Four o’clock. Five o’clock. The hours passed and still no response. He called the florist and was told that yes, the bouquet had been delivered and that yes, a woman accepted it. How did she look when she saw it? Surprised. And how did she look when she read the card? I don’t.
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