Hitched

7

“It took you over an hour to go buy cigarettes?” Francis asked Marco.

“I was doing some thinking,” Marco answered.

Francis had been thinking as well. He had planned to spend the winter in hibernation on the living room couch, with his leg up, watching television and collecting workman’s compensation. Joyce would cook him dinner every night. By the time spring rolled around, he’d be back to work. If you had to be laid up, winter was a good time for it.

But then Marco had shown up, and all Francis’s plans for a cozy winter’s rest were shot.

Marco had gone out immediately after they saw the story on the robbery. Joyce wouldn’t let Marco smoke in the house so all winter long he’d disappear for his nicotine fix. Sometimes he’d take a couple puffs in the driveway. When it was raining he’d get in his car and drive off. Francis was allergic to smoke and was grateful that Joyce was so strict with Marco. She said she’d throw him out if she ever caught him smoking in her house.

It was now after two o’clock. “If we’re going to Atlantic City, we should hit the road soon,” Francis called to Marco who’d gone into the kitchen and helped himself to a can of soda.

“I’ve been thinking,” Marco repeated.

“Good for you, Marco. I think, too.”

Marco ignored the remark as he returned to the living room and sat down on the La-Z-Boy recliner. “Francis, where do lots and lots of people get married?”

“Churches and synagogues. Open fields. Parks. Joyce said she wants to get married outside so people can bring their dogs.”

“That’s beautiful. I mean, in what town?”

Francis frowned. “I don’t know. My parents went up to Niagara Falls for their honeymoon.”

“I don’t mean honeymoon! Forget it. Listen, a lot of people get married in Las Vegas. They have tons of weddings there every day.”

“So.”

“So brides need wedding gowns. We have wedding gowns.”

Francis blanched.

“I have a buddy out in Las Vegas. We can send the gowns to him. He can unload them. I’ll give him a call. Plenty of people get married out there on the spur of the moment, and it’s too late for the bride to get her hands on a designer gown. We’ll make it easy. My pal Marty can go hang around the courthouse steps where they all go to get their licenses.” Marco took a sip of his soda. “It’ll be what you call an impulse buy. We’ll make a few extra bucks.”

“Who is this guy?” Francis asked.

“I met him in my travels.”

“Can he be trusted to turn over the money to us?”

Marco nodded. “He wouldn’t mess with me.”

I wonder what that means, Francis thought. “It’s Saturday,” he said quickly. “The post office is already closed.”

“So we’ll do it Monday. I want to get rid of those gowns. I don’t like riding around with them in the trunk. If we ever got stopped, and they checked the trunk, we’re dead meat.”

Francis waved his hands forcefully. “Why don’t we just throw them in a Dumpster and be rid of them?”

“Too dangerous. And not profitable. Did you call Joyce and tell her we’re going out of town tonight?”

“Not yet.”

Francis’s cell phone rang. His body twitched. I’m not cut out for this, he thought. I’m turning into a wreck. He looked at the caller ID. “It’s my mother.”

Marco rolled his eyes.

“Hi, Ma.”

Francis’s mother, Janice, lived out on Long Island with his father, who was an electrician. Janice worked part time as a waitress at the local diner. She was a sturdy woman with strong opinions that she never kept to herself.

“How’s your leg?” she asked. “With this rain I thought it might be bothering you.”

“I’m all right.”

“You don’t sound all right. Is Marco there?”

“Yes.” Francis glanced over at his friend who could tell that he was about to be disparaged.

“Hmm,” Janice grunted dismissively. “Joyce at work?”

“Yes.”

“I made a nice lasagna. Why don’t you and Joyce take a drive out when she gets home? I suppose you can bring Marco if you have to.”

“Thanks, Mom. But we can’t.”

“Why not? What are you doing?”

“Marco and I are…we’re…we’re going to Atlantic City.”

“Again? Weren’t you there last week?”

“Yes. We had a great time. I need to get out again and get some fresh air.”

“We’ve got fresh air out on the Island. What about Joyce?”

“I don’t think she’ll be joining us.”

“You just got off the crutches. Do you really think you should be walking around the casinos?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“When are you and Joyce getting married?”

“What?” Francis asked, astonished.

“You heard me. I don’t approve of living together before marriage. You know that.”

“I have to get back to work first,” Francis said evasively. He paused and licked his lips. “What made you ask that now?”

“I just got home from work. Right before I left the diner it came over the radio that a bridal salon in Manhattan had been broken into and the dresses were stolen. Everyone started talking about the poor brides who were left in the lurch. They have to scramble to get new dresses. Whoever did that must have been a real louse. A real louse! They broke into a safe and made off with money and jewelry. So why did they have to steal the dresses? They couldn’t have been raised well.”

“I guess not. Mom, I have to go. Thanks for calling.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Call me.”

“Okay.” Francis closed his cell phone. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’ll call Joyce from the car.” He stood quickly and almost lost his balance. Adrenaline was flowing through his body.

“Hey, be careful,” Marco admonished as he rushed to grab Francis’s arm.

It’s too late for that, Francis thought desperately. Much too late…