Moody

Thursday afternoon, three men brought the furniture into the new apartment on La Brea. Jennifer couldn’t help but admire each of them – Fernando with the golden smooth skin, the curly black hair, the ever-so-slight paunch that suggested a cuddly teddy bear to cozy up to in bed; Johnny with the tight navy t-shirt, big chest and biceps, narrow waist, and chiseled face that had Jennifer imagining surrendering, on her back on the mattress; and Josh with the tight, wiry body, fair skin, dark hair, and the penetrating eyes that took Jennifer to a place where all that energy could be unleashed. All three men dripped with sweat, their t-shirts stuck to their chests, and had to wipe their hands and face each time they brought a piece of furniture into the new apartment. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, separating from Marlon.

Jennifer was making up the bed and the boys were bringing in her boxes – the last of their job, but she didn’t want them to leave, at least not without having some sort of refreshment on her new patio, sitting in chairs with their legs spread wide apart, not knowing how gorgeous each of them was – when she heard a knock on a door with a Midwestern “hello, is Mrs. Vanderhofen here” and made a silent curse at the marital assignation that these boys heard, and walked to the door and saw this chinless man with a bald pate, narrow shoulders, big stomach, and wide hips, clearly some sort of official who wore dark blue polyester, but not a policeman, no badge after all –

“May I help you?” Jennifer said.

“My name is Lieutenant Sanderson, Mrs. Vanderhofen,” the man said.

“Jennifer, please call me Jennifer. What ever do you want.”

“You may call me Larry, then. But I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mrs. – Jennifer. I’m sorry to report that your husband was in an automobile accident on the I-10 a short time ago and was killed when his car flipped on the highway,” Larry said, as much of a quiet monotone as he could muster.

Killed – Marlon killed, Jennifer thought in an instance. Freedom, independence – but then she became dizzy. Marlon dead, his beautiful form without life, his eyes an empty shell. His mind no longer existed, that laugh with the cascading chuckles would never laugh. Gone – all gone. And then Jennifer screamed and grabbed onto Larry’s shirt and pounded his chest.

“No, no – can’t be true, I don’t believe you,” she said, losing strength, and Larry grabbed her convulsing body by the shoulders and waist, led her to the sofa, and placed her on it.”

Jennifer began to hyperventilate, looked up at Larry, whoever he was – then at the three boys, who stood in the doorway, mouths and eyes wide open. Who were these men?