Morgan’s Dilemma

First appeared in The Rye Whiskey Review

I entered Eddie’s Neighborhood Bar and Grill and noticed my friend Morgan in a hand waving discussion with a red-faced man in a tuxedo and string tie. As I approached, the man huffed past me and out the door.

I took my usual stool at the bar and nodded to the bartender. Morgan picked up his beer and joined me.

He pulled a crumpled paper out of his pocket. “Says here the guy that just left wants to declare war against the education system, limit fornication to Wednesdays and Fridays, and ban alcoholic beverages. Finally, to limit activities against his policies, he would require all residents to participate in a domestication orientation program.”

“Guy sounds like a whack-o,” I said.

“And his wife probably makes him sleep on the couch,” Morgan said with a smile and a wink.


“He didn’t appear to be too happy.”

“I told him to go jump in the swamp,” Morgan said and took a long swig of beer. “He might look pretty, but he ain’t no Boy Scout.” Morgan swiveled around to look at the guys playing pool. 

“Huh,” I replied.

 “I received this here letter a couple of days ago containing his plan and letting me know he’d be here today. I shoulda gone on vacation.”

“That bad?”

“He’s running for County Manager next year and wants me to campaign for him, him being some assistant-something-or-other-of-nothing-important and me being sheriff. Guess he thinks people might think better of him if he could throw a familiar name around.”

“You have lived here almost forever,” I said. “And since the sheriff is appointed by the County Manager. . . ”

Morgan raised his bottle, finished his beer, and oozed off his stool. 

“So, what are you gonna do?”

“It’s Friday,” Morgan replied with a big grin. “Martha’s waiting for me at home.”

The Proposal

I can’t believe it. It’s Saturday night. I’m in my favorite restaurant, wearing my little red dress, and my date, Blake, on one knee, proposes to me in front of a bazillion smiling faces.

Now Blake is a fun dinner companion and great in bed, but I’m not interested in a monogamous relationship. Not at twenty-two. As I stare at Blake, a tornado of thoughts swirl through my head. I stifle a smile and motion to an empty chair. He sits.

“Blake, you know I like you a lot, but …” I take a deep breath. “I don’t believe in same-sex marriage.”

One of a Kind

First published in short-story.me.

“Don’t run on the sidewalk, Nathan. You’ll fall and hurt yourself. Remember the last time?”

“Dad said it was okay, because I’m four and I heal quickly.” He turned a sad face to his mom. “Unlike Auntie Karen.”

Alice felt her knees buckle and almost lost her balance. Her right hand automatically rested over the pocket in her purse where she kept a fake ticket stub, a reminder of a horror no one should experience. Using a ticket as a token from Karen’s bachelorette party instead of a normal invitation was Alice’s idea, Karen being the manager of the local movie theater.

“You remember Auntie Karen?” Alice asked, after taking a few deep breaths. She tried to forget the accident but couldn’t—even a year later. She knew she would never stop thinking about the two of them stumbling out of the hotel where the party was held, onto the sidewalk. Chattering and laughing. Karen pushing Alice out of the way just as the drunk driver’s car swerved and bounced over the curb, killing Karen. Alice tried substituting positive memories. Like when they went skinny dipping in a local pond at two o’clock in the morning. Or when they ate all the Girl Scout cookies, instead of delivering them. Boy, were Karen’s parents mad.

“Of course, I remember her.” Nathan said, startling Alice. “She was your best friend. We used to play Zingo against her every Saturday morning and always won.”

“You do remember.” She tickled him. “It’s important we do,” Alice said, “in a good way.” She tickled Nathan some more until he ran away.

“Still the cutest kid. You done good.” It was Karen’s voice Alice heard in her head. 

Alice reached into her purse, took out the stub, and wadded it in her fist. 

It was time to say goodbye—for now.

Thou Shalt Not Lie

Lauren had been in his apartment many times. It always started with lunch or dinner and a drink or two at either Luigi's or Le Petite Bistro--both within walking distance. She'd dress as he liked, in a short dress or skirt, sometimes without panties. After the meal, they'd stroll along the crowded street, his hand on her back, sometimes her ass. Today, she was alone, sitting on the bed, staring out the window as fluffy snow flakes floated past, her eyes watery. She hated being alone on Christmas day. 

She focused on the picture hanging over the bed. He'd told her it came with the apartment. She thought it looked a little like him, receding hairline, empty eyes. Missing was the mole on his right cheek and the blood. 

The place wasn't much--one room, two chairs, a table, and a twin bed. He'd told his wife it was for those nights when he had to work late.

He promised Lauren he'd leave his wife--four times. Lauren had learned from more than one man that the three strikes rule only applied to baseball and major crimes. Hearing him say he would be out of town at his wife's parents' house for Christmas and wanted to get together before the family left was too much for Lauren.

She closed her eyes and pictured him tied to the motel bed, a change of scenery she had said. Keeping her eyes closed, she watched him squirm against the scarves holding his wrists and ankles in place, heard his whimpers through the gag. She grunted as the shimmering blade pierced his naked body.

Opening her eyes, she stood to leave and blew a farewell kiss toward the picture. Robert, her assistant, had called. The motel manager had reported a dead body in room 126. The police found her business card in his wallet. They would be at the office in thirty minutes to begin their interrogation. The only question remaining for Lauren was whether she'd confess right away, or make the police work for it.