Save The Slow Dances for Me

"Time off for meeting your lawyer. Time off to scratch your butt," Billy continued.

"Well, it's a pretty big itch," Carl agreed.

"Not to mention a pretty big..." Billy said.

"Hey, Hey, the size of a man's butt? That's personal," Carl said. Mrs. Cahill's down again."

"Damn it, where's Butch when we need him?" Billy smiled. "Oh! Oh, see if Yvette's got any pictures of Butch, huh?"

"Dude, you really want to see pictures of Butch?" Carl asked, getting to his feet.

"No, but you imagine the look on his face when he thinks we have them?" Billy chuckled. "So, when's the counseling?"

"Ms. Banks said she'd let me know," Carl said, opening the door.

Sylvia Hooperstein was borderline incompetent with fortune cookie platitudes and trite advice. Carl hated the overbearing woman on sight, and truly hated her office furniture. He did notice, his wife offered no assistance when he explained to the perturbed woman why her far too soft, far too low slung furniture would not suffice for a fifty minute session.

"Ma'am, I was in an automobile accident; a drunk slammed into me from behind," Carl explained through gritted teeth. "I understand the psychology behind having soft, comfortable furniture, but it is unacceptable to me."

Marnie Vogel, Sylvia's receptionist brought a chair in from the small break room. Carl muttered his thanks and the attractive older woman nodded.

"Now that we're all comfortable," Sylvia snapped.

His wife recounted her version of the evening that led to Carl's unreasonable abandonment of the marital home. Carl resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her tearful tale of the heartbreak and suffering she'd endured upon finding that her husband, her rock had removed himself from their happy, loving home.

Carl relayed his own version of the evening's events. He had not, as his wife had stated, thrown a fit when dancing was suggested. He did not sit and pout, as his wife had stated.

"I simply asked for a few slow dances with my wife; look at her. She is a beautiful woman, a sexy woman, and it feels good to hold a beautiful sexy woman while some slow music gives you a reason to rub up against one another," Carl said.

Both Sylvia and his wife nodded in agreement. Sylvia even had the hint of a smile.

"Now, ask her how many slow dances we had together," Carl said firmly.

"I, I don't remember, what? One or two," his wife stammered, blushing.

"None. Now ask her how many her boss had," Carl said, hefting his cane. "Our time's up. Have your receptionist call me with the next appointment."

"I uh, but, I haven't given you your assignment for next session," Sylvia stammered.

"Text it to me; I'll ignore it at my leisure. I've got a job to get back to; this ate up my lunch hour," Carl said, leaving the office.

"If you don't even want to work on our marriage, then what's the point?" his wife shrilled into Carl's office phone later that same afternoon.

"My thoughts exactly," Carl said. "But uh, you're supposed to have your attorney call my attorney. You're not supposed to call me."

"Oh, whatever," his wife snapped.

Carl wondered if his wife, or for that matter, Dr. Hooperstein had noticed, his wife had made no effort to move from her seat to the chair closer to where Marnie had placed his chair. Carl wondered if either woman noticed, when he had explained his physical limitations to the therapist, his wife had not uttered a sound in assistance of him.

At the next session, the hardback chair was already present. Carl gave a nod of thanks and took his seat. His wife again chose to sit in a low slung chair across the room. Carl twisted the chair so that he could more easily observe his wife while she again gave a bleak depiction of him, of his unreasonable behavior and unyielding demands.

"Andy Hernandez," Carl said when Sylvia indicated he could respond.

"What?" his wife asked.

"I'm sorry, what does..." Sylvia asked.

"Chad Theriot. Tommy Huvall. Tommy Dawson," Carl continued.

"I don't..." his wife said, but was looking at a spot over Sylvia's head.

"What do these names...?" Sylvia asked.

"Those are a few of the boys she'd fucked while we were engaged," Carl said, not taking his eyes from his wife's face.

"Oh, like you were so innocent," his wife shrilled.

"Name one. Name one girl I fucked from the moment I put that engagement ring on your finger," Carl cajoled.

"We're not going to get anywhere if..." Sylvia said.

"Robert Richardson; that one almost caused his divorce," Carl went on. "Did you know he was married? With twin girls? Did you even care about his wife and girls?"

"What about you, huh?" his wife defended.

"Completely, one hundred percent faithful from the moment you agreed to be my wife," Carl said.

"Oh I'll just bet," his wife huffed.

"If I've been unfaithful, prove it," Carl challenged. "Now, I know you kept your panties up after I got out of the Corps, moved back home."

"Well, see?" his wife said.

"But since this accident? Seemed like it was only a matter of time. The flirting, oh it doesn't mean anything. The looks. Dancing," Carl said, lifting his cane. "See y'all next week."

"Wait, for next week, I want..." Sylvia said, but Carl was already exiting the room.

On the eighth and final scheduled counseling session, Sylvia stated that they'd made some good progress and she was sure a few more sessions would enable them to reconcile. Carl's hard stare slowly forced the smile from the woman's face. She finally looked away and looked at his wife, who sat, looking at her husband.

"You, you're done, aren't you?" his wife whispered, a sob catching in her throat.

"Chad Theriot gave me a call the other night," Carl said, voice low and hard.

"He what?" his wife gasped.

"Dr. Hooperstein, I will not endure one more moment of your tired, worn out clichés and your fortune cookie advice," Carl declared.

He got to his feet, able to perform the maneuver without relying on his cane. He used the cane to steady himself as he walked to the door.

"Bit of advice," Carl said at the door of her office. "Maybe instead of running your mouth? You might want to start listening instead. From the very beginning of these long, boring, useless sessions until now? You never once ask me what I hoped to get out of these sessions."

"I, well, to uh, to find your way back to loving your wife," Sylvia stammered.

"I never stopped loving her," Carl said, opening the door. "But, God damn, I sure don't like her. She's immature, irresponsible, selfish, narcissistic; she just needs to grow the fuck up."

"Well, we can't all be perfect like you," his wife screamed at him.

"If she's all of those things, then why'd you marry her," Sylvia challenged.

"The little head was doing my thinking for me," Carl admitted with a tight smile. "But when the accident took my little soldier out of the equation?"

"Never said I was perfect," Carl said to his wife. "But at least I try. At least I make the effort. Can you say the same?"

It took Laci a few moments to collect herself, collect her thoughts. She was still wiping at her eyes when Marnie, Sylvia's receptionist reminded Laci she needed to pay the deductible, the portion her insurance did not cover.

Safely ensconced in her car, Laci called Chad Theriot. He answered with his ridiculous 'yellow' and Laci screamed at him for calling Carl, telling Carl about their sex the other night.

"I did what? Bitch, quit screaming. I didn't call your, shit, I don't even know his fucking number. How I would call him?" Chad protested.

"Oh. That, that mother fucker," Laci spat, realizing she'd once again been outsmarted by her husband.

And Daddy was making noises about the house, the utilities, the lawn care and maid service. Since her husband was no longer paying the bills, Laci had resorted to depending on her father to pay those expenses. Laci didn't want to move back home; she was an adult for God's sake. But, without Daddy's help, she couldn't afford the large house.

"How about we sell this one and you buy me a smaller one?" Laci bargained.

"How about you got a job; go buy your own house," Chris countered. "Now, make sure it's nice and clean; Mrs. Davis will be by tomorrow to look it over and see what we can hope to get for it."

"Well, do I get any money for it?" Laci petulantly asked.

"Still owe one twelve on it; after that's paid off, Carl gets half..." Chris informed Laci.

"Carl gets...why's he get half?" Laci demanded.

"God, Laci, really? You, your lawyer didn't explain any of this to you?" Chris sighed.

"Well, how about this? We sell it for whatever, but we say we only got..." Laci suggested.

"And maybe we'll get adjoining jail cells, Laci. That's illegal, Sweetheart," Chris sighed. "I see I really got my money's worth by sending you to Cabrini."

While his wife was dealing with Carmen Davis and the string of people traipsing through their house, Carl was mentally counting down the days until his divorce. Nicole contacted Carl about the upcoming court date. Billy, of course, gave Carl a hard time over his request for this additional time off. Butch also joined in on the gentle ribbing.

"Thank God we didn't have any kids," Carl somberly agreed with his supervisor and co-worker.

"Mrs. Cahill's down again," Butch called out, reaching for his tool bag.

"No, no, no. Every time you go down there, you're gone for hours," Billy objected. "Carl's got it."

"Aw!" Butch whined.

"Oh Jesus! Is he, Billy! He's pouting!" Carl teased. "Look at him! Could park a truck on that bottom lip."

"Oh no, I, I am not putting up with a grown man pouting in my department," Billy said. "Go, go, it means that much to you."

Butch happily scampered out of the office. Billy and Carl shared a smile and head shake.

"Hey, how's the back going? I mean, you cut down to one massage a week," Billy asked.

"Dude, physical therapy is not massages," Carl smiled. "But, my mobility? Getting much better. My range of movement? Much, much better. I wouldn't say I'm a hundred percent, but man! I'm a whole lot better than when this all started, that's for sure."

"And, best of all, my dick's getting hard and staying hard," Carl thought, but didn't say this part out loud.

"No one gives you a softer landing than Landry's," Michelle O'Connor answered her telephone.

"I'm going to court on Wednesday and I'm hoping you're available Wednesday night," Carl said.

"That a personal call? That sounds like a personal call," Billy teased.

"This is Carl Boudreaux?" Michelle chirped. "This is Carl, then yeah, I'm available Wednesday night."

"Excellent," Carl said, smiling at her enthusiasm. "Should I pick you up at Landry's?"

"Should charge you for that phone call," Billy said.

"What? I'm on my cell; what are you going to charge me?" Carl asked, cupping his hand over his phone.

"Hmm, yeah, yes, I'll bring a change of clothes," Michelle agreed.

"And, in case you ain't figured it out yet? I'll be out of the office Wednesday afternoon," Carl said, ending his call with Michelle.

"Hmm? Oh, Wednesday? That's THIS Wednesday? Shoot, I didn't tell you? Don't tell me I forgot to tell you, but Wednesday we're doing a tear down. Should take all day; probably won't get out of here until midnight," Billy said.

"Bull hockey too," Carl laughed and looked up when Butch returned. "What'd Mrs. Cahill do this time?"

"No paper in the printer, so naturally she sends a thousand print requests, then loads it with paper," Butch shook his head. "Then freaks out because now it's printing all of her requests. Really? Printer doesn't work, get up, walk over and check the printer. But nnoooo, she thinks if the first request doesn't work, then the next one's sure to work, right?"

"And how's Yvette?" Billy asked. "Oh, hey, Butch, you remember we got that full tear down on Wednesday, right?"

"Mm hmm, yeah. Yvette's not happy about it either," Butch agreed. "Says God help me if I wake up the twins when I come in."

"But, get this. Mr. Boudreaux over there? Thinks he can just skip on out of here and go to court," Billy said.

"Oh. No. Not on Wednesday," Butch said. "All hands on deck; it's right there on your calendar."

"It is not; Butch, I'm going slap you," Carl said and laughed as 'Wednesday--Tear Down' suddenly popped up on his computer's calendar.

"Fine, fine, we'll do it Thursday," Billy laughed as Butch smiled a satisfied little smile.

"Uh huh, Thursday of next year," Carl agreed.

In Courtroom B, his wife wore a haughty expression and feigned disinterest in the proceedings. Carl smiled a tight smile as his ex-father in law walked over and offered his hand.

"Son, I'm hoping, I'm hoping she gets her head out of her ass sooner or later," Chris sighed.

"I'm hoping the same thing, Mr. Fontenot," Carl agreed, pumping Chris's hand.

"But, until she grows up?" Chris shrugged, then turned and walked away.

His ex-wife turned and watched her father amble out of the courtroom. She then turned and fixed Carl with a white-hot glare. Then, thinking about it, his ex-wife turned and faced forward, staring at a spot above Judge Marie Robichaux's head.

It was a fairly cut and dried, unemotional proceeding. Until Nicole Banks placed the bank statements for his ex-wife's two secret bank accounts onto the table.

"You mother fucker! That, those, that's my money!" his ex-wife screamed at Carl.

"Both accounts were opened after the marriage, all monies deposited after the marriage; it is community property," Nicole said easily.

Penny Jones turned and glared at her client. Carl knew, one of the questions Nicole had asked him was in regards to any secret bank accounts or safety deposit boxes. Carl assumed, his ex-wife's attorney probably asked his ex-wife the same questions.

"But, that's, that's my money; it's mine!" Carl's ex-wife whined as she was ordered to give half of the money to Carl.

Penny did ask that Carl Boudreaux bear all court costs, including attorney fees. After all, he had been the one to file. Judge Robichaux smiled a tight smile and shook her head.

"Normally, Ms. Jones, I would be inclined to agree with you on that matter," Judge Robichaux said. "But given the matter of your client's less than forthcoming nature regarding income and savings? Each person shall split the cost of this proceedings equally, and each person shall pay their own attorney's fees."

"Free at last, free at last, Thank God Almighty, free at last," Carl said as they stepped out of the courthouse.

"If I had a nickel for every time I heard that," Nicole said, shaking her head.

"Wouldn't need to charge me as much?" Carl guessed and Nicole flashed a quick little smile.

Michelle wore a Light blue button up blouse with white pinstripes. Her navy blue pleated skirt reached to her knees and on her feet she wore highly polished Mary Janes with thick platform soles. The light blue and white ribbons holding her thick mane of long brown hair completed the 'innocent school girl' look and Carl felt his cock beginning to tent his trousers.

"You look perfect," Carl said, stepping out of his car.

He was rewarded with a dimpled smile as she skipped to the passenger door of his sedan. He was further rewarded with a quick glimpse of her bare thighs when she got into his car.

They were seated quickly; Carl had thought ahead and made reservations. Michelle again flashed a good expanse of thigh as Carl pushed her chair in for her. Then he pulled his plate, silverware and glass to the chair to Michelle's right, instead of sitting across from her.

"Don't know why they do that; make you yell across the table to be heard," Carl said.

"I know," Michelle agreed, smiling at him.

They ordered their dinners; peanut chicken for him and a vegetarian fried rice dish for her. As they waited for their food, and while they ate their dinner, Carl learned that Michelle's mother had commited suicide three years after her birth. Michelle had been raised by her mother's male and female lovers, and even though Megan, Bonnie's lover and Michael O'Connor, Michelle's father did not get along, they did their best to raise Michelle in a loving environment.

"Then, three years ago? I found out, my Dad wasn't really my Dad," Michelle said. "This, I like this."

"So, do you know who your real father is?" Carl asked.

"Yeah, but he's not in my life," Michelle said, matter of fact. "My Dad's my Dad and that's that."

A slight commotion made them look toward the door. Carl pursed his lips as his ex-wife and Chad Theriotentered the restaurant's main dining area. His ex-wife smirked and Chad Theriot, a minor celebrity because of his drag racing smiled and preened and nodded to the patrons as the hostess led them to their table.

"That, that's Chad Theriot," Michelle whispered loudly to Carl.

She giggled, glancing over at the arrogant man. Her eyes flickered right past the drag racer's companion. Then Michelle looked up at the impassive face of her date.

"When that Robin Durst beat his butt? I laughed and laughed; I almost bought a pair of them Tiger sunglasses just because of that," Michelle giggled. "They kept showing it over and over on channel twelve; she beat him bad."

"Mm hmm; they make them in men's too," Carl agreed. "But, damn! They are some proud of those sunglasses, huh?"

"Dessert?" their waitress asked and named the desserts they had.

"Michelle? That molten lava cake is a good one," Carl said.

"Okay," Michelle happily agreed. "But you have to help me eat it, okay?"

"Well, you're going to have to help me with my pecan pie," Carl smiled. "Coffee?"

Just as the waitress put the mugs of strong coffee onto their table, Carl and Michelle heard a woman scream, "You no good mother fucker! Association meeting my ass!"

"April!" Chad screamed as his wife lunged at him.

"And you! You home wrecking slut!" April screamed at Carl's ex-wife.

His ex-wife tried to get up, tried to run backward, tried to get away from the savage looking knife in April Theriot's hand. Because she was trying to do all three at the same time, she was getting nowhere and April slashed out with the bloodied knife.

Carl's body block knocked April nearly across the table. The slippery knife flew out of her grip and she scrambled across the table to retrieve it.

Another patron tackled April and sat on her, preventing her from grabbing the large knife.

Carl grabbed a linen napkin from the table and folded it. He pressed the napkin against the gash in his ex-wife's throat. Her beautiful blue eyes looked up into his eyes. Carl forced a smile to his face.

"It's going to be all right. You're going to be fine," he assured the terrified woman.

Four police officers and an EMT crew arrived at the same time. There was nothing they could do for Chad; April's knife had punctured his heart. When the EMT took the linen napkin from Carl's ex-wife's throat, he was sprayed with her blood.

"You're going to be fine; they're here; they're going to take care of you," Carl assured the still terrified woman.

"You come, you coming with me?" she tried to ask, trying to grasp his hand as they loaded her onto a gurney.

In the bathroom, Carl cleaned his hands as best he could. The suit, tie and shirt would have to go to the dry cleaner's but he had intended to take them in anyway. Drying his hands, he called his ex-father in law and let him know what had happened, as best as he could.

"But she, she's going be all right?" Chris begged.

"I, sir, I don't know," Carl admitted. The woman slashed her throat; I've got blood all over me. But, they're taking her to the Trauma Center."

"You sure do know how to show a girl a good time," Michelle quipped when Carl returned to his seat.

Carl laughed out loud and waved their waitress over for their check. The woman tried to smile, but couldn't manage very well.