Imperfect Endings

by Judith Carlough

Merry smelled the salt air even though the Boston Excelsior Hotel blocked her view of the harbor. She stepped from the limousine and a valet rushed to open an umbrella against the drizzle, but it jammed, forcing Merry to quick-step toward the hotel’s high canopy, her curls accumulating a sheen of droplets.

“Probably a goddam omen,” she muttered. Her phone rang. The ID showed her business partner and Merry answered, “I hate you.”

PK Diamond laughed. “Don’t blame me ‘cause you lost the bet,” 

“I’m never, ever playing Truth or Dare with you misfits again”

“Tonight will be fun,” PK insisted. “Your date only has to last one hour.”

“It’ll be fun when I’m back at the Ritz, ransacking the mini bar.”

“Don’t forget pictures,” PK said in her sing-song voice.

Merry disconnected. The game of Truth or Dare had taken place at a rum-fueled 

senior management conference in the Bahamas. Merry lost by refusing to share details about her over-the-top college romance, now two decades past. For the dare, Merry had to register on Blissful.com, so the management team could match her with a date. Tonight was the payoff.

       The lobby’s Balls and Pucks sports bar hummed with congeniality. Merry found two empty stools, ordered a glass of French wine, and gazed at photos of Boston celebrity athletes. She wondered how many of them were in town for tomorrow’s big autograph show at the Seaport Convention Center.

       Merry’s wine arrived. She took a dainty sip and scrolled emails.

“Uh, hi. Are you Mary? Like the Virgin?” a scratchy voice said. 

“Actually, I’m Merry like the Wives of Windsor,” she replied. 

His expression went blank. He was short, wore a sweat-stained Patriots hat, and reeked of tobacco. His teeth were as orderly as dominoes spilled on a table, nothing like his Blissful.com photo.

“Never mind,” Merry said. “You’re Francis?” 

“Call me Francie.” He slung his cheap windbreaker onto the bar. “Gotta hit the can, y’know, make room for the beer.” He laughed nervously and vanished. 

Merry took a deep hit of wine and texted PK, Game on, start clock, nightmare scenario.

A second voice came from behind, startling her. “If I knew I was gonna get this lucky, I woulda bought a Powerball ticket.” A tall, muscular man slid onto the empty bar stool. “How’d you find me, babe?

His deep, purring voice wrapped Merry like a full-contact slow dance. “Hello, Gregory,” she said. “Actually, I thought you were in Key West.” 

Greg Jericho looked like he could still take the field for the Green Bay Packers as the all-star wide receiver he had been. His grin tilted higher to one side. “You didn’t come to see me?” He clutched his chest. “I’m crushed.” He leaned in for a smooth, easy kiss. “PK set me up to do the show a couple days ago. She didn’t tell you?”

“I flew up from Manhattan today, and PK sometimes omits details,” Merry said, thinking, This is an ambush.

“Join me?”

“I’m meeting someone. See you at the show tomorrow.” Merry smiled, bright and false as a beauty queen. She urgently needed Greg to disappear.

He gently massaged her thigh. “Join me later?”

Merry’s heartbeat accelerated.

“Holy shit! It’s you, Getaway Jericho! No friggin’ way!” Francie had reappeared “Wow, I’m like your biggest fan, bro.” 

To Merry’s utter horror, Francie improvised a play-by-play of Greg Jericho’s famous miracle fingertip catch that won the 2003 Gator Bowl for Boston College. Francie promptly made it worse by removing his filthy hat for Greg’s autograph.

Greg politely complied, then said, “Thanks for stopping by, man, but I’m catching up 

with a friend.”

“She’s my date,” Francie said enthusiastically. “This is wicked awesome. I gotta get a 

picture.” He shoved his phone at Merry. “D’ya mind, sweetheart?”

Seeing Merry’s extreme discomfort, Greg beamed. “I’d love to.” He stood, rising a foot 

above Francie.

Merry threw Greg a warning look, then clicked a single picture, hoping it was blurry.

Greg waved Francie onto the barstool. “Been together long?”

“Nah, it’s one of those online, one-night hook-ups. No biggie.” Francie said. 

Greg gave him a knowing, macho thumbs-up.

Merry prayed for a stroke.

“Well, enjoy your evening.” Greg stepped behind Francie and mouthed, Later, then went 

to a table filled with guys Merry didn’t recognize. 

Francie texted the photo non-stop while rambling about meeting the Greg Jericho. Finally, he asked, “How d’you know Getaway?”

“We dated in college,” Merry said.

###End first three pages.