Free Truths of the Heart by G.L. Rockey Page B

blazer, white mock turtleneck, gray
slacks, cordovan loafers, watched ESPN on the TV. He had put his and her
luggage in Rachelle's Saab an hour ago. Restless, he called Dent on his cell
phone: a reminder to pick up him and Rachelle at the Detroit airport, noon.
    Before he could say goodbye, Dent said, “Just so you know, Penny and I
are split up again.”
    “What?”
    “Shit hit the fan Wednesday night.”
    “Jesus Christ, you just got back together a week ago.”
    “She's crazy as hell, I'll tell you about it.”
    Just past 9:30, Rachelle descended the spiral staircase to the first
floor. Regal in white half-inch pumps, mango slacks, white silk blouse, she
carried a tan jacket over her arm. Her blown-dry hair glistened honey brown
around her face. No makeup and radiant, Carl screamed, “Ahhhhhhhyiyi, you
gorgeous bitch, I want to eat you right now.” He went to her, gave her a bear
hug, and they were off for the drive to Lansing's Capital City Airport.
    Carl driving the Saab, Rachelle said, “Why couldn't we just have driven
to Detroit?”
    Carl said, “In this piece of junk, you gotta be kidding, besides we’re getting
a free plane ride.”
    She said nothing.
    Carl said, “How much did it cost to keep that cat over the weekend?”
    “Two thousand a night, plus tips.”
    “What?!”
    “Just kidding, fifty a day.”
    “Too much.”
    At the Lansing airport, the pilot of Dent’s private company Challenger jet,
Sherry Lucas, awaited the soon-to-be bride and groom. Rachelle wondered if
there was a copilot. Sherry smiled like pilots do. “Short flight, no problem.”
    After take off, Carl turned to Rachelle, “You should know, case it
comes up, Dent and Penny are separated again.”
    “What!”
    “Dent and Penny….”
    “I heard you. What is Dent boy’s problem?”
    “I don't know, he says it's her.”
    “And I like kidney pie.”
    A half hour later, the Challenger touched down at Detroit's
International Airport and pilot Sherry rolled the jet to a private tarmac. Dent
greeted deplaning Rachelle and Carl. With him was a lady—big blond hair, cherry
lips, skimpy white blouse accenting (bazookas, Rachelle thought) breasts, tight
fitting red hip-huggers revealed a large sensuous navel. Red spike heels put
her even eyes with Dent and Carl. She smiled sweetly. Dent introduced her as
Candy. She giggled, shook hands with Rachelle, then kissed Carl on the cheek.
    Rachelle to herself: Dent, you are a bigger ass than I imagined.
Kim, someone is watching over you.
    Dent—gold sports jacket, white turtleneck, white slacks—held an arm out
to a uniformed driver who stood by the open rear door of a long and white limo.
Bold lettering on the side in silver and black advertised: Tommi Gilmour's High
Five.
    Dent said, “This is Gus, our driver. Limo courtesy of guess who? Shall we?”
    In the limo's plush white cocoon, behind smoked safety glass, speeding
to Detroit's downtown Ambassador Hotel, Dent reminded Carl that the limo would
pick him and Rachelle up at 4:00 for the wedding rehearsal at Ford Field. He
had confirmed everything with Father Alfonso Lauro (no Mass, Father would perform
a civil ceremony).
    Dent, with a squeeze of Candy's knees, said, “Candy's coming along to practice
up, we're hooking up in the spring.”
    You amazing jackass jerk , thought Rachelle. She said, “How wonderful.”
    “Hey, congratulations,” said Carl.
    “I want you to be my best man,” said Dent to Carl.
    “You got it, coach.”
    Rachelle and Candy exchanged grass-snake smiles.
    The afternoon rehearsal at Ford Field went without a hitch and, after a
quick fresh-up, they all headed to the High Five for a Tommi Gilmour hosted
party. Attending would be the Lions’ football squad, coaching staff, the ESPN
TV crew, Father Alfonso, Corky, and much of the WJJ radio staff.
    Approaching the High Five, Rachelle recalled the Dent-sponsored football
weekend when she met both Dent and Carl. It was nearly a year ago, but the
outside