flowers, or one of her girlfriends picking her up. On a few occasions she had dinner with him and his wife, but he never got involved in her personal life, nor she in his. His little brother was about to change the dynamic of his relationship with his right hand.
Over lunch, Marc searched for the right words to say to his brother, but at the moment none came to him. Finally, after a bite of his steak salad, “Rolland, you never told me that Nadine was a black woman,” Marc added casually.
“I never mentioned it because it was not relevant,” Rolland replied.
“Is that how you feel about her in general, or all people?”
Rolland wasn’t sure what his little brother was beating around the bush about, but he gave him leeway, “It is how I feel in general, people are people, good, bad, brown, or green.”
“I’m glad to hear you feel that way, Big Bro, because I’m going to marry that woman.”
Rolland’s fork stopped midair, “What woman?” he asked as he looked about the room.
“Nadine—what was her last name?” Marc shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, her new last name will be Deasley.”
Rolland still sat there with his fork in suspended animation, totally confused, slightly angered that his brother would waltz in and attempt to steal his right hand. “Why, how, what you just met her…what are you basing this on, what I have told you about her over the past years?”
Marc was chomping happily on his steak, “Nope, not true. I met her Thursday in Vegas.”
Rolland dropped his fork, “So, you honestly expect me to believe that in a city that literally has a million visitors every weekend,” he paused to catch his breath, “that you, fresh off a plane from Bumfuck, Alaska, run into my right hand?”
“That’s what I am saying.”
Rolland was still shaking his head, trying not to use his actual right hand to slap the shit out of Marc while trying to comprehend the plausibility of what he was hearing. “You expect me to believe, that my uptight, rigid, follow the rules, church-goingevery-Sunday Senior Partner, and you….in Vegas?” Marc noticed his brother’s mouth was turned in a disapproving frown, he was uncertain of what that meant. He gently nudged his brother to obtain some clarification on the expression.
“You unleashed six months of Alaska oilfield sexual frustration upon that beautiful, gentle-spirited woman?” Marc adjusted his posture to match his brother’s anger.
“Wait a second, Rolland. Anything that happened between me and my future wife was consensual.”
“Stop saying that!”
“I can’t, Roll. I think I might be in love.”
“Stop saying that as well! Get a grip on yourself!” Rolland needed some time to sort through the implications and ramifications of this; wait until he tells his wife Janice.
Marc planted the seed, “I am a gentleman, but I will say this: you have not asked me why I was two days late getting to Los Angeles.”
Rolland called the waitress over to refill his glass of ice tea. He called her back and requested a stiff drink instead, and exhaled a calming lungful of air, mumbling under his breath, “I don’t ever need to know.”
“Well dammit, you are going to listen to me!” Rolland stuck his fingers in his ears making blah, blah, blah, sounds. “Roll, what that woman put on me required two days’ worth of ice packs.”
Rolland took his fingers from his ears, “In your mind, is that enough to base a marriage, a relationship—did you even know her fricking name before today?”
Marc could see his brother’s frustration with him. He remembered that look when he bought his first car, which was a lemon that broke down every other day. Rolland gave him the same look when he brought home a stray puppy that infested the whole house with fleas; or the time he picked up a sofa from the side of the road that was crawling with bed bugs. Rolland made him burn it in the back yard. He smiled, he was a mere child then, he was a grown-ass
Over lunch, Marc searched for the right words to say to his brother, but at the moment none came to him. Finally, after a bite of his steak salad, “Rolland, you never told me that Nadine was a black woman,” Marc added casually.
“I never mentioned it because it was not relevant,” Rolland replied.
“Is that how you feel about her in general, or all people?”
Rolland wasn’t sure what his little brother was beating around the bush about, but he gave him leeway, “It is how I feel in general, people are people, good, bad, brown, or green.”
“I’m glad to hear you feel that way, Big Bro, because I’m going to marry that woman.”
Rolland’s fork stopped midair, “What woman?” he asked as he looked about the room.
“Nadine—what was her last name?” Marc shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, her new last name will be Deasley.”
Rolland still sat there with his fork in suspended animation, totally confused, slightly angered that his brother would waltz in and attempt to steal his right hand. “Why, how, what you just met her…what are you basing this on, what I have told you about her over the past years?”
Marc was chomping happily on his steak, “Nope, not true. I met her Thursday in Vegas.”
Rolland dropped his fork, “So, you honestly expect me to believe that in a city that literally has a million visitors every weekend,” he paused to catch his breath, “that you, fresh off a plane from Bumfuck, Alaska, run into my right hand?”
“That’s what I am saying.”
Rolland was still shaking his head, trying not to use his actual right hand to slap the shit out of Marc while trying to comprehend the plausibility of what he was hearing. “You expect me to believe, that my uptight, rigid, follow the rules, church-goingevery-Sunday Senior Partner, and you….in Vegas?” Marc noticed his brother’s mouth was turned in a disapproving frown, he was uncertain of what that meant. He gently nudged his brother to obtain some clarification on the expression.
“You unleashed six months of Alaska oilfield sexual frustration upon that beautiful, gentle-spirited woman?” Marc adjusted his posture to match his brother’s anger.
“Wait a second, Rolland. Anything that happened between me and my future wife was consensual.”
“Stop saying that!”
“I can’t, Roll. I think I might be in love.”
“Stop saying that as well! Get a grip on yourself!” Rolland needed some time to sort through the implications and ramifications of this; wait until he tells his wife Janice.
Marc planted the seed, “I am a gentleman, but I will say this: you have not asked me why I was two days late getting to Los Angeles.”
Rolland called the waitress over to refill his glass of ice tea. He called her back and requested a stiff drink instead, and exhaled a calming lungful of air, mumbling under his breath, “I don’t ever need to know.”
“Well dammit, you are going to listen to me!” Rolland stuck his fingers in his ears making blah, blah, blah, sounds. “Roll, what that woman put on me required two days’ worth of ice packs.”
Rolland took his fingers from his ears, “In your mind, is that enough to base a marriage, a relationship—did you even know her fricking name before today?”
Marc could see his brother’s frustration with him. He remembered that look when he bought his first car, which was a lemon that broke down every other day. Rolland gave him the same look when he brought home a stray puppy that infested the whole house with fleas; or the time he picked up a sofa from the side of the road that was crawling with bed bugs. Rolland made him burn it in the back yard. He smiled, he was a mere child then, he was a grown-ass
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