Rent A Husband by Sally Mason

door.
    “Okay, you have a good night now.”
    “You too, William.”
    Brontë watches as he walks down the sidewalk, disappearing around a corner.
    And, when she heads in the same direction, Brontë tells herself that she’s not following him.
    Never.
    She’s just out for a stroll, getting to know the town.
    William, in his own world, shambles along.
    He has a nasty altercation with a trash can.
    He bumps his head on the low-hanging branch of a tree.
    When he crosses to the opposite sidewalk he trips on the curb and only a desperate lurch and spin stops him from falling.
    He is, without a doubt, the clumsiest man Brontë has ever met.
    And the most adorable.
    When she sees him enter the Senior Center she tells herself that decency demands that she turn around and go home.
    But curiosity, that old cat killer, has her in its grip, drawing her into the garden.
    She hears music, something very old and scratchy.
    Strings and horns and a high croony voice waft out into the night, and the music draws her toward a picture window.
    Hiding in the shrubbery, Brontë peers through the window and sees the most incredible sight.
    A gaggle of old ladies, bent and wrinkled, some tiny as children, mob huge, bumbling, William Bigelow.
    He takes one of them by her birdlike arm and leads her onto the dance floor.
    Oh God , Brontë thinks, I can’t watch this .
    Is this some strange method of euthanasia, turning this massive clumsy man loose on these tiny, fragile women?
    But then William takes the old woman’s hand in his, places his fingers on her spine and moves her around the dance floor in the lightest and most graceful of waltzes.
    Brontë blinks, convinced she’s dreaming.
    But when she opens her eyes and sees the big man twirl the old lady and sweep her into his arms, the woman smiling in delight, Brontë realizes that it’s official: she’s in love with William Bigelow.
     

25
     
     
     
     
     
    Eric Royce sits on his porch in the dark, his demons dancing around him in the shadows.
    Darcy’s words stung, and he feels as empty, shallow and unloved as she said he was.
    How easy it would be to hit speed-dial on his phone and summon a dealer from down in Ventura.
    In forty minutes a car would draw up outside his house and a man in a bad suit, gripping an attaché case filled with chemicals, would oil up his pathway and the last few years of living clean would be gone.
    Poof.
    Eric takes his phone from his pocket, but when he dials a number it’s not his dealer he’s calling.
    “Forrest,” he says when a voice answers, “how are you?”
    “I’m good, Eric. I returned the car as promised.”
    “Of course you did, that’s not why I’m calling.”
    “Oh?”
    “There’s a situation.”
    “A situation?”
    “Yes. That stunt of yours has had repercussions, I’m afraid.”
    “Oh? You’re not telling me I have to go through with the wedding are you?” Forrest says, laughing. “I mean, come on, it was all in the way of fun.”
    “Yes, and fun it was. No, it’s about Darcy.”
    “What about her?”
    “She’s low, Forrest.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that, but what can I do?”
    “Call her up. Ask her out.”
    “She loathes me.”
    “No, she doesn’t.”
    “Eric, she’s a nice woman. She doesn’t need a guy like me in her life.”
    “Oh, au contraire , I think you’re exactly what she needs. She’s lived amongst philistines for far too long. Show her that there’s more to life than the low horizon of this bloody town.”
    “I thought you loved it up there?”
    “I do, but only because I’m jaded, Forrest. I’ve seen it all. Darcy has seen nothing, and I want you to give her a glimpse of the big, wide world out there.”
    “How?”
    “Talk to her. Tell her things. Tell her about India, about Africa. Intrigue her, for God’s sake.”
    “I don’t think so, Eric.”
    “I’ll make it worth your while.”
    “How?”
    “I’m putting together a pilot, for a reality show.”
    “Hell, that’s really