Perry Bradford-Wilson's THE MARRIAGE PROPOSAL Part Ten

A Novel in several parts By Perry Bradford-Wilson

Part Ten, Our Conclusion: Dear John
In which secrets are revealed and new possibilities arise
©1998 by Perry Bradford-Wilson

It was a warm summer night in June in the rural town of McKinleyville. A group of middle-aged women who served as the permanent rotating High School Reunion committee and also organized bake sales for the local library had arranged a bridal shower for hometown girl Cheryl Wingate (who had recently returned from Los Angeles) at the Chinese Baptist Church. The Church’s windows were all open to allow the evening breeze to circulate the air inside, so the twenty-three women attending the celebration heard the roar of the engines as thirty-seven drunken men carrying shotguns, rifles, and six-shooters drove at excessive speeds toward them with nothing but murder in their minds. This horde consisted of former revelers at Bubba Puhzz’s bachelor party, where the rumor had started that the bride-to-be’s ex-boyfriend was chatting her up down at the shower. Grooms-to-be are notoriously jealous.

The parade of vehicles screeched into the Church parking lot and stopped willy-nilly in-between the other cars, blocking them in. Reverend Kim, who had heard the cars and trucks from his house behind the church, ran into the lot and tried to keep the “fire lanes” clear, but he was uniformly ignored by the drunken throng (much as he was by his congregation on Sundays.) Huck parked his truck out on the highway and dodged his way between the late arrivals on foot.

Bubba and Big Kenny were the first of the mob to enter the Church. The women, who had been seated opening presents, had all stood to look out the window (except six-foot-four-tall Horsefeathers Snoqualmie, who could see out of them from her seat.) Now they all turned to stare at red-faced Bubba. Their eyebrows rose, as if to ask, “Yes?”

“I’m looking for that no-good Hunsey Bourcarte, that’s what,” Bubba spat. He shook his rifle in the air and Reverend Kim ducked behind the buffet table.

“That’s cute! He’s jealous!” Betty Jean Essex said, and the women all laughed. Well, they laughed until Bubba took a shot into the ceiling. The sharp crack of his rifle echoed in the room for a few moments and quite a few faces went pale.

By now the rest of the men had gathered next to him, forming a line that paralleled the women on the other side of the room. Sorta like High Noon or the O.K. Corral, but the women weren’t armed. Huck pushed his way between Hampton and Larry to stand at the front next to Bubba.

“C’mon, Bubba, this just isn’t gonna work,” he started to warn his brother. “You’re just gonna get thrown in jail...”

It was at this precise moment, in-between the word “jail” and the next word, which Huck intended but never uttered, that a cry went up from amongst the women.

An incredibly gorgeous woman, tall and slender with long flowing blond hair, moved gracefully from the center of the group. Even Bubba temporarily forgot his mission and lowered his rifle as this beautiful creature stepped forward. She wore a tight minidress that emphasized her ample breasts (with generous cleavage visible) and exposed her long, shapely legs. The men all took in a short breath as she walked over to Huck, high heels clicking on the hardwood floors. Huck’s gaze was swallowed by her dark raven eyes, then shaken loose as she batted her long lashes. She stopped directly in front of Huck and reached up and took his collar.

When they parted, Huck stood there for a moment in a daze. He used his sleeve to wipe the lipstick from his mouth. Staring at the dazzling woman in confusion, he tried to figure out how he’d gotten so lucky. Then, suddenly, everything fell into place. His eyes grew large and he turned and ran from the Church, doubling over with one hand across his stomach as if he was going to be sick.

Cheryl walked over to the line of men, putting her arm around Bubba, and called after him.

Once he stopped wretching in Reverend Kim’s tulip beds, Huck made his way back into the Church. The men had set aside their weapons and were now dancing with the women. It seemed, at least as far as Bubba and the posse were concerned, that there were only women at the bridal shower after all. Joe Bosanfari brought the strippers over from the Elks’ Hall and, dressed in nothing but their G-strings, they enjoyed the food and company. He’d also brought the boom box, and they’d cleared away an area by the emergency exit so that they could dance to the music. Bubba and Cheryl were sitting together on the couch making smoochie faces at one another. Apparently she had found Bubba’s jealousy flattering.

It took a while before Huck was willing to sit down on the couch (on opposite ends with plenty of buffer zone in-between) to talk with his old friend Hunsey. It turned out Hunsey hadn’t gotten any of the invitations Huck had mailed. Instead he had received an invitation to the bridal shower from Cheryl, who still exchanged Christmas cards with him. Hunsey now went by the name Georgia Shetley and lived in San Francisco. He/she broke down and cried when he/she recounted his/her adventures after dropping Cherry off at the bus station in Oakland on the same night they escaped from the hospital.

“So,” Huck finally gathered the courage to ask, “what’s with the dress and stuff?”

“All those things Cherry and I wrote all over town, they were all just nonsense,” Hunsey said sadly. “I was just angry, mad at the world because I didn’t know what my life was all about. Then that beautiful bolt of lightning struck me and all that nonsense got scrambled into the truth.”

“What’s the truth?” Huck asked, doubting it was anything as simple as ‘dresses are more comfortable on a hot day.’

“What I wrote on that last note. Life in an experiment, but there are no results. You never get it perfect. You just experiment and keep trying to make things better until you’re dead. I mean, even the oldest person on Earth hasn’t gotten it perfect yet. Realizing this liberated me.”

“No, you goof,” Hunsey scolded. “I stopped letting other people tell me who I was supposed to be, and started experimenting more.”

“No. But I’ve gotten it much better.” Hunsey laughed and tugged at his long blond hair. “I’m so sorry things turned out the way they did, Huck. I always wanted to say goodbye to you, and then later I thought about calling you. But I’d been changed so much by that night...” Tears began to form again in Hunsey’s eyes. “I’m so glad we have this chance to make things right. Let’s never lose touch again.” He leaned over and his hand came to rest on Huck’s knee.

He was saved by the last person he expected. Suddenly a great shadow passed over him (and over Hunsey as well.) In silhouette Huck could see long flowing tresses of jet black hair cascading out of a giantess’ furry black cossack’s hat. Her long, lacey black chenille dress fell almost to the top of her rugged black combat boots. In-between the dress and the boots an inch or so of black fishnet stockings could be seen. The only light in the ebony of her form radiated from her ivory skin and her pale blue eyes.

Between the horror of Hunsey’s hand on his knee and the terror of being embarrassed on the dance floor with Horsefeathers (who was, at least, an actual woman), Huck decided on the dancing. Of course, he’d always sort of been sweet on Horsefeathers anyway. Ever since High School his still-teenaged libido had been mightily aroused by Horsefeathers. They’d had “The Lunch” which had led to “The Kiss.” But gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, especially when the kissee is a Snoqualmie, so it had all ended right there.

“Sure, thanks,” Huck said, but to keep from sounding too eager he added, “I guess.”

Hunsey tugged on Horsefeathers’ dress before they could leave for the dance floor.

“Horsefeathers...” he said, batting his eyelashes and then tugging at his own dress, “remember when I called you an ‘ostrich-lovin’ zombie girl’?”

“I’m sorry,” Hunsey apologized. “Really, I was just jealous of your fishnet stockings.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Horsefeathers smiled. “It wasn’t an altogether untrue statement, although the ostriches in question were emus.”

“Hey, Beep!” The voice sounded so much like the old Hunsey that when Huck turned back he almost expected to see a lanky teenager clad in denim overalls instead of a drop-dead blonde in a bright red minidress.

As Huck’s luck would have it, just as they arrived on the dance floor the DJ slipped on a slow one and Horsefeathers pulled him in close. Neither one of them was brave enough to lead, so they just sort of swayed in a circle. The top of Huck’s head was about even with Horsefeathers’ chin, which offered him a view he didn’t altogether mind.

“So, has that actress written you back yet?” Horsefeathers asked as they danced.

“Oh, she used a lot of hundred dollar words, if that’s what you mean. You’d expect that, though. She’s refined.” “Ah,” Horsefeathers agreed as Huck stepped heavily on her foot. “That makes all the difference then.” She turned her head and rested it on the top of his. He could smell the dusty-sweet scent of the emus in her hair. “You want to get lunch together tomorrow?” she asked.

“Nah, I gotta stay home and watch my mailbox,” he said, moving back and forth with her to the rhythm of the music.

An hour or so later Horsefeathers went home to feed the emus, so Huck helped Bubba and Cheryl haul all of the gifts and leftover food and booze from both parties across the highway and up to Bubba’s cabin. It turned out that Hunsey had wandered off earlier, arm-in-arm with a friend of Bubba’s from the bowling league who may have come in late and missed some crucial information about his companion.

After things had pretty much died down and most of the people had gone home, Sheriff Kearney - who had responded to Reverend Kim’s frantic phone call and then stayed to dance and drink - helped run off the posse and the other drunks who were asleep or passed out on the church pews. After that he took the strippers home in his cruiser (whether it was to their home or his home wasn’t made clear.) When the Kims locked up the back door of the church the first rays of the morning sun were already creating a halo over the mountains to the east.

It was better than half past four in the morning when Huck pulled up to his driveway. Out of a habit built up over the last month he automatically checked the mailbox, even though he’d just looked at six the previous evening. To his surprise there was a letter. It had no return address on it (in fact, there weren’t even any stamps) but the handwriting was unmistakable. Huck’s mind had been so preoccupied by the events at the Chinese Baptist Church he had almost forgotten the Best Supporting Actress Nominee of 1986. But here was the response he’d been waiting for.

After driving the truck into his yard and parking in front of the trailer he ripped open the envelope and started to read.

Your letter has touched me in more ways than you know. I was also fascinated by your account of the life of Augustus Caesar. However, it has become clear that you are far too good for the likes of me. Years of living in this city of sin have taken their toll. No one succeeds here without giving in to the depraved movie star lifestyle of sex and drugs that the tabloids so accurately chronicle. I am nothing more than a Hollywood harlot, and I beg you to turn your attentions to a nice, wholesome local girl, and give up any fascination with me. I pray for your salvation, although my own soul is surely lost.

Huck sat in the car for a while, staring at the side of his almost-a-mobile-home and trying to form thoughts. Finally, he clambered out of the truck and climbed the steps to the front door and let Whizzer in. It was so late the hound dog didn’t even offer his customary whine.

Once inside Huck sat down at the kitchen counter (brushing away the empty tins to make room - Merry Cunningham’s neighborly offerings had switched from preserves to pies.) He read through the letter from the Best Supporting Actress Nominee of 1986 one more time. In the back of his mind (which was pretty near the front) he could hear Andy Peterson’s near-to-last words; “I figure I gotta meet somebody soon. Hell, I’m forty-two.”

“Well, Hunsey, I guess I’ll just have to experiment,” Huck said to himself quietly.

He pulled out an expensive fountain pen and a piece of the new scented stationery he’d bought at Pacific Paper Company & Office Supply and started to compose a letter.

and I don’t think you’re depraved neither... I think you are one of the most considerate people I ever have met. Plus you kiss great, and I’ve always really loved that little peek of fishnet stocking between your dress and your boots.

The End

Next: An ALL-NEW McKinleyville Story, "They Shoot Poets, Don't They?" The true story of the great poets of Humboldt County!