Serenading Stanley (32 page)

Sylvia reached out and laid her hand on Pete’s cheek. He turned and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand.

And then, still on his knees, Pete clutched Sylvia around the waist and pulled her into him, pressing his face to her stomach, stroking her back, holding her as tight as he could.

Sylvia leaned down and kissed the top of Pete’s head. Stanley and Roger stood there holding hands, and holding their breath too, as Sylvia slowly nodded, almost imperceptibly at first, then with more enthusiasm. And finally she began to laugh.

Pete shot to his feet and scooped her into his arms, swinging her around.

Stanley looked over at Roger and saw tears swimming in his eyes.

“Jesus,” Stanley said. “That was beautiful.”

Roger could only nod as he wiped the tears from his face. “Look at me. I’m a blubbering mess.”

Stanley blew his nose on a cocktail napkin. “Me too.”

“Will you marry me?” Roger asked.

Stanley sniffed. “No. I want to marry Pete.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Two fat hands with long orange nails came down on their shoulders, damn near buckling their knees. They turned to find Arthur there, standing behind them. He had obviously been watching Pete and Sylvia too. His eyes sparkled with tears. He was wearing the orange taffeta number Stanley had seen him in the first time they met, but now that Arthur’s chest and shoulders were foliage free as they rose up out of the low-cut taffeta bust line, the package was considerably less disconcerting than it was the first time Stanley saw it.

Arthur actually looked pretty good—for a big girl. A
really
big girl. He had a mass of red curls piled high on his head, sprinkled here and there with tiny clusters of baby’s breath, and his makeup had been beautifully applied, obviously by someone who knew what the hell they were doing for a change. He wore size thirteen or fourteen satin pumps on his feet (Arthur was smart enough not to attempt high heels when he thought he might be dancing), and his eyelashes were so long Stanley kept expecting the downdraft to sweep them all away like dust balls.

“You look great!” Roger wailed. “You really do!”

Arthur may have blushed, but it was hard to tell under all that makeup. He gave Roger a pat on the cheek by way of thanks, and they all three turned their eyes back to Pete and Sylvia. They were dancing now. And Pete looked like a pretty damned good dancer too. Who would have ever suspected he had it in him to do everything he’d just done, and then dance like Fred Astaire on top of it?

Sylvia swayed in his arms with a proud, gentle smile beaming across her face as the music swelled around them.

Pete’s hand rested protectively at the back of Sylvia’s neck as he swept her around the room. His eyes were closed and his cheeks still glittered with happy tears.

It was the first time Stanley had ever seen the man look completely content.

“The best man won,” Arthur sighed. “I’m happy for her. Pete will treat her right.”

“He loves her very much,” Roger said, once again taking Stanley’s hand and dragging him closer. “And I think maybe she loves him too. I’m sorry, Arthur. You two were never meant to be.”

Arthur nodded. “I know.”

He dabbed at a tear with the corner of a tissue. He did it very, very carefully, trying not to ruin his makeup. As Arthur spoke, he watched Pete and Sylvia dance. “Pete told her he wanted her either way she would come to him. As a man or as a woman. But he knows what it is she wants, what she
needs.
He’ll help her get it too. Just to make her happy. And she’ll make him a good wife. Sylvia understands loyalty. Just like you boys do.”

Arthur turned his eyes to them. “Looks like maybe you’ve made a few commitments yourselves. Or am I wrong?”

Stanley hugged Roger’s arm. “Nope. You’re absolutely right.”

Roger kissed Stanley’s forehead. “Happily ever after. That’s us.”

Arthur patted each of their cheeks in turn. “I’m glad. You deserve to be happy.”

He straightened his gown, patted his hair, adjusted his overflowing bodice and aimed his chin, which was smooth and hairless for once, at the two near-naked bartenders.

“And now it’s my turn. Wish me luck.” After considering for a moment, he said, “I think I’ll shoot for the one on the right. Maybe he’d like to be the grand prize at tonight’s lottery.”

“What about free rent for a year?” Roger asked.

Arthur shrugged. “Don’t figure I can afford it now. I expect you two will be moving in together just like Ramon and ChiChi and now Pete and Sylvia. Hell, I’ve lost three rentals in the last twenty minutes, what with everybody consolidating and all. This love crap is bankrupting me.”

Stanley and Roger looked a little shamefaced, but they weren’t about to change their minds, and Arthur didn’t seem to expect them to.

“Well, boys, here I go.” He gave Stanley’s nose a playful tweak. “Save a dance for me, stud muffin.”

And adjusting his beanbag tits one more time, Arthur sauntered off with a Mae West wave, taffeta swishing, big ass swinging. He headed straight for the near-naked bartender on the right.

“Poor bastard,” Roger said.

“Which one?” Stanley asked. “Arthur or the bartender?”

Roger downed the rest of his beer, and grinned, “Both of them.”

They watched as Arthur and his orange gown disappeared in the crowd like the setting sun ducking behind a bunch of trees.

“So who’s the most beautiful man in the world, then?” Roger asked, casually peering up at the Jabbering Jesuses circling overhead.

“I am,” Stanley said, blushing red.

“And who’s the second most beautiful man in the world?”

“The bartender on the left?”

“Wrong answer, dipshit.”

And laughing, Roger dragged Stanley onto the dance floor.

J
OHN
I
NMAN
has been writing fiction since he was old enough to hold a pencil. He and his partner live in beautiful San Diego, California. Together, they share a passion for theater, books, hiking and biking along the trails and canyons of San Diego or, if the mood strikes, simply kicking back with a beer and a movie. John’s advice for anyone who wishes to be a writer? “Set time aside to write every day and do it. Don’t be afraid to share what you’ve written. Feedback is important. When a rejection slip comes in, just tear it up and try again. Keep mailing stuff out. Keep writing and rewriting and then rewrite one more time. Every minute of the struggle is worth it in the end, so don’t give up. Ever. Remember that publishers are a lot like lovers. Sometimes you have to look a long time to find the one that’s right for you.”

You can contact John at [email protected], on Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/john.inman.79, or on his website:

http://www.johninmanauthor.com/.

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