Love and the Sectional Sofa
by Terry S. Neuman
Come join me!
“Lindsay!”
“Coming right down.”
“Fine with me if we’re late,” Charlie mumbled.
“I heard that,” she said, stepping into the foyer, passing her husband in the dining room on the way to the kitchen. “I know you’d love it if we missed the movie, but too bad for you I won the bet.” She grabbed her handbag off the counter and led the way to the garage.
Oh, this was going to be good, she thought, Charlie Hornhocker watching Sex and the City 2. He hated the TV series and refused to see the first film, but today he was obligated to watch the entire sequel.
Buckling up and backing out of the garage, Charlie heaved a heavy sigh.
On second thought, why’d she want to take him along? It was enough that she guessed the numbers closest to the final score of the Florida-Miami game. Both of them had chosen the Gators of course—it was their alma mater—but Charlie picked 18-7 while Lindsay almost nailed it at 30-11 when Florida won at 34 to12. Still, she should’ve taken Elaine instead.
Turning the corner, they headed up Semoran Blvd, one of the main arteries of Orlando, and made a right onto Red Bug Road. “So now I gotta see this stupid movie,” he said.
“Better than me getting stuck sky diving.”
“You would’ve loved it. You would’ve thanked me forever.” Suddenly braking, Lindsay’s neck jerked back against the seat. “Honey, you see that?” Charlie asked.
See those couches we passed?”
“Get going, we’ll be late for the movie.”
“But they’re ours!” He backed up and idled in front of them. “They’re the ones we sold after the hurricanes in 2004.”
“Right, like they didn’t make a hundred thousand of them.”
“No, I can tell those were ours. Someone dumped the end and that curved section that extends around a corner.” The two white pieces stood side by side looking like overstuffed marshmallows, lonely without the other cushions and a flat screen TV in front them.
“I know what you’re doing. You’re stalling so we’ll be late for the film!”
“Oh come on. They always show an hour of coming attractions.” Charlie jumped out of the car. Reluctantly, Lindsay followed.
He turned to her. “I can prove they’re ours. Will you help me?”
“Who cares if they are or not?”
He ignored her. “Lindsay, get me my pocketknife from the dashboard.”
She sighed loudly.
“Go!”
Trotting back, she opened the dashboard and shuffled through the pile of papers until she felt the carved wooden handle. Grabbing it, she hurried back to her husband.
“I duct taped something under this rounded section years ago.”
“Money?”
He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “Honey, you know we never had money back then.”
Well that was true, she thought, noticing a few cars slowing as they passed. “Hurry up, People are staring.”
“Rubber neckers. Who cares?”
“Jesus, one car’s stopping up there. People are wondering what we’re searching for.” Lindsay wondered too.
“Help me hold up the couch, and I’ll feel around if the duct tape’s still there…”
He taped something to the bottom? She watched his splayed fingers sliding along the lining. How come he never told her?
“Man! I can feel it! Hand me the knife.” Two guys walked over to them. Lindsay was surprised to see that it was a father and his prepubescent son.
“Hey, whaja got there?” the kid asked.
“These are our old couches someone left on the street,” Charlie said, “and I left something on them from a long time ago.” Pulling his arm free, he righted the sofa back on the sidewalk and displayed the contents in his hand.
Lindsay stared into her husband’s palm. Was he kidding? Was this some kind of sick joke? “A condom? You hid a condom under the sectional?”
Charlie looked contrite. “We just got married, and this was my last Trojan, and I knew I didn’t need it anymore, but I couldn’t bear to throw it away—”
“And the purple’s pack’s still unopened,” the father said.
“Fresh as the morning dew,” Charlie said, and the guys laughed. “I forgot all about it until after we sold the furniture, but then sometimes I wondered…”
“Good thing you lost the bet with me,” Lindsay said, “or you never would’ve driven here tonight and found it.”
Her husband appeared startled at the thought. “Hey, you’re right. Guess I got lucky.” He eyed the kid before turning to the dad. “Do you think your son could use it, I mean many years from now?”
The father reddened as the boy’s extended hand. “I’ll cherish this,” he said.
Rolling her eyes, Lindsay strode briskly to the car. Coming attractions were definitely over, she thought, but the climax? Only she could predict what would happen tonight.
