The Damn Fool

by George Eliot

hands and probed his mouth with her sensuous tongue, he began tugging her shirt

  from the khaki short shorts that had been driving him crazy all day.

  "Uh, 'scuse me, folks," a deep male voice bellowed.

  They released each other like children caught with hands in a cookie jar.

  "Afternoon, Sheriff," Toni managed to say.

  "Sorry to intrude."

  "What is it, Sheriff?" Lance asked irritably.

  "I come to see you, Mr. Sayer," the sheriff said slowly. "It's about your wife."

  "Zelda?"

  "Seems like she's in a bit of trouble and ran up a big hospital bill she can't

  pay. Since you're her husband, the hospital is looking to you to settle the

  account."

  "I thought you were divorced," Toni said as she looked at the bewildered Lance.

  "I am," he protested.

  "Don't think so," the sheriff drawled. "The Orlando police department checked it

  out. You may have signed some papers or something, but it looks like she never

  filed them."

  "What happened?" Lance asked with resignation in his voice.

  "I don't know the details. I reckon you'd better call Detective Steve Harvey of

  the Orlando Police Department. I just talked with him on the telephone. He tried

  to call you, but there was no answer. He said he'd be in his office 'til eight

  or later." The sheriff dug into his pocket, produced a crumpled note and handed

  it to Lance.

  "Thank you, Sheriff."

  "If I can help, you just let me know," the sheriff said. He abruptly returned to

  his patrol car.

  "You'd better make that call," Toni said softly as they slowly approached the

  cabin.

  "Something special was about to happen between us," Lance replied sadly.

  She placed her hand firmly between his legs. "Looks like it's going to have to

  wait."

  He smiled thinly and nodded.

  Toni busied herself in the kitchen, trying to make something edible for supper

  out of leftover hamburger. With a casserole baking, she paced back and fourth

  and was opening her third beer when Lance appeared.

  "We need to talk," he said gloomily as he sprawled in a kitchen chair.

  Toni gave him the beer and got another for herself.

  "I talked with the detective and also with Zelda," he said as she dished

  servings of the casserole on plates. "Zelda's professional bowler promised her

  marriage, used her as his personal plaything and, when he tired of her, dumped

  her. That's why she never filed the divorce papers."

  "So you are still married?"

  "I'm afraid so. She has lived off of various men since then."

  "A prostitute?"

  "Not exactly. She found party boys to live with. Sometimes she left them and

  sometimes they left her."

  "Sounds like a professional to me."

  "They were all consensual relationships," he said defensively. "Anyway, she and

  her latest friend were on their way home from a party. She was drunk and

  driving. She ran a red light and broadsided a car. Zelda suffered some internal

  injuries. Her boyfriend was not injured, but he left town the next day. The

  police are looking for him, but it was Zelda's car � not his. She has no

  insurance."

  "How about the people in the other car?"

  "There was just the male driver. He claims whiplash injuries and wants a million

  dollars from her."

  "Wow. Is Zelda okay?"

  His eyes grew misty. "She's out of the hospital and staying at a mission. She

  says she's still in pain but has no money for medication. Her latest boyfriend

  ran off with all her things � even her clothes. She's wearing rags donated by

  the mission."

  "You still love her, don't you?"

  His eyes met hers and he tried to smile. "I love you, Toni. My greatest hope and

  fantasy is that one day you'll feel the same about me and will agree to be my

  wife."

  "You didn't answer my question."

  "I loved her dearly, once. Then I hated her."

  "But you still love her."

  "Love and hate seem to be closely related emotions. How can you just quit loving

  someone, even when they treat you shamefully? I don't want to resume our

  previous relationship, but, Toni, I can't leave her to fight this thing alone."

  "What about her parents?"

  "She says they are both dead now."

  "And you are still legally responsible for her debts, since your divorce was

  never finalized?"

  He nodded. "There is a direct flight from the Piedmont Triad airport at

  midnight. I made a reservation."

  "I'll help you pack and drive you. Dwight Peoples is an attorney in Orlando.

  He'll help you. I'll send him an email tonight so he'll be expecting you."

  "Toni, I'm so sorry."

  "It's not your fault."

  "I know, but this has been such a wonderful day and the evening promised to be

  even more beautiful."

  "There will be other beautiful days, but Lance, if you decide you want to get

  back together with Zelda, it's okay."

  "I wish that were not true."

  "What?"

  "If you loved me as I love you, it wouldn't be okay."

  She studied the untouched food on her plate. "I do love you, Lance. I've never

  spoken those words before, but they seem so natural." She looked at him. "I love

  you enough to let you go, if that is what you decide you want."

  He rushed to her side and pulled her from the chair, holding her close. "Marry

  me, Toni. Tell me you'll be my wife."

  She gently pulled away from him. "Ask me again when you get this situation with

  Zelda resolved."

  Days turned into one, two, then three weeks. Lance took a notebook computer with

  him and emailed her once a day. Initially he signed his messages, "love, Lance."

  The second week the signature was simply, "Lance." The third week, he used no

  signature at all.

  She learned that he arrived safely and was staying in a motel. He moved Zelda

  into the room next to his. He obtained additional medical treatment for his

  former wife, bought her clothes, a few pieces costume jewelry and paid her

  hospital bill. Dwight, Lance wrote, was proving to be a big help, but it

  appeared the injured driver of the other car had a legitimate case. They would

  have to pay for the damages to his automobile, but there was a possibility of an

  out-of-court settlement to his whiplash claim � far less than the million

  dollars he initially wanted.

  On Wednesday of the first week, Toni received an unexpected letter from theFine

  Fiction Fans magazine. The editor highly praised her short stories and offered

  to buy all five for a total of twelve hundred fifty dollars. The editor went on

  to say she would be pleased to receive additional stories and described Toni as

  having an almost unique flair for spinning a good yarn.

  Toni read the letter twice while standing in the lobby of the Danbury post

  office, signed the enclosed contracts and sent them on their way back to New

  York. She read the letter again when she arrived at the cabin and, not knowing

  how to use Lance's scanner, she laboriously typed the entire document into an

  email message she sent to him that night.

  In the email she received from Lance on Thursday morning, he d
id not mention her

  good news. Instead, he wrote of how vulnerable Zelda seemed to be and how his

  heart ached for all her misfortune.

  It was then that her daydreams began. She visualized Lance holding Zelda in his

  arms, kissing Zelda's lips, and fondling Zelda's body. The first daydream was

  self-induced. Others forced their way into her mind, unbidden.

  She tried to write another chapter in her novel but, after two pages, realized

  her words were drivel. She deleted the pages and surfed the net, killing time.

  Eventually she stumbled onto the On-line Literary Agency web site and became

  fascinated.

  The agency posted online sample chapters of their authors' work in hopes that

  book editors would stumble across the site and request full manuscripts. She

  studied the agency's guidelines and went offline to compose a query letter and

  save the first chapter of her novel in progress as a separate file.

  She returned to the Internet, pasted her query letter into an email message and

  sent the sample chapter as an attachment. Her mind was bursting with excitement

  as she thought of the possibility of representation by a legitimate literary

  agency.

  The agency guidelines promised a response within two weeks, so she was both

  surprised and excited Friday afternoon when the mailbox icon indicated she had

  electronic mail from the On-line Literary Agency. She was not pleased, however,

  when she read the message.

  Dear Ms. Conners,

  Congratulations on your sale toFine Fiction Fans . FFF is a discriminating

  publisher and the sale is a most important deposit into your publishing

  credits account. I also thank you for your interest in the On-line Literary

  Agency.

  Your submission to us is premature. Normally, we only consider completed

  manuscripts. Not only is your novel incomplete, but you did not send a

  synopsis. We accept manuscripts for representation only if we are convinced

  they are polished and marketable.

  In a moment of weakness, I bent the rules and read your submitted chapter.

  You do have a flair for telling a story, but your heavy use of passive voice

  makes the narration move much too slowly for today's market. Once you have

  completed your novel, edited out the passive sentences and composed a full

  synopsis, you may resubmit your work to us.

  The last thing I would advise an unpublished novelist is to rush the

  manuscript to completion. However, two weeks from today our agency is

  sending out promotional brochures to all United States and Canadian editors.

  If you should by chance have your work completed in this short timeframe, we

  might be able to include it in our promotion.

  Cordially,

  Susan Merritt

  My work was good enough for the magazine, she fumed. Why isn't it good enough

  for you? I don't even know what a passive sentence is and what the dickens is a

  synopsis?

  She recalled that earlier she found an Internet site for writers and she checked

  to see if it was bookmarked. She smiled when she saw a URL titled, "Writers'

  Exchange." She clicked on the bookmark and studied the opening page. The site

  seemed to be composed of a series of articles on writing and a bulletin board

  where writers exchanged ideas.

  She went to the bulletin board and read all of the postings. She felt that if

  she posted questions about a synopsis and passive voice, someone would respond,

  but before doing so, she decided to check out the articles. She quickly found

  one on passive voice and downloaded it. After scanning a dozen additional

  articles, she found one that not only explained the synopsis, but also provided

  an example.

  Toni downloaded the synopsis article and went offline to study it. Her entire

  body tingled with excitement as she realized she could write a synopsis of her

  novel. She was within two chapters of finishing and she was fairly certain how

  the story would end.

  It was past midnight when she shut down her computer. After brushing her teeth

  and slipping on a nightgown, she quickly fell into a sound slumber. A nightmare

  woke her at five. Lance was having torrid sex with Zelda as Toni stood at the

  edge of the bed and watched, helpless to intervene. She could not go back to

  sleep. At six she gave up and returned to the study.

  The article on passive voice was confusing, but there was a word of advice that

  offered hope. The author said that Microsoft Word contains an excellent grammar

  check program that highlights every occurrence of passive voice in a document.

  Following the author's advice she set the grammar check on her word processor to

  the formal writing style and, under "settings," turned on "passive sentences."

  She ran the program on her first chapter and shook her head in dismay. There

  were thirty-seven passive sentences in this chapter alone. At least now I know

  how to find the little buggers, she thought. Now let's see if I can figure out

  how to rewrite them.

  As she worked to remove passive sentences, she discovered another problem � the

  overuse of certain words and phrases. She made a list and checked the chapter

  for each incidence of usage. Often she found it necessary to rewrite an entire

  sentence, just to change a word for which there was no acceptable synonym. When

  she finished the revision of the first chapter late Saturday evening, she knew

  it was a far better work than her original attempt and she reread the edited

  work with a thrilling sense of accomplishment.

  On Wednesday of Lance's third week in Florida, Toni electronically submitted her

  completed manuscript to the On-line Literary Agency along with her carefully

  edited synopsis.

  On Friday morning, Toni expected a message in her mailbox from Lance. She did

  not expect the one from the On-line Literary Agency. She read that one first.

  Susan Merritt was very brief and to the point. She loved the revised work and

  offered agency representation.

  Toni felt as if she were floating on air, but Lance's message brought her

  quickly crashing back to earth.

  I received a message from Sean yesterday informing me we have lost another

  seventy-three clients. The mass mailing did not work. I do not know what to

  do for/about Zelda. I feel as if my life is in the toilet.

  Right or wrong, I am bringing Zelda home with me. Please prepare one of the

  bedrooms for her. The schedule calls for our plane to arrive at the Piedmont

  Triad airport at seven thirty tonight. Please be there to meet us.

  Toni, try to understand.

 

 

  "I understand, all right," she blurted through bubbling tears. "I was good

  enough for you until Zelda came back into your life. Boy, it didn't take long

  for her to get her hooks back into you."

  Someone was pounding on the front door. She grabbed a tissue and tried to wipe

  away the tears as she hurried to the ballroom.

  "Hey, Ugly. Did you forget?" Buddy asked.

  "Forget what?"

  "You were going to work with me today on the trees." />
  "Oh, goodness, Buddy. I did forget. Give me a minute to change clothes. I can

  work with you for a little while. I have to pick Lance up at the airport at

  seven-thirty."

  As she turned he reached out and clutched her upper arm. "Somethin' wrong,

  Ugly?" he asked tenderly.

  "I'm okay."

  "You're not okay. You've been crying." He pulled her into his arms as she again

  burst into tears.

  He rocked her gently and stroked her hair while she filled him in.

  "Ugly, you go shopping or whatever it is you do to take your mind off things.

  The trees can wait. I'll pick up Lance from the airport. I told him once I'd

  kill him if he ever hurt you. Tonight's the night."

  She pounded her fists into his chest. "No, Buddy. I don't want you to kill him.

  That's stupid."

  "I ain't gonna kill him, Ugly, but when I'm done, it'll be a long time 'fore he

  can use his pecker for anything except peeing, and it's gonna hurt like the

  dickens when he does that."

  "I don't want him hurt at all, Buddy. I � I love the jerk."

  He pulled her close and stroked her back. When he finally spoke, he said, "I

  ain't never heard you use that word before. You sure?"

  She nodded against his massive chest.

  "He don�t love you?"

  "He said he did, but that was before. He's bringing her home with him. What do

  you think?"

  "You said he asked you to get one of the spare bedrooms ready for her?"

  "He didn't exactly ask. He told me to do it."

  "Sounds to me like he don't mean to sleep with her."

  "How long do you think that will last?"

  "You sure you really love the guy? It don't much sound like it to me."

  She pulled her head back. Incredibly, he was smiling.

  "If you really love Lance, you'd be rollin' up your sleeves and gettin' ready

  for one whale of a cat fight with this redhead, 'stead of whimpering and feeling

  sorry for yourself."

  "How can I fight her," she screamed as she pulled away. "She's his wife, for

  crying out loud."

  "Yeah, but according to you, that's an accident. Look, Ugly, I ain't never said

  nothin' like this to you before, but here goes. You have the best brain on you

  of anybody I ever knew, and it's inside the prettiest face I ever seen. You got

  bedroom eyes like no other woman in the world and all the outstanding female

  equipment to go with it. If you love the damn fool, he's worth fighting for."

  "How?" she pleaded.

  "That's what God gave you that big brain for. Figure it out. I'm gonna go work

  on them trees and I'll do some figurin' too."

  Toni tried to smile. "Thanks, Handsome, but you've done enough. Stay out of it.

  It's my fight."

  Toni sat at the kitchen table drinking a beer. She switched to coffee, returned

  to the study and booted Lance's computer. Without accessing the Internet, she

  brought up Netscape, checked his electronic address file and jotted down the

  email address for Sean Taylor.

  She booted her own computer, accessed the Internet and composed a message.

  Dear Mr. Taylor,

  Lance Sayer is a very dear friend of mine. Perhaps you remember meeting me

  when you were at the cabin a few weeks ago. As you know, Lance is in Florida

  right now. He sends me email messages every day and recently told me that

  nearly two hundred clients have defected to the competition. He has so much

  on his mind � so many problems to solve. I must do what I can to help.

  Please do not ever let Lance know about this message. I have already made my

  suggestion to him and he says it won't work. He is probably right, but you

  know more about personal computers that he does. I know my suggestion is

  simplistic, but please investigate it.

  My idea is to put the registration software on a fast personal computer and

  have the students access it for class registration, rather than the

  mainframe. At night, download the information to the mainframe. That way, if

  hackers do try to get in by modem contact, all they can screw up is the

  registration itself. It seems to me that using a personal computer as a

  fileserver will be much less expensive than having the institutions purchase

  a separate mainframe. You and Lance could sell the program and PC at a price

  competitive with the competition's software, which, according to Lance,