Lurline's Blessings

Lurline's Blessings

by Nancy J

My name is Lurline Becker, not Lur Line. I am a woman, not a fishing tackle. The bills on my desk stare back, mocking my financial struggles.

My landlord is the first to be paid. There may be a solution for next month, involving me using my wily seductive maneuvers and ensuring he provides a receipt.

As an escort, high-paying dates pay the bills, but it's not a straightforward job. Discreet advertising to avoid legal issues is vital. When clients contact me, my primary concern is safety.

Working at a cell phone store in the mall helps me stay financially afloat until my next escort date. Robbing Peter to pay Paul is stressful, but I hope a blessing comes soon.

Walking out of my apartment, I whisper while making the sign of the cross, “Please keep me safe.”

*****

Fifteen minutes into my shift, a customer requests an upgrade to his phone.

After 20-30 minutes of showing different models and their capabilities, he purchases a $1,200 phone. My commission of ten percent will add $120 to my earnings.

Mr. Logan Geffers' hesitant walk toward the exit made me fear he would return the purchase. Instead, he turns and asks, “Do you have plans - two weeks from Saturday?”

After a shallow intake of oxygen, I ask, “Why?”

He is so darn handsome! I hope he can’t sense how attracted to him I am.

“I need a plus one to attend a wedding. I don't want to go stag subjecting myself to single women hitting on me.”

I see his chest expand, knowing he took a deep breath while watching my facial expressions. “If you need something to wear, I know Monique at Legacy Place.”

I stay silent and he continues.

“You are, what? 5'6", a size 3 with a C-cup? It is an evening wedding, so choose a lightweight gown.”

Inching forward, without realizing it, I hit the counter glass door. “You are correct in all sizes except D-cup. As for clothing, you prejudged me. I can and will dress appropriately for a high-class evening wedding.”

I place my left hand to make him notice - no wedding ring.

“I must tell you; you will pay me. This is only a part-time job. After hours, I am an escort.”

To see him smirk and have a redness erupt on his cheeks; my heart gives a couple of quickened beats. As he is about to say something, I interrupt.

“If we have a deal, I have your number; I will call you and discuss arrangements.”

*****

In my closet, I pull out a light lilac gown with spaghetti straps, a lace neckline, and complimented by matching lace that cascades down each side. There are slits guaranteeing comfort. I picked up my phone and hit send.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Geffers, Logan. This is Lurline (Lur and Line Becker) from the cell phone store.”

“Oh. Ms. Becker, or should I say Lurline?”

“Lurline.”

“What are your plans tonight? I will cover your services to attend the Welcome Party the groom and bride - Pierre and Natalie are hosting.”

“Is it fun, casual, or formal attire?”

“Semi-formal. I should tell you their wedding colors are fuchsia, amethyst, and topaz. I suggest you coordinate. As for the Welcome Party, wear a calf-length dress.”

“Shall I meet you, or will you…”

“I will be at your place precisely at seven. What is your location?”

“25 Huckleberry Trail, Saunderstown.”

“Okay then. See you at seven. Thank you, Lurline.”

 “You're welcome, Logan.”

Elated, I hung up. The strong emotional pull to him and the money from being his escort was greater than ever anticipated.  I am set until the end of 2024.

I look up and say, “Thank you for the blessing.”

*****

Walking up the driveway, two people step out of the screened door.

Logan whispers, “Pierre and Natalie.”

The elegant ivory dress Natalie is wearing catches my eye, and I feel pleased with the skill of picking outfits ideal for any occasion.

Without prior knowledge, even the lilac gown for the wedding is a perfect choice, matching the wedding party's colors.

“Is this the new squeeze of the month?” Pierre says as he looks at me from sandals to breasts, then to my eyes.

Natalie spoke before Logan could react or respond. “Babe, that was impolite in front of Ms. Becker.”

“It's Lurline.”

Sliding her arm to guide me, Natalie says, “Well, Lurline, let us join the party. We have a special deejay who will play any song of your choosing. She is magnificent!”

I was polite when introduced to guests. All I want to do is spend time looking into Logan’s eyes and feeling my heart race.

My eyes took in the table with so much food you would have thought Natalie and Pierre were feeding a small country. The thoughts running through my head were one's better left unspoken.

Choosing food, I could tell both Logan and I were uncomfortable. Logan finds a two-seater antique table. I am about to reach the table and who do I see? Windermere Greensworth.

I slow my pace and let Logan in front enough that if Windermere looks, she will see the fabric, color, and shoes I am wearing.

Logan pulls the seat out and as I sit, he whispers, "Did I tell you how stunning and breathtaking you look tonight?"

Looking sideways and up, right into his dark brown eyes, I say, "Are you flirting with me, Mr. Geffers, or just being a gentleman?"

With a smile in his voice - "I know a beautiful, classy woman when I see one, but I am first a gentleman."

What in the world am I doing? Rule number one: don't allow yourself to get love-stricken. There is only heartbreak.

Windermere certainly knows music, and I am enjoying the evening.

Pierre comes to the table asking louder than necessary, "Logan, my friend. May I ask Ms. Becker to dance with the groom?"

I stood as Logan said, "It's up to Lurline."

I didn't mean to, but I held Pierre back from moving too close to Windermere.

It's funny how I can control a man without his knowledge.

I need to watch my thoughts because this smirk on my face will raise eyebrows and questions will follow.

Five hours - We gratefully say our goodbyes and leave the Welcome Party. Logan takes hold of my hand and our eyes both look down at them.

As Logan opens the passenger door, we hear, "Oh, sweet Mother of Pearl. Lurleeen, the bumble bee queeeen! I never in a million years would have imagined you showing up at a hoity-toity Welcome Party. You are soooo queeeen of the Seeeeaaaa breeezeee. Aren't you Lurleeeeen? Oh, how I've missed you and how it was back in school. You were so leeen and oooey, and I was sooo me."

Windermere stops two inches away and says, "You look fabulous! No joking tonight. What happened? How did you change what made you look so frumpy?"

I inhaled and politely let words out. "Win, I grew up and became a woman of class. I can see you are still the same as you were back twenty-five years ago. Spouting out inappropriate comments when you shouldn't."

I investigated her beady, yellow-ribbed green eyes and calmly said, "Meet Mr. Logan Geffers."

Glancing Logan’s way she tilts her head and curls the right side of her lip. “I don't think so. You are way too upper-class for me.”

I wanted to die right at that moment, but instead, I decide to sway.

Logan caught me and broke the tension Windermere brought from the moment of recognition.

Logan says, "Drive home safely, Ms. Greensworth."

As I situate myself and watch Windermere through the side mirror, I wait to hear what Logan has to say.

Logan turns the ignition and says, “She's a trip,” which causes me to smile.

“You got that right. A definite trip. I can't believe she hasn't changed in twenty, twenty-five years. Still, the mean-spirited woman as that teenager.”

“I take it she is an archenemy of yours?”

“A perfect word for what she is to me.”

*****

The wedding celebration reached new heights. As an escort, I experienced an unforgettable night, thanks to Logan's gentlemanly demeanor.

There is something we both feel.

He danced with me, disregarding other women's invitations. After thirty-some-odd years, I finally felt valued and special.

Logan treated me with dignity, making me feel like a respected lady.

Go figure - me, being treated the way I wanted.

*****

My bank account will sustain me until the new year, while my part-time job earnings can start a savings account. 

Life is funny.

Sitting quietly, lost in thoughts about Logan after hearing the voice message saying he can’t stop thinking about me; the start of relentless banging on my door shatters my calm, dreamlike state.

With zero tolerance for the disruption, I yell, "Wait a minute! Stop trying to break down my door!"

Opening the door to find three police officers and a man dressed in a worn 1970s suit, I couldn't help but wonder what they wanted.

"How may I assist the police today?"

The officer led with, "Do you know a Windermere Greensworth?"

“Not in any close relationship, but yes, I know her. Why? Did she accuse me of something?”

The man in the 1970s suit stands, saying, “Ms. Greensworth died at four-sixteen this morning in the privacy of her residence.”

My expression shows guilt, and the next words out of his mouth are, “There is nothing to be alarmed about. Ms. Greensworth passed away in her sleep.”

My head did that quick jazzy movement, shaking no. “Windermere was thirty-seven, almost thirty-eight years old, and when I saw her on June sixth, she was fine. Doing the deejay thing and being her own nasty…”

I went to say the bad word but realized everyone was following me as I burned rubber pacing.

“What? We weren't exactly friends. She bullied me from seventh grade until the day we graduated high school.”

One of the male officers spoke for the first time. “Diagnosed with a rare disease, the personality trait was not her fault. We are not here for anything other than to tell you of her death and that Mr. Norris is Ms. Windermere's beneficiary lawyer, and in charge of Windermere Greensworth's estate.”

What? Windermere’s estate? This must be a prank by the bully herself.

“Estate? Windermere was a deejay. She dressed like someone from the seventies… kind of like Mr. Norris. No offense Sir.”

“None taken. Ms. Windermere was my niece; we are wealthy beyond anyone's comprehension.”

Using his hands to emphasize his attire, he keeps talking. “We dress like this to keep people at a safe distance.”

“What in heaven's name does this have to do with me, a salesperson who works in the mall, and a punching bag for Windermere?” I take a breath. “I am so sorry for rambling, but what can I help you with?”

Mr. Norris bent, unzipped a beat-up briefcase, and pulled out a folder.

Handing me a piece of paper, saying, “This is a copy of Ms. Windermere's final will, documented and notarized. She left everything… and I mean everything, to you, Ms. Lurline Becker.”

*****

I open my eyes and see two faces looking at me. I raise myself to a sitting position. “What happened?”

The female officer says, “You fainted.”

“I have never fainted.” I look around and meet Mr. Norris’ eyes.

With a smirk, he says, “I guess the shock of finding out you are the wealthiest woman in the United States comes as a shock. I understand.”

He continued talking as he laid a clipboard with a document on the coffee table.

“I need your signature so you can immediately relocate to Windemere's estate.”

“So, this is real? No cameras to say Gotcha?”

With a quizzical look, Mr. Norris spoke with a firm voice. “No, Ms. Becker, this is as real as the three police officers and a man in a raggedy old suit standing in front of you.”

*****

Moving day - I am accepting the reality of being wealthy.

About to close my apartment door, I see Logan Geffers rushing down the walkway.

Holy Toledo! I haven't seen him since Pierre's and Natalie's wedding.

“You're heading out. I must talk to you.”

The urgency in his voice made me retract my steps and enter my apartment.

 “Come in. I have a little bit of time to spare.”

He must have heard about me… what do you call it? Windfall? Windermere's guilt? What do I tell him?

“Lurline, I haven't been able to get you off my mind since Pierre's nuptials. I want to see if you will marry me so we can go into the future learning about each other. I have a ring.”

He reached into his breast pocket, kneeling.

“Lurline Becker, will you marry me and grow old by my side? You don't have to be an escort. You can…”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Grabbing his sleeve jacket, pulling him up and to me, I kissed him.

Melting into the passionate kiss and allowing the heat to increase the hunger we feel for each other, it was a few minutes before we parted.

Feeling his hand hold mine, putting the ring on saying, “You are a dream. You can move in with me tomorrow.”

A chuckle escapes me. I clamp my lips, inhale a breath, and say, “You need to move in with me.”

Looking at me with questions in those deep dark brown eyes, his mouth gaped, and eyebrows trying to reach his hairline, he listens as I take his hand, leading him to the door.

 “Mr. Geffer's, let me tell you about a fairy tale that worked in real life.”

The End

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