Paradise Lost

Paradise Lost

By Lisa Pais

“Unfortunately, there is no mistake,” she said, closing the file. Her tone was gentle, soothing and she placed the black folio with the embossed gold monogram to the side of the desk with the appropriate degree of solemnity required for such an occasion.

“It can’t be,” said Frank. He sat back, dropping his head into his hands.

“I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do.” A box resembling a cigar humidor had been sitting unattended on the desk. The woman reached for it now, opened it and withdrew a small silver urn. “This is our luxury model, which we have provided at no cost to you, Mr. Smith. Please accept this with our deepest sympathies.”

Frank waved his hand dismissively. “These things happen,” he said taking the urn from her. “The form was clearly marked cremation.” He held his wife’s ashes somewhat awkwardly, not wanting to touch even the outside of the container and sank back down onto the chair. He stared at the urn for a moment, still not believing this was real. The woman remained silent, patiently waiting, allowing him a moment to pull himself together.

Frank noticed the look of genuine concern upon her lovely face and wondered just how far she’d be willing to go to console him. Only fifty-four years old with a trim athletic build, he’d been told he was an attractive man resembling Richard Gere circa Pretty Woman. Had all his hair too with just a touch of gray at the temples giving him a distinguished and successful look.

As for the woman, her creamy caramel macchiato skin appeared as smooth as velvet, and he wondered if the rest of her would taste as good as she looked. He was pretty sure she was well practiced in the art of delivering bad news. Add to that a couple of perky assets and Frank suspected that more than one grieving widower had dried his tears upon them. Pillows of consolation wherein he’d like to bury his own face.

Head bowed, shoulders shaking with mirth, Frank was almost giddy with delight and hid this fact by weeping tears of joy. The woman reached for the box of tissues.

“There, there, now. Let it out.”

He couldn’t believe his luck. He’d been on quite the winning streak as of late with opportunity after opportunity just falling into his lap. It all started three weeks ago, right before his business trip to Munich and culminating with “the call” informing Frank that his wife Lorraine had died in a horrific accident. With her body mangled beyond recognition, a closed casket ceremony had been required. This was fine with Frank. He couldn’t stand the sight of her. Though he never wished her dead, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth either.

Frank left the funeral parlor and headed up town with quite the spring in his step and needing to celebrate he called his girlfriend, Candy.

“Come on over darling, I’ve got a surprise for you. Yes, that’s right, my house.”

#

On his way home Frank stopped to pick up flowers from a street vendor. There was quite a selection.

“How much?” Frank asked indicating a large bouquet of red roses.

“They are beauties,” the man answered with a slight accent. “Fifty dollars.”

Frank made a face, “what about these over here?” It was a colorful mixed bouquet of mostly carnations with one pink rose in the center.

“Twelve dollars.”

“I’ll take it,” Frank said pulling a one-hundred-dollar bill from his wallet.

The man grumbled something about not being able to make change. Frank shrugged and started to put the note back, but the man stopped him, having found the needed cash.

Next stop, the liquor store, where Frank picked up champagne grabbing a bottle off the sale rack.

When he got home, he put the bubbly on ice, showered, set the radio to an easy listening station to set the mood and then hunted for some candles. He’d placed Lorraine’s urn on the coffee table, thought better of it and brought her into the kitchen.

“I don’t need you staring at me all night,” he said with a chuckle. He was just about to order something for dinner when he remembered the ticket. In all the hoopla of Lorraine’s death he’d nearly forgotten.

“Oh, Lorraine,” he said, “If you only knew.” Frank rubbed his hands together, went into the spare bedroom and opened the closet. He ran his hands across the clothes hanging on the rack. No coat. That’s weird. It was in here before I left. He moved stuff around then began tossing items on the floor behind him like a frantic dog digging up a bone. Where is IT?!? “Shit, shit, SHIT. It has to be here!”

Just then came a knock at the door. Frank went to answer, stomping all the way from the spare bedroom to the living room, pausing to peer out the peep hole. But instead of Candy it was Roberta, Lorraine’s sister and she was holding of all things, a casserole. Frank sighed and then straightened up in an effort to compose himself before opening the door.

“Roberta, what brings you here?”

“Oh Frank, I know we’ve had our differences but at times like this, well, it’s important to stay close to family.”

Ah crap. “Right you are.” He stood in the doorway, barring entry.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Yes, of course.” He remained in place for a moment longer then stepped aside.

Roberta swept past him and surveyed the room.

“Expecting someone?” she asked, brows raised.

Frank’s palms became moist, and he pulled at the collar of his shirt which suddenly felt a bit tight, like a leash being pulled, or a noose.

“No, why?”

Roberta gestured toward the flowers and champagne.

“Oh, that,” he said forcing a laugh. “Someone from the office left it on the doorstep, Jim from accounting, I think.

“How thoughtful. Well, I figured you probably didn’t have any food in the house and didn’t want you to starve so I made you a tuna and tater pie. You can just pop it in the microwave.”

“Say, Roberta, let me ask you something. What did they…umm,” he gasped, pretending to be choked up, which wasn’t difficult because at that moment, he genuinely wanted to cry. Though not for Loraine. “I know it was a terrible accident but isn’t it customary to dress the deceased in something nice for their final rest?”

“Oh, yes, I made sure of it.”

“What was she wearing?”

“That’s an odd question.”

“I didn’t get to see her,” he snapped. “You made all the arrangements.”

“Let me think.” She tapped a finger against pursed lips in a manner that suggested she was trying to decide whether to order the chicken or the fish. “The red silk sleeveless dress. She’d told me it was her favorite once, and those pearl and ruby earrings you gave her on your 15^th wedding anniversary.”

“That’s nice,” Frank said mind racing and on the verge of pacing a hole into the carpet. “Was that all?”

“Oh, and the coat. How could I forget?” She gave a little laugh and smacked herself upside the head. Frank would have liked to have had the honor though he’d have hit much harder.

“The coat? What coat?”

“The mink, of course.”

“Fur? In July? Are you out of your freaking mind?”

“What does that matter?” said Roberta. “Lorraine loved that coat. She always said, she wanted to be buried in it.”

Frank mouthed that last part right along with her. That figures. She loved that coat more than she ever loved him, or so he supposed. Why was the universe doing this to him? All his plans had just gone up in flames, literally.

The lotto ticket was in the pocket of that damn fur coat. He’d hid it in the pocket before he left for his business trip intending to cash it in when he returned. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. God I’m so stupid. Why did I ever let it out of my sight? Then again, what were the odds that his wife would die in a freak accident involving a truck carrying fireworks and be cremated wearing the very coat with the winning ticket? Hell, what were the odds of winning the lottery? That ticket was worth 50 million dollars. Burned to ashes along with his wife.

“Dammit.” It’s not like she’d need it where she was going.

#

The sun gleamed off the sparkling deck of the 30-foot yacht currently anchored off the Greek Islands. Two women in bathing suits were stretched out on lounge chairs.

“Your drinks, madam,” said the steward.

“Thank you, Stavros. That will be all for now.” She gave him an appraising smile, enjoying the way his butt looked in his tight white uniform. “Oh, Roberta, if only I were ten years younger.”

“Lorraine darling, you know what they say, 50 is the new 40. Though in your case, who the hell cares?”

Lorraine laughed. “Whoever said money can’t buy happiness, clearly never had any.”

“I still can’t believe how easy it was,” Roberta said. “Even the woman at the funeral home was on board.”

“Everyone has their price.” Lorraine raised her glass. “To Frank.”

“To Frank,” Roberta repeated. The women clinked their glasses and sipped.

“God, I hated that ratty old coat. Fur! Ugh. Good thing I checked the pockets before I got rid of it.”The End