The Grand PROPOSALS

The Grand Proposals—George Davis

  Cecile Lavenmore is what one might call a drop-dead gorgeous woman, and that would be an understatement. 

  Christmas Eve last month, Sissy as she’s known by her friends, was at a party at Brian Forester’s home, a friend who lives on State Street in Portland. The host invited several of his friends to help him celebrate Christmas Eve. There was Harlan Crandlemire, Marvin Hooper, Stanley Haskell, T. Thornton Hewes the Third, and Cecil McMillan, plus Cecile (Sissy) Lavenmore, and Forester’s two ex-girlfriends, Betty and Gail. 

The host, knowing Sissy didn’t imbibe in alcohol, spiked the non-alcoholic punch. He was a deceiver of the first magnitude. To force booze onto a teetotaler was a reprehensible act. He has no ethics. He has tried to woo Sissy for two years. They work together at Atlantic Mutual Insurance on Congress Street. Sissy is a claims-payer; Brian works in the phone center.

  Before this night is over Sissy will receive five proposals. 

  Proposal one: Brian Forester. He never gives up, keeps on keeping on when it comes to asking Sissy for her hand.

  Brian and Sissy started at Atlantic Mutual the same day, fourteen years ago. Sissy, far more intelligent than Brian rose quickly, and soon became a specialist in the field of Short-Term Disability, while Brian started in the phone center, and is still in that department.

  Harlan Crandlemire, a tall blond-haired, easy-going man in his forties. He owns Harley’s Diner on Cumberland Avenue. He, some say, was born with a knife in one hand and a cleaver in the other. He took over ownership of the diner from his father who bought it after WWII in Trenton, New Jersey, and had it moved here by rail.

  Harley’s claim to fame is his deli-style Rueben Benedicts. He created this delightful breakfast treat the year he opened the diner in his name, seventeen years ago.

  Harley met Sissy when she came into his diner four years ago. She fast became a regular customer, despite her distaste for greasy food. She orders salads and drinks black coffee. Her beauty stunned Harley from day one. She is the epitome of beauty and poise.

  Standing at the punch bowl, Harley spoke to Sissy. “Sissy, could we go somewhere and talk?”

  She replied, “What is this about, Harlan?”

  “I have something I…need to talk to you about, Sissy. It’s urgent.”

  “Okay, let’s go out on the deck.” The two opened the French doors and walked onto the large cedar deck.

  “All right, Harlan, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Er….this is embarrassing, Sissy.”

  “Just get it out. I want to return to the party.” She was beginning to feel a little giddy. “Come on, Harlan, out with it.”

  “Okay, Sissy, here I go. Will you marry me?” 

  “Are you joking, Harlan? I can’t marry you. I don’t want to spend my life behind a counter in a diner.” 

  “You won’t have to. I promise, Sissy. You can stay at home, do what you want, and when I get home…. Well, when I get home.” 

  “Sorry, Harlan. I cannot marry you. I am not ready to settle down. I’ve got a lot of world to see.” Harley was heart-broken. He pleaded for another ten minutes before returning to the party. He lost the one thing he’d hoped would make his life complete. 

  Marvin Hooper, a small man with deep brown eyes that are too close together, met Sissy at the punch bowl. “Hello,” he said, shyly. “My name is Marvin…” 

  “I know your name, Marvin. After all, we’ve been neighbors for twenty years or more.” 

  “I’m very highly-strung, Sissy. I mean, you make me…. Well, when I talk to you, I get all shaky inside, which makes me very uptight.

  “Why, Marvin?” 

  “Er….I er…am in love with you, Sissy Lavenmore. There I said it.” 

  “Well, Marvin you are my friend; you always have been. Remember you used to carry my books home from school?” 

  “Yes, I remember. And that’s one reason we should…. Get…. Married, Sissy.” 

 “I can’t marry you, Marvin. I’m not ready to settle down. Besides, friends don’t get married, opposites do.”

  “Don’t you think I might be your opposite? You are outgoing, pretty and you’re smart….You are an Einstein compared to me. I graduated with a C average. You were on the honor roll all through high school. That should make us opposites.”

  “Marvin, I’m trying to be kind. I don’t feel anything for you. You’re not the type I have in mind to marry. Besides, I need to try out my wings; get around more, live it up if you will.”

  “I can support you, Sissy. You can spread your winds all you want to. I won’t care as long as you are there when I come home at night.”

  “That’s just it, Marvin. I probably wouldn’t be home when you got out of work. I’d probably be at a friend’s house, or maybe even down at the Silver Gull bar and grill for happy hour.”

  “I wouldn’t care. You could go there every night. I’d never say a word.”

  “Okay, Marvin you are forcing me to tell you the truth. You are a silly little, fat man with a large nose in the middle of your freckled face. Your hair is parted in the middle, something I hate in a man. You make noises when you slurp your liquids, you know when you eat soup or drink from a cup.”

  “I can stop anytime, Sissy. Give me a chance. Please.” 

  “Sorry, Marvin, I’m not going to marry you, and that’s final.” Marvin walked over to the coats piled on the host’s bed and put on his jacket, turned, tears streaming down his cheeks, and walked out the door. 

  “Hey Babe,” Stanley Haskell, a self-proclaimed chick-magnet cornered Sissy by the bedroom door. “How’s about you and me doing a little mambo?” 

  “Look, Stanley, I wouldn’t dance with you if you were the only one here.” 

  “Why, Babe don’t you like little ole Stanley? What have I ever done to you?” 

  “You have, on several occasions, and at sundry times, bored me to death. I remember our meeting at Sue Lyon’s birthday party. You tried to kiss me.” 

  “That was in third grade, for crying out loud. This is now.” 

  “You haven’t changed, Stanley. You are still the overbearing, vulgarian you always were.” 

  “Thank you for the compliment, Cecile. I pride myself on being out there. I’m a good catch. You couldn’t do better than marrying one who is rich, handsome, and a great kisser.”

  “I’d rather marry a skunk than to be wed to the likes of you, Stanley Haskell.”

  “Did I ever tell you? You are beautiful when you’re mad.”

  “You are impossible, Stanley. Please leave me alone.” 

  “Sure, Babe. I understand you will need a little time to consider my excellent offer. See you later.” He walked away stopping to talk with every girl in the room.

  By now, eleven o’clock, Sissy was unsteady on her feet, staring at and seeing double through her baby-blue eyes. Her speech was slurred, and she sat on the huge leather love seat next to the one man in Bickford, Maine that knew how to treat a woman, T. Thornton Hewes the Third.

  “Hello, Cecile,” Hewes said. “You look charming tonight.” She thought. Old T. Thurston must be drunk if he thinks I look charming. I am stewed to the gills. 

  “Than….you, T. Thorr….” She fell asleep. 

  “It’s midnight,” Forester said. “Time for everybody to go home now. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Let’s go.” 

  All said their goodnights except Stanley Haskell, who was stretched out on Forester’s king-size bed, snoring up a storm. Sissy woke up, head on T. Thornton’s shoulder, from a one-hour nap.”Where am I?” 

  “At Forester’s house. Remember it’s Christmas Eve, and we have all been celebrating, Cecile.” 

  “How long have I been….asleep, T. Thornton?” 

  “About an hour. Forester has asked all of us to leave. It's midnight,” T.Thornton said. 

  “Okay, I’m a little woozy T. Thornton. Can you help me up?” He took her by the elbow and lifted her to a standing position. Her knees wobbly, she asked T. Thornton, “Where’s my coat? It’s the long down-filled one, purple. Purple is my favorite color, T. Thornton. You know it?” 

  “Yes, Cecile. I remember from our senior year, everything you owned was colored purple; clothes, book covers, your three-ring notebook, your sneakers, even your fingernails were purple enamel coats. 

  T. Thornton walked Sissy to her car. “Are you sure you are able to drive home, Cecile? You are still a little unstable?” 

  “Maybe you could drive me home, T. Thornton. I’ll come by tomorrow and get my car.” 

  “My pleasure, Cecile.” 

  “Thanks, T. Thornton. You are a gentleman. I appreciate your manners.” 

  “Well, Cecile you may not remember, but you were proposed to by four men this evening.” 

  “I was? Who?” 

  “Well, first it was Brian Forester. May I say, he is certainly not your type.” 

  “For sure, T. Thornton. Who else?” 

  “Harlan Crandlemire. If you had accepted his proposal, you would have gained one of Maine’s greasiest hash houses. How would you like to have your husband come home every night smelling like rancid bacon fat?” 

  “No way, any others?” 

  “Yep, Marvin Hooper. If you’d have accepted him. You would have not only married him but his mother too.” 

  “Poor Marvin, we’ve been neighbors our whole lives practically. He’s been like a little puppy dog, following me around wherever I went. He used to show up at the roller rink on Saturdays when I’d go there with my friends. Can you imagine, Marvin roller-skating?”

  “No, I’m afraid I cannot.”

  “Who else, T. Thornton?”

  “Stanley Haskell. God’s gift to the fairer sex. There wasn’t one single girl in Bickford High he didn’t come onto.” 

  “That’s so true, T. Thornton.”

  “Cecile, I would love to make you my wife. I’m tired of this bachelor’s life. I’m over forty. I’ve admired you from afar for many years.” 

  “That’s nice of you say so, T. Thornton. But what all you men do not know. I am already married. My husband is in the house waiting for me now. Look, he’s peeking out from behind the drapes in my living room.” 

  “When did you get married, Cecile? I don’t remember that you got married.” 

  “Two weeks ago, T. Thornton. We spent our honeymoon in our home. My husband is not a party-going man. However, he is the kindest human being I’ve ever met, and that includes you, T. Thornton. You are a true gentleman, and in some ways,   I’m sorry you and I never got together.” 

  “It is my fault, Cecile. I was too shy.”  

  The front door opened, and a tall man in a plaid robe and brown-lather slippers stood smiling. “Are you coming in, Sissy?” 

  “Yes, Honey, I’m coming in.” Cecil McMillan waved to T. Thornton. “Take care, T. Thornton.” 

  T. Thornton left, thinking, Cecil McMillan? Is she nuts? He is the strangest man in Bickford. He was what we used to call, a weirdo. True, Cecil was on the honor roll all four years, and on the Dean’s list all four years in college. While it is true, he is rich, owns a string of furniture stores in the Northeast, I never thought Cecile would marry anyone as nerdy as Cecil. 

Like battery posts, you must have a positive and a negative post in order to start your vehicle, proving. Opposites do attract.