The next six followed like a Secret Service detail protecting POTUS--an acronym Judy only learned after figuring out that FLOTUS stood for First Lady of the United States. "Here she is," Martha, the ringleader, chirped. "Your mother."
Judy's jaw dropped. In all honesty, she would have been less surprised to see the President emerge from the huddle wearing sweat pants and new-denture-white tennies.
"Mom? But you've always said only longshoremen and streetwalkers sweat in public."
Her mother waved aside the comment as if her daughter was a stand-up comedian. "Oh, phooey. I just didn't want to work out alone. But these nice ladies insist you make the process fun."
Judy looked at the group. "Fun? That tells me I haven't been pushing you hard enough."
Martha looked up as she pulled on her weight lifting gloves. "We might have exaggerated a teeny bit. Golden Sneakers is not for sissies, but neither is growing old. Right, ladies?"
Everyone--even Mom--nodded fervently.
As they scattered to their usual spots--making room for Mom in the middle row to Judy's left, each spoke up as if they'd been handed their lines on the bus.
"We might have strong-armed your mom--just a teeny bit..."
"...because we all felt bad about you losing your job."
"And we were too gutless to speak up."
"Buddy hit on every one of us at one time or another."
Martha hooted. "A few--I won't name names--may have given him the time of day--or night. Unfortunately, you're the one who got caught in his game of sexual Russian roulette."
Judy couldn't speak because she had no idea what to say. Thank you? Thanks for nothing? Thanks for bringing my hypercritical mother to my minimum wage job that she'll undoubtedly hate? Every reply seemed a little churlish, so, she hit the play button on her phone, instead. "Let's do this. That Danish you had for breakfast is headed straight for your thighs."
As random selection would have it, the first song up was the Maroon Five hit that had been playing when Buddy croaked. Her cheeks turned hot. Nobody knows but you, sugar lips. Buddy. She knew her old friend would have loved watching ladies' boobs bouncing up and down so she called, "Let's jack," in her best drill sergeant voice.
Fifty-two minutes later, still huffing and puffing despite ten minutes of cool down stretching, her mother approached. "I had no idea you could do that, Judy. Or, me, either," Mom added with a chortle.
The blush of pink in Mom's cheek reminded Judy of her first day of class. Mom might be thirty pounds lighter than Judy but she wasn't in any better shape than Judy had been when she starting working out. Now, Judy's stamina bordered on miraculous. "It gets easier. I promise."
"Then, sign me up. After you left, your sister and I had a long talk. She made a few points that weren't all that easy to swallow, but these gals--" She motioned toward the ladies starting to line up for the bus. "--don't pull punches. They told me you either keep moving or you might as well lie down in your casket." She smiled--a real authentic smile that quite possibly held a hint of pride. "Seems they learned that from you."
The sound of the bus's air brake caused the usual stir. Mom's new friends called for her to hurry. One volunteered to save her a seat.
Mom started to leave but turned and gave Judy a quick hug before trotting out the door. Judy stood motionless for a good minute then shook her head.
"Wow," she muttered, disconnecting her phone from the speakers. "Life is weird."
After putting away the last of the hand weights, she checked her text messages. The realtor confirmed their meeting on Monday. Ironic, she thought. The day she made up her mind to put her house on the market, her mother decided to become a nice person.
Fletcher's text read simply: "Call me."
She swept the studio floor then logged in her hours on the gym computer before heading toward the parking lot. Expecting to play their usual game of phone tag, she punched in Fletcher's number as she walked.
To her surprise, he answered on the first ring. "Judy. What did you do to my dad?"
What didn't I do? She cleared her throat. "I beg your pardon? What do you mean?"
"We Skyped last night," he said, stressing the name of the online video chat service as if detailing some sort of miracle. "Skype," he repeated. "With my father--the biggest Luddite I've ever met. His idea, no less. Once we both had video, he told me you made him realize he'd fucked up as a father. He said those exact words, Judy. And Judge Wilson Canby doesn't curse."
I made him realize he was a bad father?
"I didn't do anything, Fletcher."
"He said you blew his mind."
She swallowed hard then confessed, "We had sex."
"Good for you. But I don't think he was talking about that kind of mind-blowing."
Good for you? "You're not freaked out about Wiley and me being together?"
"No, dear heart, I'm not. Lewis and I were secretly hoping you two might hook up, but I told him the chance of that happening was a long shot. I didn't think my dad would ever loosen up enough to enjoy a free spirit like you."
Free spirit? Me? "I'm glad you're okay with it, but I hadn't planned to say anything since it--" Whatever it was.-- "--didn't work out."
Fletcher chuckled. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. Dad seems pretty infatuated with you, Judy. He asked me if I needed any backers for the new club. Said he knew of several gentlemen who would be interested...including him."
Judy nearly dropped her phone. A tingling sensation shot through her body and emotion made her throat close. "That's great," she squeaked.
"I know, right? With backers, Lew and I will able to make this place really upscale. We met a set designer who's worked on some big name movie projects. I could rattle off the titles but it would sound like I'm bragging. Suffice to say, he's got cred. And we think we found the right house. I'm meeting with the realtor on Monday."
"So am I," she exclaimed. "I decided to sell rather than rent it out. I figured if you were investing your trust, the least I could do was go all-in, too."
Fletcher made a "that's so sweet" sound. "Judy, you're the best. But, no. Don't sell your place."
"Why not?" Did that come out as whiny as she thought it did?
"We have a hundred or so things--infrastructure-wise--that need to fall in place before we can make this happen. Realistically, we're looking at six- to eight- months of prep, maybe more, before we're ready for you."
Judy swallowed a lump of disappointment. She wanted to move, now--the sooner the better. She needed a fresh start, away from her mother...and Wiley.
As if she'd admitted her motivation out loud, Fletcher said, "Judy, you can't run away from your life."
"You did."
"No. I ran toward my life. I realized I was done pretending to be someone I wasn't. But you're not like that, Judy. You're you. A genuine...beautiful...human being."
You're you. In the past, she would have contradicted him, as well as brushed aside the compliment. Instead, she pretended to catch the words in mid-air and press them to her chest.
He went on. "I could be wrong, but I truly believe you have unfinished business with my dad. He cares about you, Judy. I've never seen him so infatuated--and I mean that in a good way. He's even talking about selling the house and downsizing."
Judy laughed. "Now, you're making me wish I'd gone into the Real Estate business, darn it. Everybody I know is moving." Except me.
They talked for a few minutes, mostly covering the logistics of Buddy's memorial. Ron and Bev had invited her to ride on the Heritage House bus. She'd been touched--and happy not to spend the gas money on the fifty-or-so mile round-trip to the Veteran's Memorial Cemetery.
Which reminded her, she needed to confirm Pru's plans. But that could wait until she got home.
"So, I'll see you at the memorial," Judy said.
"Indeed, you will. Surprises abound."
Surprises abound? Who talks like that? She shook her head, grinning. Only Fletcher. She'd liked him from the
first moment they met. He was unique, interesting and complex. Wiley might consider himself a bad father, but Judy knew that wasn't true. Fletcher was proof Wiley did something right. She would have told him so if she weren't still so confused. Did she love him? Probably. Because he fulfilled her addiction to the familiar or because he fulfilled her as a person?
She only knew one person to ask.
"Need to talk. My house," she texted, then hit send. To Pru.
"You woke me up," Prudence O'Riley, Judy's BFF complained an hour and forty minutes later when she stumbled through Judy's front door. "I didn't get to sleep last night until three a.m. Jet lag. And a Storage Wars marathon on cable." She pressed one perfectly manicured finger to her lips. "I think we'd make good fortune hunters. With my intuition and your practical knowledge of serviceable junk, we could bankroll our next career."
"'Practical knowledge of serviceable junk...?' Is that supposed to be a compliment? If so, it sucks."
"I thought you quit swearing."
"I'm weaning off colorful language, but I don't think suck applies." She waved off Pru's rebuttal. The woman loved to argue about the dumbest, most mundane topics imaginable. "Anyway, thanks for coming. I need some advice. Love advice."
"Love," Pru snapped, as if it were a curse word. She flounced to the couch and sat with all the show of an actress auditioning for the part of a fifty-something drama queen. "My advice is simple: screw it."
Judy took the Lazyboy, drawing her feet under her. She rocked back and forth a few times. "I know you're upset about Gerald--"
"The late great one."
"He died?"
"A thousand gory, disgusting deaths...in my mind," Pru answered. "In reality, he's probably shacked up with a Euro trash model in some foreign country. With any luck, he'll catch the clap and itch himself to death, but I'm sure that's too much to hope for."
Judy tried very hard not to smile. She'd heard a million Gerald stories and she'd never believed he was good enough for Pru. She rocked forward and reached out to pat her friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry this ended poorly, my friend."
"Thank you. After hearing all my woes, are you absolutely certain you want to fall in love?"
No. Yes. "I don't know how not to."
Pru tried to look sympathetic--or it could have been gas. "The Judge?" she burped.
"Who else? You've only been gone a week."
Pru ignored Judy's testy tone. "You know how everyone says opposites attract. Well, think about it. You're a good person. The opposite of that would be a bad person, like Shawn. We all know how that turned out. So, in my opinion, you need to find a person who is basically good, like you, but has enough faults to keep you from being bored."
The stark, simple truth of that statement hit Judy so forcefully she rocked back, nearly upsetting the recliner. "Wow, Pru, that's brilliant."
Pru shrugged. "Of course, it is. I'm not only an intuit, I have Mensa tendencies."
Judy blinked and scratched her head. "Okay. But...back to me finding a man who is basically good..." Wiley filled that bill. From all accounts--she'd asked around the coffee shop and gym--his reputation as a judge included words such as "fair" and "impartial." She'd also heard him called "soft-hearted," and he tended to give people second chances.
"Fletcher told me this morning Wiley offered to round up investors to help fund the club. Do you think that was because of me?"
Pru made a face. "Duh. Some men--a rare few--can learn from their mistakes. They simply need the right woman to open their eyes."
Judy pictured the time she'd corrected Shawn in front of his friends. He'd smiled and nodded, but later, when they were in bed, he'd made her pay. Fear and humiliation were not supposed to be a part of sex. She'd filed for a divorce soon after. And it had taken years for her to trust again.
"Wiley isn't anything like my mother. I think I was freaked out by how much I felt for him."
Pru nodded. "You're telling the wrong person."
Brilliant. Again. Maybe Pru did belong in Mensa.
Judy reached for her phone but her friend stopped her, wagging her finger back and forth. "Don't you think that conversation needs to be in person? Preferably naked, but that could be me. Besides, didn't I fly back early for someone's funeral? Buddy's last hurrah requires shopping. The old coot deserves to go out in style."
Although Judy protested--"I can't afford a new dress, Pru. I'm broke and unemployed."--Pru's selective hearing heard, "Oh, boy, shopping! My favorite thing!"
~~
At fifteen minutes past their assigned meeting time the next day, Judy opened her door to a youthful-looking diva modeling her new, shin-length, cream-colored, silk and rayon dress. Whimsically gathered at the shoulders with loose ties and belted to show off the delightful print fabric that swished like a watercolor painting of pink and vanilla roses, Pru looked like a modern geisha in four-inch heels. "I'd say this dress was worth the time and margaritas it took to find, wouldn't you?"
Judy agreed, but Pru's tardiness didn't leave time for glowing reviews. "You look great, but we have to hurry or we'll miss the bus."
She locked the door and headed toward Pru's older model Jag--a gift from some admirer. She took the deck steps with care. Her snazzy white wedges matched the stylized white cabbage rose detailing on the skirt of her dark turquoise dress, but they were an inch taller than she normally wore.
"I'm glad you let me talk you into buying a new purse, too," Pru said, getting in. "It matches your shoes perfectly. You look fabulous, by the way. Totally unapologetic, which is exactly the look I was going for."
The second margarita wore down Judy's resistance and derailed her common sense. The dress, which the clerk called Caribbean Blue not turquoise, sported a crisscross deep V-neckline and white, banded empire waist, with box pleats. "You don't think the neckline is too showy?"
"You know what they say. If you got 'em, flaunt 'em. And lord knows you got 'em." She stepped on the gas, flattening Judy against her seat. "I was thinking the other night, if there was a way to sell breast tissue on the Black Market, you'd be rich."
Judy put one hand protectively over her cleavage. "Eek. That's just plain gross. Sometimes you scare me."
"Sometimes I scare myself. A Mensa brain is both a gift and a curse."
Judy was still trying to decide if Pru was being serious when she added, "Besides, this isn't about you, remember? It's a tribute to Buddy, and since Buddy loved boobies, he's going to love that dress."
Judy relaxed. That simple truth had emptied her checking account of her last one hundred and sixty-eight dollars. A foolish expense? Maybe. But she'd make Buddy proud. And once the reception was over, she'd track down Wiley and set the record straight.
As if reading her mind, Pru gave Judy's arm a quick squeeze. "Don't worry, girlfriend. Before long you'll be with Judge He-Can-Be-The-One." Naturally, she laughed at her own joke.
Judy simply smiled and crossed her fingers.
~~
Normally, Wiley detested stepping outside his comfort zone without a plan or safety net, but Judy didn't leave him any choice. His stomach heaved in a sick, yet giddy, sort of way. Fletcher talked him out of proposing on the spot. "Jeez, Dad. Haven't you heard of the word: dating? You don't have to marry every woman you fall for."
"My modus operandi, isn't it?"
"I'm not saying you shouldn't marry Judy. I truly hope you do, but I'd like to see you two kids date for a few weeks before you tie the knot."
They'd both laughed. Sound advice. Possibly doable.
Once he got past his shock when she compared him to her mother, Wiley took a long, hard look at himself and his life. When had he started to believe his own press? A part of him wanted to shout, "Would the real Wiley Canby please stand up?"
The real Wiley Canby wanted a life that included an honest connection with his son. Wiley didn't give a damn if Fletcher was gay or straight, employed or a beach bum. He'd find a way to support his son's dreams whatever they were. So, he made some calls
and put his money--and some investment capital from a few friends who weren't shy about sharing tales of their sex lives--to work.
Now, he needed to mend fences with Judy. Would he have preferred to do so privately? Of, course. But Fletcher insisted Wiley needed to "Go big or go home." And once Fletcher pointed out that Judy had suffered a terrible humiliation that resulted in her losing both her job and her self-respect, what choice did he have? "Using your status as a judge to publicly absolve her of any guilt would be more than just a nice gesture," Fletcher said. "It will prove you put Judy above your public approval rating."
"Is Lewis okay with this?" Wiley asked. "I don't want to highjack his father's funeral for my personal agenda."
"Buddy wasn't just a dirty old man. He was a romantic. Lew and I both think Buddy would heartily approve of whatever it takes to get Judy to say 'I do.'"
So, after the twelve-gun salute, Judge Wilson Canby, dressed in his black robes and roasting in the late afternoon sunlight, stepped to the small podium set a few feet to one side of the California Korean War Veteran's memorial wall. He immediately spotted Judy standing beside a slim, over-dressed woman in high heels. By contrast, Judy's lovely blue dress with simple white accents looked classy and polished.
He cleared his throat and spoke into the mike. "Hello. My name is Judge Wilson Canby. My son, Fletcher, and his good friend, Lewis Fusco, have asked me to say a few words on behalf of the family. I regret that I didn't have the honor of knowing Robert Roy "Buddy" Fusco, personally. But from many sources I can say with confidence he was a unique, larger-than-life character."
He paused to let the fifteen or twenty members of the audience murmur their agreement. He used the time to make eye contact with Judy, who made no attempt to hide her shock. She reached across her friend to touch Fletcher's arm. Fletcher smiled and gave her a thumb's up, which Buddy's son echoed.
Wiley consulted the note cards Lewis had provided to relate many impressive facts about the late Buddy Fusco. When it came to the part about being preceded in death by his wife, Wiley felt his throat close up. Outliving the one you love was not easy, but it sure as hell beat dying alone and lonely. That would be his fate unless he could convince Judy to share the rest of his days with him.
The Big Bang! Theory - A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind Page 9