Lesson #3

1. Lesson 3-1: #4: Three Word Dialogue---Another Dead Baby
Susan was hopefully confident for Marie during this pregnancy. Her previous four had ended in miscarriages, but Marie had passed the twenty-fourth week this time with no complications. Baby Cara was healthy. Everything was good. The doctors confirmed it on each of Marie's visits. Therefore, Brian's phone call a few minutes ago jolted Susan into a desperate sea of numbing confusion.

"Susan?" Her husband took off his rain coat as he entered the dark house. "You all right?"

"Did you hear?" Susan turned toward the window and stared at the pelting rain. Lightening zigzagged across the sky and lit up the room.

"Brian's mother called." Mike moved in behind Susan putting his hands on her shaking shoulders. Their dog Roscoe whimpered and scratched at the door, but his owners were oblivious to his cries.

"What'd she say?" Susan dabbed her eyes with a wet handkerchief.

"Cara was still-born." The phone began to ring but neither moved to answer it.

"But, why?" pleaded Susan hoping Mike had an answer for her. The phone stopped ringing.

"Don't know." Mike hugged his wife and thought of his good friend Brian who had just been dealt another miserable upper-cut from life.

Susan began sobbing and fell into Mike's arms. "Funeral's tomorrow afternoon." They stood there for a long while as Mike cushioned her heaving sobs. They held each other and gently rocked in unison with the ticking of their grandfather clock.

"It's so unbelievable," Susan mumbled into Mike's chest. Quiet lightening continued to perform in the sky as the rain began to slacken.

"I know," said Mike.

Susan left Mike's arms and walked across to the coffee table. "Another dead baby." She picked up her cigarettes, tapped one out, and put it into her mouth. Mike was beside her with lighter drawn and with a brief flick of fire lit her cigarette. Susan slouched down onto the couch, and inhaled deeply. "They should adopt."

"Not our call." Mike ran his right hand up over his forehead, over his head, and down his neck attempting to ease the tension. He knew that the reason Susan didn't want to start their own family was due to Marie and Brian's hideous foray into parenthood.

"You're right." Susan took one last drag on her cigarette and stubbed it out in the crystal ash tray on the side table.

"Go get dressed," Mike pulled his wife up and helped her toward the stairs ."Marie needs you."

"You'll drive me?" sniffled his wife.

"Of course."

She brushed Mike with a kiss. "I love you." She hurried up the stairs.

"Love you back," he said as he considered how much he wanted a family himself.


Lesson 3-2: #7: Male & Female---The Double Cross
The restaurant Buck had chosen for the meet was small and cozy. It was an inconspicuous neighborhood eatery with windows across the front. Yuppie moms brought their young children here to eat lunch and trade stories about raising kids. He was sure Poppa Gino's would make Sheila feel comfortable. The tinkling of ice cubes hitting empty glasses and an occasional squeal from a toddler provided the atmosphere Buck wanted.

He arrived early and selected the booth on the back wall where he had a view of everyone and everything going on. He knew from experience that Sheila would sit on his side of the booth, hemming Buck in. She'd want to be able to see the front door as well.

The jingling of the bell above the door signaled Sheila's arrival as she stood just inside surveying the restaurant. She appeared much as he remembered her--tall and suntanned with flaming red shoulder length hair. She wore a simple pique sundress that showed off her beautiful shoulders.

Once Shelia was satisfied with the layout, she came toward him. He stood and kissed her cheek.

He offered to let her slide in the booth first, but she shook her head and laughed. "You know better than that, Buck. You get in. I'll just sit on the outside; but then you knew that didn't you?"

Buck laughed, glanced down at his watch as he scooted in, Shelia following him. "You're looking beautiful and are as punctual as ever. I guess your stint in the Iraqi jail didn't break you like I heard."

"Let's just say I was able to cope in my own way. Nice place." A waitress dropped a cup on the floor. The noise made several patrons jump, but neither Buck nor Sheila flinched. "I didn't think a respectable place like this would let you in."

"Only the best for you, Babe. How are you doing?"

"I can't complain." The din of mingled conversations drifted through the room. "I heard The Company put you on waivers. Nasty business that terrorist bombing in Spain. How did you manage to escape?"

Buck took a cigarette package out of the inside pocket of his seersucker coat. He looked down at the three cigarettes left and chose one. He put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it with the restaurant's matches. He inhaled fully and expelled the captive smoke. "It was a hairy situation and I recruited help from a third party. Obviously, The Company rebelled at my choice of "friends" and cut me loose. They felt I was responsible for too much collateral damage."

A waiter appeared at the table and asked for their orders. "You still drinking rum and coke?"

"Naturally," Sheila replied measuring the waiter with a professional eye. Satisfied, she picked up a napkin and absently folded and unfolded it.

"Make it two rum and cokes, then." The waiter scurried away. People at a nearby table laughed; a baby began to cry.

"Are you interested in going to work for my people?" She reached out and touched his hand. "We made a good pair you and I …..once upon a time." "We could still make it work---professionally or personally or perhaps both." She let the words hang in the air as she watched him stub out his cigarette. His thudding heart reminded him just how close they were.......once.......eons ago.

The waiter returned and set drinks down in front of them. He started to pick his drink up, but Sheila laid her well-manicured hand on his arm. "I believe I'll have your drink," she said watching his expression. "You can drink this one," and she scooted hers over to Buck.

"Always playing Mata Hari, aren't you, Sheila?"

"Let's just say I haven't lived this long by being careless." She clinked her glass to his in a small salute and sipped the brown liquid. Then, she ironed out her wrinkled napkin on the table before setting the glass back down.

"Well, Buck, what is it going to be? Are you ready to join my people and make some decent money?"

"I don't know. I sometimes......... think there are younger men out there who can carry on the fight......... and do a better job. I'm a bit tired of jetting around........dodging death."

"Nonsense. You're still young and healthy. You're still the expert ammunitions and explosive guru you always were. Perhaps the right incentive will entice you to join us. My people pay well and I can offer you anything else you might want on a personal level." She winked and smiled.

"I need the money so I don't have much of a choice. Can you give me two weeks to tidy up a few things around here?" replied Buck reaching for his cigarettes again. He looked down and chose the one he wanted. He slipped it into his mouth, lit it.

"Can you spare a girl your last cigarette?" she asked picking up the pack and removing the final one. Buck lit a match. She cupped her hands around his and looked into his eyes.

"I can always get more."

"I can give you eight days," she said inhaling deeply and watching her smoke puffed into the room. "Not one day more. It'll be like the old times we shared, Buck. It'll be good."

"How do you deal with forsaking your own country, Sheila?"

Sheila coughed spewing smoke and words, "What the hell did this country ever do for me? Nothing! They turned their back on me. She inhaled deeply. When I needed my country the most, they acted as if I didn't exist. Damn the United States! They hung me out for the vultures, Buck!" She stared at him silently while taking a final drag and stubbing out the cigarette. "Don't pull that patriotic crap on me. When you are ready to deal, call me……I might answer." She flounced away and slammed out of Poppa Gino's.

He stared after her. When the quaking front windows subsided from the assault by the slammed front door, Buck took out his cell phone and punched in a familiar number. "It's done. Her elimination will take less than fifteen minutes. She never suspected a thing." Picking up the crumpled cigarette package and placing it in his pocket, he threw a tip on the table and paid the bill. His debt to his country would be paid in full shortly. A car backfired as Buck walked out into the sunshine and put on his sunglasses.