Installment #24 Tucker

Tucker stared at the receiver in his hand.  It was shattered.  Damn that Margie anyway.  How could she take Cynthia’s side against him?  She was his friend, but she was conspiring against him.  Well, hell yes!  He realized what she was.  David had been his friend and she had come along and now he was her husband.  He saw it all clearly now.  Margie had come between him and David.  Sure, she acted like his friend, but when the chips were down, there she was with David and they were both against him.  Just like when he was a kid back home.   Mom always preferred his brothers to him.  They were always special.  It was the same thing all over again.  He swiveled his chair and glared at the talking head on the Fox channel.

     Even the damn television was against him.  Obama was going to walk away with this election.  He could see it.  There was nothing he could do.  Cynthia Browder, Margie Dwyer, David, the whole damn bunch of them could kiss his rosy red.  He did not need any of them.  He stood up and went into the kitchen.  He poured a cup of the day old coffee and warmed it up in the microwave.  When it was hot he grabbed it and headed for the garage.  He stared at the little car and seemed to feel Cynthia in the garage.  He kicked a motorcycle fender out of his way.  He sipped his coffee.  He turned the radio on to the classical station that he preferred.  He sat in his chair.  He looked at Cynthia’s empty one.  Cleo looked at him forlornly.  She knew there would be no walk tonight.  Tucker never walked her if the woman was not there and she was not there tonight. 

     Tucker was very sad.  This made Cleo sad, but Tucker did not stay sad long.  He became angry again.  Damn those women!  Damn Cynthia for being a liberal and damn Marge for taking her side.  He would show them both.  Hell, no he would not call either one of them.  He did not need them.  He had friends.  And how long had it been since he had been to match.com?  There were probably messages waiting for him.  The world was full of desperate women and he could have his pick.  He turned off the radio and lights, locked the door and went back inside and up to his office.  As the computer booted up, he sipped his coffee and looked around his office.  It was a mess.  Better work on it tomorrow.  He would have lots of time now that he was rid of Cynthia.  He was glad he had not introduced her to Marge.  She had not met any of his friends except Bob, so he would not have to explain where she was since no one knew she was here in the first place.

     He clicked on the dating icon and was pleased to see he had a wink from barbreathe65.  He clicked on her profile.  Man she was a dog!  Had to be almost 6 feet tall and would have sunk the Titanic.  Shit, she looked like she needed a shave. Crap, that message was almost two weeks old.  Well, he needed to get back in circulation so he winked back.  Almost immediately he had a message.  “Call me” followed by her phone number.  He picked up the phone and dialed the number.  She answered on the second ring and very soon he was pouring out his tale about how the liberals were out to get him and then he heard the dial tone.  Must be another liberal!

     He surfed and winked and in just a few days he was back in the swing of match.com and he kept his political thoughts to himself.  He had coffee dates and even took one to the movies.  Another he took to dinner.  But his heart was not in it.  After 3 months, he dropped his membership in match.com.  He thought about calling Margie.  They had been friends for many years.  He remembered their last conversation and left the phone alone.  He went to the fair alone.  Obama won the election.  Thanksgiving was a taco dinner from the place on Northern.  Christmas came and went and the day after New Year’s he picked up the phone and dialed Cynthia.

     When he heard her voice he closed his eyes.  “Cynthia?”  Without waiting he said, “This is Tucker Fuhrman, the big tall German from St. Louis.  How are you?”  He did not apologize, nor would he ever.  He did not acknowledge that Obama had won the election, nor would he ever.  He talked about his car, his dog, and the weather.  The weather was always a safe subject.  He did not press her for a date, even for coffee.  Somehow Tucker Fuhrman knew he better go slow on this one or she would turn away and he could not have that happen again.  He did not know why, just a gut reaction.

     Then he called Margie.  But she did not answer.  He would try again later.  They probably went somewhere for the holidays.  He smiled at Cleo and climbed the stairs to his lonely bedroom, smiling in the darkness.