A Marriage Made at Woodstock Read Free

time he finished his second cup of coffee, the orange cat had fallen asleep, like a soft field of orange poppies, spread out along the windowsill.
    It was nearly eight o’clock and threatening rain when Frederick went into his office and turned on the computer. He pulled up the accounting software and began updating ledgers and entering weekly payroll information for Portland Concrete, his largest client. Having just landed a contract with the city, the company had hired a string of new people, and now Frederick added each one to the list of employees, filling in the necessary personal profile data. There were Theodores and Allans and Margarets, all straightforward and unpretentious names, names borrowed from their ancestors, most likely. There was not one Chandra or Sukie. And, thankfully, there was no Paul Jablonski.
    When he’d finished the lengthy data entry, Frederick pressed the keys to automatically print the payroll checks. They had to be delivered by eleven. Just as Portland Concrete’s last check was sputtering out of the printer, the phone in the den rang suddenly, two loud bleats. He listened as the answering machine clicked on. Hello. This is Chandra , he heard, followed by a brief message of instructions. He glanced briefly at his own phone, his separate business line, a necessity if he was to get any sensible work done. He couldn’t spend hours a day prattling brainlessly to Chandra’s students of the mind , not to mention those of the crotch. But, out of curiosity, and in case there had been some family emergency—to Chandra’s family this might mean the toaster burning up—Frederick went begrudgingly into the den and pushed the Play button. There was a call from his brother, Herbert, from the previous evening, which he’d forgotten to erase.
    â€œHey, Freddy!” Herbert said happily. Frederick could hear laughter in the background, mixed with music. Herbert was no doubt down at the China Boat, his favorite hangout since his wife had packed up and left him. “This is your brother. I was just wondering if…” Frederick pushed the fast-forward button and Herbert’s invitation to dinner sped past in a whir of words. The Girls were not kind to Herbert Stone these days, it was true. But then, Herbert had never been light on his feet when it came to women.
    â€œLorraine, it’s your mother,” the next voice declared. “I realize that nine thirty is much too early for you to be up, but when you do turn out, call me. Joyce is quite upset that you forgot her birthday yesterday. She says strangers with mental problems are more important to you than your own sister.” There was a sharp click , and then the blessed tone again. Chandra was going to hit the proverbial roof. Frederick smiled appreciatively. He had allies in the strangest of places. He considered taking his mother-in-law on as a client, for free, to repay her for all those years of unknowingly airing his grievances, but her widow’s mite would barely warrant his expertise. Too bad. She deserved his finding her a deduction here and there in the IRS haystack. The old battle-ax was good: Lorraine, I realize nine thirty is too early…
    Nine thirty? Frederick looked at his watch. Updating Portland Concrete had taken longer than he had anticipated. Then he remembered Chandra’s declaration on the refrigerator. It is of earth-shattering importance. They had been married for over twenty years; everything in Chandra’s life was of earth-shattering importance.
    In the kitchen he filled a cup with hour-old coffee and headed upstairs to their bedroom. When all those blended beans went stale, they were still better than the coffee at Cain’s Corner Grocery that Chandra was addicted to, although she now carried her own ceramic mug in a personal effort to speed up the demise of Styrofoam.
    â€œHoney,” Frederick said, and poked at the lump in their bed. “You’d better