Simple Haerts
by
Barry Rachin
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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Published by:
Barry Rachin on Smashwords
Simple Hearts
Copyright © 2010 by Barry Rachin
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This short story represents a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Also by Barry Rachin:
"A a dark-haired girl with a nice figure waitresses over at Guido's Pizza." Luther Buttafuoco was standing in his pajamas, an unwaxed strand of dental floss dangling from his left hand.
"Marna Copparelli," his brother replied. Drake, who baked, did deliveries and sometimes managed the counter at Guido's House of Pizza, had been sleeping on the couch at Luther's apartment since his wife caught him cheating and threw him out. That was a week ago last Tuesday. Drake had called Lois every day since then, but she left the answering machine on and refused to return his whiny calls.
"Is Marna seeing anyone?"
"Sort of," he hedged, "but it's a long-distance relationship.
"How long-distance?"
"The chump got picked up by the feds for loan sharking." Drake chuckled at his own, dry humor. "It was a second offense, so he's at a minimum security facility in Upstate New York. Three to five."
"I want you to fix me up on a date with the woman." Luther stood five feet six. In his early thirties, he was a skinny wisp of a man with a pencil moustache that never quite filled out no matter how long he left it untrimmed. His brown hair hung limp like a third-rate toupee, a bad joke of a hairpiece. Luther wasn't so much ugly as nondescript; he had a reasonably pleasant personality that no one outside the immediate family ever benefited from due to crippling shyness. "I've got feelings for the woman," Luther confessed.
"What feelings?" Drake exploded. "You don't even know Marna, for god's sake!"
There was a tense silence. "I misspoke."
"You misspoke." The tone was derisive, ridiculing. "What the hell does that mean?" Drake didn't know which was worse: being separated from his wife or living with his nutty brother. He needed a drink, but Luther never kept anything stronger than that sicky-sweet Manishewitz concord wine.
"What I meant to say," Luther corrected, "was that I have a very strong feeling about the woman."
"For, about… what's the difference?"
Luther waved a hand, a placating gesture. "It's not important. What matters is that I know the difference. Will you talk to Marna… see if she'll go out with me?"