Seated at the prosecutor’s table is this good looking blonde about forty in a black dress she could have worn to the office. Looks pissed. Has her hands folded in front of her as she stares straight ahead.

At the defense table is a gentleman, maybe five years older than her, wearing a suit that could’ve used a pressing. Doesn’t look pissed, but he does look annoyed. Like he’s got way better things to do than sit in a courtroom.

All of a sudden a side door bursts open and in comes this old codger in a black robe. Damned if he doesn’t look a whole lot like my Uncle Horace, who by the way, has been dead fifteen years. The bailiff tries to announce the judge and get everybody to rise, but the judge waves his hand and says, “Y’all keep your butts in your seats. Jackson, call the case.”

Jackson’s a big black dude wearing a blue blazer. Looks like he mighta just murdered his parents. Except his voice is silky soft and he’s got an accent like he got educated at Oxford or Cambridge.

“Yes, your honor. Kathleen Mulroney versus Brian Mulroney in the matter of his allegedly playing kissy face with a woman she hates at the Christmas party in her office on December 16 of last year.”

I’m sitting way in the back of the courtroom. Soon as Jackson finishes, I start laughing my ass off, fully expecting everybody else in the room will do the same. That doesn’t happen. A good 140 heads turn back and look at me like I just farted at a wedding as the minister starts to pronounce. Uncle Horace bangs his gavel and yells, “Jackson, any further outbursts from my nephew, throw his country ass out of my courtroom.”

“Yes your honor,” says Jackson as he gives me a teensy smile and makes the shush sign with his index finger.

This is a great dream, and I’m hoping I can keep it going. No such luck. Now I’m being jostled awake as this gravelly voice says, “Would you like to share your joke with the rest of the class, sir?”

“Whoa, what you doin’ there, woman? I was about to do the nasty with Jennifer Lopez. Or maybe it was Holly Berry. Or coulda been …”

“You are so full of shit.”

“Not the first beautiful woman to characterize me as such.”

“Lord have mercy. I have no idea why I ever take you into my bed, Virgil Canfield.”

“Me neither, sweetheart. Me neither. But I feel blessed that you do.” Then I leaned over and gazed into those hazel eyes and rubbed that perfect nose. Been doing that from way back in the seventh grade when I fell in love with Wanda Hubbard on the first Tuesday after Labor Day in the cloak room. Since then, she’s gone through a number of husbands and a passel of fiancés. I’d always wanted to be in that mix, but never managed to make the cut.

Think she knew from the get go I wasn’t a good choice for something permanent. On the other hand, she seemed to get a kick out of fitting me in on the odd Wednesday night when her current squeeze was out of town or otherwise unavailable. The fact I was hopelessly smitten with her? Shit, I’d been sucking that up for decades. Weren’t for guys like me, Shakespeare wouldn’ta had much to write about.

“Tell me about the dream,” she said as she tickled me in a sensitive portion of my anatomy. I told her.

As I talked, she smiled and pursed her lips. “Sounds like the opening scene in a pilot for a sitcom.”

“Come again.”

“No I’m serious. All the husbands and boyfriends I’ve had. More than a few times I coulda used some courtroom procedure when me and the guy got into it over something stupid. Now, let’s get back to the business at hand,” she said as she started in again with the tickling.

I took hold of her hand as gently as I could and gave her the Bassett Hound look I employ now and again.

“Oh my goodness, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Canfield has decided to take this conversation to a serious level.”

“Just hear me out for a second.”

“I can do that.”

Then the brakes went on inside my chest. “It’s okay. We can deal with this another time.”

“You sure, sweetie.”

“It’ll hold.” Then we got back to the business at hand.

**************

A few days later I was sitting with Billy Straybuck way back in the shadows of Earl Carothers’ roadhouse. It was about three o’clock in the afternoon. Hardly anybody in the place.

“So what’s eating at you, bud?”

“I gotta have something eating at me to drink a beer with my best friend?”

“Let’s see. It’s the middle of the afternoon. You don’t really drink beer anymore. And you haven’t shown a smile since we walked in here. Yeah, you got something eating at you.”

“It’s Wanda.”

“I’m not shocked.”

“I know. I know. Had a buck for every time I’ve talked to you about her, I’d own a car. Might not be a Mercedes, but I’d own one.”

“It’s okay, man. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. You could probably tell me better ‘n I could tell you. I cherish those Wednesday nights we have together. The sex is great and everything, but it’s way more than that. I adore the woman, and I guess … Well, I guess after all these years, maybe I’d like it to be more than an affair. I’m tired of riding the bench. Think maybe I’d like to be the starting quarterback.”

“Maybe you’d like to be, or you really want to be? If it’s the former, we oughta change the subject and talk about fishing. If it’s the latter, I might have an idea or two.”

“Assume it’s the latter.”

“Not good enough, Virgil. You gotta get off the fence.”

“Damn, this all just scares the shit out of me.”

“I understand that, friend. I understand that.”

“Okay. Fuck it. I’m ready to ask her for something more.”

“Good. Tell me a little more about that courtroom dream you had.”

“What?!”

“I’m serious.” So I obliged him.

**************

About a week later Wanda, Billy, and I were sitting way back in the same shadows of Earl Carothers’ roadhouse. Billy had had a chat with each of us individually.

“Okay, let me see if I got the rules straight for this little discussion we’re about to have. You each get a chance to ‘examine’ the other person like he or she was a witness in a trial. You are both sworn to answer all questions truthfully. If you have a problem with the way you’re being questioned, you can object to me, the judge. I have the right to either sustain or overrule the objection. I also have the right to scold either of you like a judge would if I think you’re getting out of hand. I also have the right to hand out contempt citations, like making the person cited buy a round of drinks for everybody in the establishment.”

After Wanda and I nodded our agreement, I started things off.

“Ms. Hubbard, how long have you known me.?”

“Oh hell, Virgil, you know how long we’ve known each other.”

“Your honor, please instruct the witness to answer my question.”

“Ms. Hubbard. Please answer counsel’s question. And leave out the sarcasm.”

“Very well, gentlemen, I believe I have known Mr. Canfield for about thirty years.”

“Is it fair to conclude that you do not recall the exact date on which the two of us met?”

“Yes, I do not recall the exact date.”

“And don’t you think that such ignorance on your part constitutes an indication of the lack of seriousness with which you take your relationship with me?”

“Objection on two counts, your honor. Calls for a conclusion, and counsel is testifying.”

“Sustained on both counts.”

“I’ll rephrase, your honor. Wanda, is it fair to say that you have genuine affection for me?”

“Well, of course I do, baby. You are the sweetest, kindest man I have ever known in my whole, tawdry life.”

When Billy saw I was having trouble getting words out, he said, “Let’s take a 15 minute recess, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll reconvene back here at 3:30.”

“With the court’s permission, I’d like to continue. But I no longer wish to question this witness. I would like to make a statement.”

“Ms. Hubbard, do you have any objections to Mr. Canfield’s making a statement?”

Barely above a whisper she said, “None whatsoever, your honor. None whatsoever.”

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Know what? I believe I will take that break, your honor.” Then I got up and plodded towards the exit sign. As I opened the door, I heard Billy say, “You gonna sit here, or are you gonna go after him?”

“Then go right ahead, Mr. Canfield.”