Truths of the Heart by G.L. Rockey Page A

you gun this thing out of here, take me someplace,
rip this dress off, and rape me.”
    He turned quickly and looked at her through the open partition.
    “Just kidding.” She looked through the side window. The Ford Field audience
looked like a rock concert—bare chests, painted faces, signs: FOREVER LOVEBIRDS,
PLAYING FOR KEEPS. A fat lady bared her basketball size breasts to reveal a
blue and silver Lions logo.
    The silence inside the limo stark, Rachelle, this is insane playing in her mind like a stuck recording, felt the limo began to move. She
looked forward through the windshield and saw, dressed in a maroon tux,
standing tall on the fifty-yard line, Carl. He smiled like the cat that had
eaten the bird, the cage, and the owner in one gulp.
    Grimacing like he would rather be someplace else, Father Alfonso stood beside
Carl.
    Rachelle, like she was on a platform moving for a close-up in some
surreal movie, observed Carl seeming to get larger and larger.
    She noticed Gus talking into his cell phone as he began a maneuver that
brought the limo to straddle the forty yard line and stop. Out of nowhere,
Dent, dressed in a maroon tux identical to Carl’s, opened the back door,
greeted Rachelle, took her hand, and she stepped onto the green turf.
Sixty-seven-thousand-plus fans exploded in cheering. A thousand camera flashes.
A marching band played Rachelle's favorite, “Memory”.
    ESPN announcer Tucker over the public address system: “And here she is folks,
the future Mrs. Carl Bostich.”
    Mania, more camera flashes.
    Dent raised his right elbow, Rachelle placed her left hand on his
forearm, and they walked to Carl and Father Alfonso.
    Carl took Rachelle's hands and kissed her fingers. Wild screaming, more
camera flashes. A fan, chased by security guards, ran across the field.
    Father Alfonso raised his hands, the crowd quieted and Father's
baritone voice boomed into the night air: “Dearly beloved, we are here gathered
on this evening to join together Rachelle Zannes and Carl Bostich....” Thunderous
ovation, still more camera flashes. Alfonso raised his hand again. The crowd
hushed. He looked at Carl. “Do you Carl….”
    To Rachelle the short ceremony proceeded like science fiction outtakes,
the only thing she heard, like a cannon shot, was “until death do you part”, and
ESPN's Tucker over the public address, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr.
and Mrs. Carl Bostich.”
    Ford Field erupted in cheers, and Carl snatched Rachelle in his arms
and carried her to the limo. Dent opened the back door. Rachelle and Carl
entered. Candy—white skimpy leather dress, a green scarf around her neck—sat on
the seat facing the back. She crossed her legs and giggled, “It's so exciting.”
    Imagine that, Rachelle
thought.
    Dent got in, slammed the door, sat beside Candy, popped a bottle of Champagne,
poured flutes full and, as the limo began to slowly move, he and Candy saluted
to love, life, and the forever after.
    Gus inched his bridal cargo across the field to the stadium tunnel. He drove
in and stopped next to a private elevator that expressed the wedding party to
the Lions owner's Ford Field suite.
    Catered by Tommi Gilmour, a small group awaited and the reception began.
Nearing a break in the third quarter, ESPN female commentator Misty Short, waited
to interview the newlyweds.
    Eight inch Punch cigar in one hand, rum and Coke in the other, Carl
ogled petite smiling Misty like she might be a snack.
    Misty said, “Stand by,” smiled, then at a cue: “So, here we are with
the newly married couple.”
    The TV video zoomed out to show Carl and Rachelle, Misty said, “So Mrs.
Bostich, where's the honeymoon?”
    Carl: “Where else, land of the sun, Phoenix, Arizona.”
    Misty: “Cool. Any thoughts, Mrs. Bostich?”
    Carl: “Lions have a game there next week, kill two birds with one
stone. Hah hah hah.”
    Misty, with a roll of her eyes, said to the ESPN announcers, “Back to
you guys.”
    Corky Dixon, drink in