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

left hand, maneuvered in front of Rachelle and Carl.
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Bostich, we were saving this as a wedding present.” He
extended his right hand to Carl. “Playing for keeps big man, the WJJ show is a
go.”
    Carl threw his head back, screamed, “Yessss,” then grabbed Corky's right
hand, hugged him, kissed his cheek, said, “You beautiful son of a bitch you.”
    Rachelle said, “Did I miss something?”
    Carl hugged her, “We're in like Flynn, babe.” He turned to Corky, “When
do I start?”
    “Get the honeymoon over, when you get back, we'll talk. Looking at September
16, need some lead time for promotion, you know.”

 
    ****

 
    Football game over, Lions 21, Chicago 13, reception over, goodbyes, kisses,
the newlyweds being limoed by Gus through heavy rain to the Detroit airport,
Rachelle said, “Tell me more about this show with WJJ.”
    “They want me to do a weekly sports talk show?”
    “They do?”
    “Yep, live call-in, weekdays, 3-6 P.M., calling it Playing for Keeps .”
    “Isn't that wonderful.”
    He squeezed her inner thigh, “We're on our way babe, can't keep Bostich
down.”
    “When did all this happen?”
    “Cork just confirmed it, you heard him.”
    With luggage on board Dent’s Martin Lang & Ruffin company jet, the
door closed, pilot Sherry smiled at Rachelle and pointed to her copilot. “We
got one for this trip.”
    Rachelle nodded out a window to the stormy weather, “Thanks.”
    Carl had Rachelle sit in the front lounge seat, spoke to Sherry, then
closed the cockpit door.
    As the plane taxied, rain streaking the cabin windows, Carl popped a bottle
of Champagne, poured two flutes, sat next to Rachelle, and toasted. “To us,
babe, playing for keeps.”
    Racing down the runway, taking off into a black filled bumpy night,
they began a climb to 40,000 feet and the trip to Phoenix.
    Through a few minutes of extreme turbulence, the ride smoother but choppy,
Carl slipped a hand under Rachelle's dress. “We get back, we'll have to put the
house up for sale, babe, start looking for a place in Detroit.”
    Rachelle reached for a courtesy bag.

 
 
    PART II

 
    CHAPTER ONE

 
 
    Monday, August
26, Two Weeks Later

 
    First day of fall classes, Michigan State's campus emerged from early morning
mist awash in a sunny afternoon. Students toted a jacket over a shoulder, swung
a sweater over an arm, clutched books in hand. Some talked on cell phones,
others studied the screens of their hand-held readers.
    Seth Trudow wore his black flight boots, denim chino pants, and a navy-
blue sweatshirt. The sweatshirt hung loose over his beltless waist. Printed on
the back of his shirt, in white letters, the place he worked part time: daVinci's
Art & Frame Shop. This semester, with a full class load, Seth's da
Vinci schedule was Tuesday and Thursday, 3-7:00 P.M.
    Fifteen minutes early for COM 501's 2:00 P.M. start, Seth sat on the
grass outside Olds Hall. One of the original Michigan State college buildings,
Olds was built of red brick, ivy covered, and surrounded by leafy oak and maple
trees.
    Seth put his 9x12 artist's sketch pad in front of him. The sketch pad
served two purposes: taking class notes and making sketches for future paintings.
He stretched his legs out and, savoring the outdoors, scanned the
landscape—brilliant sunlight set against dark shadows in a million shades of
green. People dressed in wisps of reds, MSU green and white, placed in delicate
poses. As he absorbed the three-dimensional representation of reality, a
thought intrigued him, is truth like that?
    That thought bouncing around, he recalled what had brought him to Olds Hall
this fine day: besides needing the eight credits, his interest in the creative
processes—a white canvas, a blank page—there was the more personal reason:
Natalie. She had wanted to become an author. He still wondered, with her
passion for truth, what wondrous things she would have written, discovered,
offered the long and ragged