MRS. FOLEY JOINS THE FOLD
While not the intended effect, the outcome was surprisingly satisfying. Mr. Foley boasted to his Monday night poker buddies that it was now his firm belief, “Pecan Praline Ice Cream beats Viagra any day, any how!” The news traveled fast as it always does when the players are unexpected.
Mr. and Mrs. Foley co-owned the neighborhood Exxon gas station and mini-mart in the sleepy southern town of Sheldon. The main point of pride for this emporium, according to the no nonsense Mrs. Foley, was the newly installed two way mirror.
The barometer of the town’s shadow waited for her scientific observation after she’d tallied the cash drawer and lectured her “good for nothing” clerk on various points of customer service that she’d downloaded from last night’s restless dream. Mrs. Foley perched behind the mirror, ready to pounce on the hotbed of unsuspecting criminals stuffing their jackets with rolls of mints, bags of Oreos, and six packs of Mountain Dew.
She’d even caught one. In the time it took the culprit to walk the green mile from aisle to cash register, the wall of mirrors commenced to vibrate with the Force of Helios. A loud speaker announced, “John Tyler – unless you are gaining weight – put those back right now! Are you high?” The fear of Mrs. Foley rooted the criminal to the floor until retribution entered on two feet with eyes blazing and hands outstretched.
That two way mirror was the conversation topic about Mrs. Foley for months until three weeks ago – when she took the leap from Body to Christ Consciousness.
It seems Mrs. Foley experienced a miracle of a carnal nature and God being God decided to claim it for his own.
Mr. Foley, when questioned, could not recall if he had done anything unusual that night. He’d headed home from his regular card game, $135 richer, and stopped at the closed convenience store to get a pint of the Pecan Praline that he and Mrs. Foley loved. He’d violated his curfew. Unwilling to surrender his best winning streak in years, he knew that Pecan Praline and the gift of his winnings would soften his reception. He dutifully entered his acquisition on the prize grid designed by Mrs. Foley and carefully deposited $3.95 in the envelope labeled “Employee Purchases.”
Sure enough, as he entered the house, the missus rocked accusation in her favorite chair by the TV. The picture was on, the sound turned down. Sure enough, according to his plan, the magic of winnings and a followed protocol and that Pecan Praline earned him a begrudging smile.
“Just this one time.”
He followed her into the kitchen and right in the middle of giving him more than half his share of ice cream – they signaled a private kind of semaphore – and well, as Mr. Foley himself said, “I fucked her blind.” And it seemed he had.
The last Mrs. Foley remembered, she’d stashed the money in the cookie jar, turned around, and smiled again…
Was it the satisfaction of Pecan Praline?
She remembered: Mr. Foley gave her a kiss,
their cheeks blushed anticipation and surprise,
he pulled her close,
she leaned back and noted the cookie jar pennies richer and
the recently mopped kitchen floor - could it possibly…
According to Mr. Foley, a powerful trembling feeling roared up from such a deep place in his wife and she moaned and made strange trapped animal noises. Then compounding his amazement, her eyes rolled upwards - and wouldn’t unwind.
Mr. Foley shook her, told her to quit joking, shook her harder, and finally poured some jalapeno juice down her throat to correct the situation. She came to with a severe jolt, unwound eyes, and a firm belief that she had seen Jesus and God had allowed that to happen through her husband. A spicy southern Saul of Tarsus conversion all around.
Mr. Foley, not one to deny his angelic responsibility, beamed for months to any and all remotely interested – “Yup – I sure did – I fucked her blind.” His victory did not last long.
Within a year, pictures of Mrs. Foley, with her blue hair surrounded by a halo effect and her ample body enthroned in a robe that the preacher swore she lifted from the choir room, invaded every available space in the country. When questioned, Mrs. Foley said that old robe was so old anyway, she’d mended it so many times, it was probably more hers than the churches. Why there was more mending thread in that robe than there was robe. The preacher good and truly remained silent when Mrs. Foley threatened to show him videotapes of his son, John Tyler, and the aborted heist at her store. To compound her victory, he even let her use the conference room for her intended workshops.
“Channel Divine Love in One Weekend”, presumably without the jalapeno, drew large crowds of middle-aged women with time and yearning on their hands. They spent hours seated with palms open and eyes rolled back. Mrs. Foley believed the sounds they uttered were the beginnings of news laws and new morals for all mankind. She even thought the Republican Party might be interested in what the women had to say. They could do a lot worse. Of course, it would take another weekend workshop for real words to come forth. That workshop cost an extra $100, in addition to the base price of $250 per session. As extra incentive, a robe monogrammed with Mrs. Foley’s initials completed the mix. Her empire had begun.
The preacher knew he’d been screwed.
Mr. Foley now manned the convenience store with the help of a part time high school student and played cards more than he should in the room behind the two way mirror. He kept his winnings and losses to himself. Some people said the business was on its last legs. Why you could walk out of that store with anything your heart so desired. You didn’t even have to tuck it into your jacket.
But one thing for sure, you had to go to another store for Pecan Praline.
About The Author: Patti Dean is a Rock band singer, former stand up comic and comedy writer for nationally known comics, and actress off Broadway. She produced, wrote and edited an award winning documentary about stand up comics in Seattle. She also wrote a children's musical focusing on disabilities. Patti has produced and written various cabarets and plays performed in Seattle, Baltimore, and New York.
Additionally, Ms. Dean was published in the anthology, Love and Sacrifice, as a companion piece to the international movie, London Voodoo, by Zenfilms. She was also published in the just released anthology, Women.Period. Soon to be published in the the rock music anthology, Experienced, and the women's philosophy anthology, Wisdom X 50.