Fiction: Selections From Peter Cherches

The Evangelist

            A street-corner evangelist told him he was going to hell as he was walking toward Macy’s. They were having a sale on men’s outerwear, and he needed a new winter coat. He took a Kleenex out of one of those little travel packs and blew his nose. 

            He tried on a few coats at Macy’s, but didn’t find one he really liked.

            When he got back out on the street, the evangelist had been replaced by a man who hawked a multifunctional kitchen utensil with a stentorian spiel worthy of Albert Finney in The Dresser. He’d seen this guy before, often surrounded by amused onlookers. 

            As he was walking toward the bus that would take him home, he passed the evangelist on a different corner.

            “Nothing’s changed,” the evangelist yelled at him.

            He waited an inordinately long time for the bus.

 

 

 

A Fly

            A fly was buzzing around his face. It would alight on his nose, he’d shoo it away, it would circle his head and land back on his cheek. They were dining al fresco. The fly did not bother his wife. How were they different—to a fly, that is?

            “The fly doesn’t appear to be interested in you,” he told his wife.

            “Like that’s a bad thing?” she replied.

            When his Monte Cristo came, the fly became interested in that. He had to keep shooing it away from atop the bread. Sometimes it would flit from the Monte Cristo to his face and back. It wasn’t interested in her Waldorf salad. You’d think a fly would be interested in apples, he thought.

            Reading his mind, his wife looked up from her salad and said, “There’s no accounting for taste.”

 

 

 

Something of a Scandal

            There was something of a scandal in the neighborhood. Specifics were scant, but the scuttlebutt was that two local couples were involved in a ménage à quatre. Both couples lived right down the block, at 37 and 55. Jack Halloran was their accountant. Actually, tax preparer. Halloran was fond of wearing plaid sport jackets. Supposedly, the Hallorans were mixed up with the Carters. Suzy Carter ran the little lingerie shop on Jackson, and some thought that added credence to the rumors. They hardly knew the Carters except to nod hello on the street, and it was a purely business relationship with Jack. Jack’s wife’s name was Mandy, but they didn’t know what she did for a living. Both couples were childless, but Suzy and Mandy were still south of 40.

            They discussed the situation over breakfast, scones from Jensen’s and coffee. She thought many configurations were possible, simple coupling, either straight or gay, various possible threesomes, with the fourth watching or not, or a full on foursome, was she leaving anything out?

            “I don’t know,” he said. “I figure it’s probably just good old-fashioned wife swapping.”

            “You would think that,” his wife replied.

            “Or maybe tag-team,” he added, not wanting to sound totally square.

 

 

 

 

 

Peter Cherches' latest book is Everything Happens to Me, an episodic novel about the misadventures of a Brooklyn writer named Peter Cherches.