a short tale by Christine Wichman c. Sept. 29,2013
“Too Good to be True” By Christine Wichman c. 2013
When Malcolm finally landed a date with Stella De Luna he could hardly contain himself. What could he possible say or do, to impress this incredibly perfect woman? Her profile on “Soul Match.com” read as follows:
“Heidi Klum look-alike seeks her diamond in the rough.”
Former gymnast with a PHD in Physics now working as a free lance model and photographer is looking for a fun average guy with a portly belly and minimal bank account to spoil on trips abroad or all day sporting events and dive bar expeditions. Childless and barren with more money than god and a garage full of collector cars waiting to be driven hard and fast.
IM@StarzNmoon
So, Malcolm messaged Stella and when they chatted she ticked all the boxes and then some, she had the voice of an angel and the classy wit of Della Street. They set up a date for Saturday.
Stella arrived to collect him in her new burgundy convertible.
Malcolm peered out his duplex blinds and watched her step gracefully from her chariot. As he caught sight of her beauty the vision slowed, as if a scene in some cheesey movie. Her long blonde hair flowing and her body moving in cut off denim shorts toward his door, as if set to music. He sighed and thought,
“What have I done to deserve this?”
He had fantasized about this date all week. Foreseen them strolling hand in hand in some busy park being watched and envied by men and women alike. He imagined Stella giggling with her camera in hand, taking impossible shots and falling madly, hopelessly in love with him.
And now here she was at his door, ready, willing and able to make him the happiest man on earth.
Slowly he opened the door, wanting to savor the moment of their first meeting.
Once the door was fully opened he greeted her, “Hello Beautiful.”
She replied “Hey there Handsome.”
As she took his hand to lead him to the car, he noticed a bar code tattooed on the side of her palm. He made a mental note and continued on to the car. Stella adeptly tossed him the keys and called “Shot gun” with a bright smile and strange twinkle in her eye.
Malcolm excitedly got behind the wheel of her car and gave her an appreciative glance. It was then he noticed her eyes seemed different. Eerily vacant, as if robotic. He was suddenly awash with an uneasiness he could only describe as creeped out.
“So,” Malcolm began to make conversation. “Tell me again where you are originally from? Have you always lived in California?”
“You tell me Malcolm…Where would you like me to be from?” she stated in an unusual monotone.
“Excuse me?” Malcolm slowed the car around the turn and then looked over at her, she was staring at him awaiting his answer.
She smiled a half smile, “I was made for you. You dreamed me up and here I am. So what’s my back story? Fill me in.”
Malcolm was taken aback, yet distracted by her beauty and the beauty of the river they were now crossing. Without a word he pulled the car over to the edge of a small forest and Stella grabbed her camera and hopped out, running back to the bridge they just crossed. There were other sightseers there snapping shots. Malcolm passed them silently and still said nothing, he just watched Stella as she proceeded to lean back on the bridge, kicking off her wedges and striking a most unique pose as she clicked away. He smirked to himself a bit, as he withdrew his phone from his back pocket and stole a shot of his own.
She tilted her head toward him, and smiled longingly.
He leaned over the bridge and shouted above the rushing current toward her, “You are from Hoboken. Hoboken New Jersey…”
One Month later…
Walt Whitman always said if anything is sacred, the human body is sacred. But what would he say about Stella? Her body was perfection but it was not human. Stella moved from a pirouette to an arabesque as she glided down the hall into the Kitchen to make Malcolm breakfast. Malcolm turned over in his bed and moved the dog. It had been a month now that he and Stella had been carrying on together in what seemed a blissful relationship. She was an open book, she didn’t even have a cover to judge she was everything he ever wanted, especially since he seemed to be writing the pages as they went along. Thinking to himself as he lie there in his self-made heaven what shall I write next in this romantic story? Truth be told he was getting rather bored with all the perfection, secretly hoping somehow she’d slip up and make some sort of error, some sort of human error.
“The Things we can control…”
Stella and Malcolm lie in bed dreamily counting the fake stars on his ceiling. Malcolm taking delight in the fact that nothing bored Stella, everything and anything he was interested in, she was interested in, anything he fancied, she fancied. It was a win, win situation.
“Honey can you pass me the remote please.” said Malcolm propping up his pillow, intent on watching the game.
Stella turned to him handing over the remote and smiled, “There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.”
As still as a statue she sat there propped up on the pillow next to him, and in the same monotone voice she said, “I guess nothin’ can last forever.”
“What do you mean Stella?” Malcolm had a knot in his stomach and a lump in his throat. “Don’t leave me Stella, come back to me baby…what can I do? Is there a switch, a battery, some sort of plug in to recharge you?”
Malcolm began to panic, searching her for some sort of seam to a battery box or control panel and Stella began to crumple into his arms, lifeless and stiff.
“No, Stella! No….Oh Stella. Stella!!” Malcolm’s disappointment could be heard ringing throughout the apartment complex.
Sleeping Queen Publications 