Flash

The Gift Horse

May 13, 2023

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. But what if it's a Trojan horse?

I don't remember entering any such contest. I don't believe in wasting time and energy on contests whose odds of success are similar to the possibility of being struck with lightning at the very moment that I spot the earring I lost thirty-two years ago lying on a beach that I have never visited before.

But someone, somewhere, drew my name out of hat.

Or was it more purposeful than that?

Fourteen days anywhere in the world, all expenses paid. All I needed to do was update my passport, pick a date and destination, and thank my lucky stars that the Covid-19 nonsense was all over. Everything else would be arranged by the nebulous Dream Makers, Inc. All they asked in return was to agree to let their media team shoot a few thousand photos of me looking idyllically happy, to be used to peddle their overpriced travel packages.

My friends (all three of them) were all for it, of course. "You deserve this! You've been a hard-luck kid all your life, and just kept smiling and helping other people any way you could, even when they were taking advantage of you. It's time to collect on all that good karma you've been accumulating."

My father said that it was a scam, and I shouldn't let myself be taken in. My mother murmured, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." She's still carrying a secret torch for Reginald Wahrmeister, who pleaded with her to elope to New Zealand with him when she was nineteen. She refused to alter her career plans, got her university degree, and pursued a reasonably predictable career path as a primary school teacher, wife, mother, and vice-president of the Multicultural Awareness Society. Reginald became an international superstar whose clothes alone are worth millions. He married eight times, but never for long. Each time he divorced, Mother would walk around with a dreamy smile on her face for a few days.

So here I am. Do I stay on my merry-go-round of mediocrity, or grab for the brass ring and risk falling off the horse I'm riding?

*********************************************************************

September 9, 2023

I grabbed for the brass ring. In June, I was in Vienna, watching the Lippizan stallions dancing to the lilt of Vienna waltzes by the light of crystal chandeliers. It was the vacation of my dreams, until I was kidnapped.

Actually, it was not a classic kidnapping -- more like a compelling suggestion. An offer from Dream Makers that I didn't dare refuse. They said they had prepared a special surprise for me, and it would have been most ungracious to tell them to bug off. Besides, they might stop paying for everything if they were upset with me, and I would end up marooned in Europe and have to stow away on a tramp steamer to get home.

The special surprise, and perpetrator of this phony contest farce, was my mother's long-lost love Reginald. He said he just had to meet the daughter that he might have had.

Actually, he wanted more than that. He had come to the conclusion that his dysfunctional romantic life was the fruit of my mother's unfortunate disinclination to recognize True Love when it was right in front of her. He wanted to enlist my help in remedying the situation.

I told him that my mother was loyal to a fault, totally committed to every responsibility she took on. My father was not a great prize by any stretch of the imagination, but she was not about to shirk her duty to make him as happy as she possibly could. Even if she were footloose and fancy free, she would fret about the future of the Multicultural Awareness Society if she were not there to keep them on track.

Reginald was incredulous. "Surely I'm more important than the Cultural Awareness Society! As for your father – he has had her to himself all these years, while I was starving for true love. It's time for him to share!"

I pulled out my phone and showed him pictures.

Reginald's face fell. "She's old."

"Yes. So are you. But you had the benefit of plastic surgery and hormonal intervention."

"You know, she doesn't look at all like the dazzling goddess I remember. You, on the other hand, might clean up nicely. Would you agree to a beauty makeover?"

To make a long story short, I am now Mrs. Reg Wahrmeister Number Nine. When he figures out that it's not True Love after all, I'll make sure he pays handsomely to get rid of me. One good Trojan Horse deserves another.