9: The Plans Roll On

When Shirley had closed the door behind her, the two of them sat at her work table. Donna unlocked a drawer and pulled out a large folder. From that folder, she removed some sketches and showed him a series of drawn pictures.

Greg whistled. “You really are prepared. These are excellent sketches... who drew these?”

“I did.”

He stopped searching the artwork to stare at her.

She looked away and said, “I guess you focus when you want something bad enough.” Then she smiled, “Why are you so surprised that I can draw more than clothing? Call this my fantasy house.”

“It’s a lovely house.” He bent his head over a front-view drawing of the structure. There was a date in the corner.

“You’ve had these for seven years?” he was surprised. “You sure do want this.”

Donna shrugged, not ready to be drawn into discussion about the house.

Greg looked at her. She didn’t look at him and he got the distinct feeling she was hiding something but he didn’t ask.

Finally she raised her eyes to about chest level. “So can you draw plans for my fantasy?”

“I’m not too good at drawing nudes,” he joked.

“What?”

“I’m kidding. Not only can we draw plans,” he puffed out his chest, “we can build it too. By the time you come back from your honeymoon, you’ll be able to move in. So Mrs Marshall-to-be, start buying furniture.”

Donna treated him to sunny smile and it reminded him of his younger days yet again.

“Do you have land to build it on?” he asked.

She nodded. “But we can talk about that tomorrow with our lawyers- just in case you have a location in mind.”

“We could check it out this weekend?” he proposed. “And then if we don’t like it, we can shop around.”

“Sounds fair.” She was feeling very generous now that one of her dreams was within reach.

“I have a meeting with some people to get to, so I’ll call you tonight or something if anything pressing pops up.” He stood up and began to gather up her sketches, which made Donna a little uneasy.

“Are you taking those?”

“Yes,” he said, still collecting them.

“A-all of them?”

He stopped and looked at her curiously, saying slowly, “Yes.” He put the folder down for a moment. “Is something the matter, D?”

Donna closed her mouth and shook her head.

“Ok, then I’ll take these with me. Give me a week to work on these initial plans then we’ll discuss what materials and further details later.”

“Ok.” She kept her eyes on the folder.

He felt like shaking her and demanding that she tell him what was going on in her head. Instead he just said, “Relax, I’ll take very good care of them.”

He started to leave when he turned around again and walked over to her. “This isn’t instinctive,” he started reassuringly, “your Great Aunt Beth asked me to kiss you goodbye for her.” He grinned and placed his lips on hers softly.

It was over before it began and he made his way to the door.

“Great Aunt Beth wouldn’t have kissed me like that,” she called after him.

He merely laughed.

•

A month later, however, he was not laughing. In fact, he was raging.

Instead of strangling the man in front of him, he yanked violently at his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

They were having a bit of a disagreement about what flowers to have around the altar. The wedding planner had been unable to attend the meeting but had set a lunch date with the florist for Donna and Greg.

Donna was late and Greg was ready to shove the whole damn catalogue down the florist’s throat. They were in a private room at a restaurant, no one would hear the man scream.

The florist took a deep breath and said, “Let’s try again. What colour is your fiancé’s bouquet going to be?”

“I don’t know,” Greg said, running his hands through his black hair.

The florist sniffed with more than a touch of effeminacy. “How can a man not know that? Any man worth his salt would know,” he said with a toss of his head.

Greg gritted his teeth and took a step back before he hit something.

His day had been bad from morning. First, he’d spilt coffee on one of Donna’s plans and on himself, one of his accountants had offered a sickly enormous discount to the wrong client and trying to rectify the mistake had nearly lost them the bewildered and slightly offended client.

Then his Jaguar had been dented on the way to the lunch meeting by a teeny bopper in a minivan. And now he was being told he wasn’t a man by someone whom he considered more of a pansy than his flowers.

“Really,” the florist said, “does Miss Quinton know she’s marrying someone so insensitive and unconcerned? She’d be better off with me for a man.”

He was clearly talking to himself but Greg could hear him and it was too much for him that the homosexual flower artist called himself a better man and potential husband for Donna than he was.

He was about the blow his top when the door burst open and Donna came bouncing in.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly.

Greg turned towards the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

Donna took one look at Greg’s appearance and looked at the florist in dismay. She rushed towards Greg. “Hi.” She kissed him quickly but he held onto her arm.

“Please do that again. I’ll need it to go through the rest of lunch without stabbing your floral designer,” he murmured. “This celibacy thing is really starting to take a toll.”

She merely laughed and obliged his request. His arms went around her waist and prolonged the kiss.

When it was over, Greg said, with a happier expression on his face. “Thanks Little D, I really needed that.”

“No,” Donna said, “you just wanted it.”

“What makes you say that?”

Donna’s dimples appeared. “I’m wearing red.”

He burst out laughing and kissed her forehead. “Let me introduce you to the flower artist,” he said mockingly.

Donna looked at Greg warily and then gave him a gentle smile of apology.

He turned slightly to include the florist, his arm still around her waist.

Before Greg could speak, a tearful florist actually broke out in applause. “Oh, dear. Miss Quinton, not only do I love your designs, but I now realise that Greg isn’t such a brute. You bring out the inner, more affectionate him.” He stopped to contain his emotions. After a moment he was able to continue, “You bring out the man.”

Greg relaxed a little, having his manhood restored, but he still didn’t like the fact that it was attributed to Donna.

She, at that moment, put her arm through his and hugged it. “That’s why I am marrying him,” she lied.

Greg looked down at her to check if she’d bumped her head. With a wicked glint in her eyes she leaned on tip toe and kissed him on the nose. He then hugged her to him, burying his laughing face in her hair. She pinched his back out of sight from the flower guy.

“Wonderful,” sighed the florist. “You two are obviously a match made in heaven because I honestly couldn’t see it until now.”

So they got through lunch without any more insults being flung. And by the end of the meeting, he knew that Donna’s bouquet was going to be full of red and white flowers.