Jackpot!

JACKPOT!

The phone on the land line is ringing. It’s a basic black corded phone, $19.99 at Canadian Tire, no bells, whistles or caller ID. A back-up in the unlikely event of wireless system failure.
 
Alexandra stares at it. Nobody calls that number any more, except the occasional telemarketer, but the robocall screen generally takes care of that.
 
Don't be stupid. Don't answer.
But what if it's him?
 
How could it possibly be him? It was so long ago.
 
Alexandra was incredibly drunk that night, laughing at everything like a crazy person. Someone had invited her to a farewell party for Tony, who was reporting for basic military training the next day. There was no way of knowing where they would send him. Perhaps to his death.
 
She barely knew Tony, but somehow she ended up dancing with him again and again, pressing herself against him, shielding him from the imaginary bullets that buzzed through her imagination. He was a nice guy, after all, and didn’t deserve to die.
 
Soon they were in a dark corner, fumbling at each other’s clothes. They didn’t go all the way, but Tony got very sentimental and asked if she would marry him. He said he needed something lovely to focus on when things got miserable, as they surely would. 
 
Because everything was funny at the moment, she giggled hysterically and said she would marry him when she won Lotto 649. Like that was ever going to happen! She was never the gambling kind. It just seemed kinder than saying “when hell freezes over.”

But her mother, bless her, bought her a lottery ticket for her 49th birthday. And now Alexandra has 4.3 million and change. Not a big win, as big wins go, but enough to have that stupid tattoo removed.
 
Tony was totally into the 649 thing. “Let’s seal our bargain with a tattoo!”
 
“As long as it’s not a kiss,” she said, wrinkling her nose and tossing back another shot of vodka straight from the bottle. “Kisses are so messy.”
 
She can’t recall what happened after that, but the next morning, her right leg felt like it had been burned in a fire. Huge, ornate script paraded down her thigh, proclaiming NOLI TANGERE. Hands off in Latin. On her calf, in smaller letters encircled by a red heart, the message PROPERTY OF ANTHONY G. WATSON.
 
She did her best to forget the whole incident, but it was hard not to look at that message, especially in the summertime.

Tony went off to his new life the day after the party, and Alexandra never saw him again. She kept telling herself that was a good thing. But sometimes she would dream about him, and that would start her thinking. Was he a hero? Did he get killed or wounded? Was he still in the army, or had he moved on to other things? She imagined his civilian life with a dowdy wife and six kids, too much mortgage, too many prescriptions, PTSD.
 
The phone keeps ringing and ringing. It pauses for a merciful moment, only to start up again.
 
Her win is official now, multiple pictures taken, press releases, interviews. Though she is past the bloom of youth, she is a celebrity. There will be endless phone calls in the days to come. People knocking on her door with gadgets to sell, sob stories to recite, pleading for just a tiny bite of her lucrative lotto pie.

But this phone call is different. Could it be the summons of destiny?
 
Her tattoo is tingling.

She picks up the receiver and whispers hello.
 
"It's Tony," he says, jauntily, as if they had parted just the day before. "On your doorstep. I've come to claim my prize."
 
She sets the receiver down and considers her options. Should she tell him to buzz off in a gentle way, tell him about a mythical boyfriend who will make an honest woman for her in a few months?
 
Mimi, her little black cat, jumps off the couch and goes to the door, meowing inquisitively.
 
“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” Alexandra tells her sternly, and picks her up before opening the door. 
 
The man on the steps is remarkably well-preserved for someone over fifty years old. There is a twinkle in his eye that stirs her heart and memories.
 
He lets him in and shuts the door behind him. She gently deposits Mimi on the floor and ushers Tony into her living room. He settles himself on the couch. Mimi jumps onto his lap. He scratches her head and she begins to purr.
 
Alexandra sits down on the chair on the other side of the coffee table. She feels her face flush. She is reliving every detail of that fateful night.
 
“Are you okay with a marriage commissioner, or do we have go through all that church folderol?” he asks cheerfully. Her heart skips a couple of beats.
 
“Let’s have coffee first, and catch up,” she says. “It’s been a while.” She tries to sound firm and confident, but her voice is wobbly.
 
She makes coffee and brings out her latest batch of home-made cookies. She surreptitiously pinches herself to check whether she is dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s fallen asleep on the couch after a stressful day.
 
“How did you find me?” she asks.
 
“Reverse look-up. You haven’t changed your phone number in twenty-seven years.”
 
“How was army life?” she probes. “Did you go to war?”
 
“I was lucky,” Tony says. “I never had to kill anyone. But that’s all over. I’m a contractor now.”
 
“I never married, you know,” Alexandra blurts out.
 
“Me neither. I was engaged, but things went south after my fiancé saw my tattoo. She insisted that I have it removed before the wedding. I made the appointment, but I didn’t go. That’s when I realized that my attachment to you was more than skin deep.”
 
He pulls up his pant leg as far as his knee. She sees a familiar-looking heart, the twin of hers. PROPERTY OF ALEXANDRA E. SHAW.
 
“Wow,” she says. “I didn’t realize that you got a tattoo as well. What’s your middle name?”
 
“Gerald.”
 
“Mine is Esther.”
 
“It’s beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful.”
 
“I have a son,” she tells him.
 
“Oh God,” Tony stammers, “Did I -- ? I feel like an ass. I can’t remember.”
 
“No, no. Jerry was born two years later. He’s happily married and has a daughter. Are you sure you’re interested in hooking up with a grandmother?”
 
“I’d love to be an instant grandpa,” Tony says enthusiastically. “None of the hassle of having children and raising them. Just right on to the fun stuff.”
 
Well, he passed that test. And he likes Mimi and she likes him.
 
“I have three cats,” she says. “The curious one is Mimi. The other two, Rex and Sunbeam, are lurking around somewhere.”
 
“I have three cats as well,” Terry answers. “I was thinking of building a catio for them.”
 
“A catio? You own your own house, then? Mine is a rental.”
 
Tony smiles. “Yes. I bought it with the idea of flipping it. I was just going to live in it for a couple of years to avoid capital gains tax, but it grew on me. It’s on a nice little property outside Earlton, twenty-three acres.”
 
Alexandra’s head is spinning with wild thoughts. She was a bridesmaid three times, and none of the marriages worked out. But an acreage with six cats sounds like a piece of paradise. Even after she convinced herself that marriage was not for her, she couldn’t help dreaming of a honeymoon in Europe. Honeymoons are always perfect, removed from responsibility.
 
Her mobile phone starts playing a happy tune. She picks it up and shuts it down.
 
“You know,” she says, “I’ve read that people have trouble managing large amounts of money if they’re not used to being rich. I was thinking it might be best to donate my winnings to the Humane Society.”
 
Tony grins at her without the slightest hint of consternation. “Whatever. I don’t want your money. I just want you.”
 
Her heart opens like a lotus blossom. “We could use some of it for ourselves,” she says. “A catio for six … and a honeymoon cruise. I’ve always wanted to see the Lippizan stallions dancing in Vienna.”
 
The doorbell starts ringing frantically. Alexandra stays firmly rooted to her chair.
 
“It’s going to be crazy for the next few days,” she sighs. “Suddenly, I’m everybody’s best friend.”
 
“Why don’t you come and stay at my place? Nobody needs to know where you are.”
 
Shyness grips her. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but familiarity breeds contempt. “It could be weeks,” she points out. “Are you sure you won’t get tired of me?”
 
Tony shakes his head. “That would be like getting tired of breathing.”
 
She stands up.  “I’ll go pack. Help yourself to more coffee if you want.”
 
This is insane, insane, insane. But I want to do this. Even if it doesn’t work out, it will hurt less than removing that tattoo.