Goodbye, Tommi?

(cross-posted at I Love Tom DeLay and Blognonymous)

 "I Love Tom DeLay!" Yes, I said it. And I'm not ashamed. While others abandon him in his darkest hours like rats from a sinking ship, my heart will follow him wherever he goes. You can keep your boy-toys and your girly-men; I'll take a real man like my Sugar Land Sugar Daddy any day of the week. His jowly, blow-dried manliness makes my knees weak. How can you resist a man who will let nothing get in the way of his relentless and ruthless climb to the top of the heap; a man who sees what he wants and just...reaches out and takes it! A man who laughs in the face of persecution by the small-minded liberal snivelers. And yet, my Tom has a softer side, too - his love for the long-brain-dead Terri Schiavo was so inspirational and spiritual, I still get goosebumps just thinking about it.

And now they're trying to take away Tommi's feeding tube, too. Well, I won't have it, do you hear? They'll have to go through me first, Tommi! I'm here for you, Tommi! And I'll be here when you get out of prison! They can't keep us apart, darling - I'll wait forever if I have to!

I begged him not to go.

"Darling," I cried, "If you only knew how much I need you! "

"I know, my sweet li'l ol' butterbean," he replied gently, brushing a stray blob of grease (or was it a tear?) from the corner of my quivering lower lip.

We met for lunch - perhaps for the last time? - at Hogswallow's Hot Links, an out-of-the-way bar and barbecue joint tucked in between a pawn shop and a check-cashing store down by the railroad tracks. It was dilapidated and foul-smelling, and the food was indifferent at best, but I always thought of it as 'our place'. How many lunch hours had we spent here together, gnawing on gristly porkchops that resembled nothing so much as shoe leather, gazing into each others' eyes and talking about our hopes and dreams? And now my world was falling apart. The man I loved - no, worshiped - was telling me that it was over; that the good times we had shared were about to come to an end.

"Tommi," I sobbed, clutching at his shirt front, already stained with barbecue sauce and snot, "Please say it isn't true!"

"Aw, now, honey, don't you go to cryin' like that," he said as he disengaged my hands from his shirt and took a swig of his Lone Star - his 9th since we sat down. (And if the truth be told, I think he'd had a few before he got there.)

"But I can't help it, Tommi! I'm so afraid! Everyone's saying the most awful things about you! That you're a...a...swindler and a thief, and...you've been doing all kinds of illegal things...and that you're going to jail forever and ever and ever!" Overcome, I put my greasy napkin to my face and burst into a torrent of tears.

For a moment all was silent save for the sound of my sobs and the braying of Toby Keith blasting from the jukebox, exhorting us to "Get Drunk and Be Somebody" - a request that Tommi was obviously eager to fulfill. Then, to my surprise, Tommi leaned back in his chair and began to laugh. He guffawed until the tears began to roll down his face as well. Then he'd chug another swig of Lone Star and laugh some more.

"What's so funny?" I sniffed, unsuccessfully trying to wipe away the black streaks of Great Lash that had mixed with the grease and tears.

"Oh, cupcake," he said at last, gasping for breath, "I thought you were talkin' about somethin' serious there for a minute!"

"I was, Tommi! This is the end, isn't it? After all, bribery, strong-arming and corruption are serious charges! They'll lock you up and throw away the key! What will I do without you? And it's not just me who needs you, Tommi - what will the Republican Party do without you? They're already falling apart without you there to coerce - I mean, guide them with your wisdom!"

"Now, sweetcakes," he said, his eyes glistening if not exactly focusing, "do you honestly think there's anyone out there that can take on the Hammer and not get their head bashed in? I've already shut down those scurrilous and completely untrue advertisements that some liberal weenies tried to get on the air. Let that other fella - what's his name? Abra - uh, Abra-ham - Abra-cadabra?"

"Abramoff," I whispered. "Jackie-boy, you used to call him."

"I did? Can't say I recall that. Well, anyhoo, like I was sayin', that Abrahoff fella can take the heat for this one. I got too many good friends to ever get in any real trouble. After all, honey, I'm just a bidnessman. Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' a good bidnessman, now, is there? Course not. That's what America is all about. They're just jealous cause I'm so successful. When you're at the top, there's allus sumbody tryin' to take you down. But the Hammer don't swing that way, baby girl."

"You're right," I said softly, feeling ashamed. "I never should have doubted you, Tommi. It's just..."

"It's only for a little while, doll face. Just gotta lay low till this all blows over." He leaned over towards me. "Hey, hon, you gonna drink that beer?" He reached for the Lone Star untouched in front of me.

"N-no, Tommi," I said. "You can have it." Somehow my stomach was feeling a little queasy.

He swilled it down in one long gulp, then smacked his lips appreciatively. "Hoo wee! Hair o' the dog! Hey, Jimmie Sue," he called to the tobacco-chewing slattern behind the bar, "How 'bout a coupla Lone Stars for the road?"

"Sure, Tommi," she drawled. As she set them down on the table along with the check, he picked up his beer, flashed that toothy grin, and blew me a kiss as he ambled out the door into the noon sunshine.

"Call me," I cried as he walked away. I had a feeling it would be a long time before I saw my darling Tommi again.

"Hey, are you going to pay that check or you gonna sit here all day staring out the window?"

I sighed as I reached for my wallet, knowing that somehow, some way, Tommi would be all right.

But would I?

Would I?

Adieu or Au Revoir? - the Saga of Tom DeLay

"Melva Jean! How long is it going to take you to comb out my hair? I told you I have a lunch date, and I just can't be late!" I looked at my watch - the minute hand was inching toward twelve, and I was supposed to be meeting Tommi at Hogswallow's Hot Links at noon! My weekly set-and-comb-out at Melva Jean's Curl Up and Dye seemed to be taking forever today, but I wanted to look my best for Tommi.

Melva Jean sighed and exhaled a bitter cloud of Tareyton smoke. "I'm almost done, honey. Now hold still, or I'm gonna get Aqua-Net all in your eyes."

"Make sure you spray it good, Melva Jean, and don't forget to tease it extra-high the way Tommi likes it!"

"Tommi, Tommi, Tommi - that's all I hear you talk about anymore! When you gonna learn that man's no good?"

"No good? That's fine talk coming from you - speaking of which, when's Billy Earl coming back from Amarillo? I heard he's got him a hot little number stashed away in a motel over there," I said, mentally taking back the tip I usually left under the ashtray.

"Never you mind about Billy Earl. That man loves me to death. A truck driver just has to spend a lot of time on the road. Besides, at least he got him a honest job."

There was an awkward silence as Melva Jean finished ratting and spraying my hairdo. As I got up from the chair and paid the bill (twelve dollars and not a penny extra) Melva Jean said, "Aw, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I know how much you love him. I just don't wanna see you get hurt again, that's all."

"That's okay, Melva," I said, but I still didn't give her a tip as I walked out the door. I clattered down the street to my car. If I put the pedal to the metal, I could still be on time for Tommi.

He told me, when he called me last night at 3:30 AM from the Lucky 7 Lounge, that he had "somethin' real import'nt" to talk to me about. At least I think that's what he said, but it was hard to understand his slurred words. He told me to meet him at noon at 'our place'.

I couldn't sleep the rest of that night. My head was whirling, spinning fantasies like so much cotton candy. What could he want to talk to me about? Was he finally going to 'pop the question'? Whisk me away to the Marianas? Whatever it was, it sure had to be important for him to call me in the middle of the night. Lately I hadn't heard much from him, and I was distraught. What had I done, or not done - said or not said? But now, in retrospect, I knew he was staying away because he was planning a surprise for us! Visions of orange blossoms and wedding gowns danced in my head. What would Melva Jean say when I sashayed into the Curl Up and Dye with a big rock on my finger? "That's Mrs. Tom DeLay to you, Melva!" I'd say haughtily. They'd all stop laughing then. That'd put an end to the snide remarks made just loud enough for me to hear in line at the Piggly Wiggly. They'd all find out soon enough. I couldn't wait to wipe the smirks and the pitying looks off their faces.

I burst through the door of Hogswallow's, smoothing my hair and trying to still my wildly-beating heart as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I deliberately slowed down, trying to appear casual as I glanced around the deserted room for Tommi. True to form, he was there early, sitting at the far end of the bar, a row of dead soldiers already lined up in front of him. For some unknown reason, we were the only patrons there.

"Gotcha a Lone Star," he said by way of greeting. "Siddown." He gestured to the dirty naugahyde barstool beside him. I spread a couple of bar napkins on it and gingerly seated myself on the wobbly stool. Jimmi Sue, the slatternly barmaid, glared at me as she slopped grimy water onto the bar with an elderly gray dishrag. I glared back. She, like all the others, would soon be singing a different tune. Ignoring her stink-eye, I turned to Tommi.

"What is it, darling?" I gazed into his wide-set yet fish-like eyes. He looked away, then cleared his throat loudly.

"You know I like ya a lot, don'cha, Butterbean?" Here it comes, I thought, the moment every girl dreams of.

"Y-yes, Tommi," I stammered, my heart pounding like, well, a hammer. I held my breath and willed my hands to stop trembling.

"You're a nice li'l ol' gal, I always said. But tell me, honeybunch, do you like me too?"

"Oh, Tommi, you know I do!" I gasped. "More than anything!"

"And folks that like each other do each other li'l favors sometimes, don't they?"

"Just name it, Tommi - it's yours!"

"We-ell," he began. I was beginning to palpitate.

"I don't know quite how to say it..."

"Go on," I urged him. He took a swallow of his Lone Star and ahemmed again.

"Well, the thing is, I was thinkin' about takin' a little trip."

"A trip, Tommi?" I visualized it - Scotland, Cancun, maybe Paris? A honeymoon in Paris! What would I wear? But of course Tommi would buy me a lovely trousseau. I made up my mind that we'd get married on top of the Eiffel Tower.

"Tha's right, sugar beet. I been thinking about making a change."

"A change, Tommi?"

"Yeah, doll baby. I think I might like to move. It's getting a little warm here in Sugar Land."

"I know what you mean, Tommi. It's awfully hot here, especially in the summertime." I was thinking now, maybe Switzerland! I imagined Tommi and I in cute matching ski outfits, schussing our little hearts out together in the Alps. I'd never skied before, but I'd sure learn!

"But what about your important work?"

"Uh huh. The thing is, I'm retiring from the guv'mint."

"Retiring?" I exclaimed.

"They begged me to stay in Washington, o' course, but I insisted."

"So what will you do now, Tommi?"

"Well, I sure would like to take a nice trip to someplace cool", he said.

"Oh yes," I breathed.

"So, darlin', what I wanted to ask you..."

"Go on..."

"What I wanted to ask you, since we like each other so much..."

"Yes..."

"...is how much money you got in the bank?"

"Why, Tommi!" I blurted. "About ten thousand or so, that I've been saving up ever since I was a little girl, for..." I blushed, too embarrassed to go on.

"So, my li'l banana fritter, how'd you like to take a nice trip?"

"Oh, Tommi!" I squealed, flinging my arms around him and nearly knocking over his latest Lone Star, "yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!"

"Easy there, cupcake! Now here's what I want you to do. Go to the bank and take out that ten grand. Then bring it all back here, and I'll go and get a ticket - uh, I mean a couple of tickets!"

"Where to, Tommi?"

He winked and said, "It's a surprise, darlin."

"As long as we're together, I don't care where we go!"

"Uh, yeah," he said uncomfortably. "Hurry back, now!"

At last! All my dreams were coming true! I was so ecstatic that I couldn't even manage to be mad at slutty ol' Jimmie Sue as she shoved the bill for Tommi's 16 beers at me. I hurriedly paid it (no tip for Jimmie Sue) and raced out the door, headed for my car, the bank, all my money and my new life with Tommi!

As I ran, in my head I practiced the only French I knew. "Au revoir, Melva Jean!"

Who'll have the last laugh now?