Free Lunch

I have never been a fiction writer, but I think I’ve found new inspiration.  It involves free food, so I might actually do it.  It also involves acting, which I’ve never aspired to, but maybe I would try if the payoff were the elusive free lunch.

When I think about it, I actually do a lot of fiction writing in my head.  I see people and create elaborate back-stories to explain their behavior.  If I eventually get to know the person, I am often disappointed to learn that their real back-story is nothing like the one I had created for them.  Sometimes I stick with my version of their life to make them seem more interesting.

The scene I witnessed the other day was not one I would have ever come up with on my own, but now I need to flesh out the storyline and maybe even play it out.

I was at my favorite sandwich shop, waiting for a to-go order, eavesdropping.  Some kind of financial planner was explaining different types of life insurance to an attentive 30-something woman.  He shifted into other investment options and asked, “How old is your future mother-in-law?”  That’s when it got interesting.

The woman explained that the money she was looking to invest was her fiancé’s wife’s fortune, not his mother’s.  The 89-year-old woman he had recently shipped off to a nursing home had kept (her word not mine) him for many years, and there were no plans for a divorce. She explained that the old woman was very lonely after her husband passed, and that the younger man they now shared was quite handsome and clearly generous with his affection.  Being a prince of a guy, he wanted to make sure his sugar momma was comfortable, but that her medical needs didn’t cut too deeply into his current lifestyle or the future he was planning with his much younger fiancé.

I can’t make this shit up.

I wish I had seen the look on the financial planner’s face, but I was too busy hiding the look on my face while leaning in to get a better listen.  The woman filled what should have been an awkward silence.

She was unapologetic, repeatedly mentioning her fiancé’s good looks, and what a comfort he had been to the old woman since the early days of the first husband’s onset of Alzheimer’s.   Wow.  Forget waiting for the corpse to get cold.  This gold-digging dynamic-duo had swooped in years ahead of corpse-number-one and was now just waiting for the next body to drop.  In their version of reality, it was only right that this sweet man get what was due him after his years of devotion.  She was, of course, due some payoff as well, having provided the emotional support he needed throughout.  They were simply looking forward to living the life they deserved.

I wanted to sit down at the table next to them to hear more and see how the financial planner guy would react, but I didn’t.  Instead, I walked away and started drafting alternative back-stories.  Most of them where reminiscent of cheap soap operas, but I settled on one that I might just try out myself.

I’m not going to start trolling nursing homes for sugar daddies, let alone for creepy guys who are there scouting out their future sugar mommas.  I’m just going to create, and play the part of, a character like them.  Once I’ve got more than a rough draft, I’ll start trolling for financial planners who are willing to take me out to lunch to earn my fake business.

I’ll hone my fiction writing and acting skills and, more importantly, get some free lunches.  I won’t feel guilty because I won’t really be scamming a helpless old woman. And the guys paying for my lunch will have a great story to tell at cocktail parties.  Everyone wins!

I’m not a good actor, so I really should have one of my friends do it.  I have several who could pull it off.  But that defeats the whole purpose of me getting a free lunch.  I’ll just have to rehearse.  If I get caught, I’ll tell them it’s all a joke for Betty White’s new hidden camera TV show for old people.  Maybe I’ll even have one of my friends nearby with a camera to make it look legit.  If we get enough footage, we could turn it all into a documentary that explores the boundaries of social and professional mores.  Would any of the financial planners have the guts to tell me what I was doing was wrong, or would the potential commission override their sense  of morality?  Would other eavesdroppers like me ever speak up?  Would I be able to get anyone to pay for dinner?  I mean, as much as I love those gourmet chibatta sandwiches, a properly kept woman should probably insist on a white tablecloth establishment.

I clearly need to spend some time developing my character.  Then again, maybe fiction writing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Real world characters are pretty hard to top.