Joan Pickart - Texas Glory

Bram began to pace, the large living room accommodating his long, heavy strides back and forth across the chocolate-colored carpeting.

He’d decorated his apartment on the fifteenth floor of a high-rise in earth tones: brown, oatmeal, yellow, burnt orange and deep green. The knickknacks and pictures were of a Southwestern motif, the furniture oversize to allow for his height. The color scheme, he’d told his mother, represented Texas, which was exactly the way he wanted it.

He’d decided years before that even though he owned a construction company, he wouldn’t build himself a house until he was ready to marry and settle down. Then he would draw up plans with his wife’s input to create a home, not just a structure with the label of “home.”

But here he was, thirty-three years old, more than ready to find the woman of his dreams, have babies with her, build that special home.

Here he was, alone and lonely.

And he’d let a very viable wife candidate in the form of Ms. Glory Carson slip through his fingers.

“Man,” Bram said, halting his trek and dragging one hand through his hair, “this is frustrating as hell.”

He spun around and started toward the kitchen, realizing suddenly that he was hungry. As he passed the panda where it was perched in an easy chair, Bram glared at the toy.

“Knock off the smile, pal,” he said. “This is not a happy situation.”

In the kitchen Bram began to yank food from the refrigerator, shoving all and everything onto the nearest counter.

Tomorrow, he decided, he’d talk to Tux, who was a private investigator. After Tux finished laughing himself silly over Bram’s inability to obtain a telephone number from a woman held captive on an airplane, he would hopefully agree to use his investigative resources to track down Glory for Bram.

Whatever it takes, Bram vowed, as he pitched a moldy tomato into the trash. Yes, sir, he’d pull out all the stops, leave no stone unturned, and a whole slew of other clichés.

He would find Glory Carson.

Glory sank into bed with an exhausted sigh, savoring the feel of the marshmallow-soft pillow beneath her head.

Sleep at last, she thought. She’d unpacked her carryon, eaten a light dinner, sorted through the maze of papers in her briefcase, checked with her answering service for messages, then finally indulged in a long, leisurely bubble bath.

And now she was anticipating hours of blissful sleep before the alarm clock shrilled the announcement that it was Monday morning and the beginning of a new and busy week.

As she began to drift off into slumber, sudden images of a six-foot-tall panda began to dance before her mental vision.

Glory’s last conscious thought before sleep claimed her was that the human-size panda toy had gorgeous, sapphire blue eyes.

The next morning the panda sat in a chair in the corner of Tux Bishop’s office. The huge toy now had a billed Houston Oilers cap balanced on top of its head. No respectable panda, one of Tux’s investigators had declared, would be seen without a cap announcing loyalty to the city’s football team.

Bram paced heavily back and forth across his brother’s office, finishing his tale of having found, then lost, Glory Carson.

“It wasn’t my fault, of course,” Bram said, slouching onto a chair opposite Tux’s desk.

“Of course not,” Tux said, then paused. “Whose fault is it?”

“Our mother’s. Mrs. Jana-John Bishop.”

Tux chuckled. “This ought to be good. What does our sweet mother have to do with the fact that you screwed up royally on that airplane?”

“She taught us to be polite gentlemen, you dolt. What was I supposed to do when those little old ladies asked me to get their junk out of the overhead compartments? Tell them to go find a Boy Scout? Tux, Glory has vanished. I need your help here.”

“Hmm.” Tux rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, made a steeple of his hands and tapped his fingertips against his lips as he stared into space.

There was a definite family resemblance among the Bishop brothers, each having nicely muscled physiques on six-foot frames, rugged, handsome features, and the same deep blue eyes.

Tux’s hair, however, was very blond, streaked nearly white-blond by the sun in places. Bram’s twin brother, Blue, had hair as black as midnight.

“You got absolutely nothing from the directory assistance operator?” Tux said finally.

“Nope. Isn’t that strange? If Glory had an unlisted number, the telephone operator would have said so. The only G. Carson was some doctor, but I know that isn’t Glory.”

Bram stiffened in his chair.

“Do you suppose Glory gave me a phony name?” he said. “Why would she do that?”

Tux shrugged. “According to you, she’s a very beautiful woman. Maybe she gets rid of hustlers like you by inventing a name, making it impossible for you to bother her.”

“I’m not a hustler!” Bram frowned. “Well, I was in my former swinging single life...sort of. But not now. I’m sincere, honest and trustworthy.”

“Brave, courageous and bold,” Tux added.

“Would you knock it off? Come on, Tux. You’re the private investigator in the family, so investigate, for Pete’s sake. Find Glory Carson for me.”

“Chill, little brother,” Tux said. “I’m leaping into action.”

“It’s about time,” Bram muttered.

Tux opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed the telephone book, placing it in front of him.

“Oh, man,” Bram said, “are you deaf? I already did that bit.”

Tux glared at Bram.

“Did you check the yellow pages?” Tux asked.

“What for?” Bram said, flinging out his arms. “Glory didn’t strike me as someone who might be a plumber or exterminator.”

“Bishop, shut up a minute, will you?” Tux said.

“I’m taking my bear back,” Bram said. “You’re worthless, Bishop.”

“You can’t have the panda,” Tux said, flipping to the yellow section of the telephone book. He began to turn pages, one at a time. “It now belongs to my son or daughter. Whew. Can you believe it, Bram? I’m going to be an honest-to-goodness father.”

Bram smiled. “It’s wonderful, it really is. You’ll be a great daddy, Tux, and Incredibly Beautiful Nancy sure will be a super mother. I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Thanks. We’re on Cloud Nine, that’s for sure. Well, actually, Nancy kind of came down off the cloud this morning when she was tossing her cookies. Morning sickness is really the pits.”

“Yeah, I bet it is. What did you do for her?”

“I suggested it might be a good idea to put something back in her stomach, you know what I mean? I offered to heat up the leftover pizza we had last night.”

“And you lived to tell about it?” Bram asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Just barely. I won’t do that again, believe me.” Tux leaned closer to the telephone book. “Man, I’m a top-notch investigator. I should receive an award for solving this case so quickly. Maybe I’ll settle for sending you a megabucks bill.”

“Why? What?” Bram said, getting to his feet.

“It’s right here,” Tux said, tapping the page. “Dr. Glory Carson is a psychologist specializing in marriage counseling. She has an office in a building about six blocks from here.”

Bram sank back onto the chair, an incredulous expression on his face.

“She is Dr. G. Carson?” he said. “Why didn’t she correct me when I called her ‘Ms’? A marriage counselor?” He raked both hands through his hair. “Oh, hell, that’s terrible.”

“Why? What’s wrong with her profession? Hey, it says the lady has brains, as well as looks. Dr. Carson is not a bubblehead.”

“I realize that, Tux, but, cripe, a marriage counselor? She spends her days listening to people with messed-up marriages, then suggests appropriate behavior, right?”