Lies and Lobster Bisque (Flash Fiction Challenge Story #1)
Genre: Comedy
Location: Laboratory
Object: PolygraphÂ
Gerry and Darlene have been married for ten years and agree to an ad for an experimental couple’s therapy session. They learn what they already knew but maybe forgot.
He had seen it in an ad posted in the Sunday Times in a small box on the corner of the third page.
Wanted: Couples of five or more years for a study in couple’s therapy. Compensation: One night of ALL YOU CAN EAT at Georgina’s Kitchen. Â
Jokingly, he had mentioned it to his wife Darlene as they sat at the small breakfast table sipping their morning coffee and nibbling at the toast, he cringed internally—she had burnt the edges again. Darlene paused mid chew before nodding her head and reaching for her napkin. Â
“Let’s do it,” she said.
Gerry had promptly choked on his coffee, “I’m sorry—do what exactly?” Darlene made a motion with her hands waving them heedlessly in the space between,
“Let’s do this couple’s therapy experiment.”
“No, absolutely not,” Gerry said.
“Why not? You’re the one who brought it up,” Darlene argued.
“As a joke! I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”
Darlene huffed leaning forward to press both elbows on top of the table.
“Gerry we’ve been married for ten years, don’t you think it would take more than an experimental couple’s therapy session to make us question the validity of our relationship?”
He grimaced as he chewed the burnt corners of his piece of toast before offering her his most deadpanned stare, “You just want an excuse to crack claws and eat lobster bisque all night.”
Darlene leaned back, slumping into the chair and crossing her arms over her chest before settling him with her own look of disbelief, “You’re telling me you’d rather stay home and eat the left over lasagna your mother cooked three days ago instead?” Her brow raised and Gerry clicked his tongue—touché.
“Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”
Within the hour they had found themselves standing in front of the receptionist’s desk filling out the waiver forms and consent to offer all rights of results to the relationship therapy experiment spearheaded by Dr. Kimmel, who had spent the last thirty years of his career discussing the it component that determined the longevity and authenticity of a relationship. When all was said and done they were lead down multiple winding hallways, passing all the front offices and disappearing into the labyrinth of the building.  At one point Gerry leaned over to whisper to Darlene while walking behind the receptionist leading them to the Laboratory,
“The prospect of our organs getting removed, stolen and sold on the black market is becoming more probable with each creepy door we pass.”
“All you can eat Gerry, that’s all I’m going to say.”
“Yeah till you don’t have a gallbladder,” he scoffed.
Laboratory Room 637 was at the end of the hall and appropriately named with a silver plaque with Dr. Kimmel’s name embossed just beneath the number. The receptionist smiled as she opened the door and waved them in, “Dr. Kimmel will be waiting inside to explain to you the details of the experiment. Happy therapy session,” she said as her heels retreated down the hall, clicking against the white tile.
Inside a man dressed in pair of navy blue slacks and a white button down shirt with a daisy yellow tie stood waiting. He was tall and gangly looking, his clothes seemed a size too big and his spectacles slid down his face with every gesture his countenance made.
“Welcome to Lab 637, won’t you please come have a seat?” Dr. Kimmel motioned to the simple metal table with three chairs. On the table sat unmistakably a machine with wires hooked up to graphing paper. Darlene’s lips pursed.
Dr. Kimmel smiled as if he could already determine their disbelief, “Ahh well not exactly. You see, the polygraph doesn’t necessarily detect lies; it detects nervousness. As therapists we take that nervousness and try to determine what about these questions make the individual nervous, and use the polygraph to then ask more prodding questions. Which as you might be able to guess can lead to some interesting and enlightening conversations.”
As he spoke he placed electrodes on Gerry and Darlene’s first and third finger of their right hand. He wrapped tubing around their chest and stomach, and then also placed a blood pressure reader on their left arm accordingly. Dr. Kimmel sat back and watched as the red light blinked and smiled as he pushed his glasses back up his face, readying a clipboard with a list of questions and his pen poised just above the paper.
“Now then shall we begin?”
Gerry and Darlene pushed past the revolving glass door, breathing in the fresh air as it rushed against their faces. The sun had just begun to dip below the tree line and the streets weren’t nearly as busy as when they had arrived. They walked in silence as they both got into their car and buckled their seats. They sat for a long moment before Darlene cleared her throat, “Well, that was…interesting.”
Gerry’s head whipped to the right and stared at Darlene with incredulity, “Interesting? That’s a bit of a stretch don’t you think? I mean I’ve never in my life ever heard of there being a correlation between the color of my underwear and my emotional capacity in the same sentence before!”
“I said interesting Gerry, not accurate,” Darlene said exasperatedly as she combed her fingers through her curls.
“And just where does he get off telling me that I’m not supportive? I’m supportive!”
“Very supportive Dear,” Darlene soothed.
“I mean, I eat your burnt toast every morning! Is that not the definition of support?”
Darlene sighed, “I never claimed to be a cook.”
“And I never claimed that I married one, but a man’s gotta eat more than just burnt toast Darlene!”
“Agreed. So, let’s go crack claws and eat lobster bisque till we’re sick with it,” her smile ever playful despite the aging of ten years.
“Till we’re sick with it,” he said, turning the key and revving the engine to life.
