When she turns to exit the stage I can see two dimples between her hips, which means if her dress was a half inch lower in the back, the show would have to carry a PG 13 rating.

“God, she’s gorgeous!” Lissie said.

“You think?”

“Don’t you?”

I do. But what I say is, “Compared to you? Not so gorgeous.”

A short time later I’ve got Lissie in bed. I’m really going after it, really hammering her.

I know I’m disgusting. I know she can’t possibly want me touching her, much less riding her, but there she is, acting like I’m her version of Jinny Kidwell. Like I said, I don’t deserve her.

I’ve got my eyes shut tight, mouth slightly open. My back arches upward…

Then something shifts in the cosmos.

I feel it beneath me.

One minute Lissie’s into it, the next she’s not.

Still, if I can just hold this image of Jinny in my mind for three more seconds…

But no.

Lissie says, “Damn it Buddy!”

And pushes me off.

“Jesus, Lissie! I was just about to—”

“I know exactly what you were about to do,” she says, scooting away from me on the bed. I try to follow, but she makes her arm rigid between us, like Diana Ross, singing Stop in the Name of Love.

Then she says, “Who is she?”

“What?”

“Some new girl start at the office today?”

“What? Are you nuts? Of course not! Why would you even think that?”

She sits on the edge of the bed, her back to me. Her eyes follow the trail of clothes that runs from the door to her feet.

“Your friends were here today,” she says. “What did you talk about?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I swear!”

“Uh huh.” She reaches down, picks her panties off the floor, slips them over her feet and pulls them to her knees. “Fine.”

“Jesus, Lissie.”

She stands, lifts her panties to her waist in a fluid motion, then goes to the dresser and selects a flannel nightie that practically screams, “Don’t Touch Me!”

“Lissie, you’re the only woman in my world. I swear!”

She shrugs the nightie on, walks back to the bed, and stares me down.

A moment passes before I cave.

“I mean, yeah, Richie and Mike are a little uncouth sometimes, you know? They were talking a little crude.”

She waits. Like me, she’s wondering where this is heading.

“I think maybe Mike likes you.”

She arches an eyebrow. “What do you mean, likes me?”

I can’t believe I’m willing to sell my friends out so easily.

“Well, he made a crack about how lucky I was to have you, and how you’re way out of my league…”

I peek at her face to see if she’s buying my bullshit. She isn’t, but I have an endless supply and know how to shovel it.

I say, “I guess it hurt my feelings, you know?”

“Hurt your feelings.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew Mike was right.” I shake my head. “It’s true. I don’t deserve you.”

She gets a funny look in her eyes, like when her nephew soils his diaper, the one she just finished changing. She doesn’t like changing diapers, but she loves her nephew.

“So this was some sort of caveman thing? Like I’m your woman or something?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

Then her voice gets an edge to it and I know it’s all going south on me.

“So you were going to show Mike who’s boss.”

“What? No!”

“No? Well, guess what: this time I believe you!”

“Uh…whaddya mean?”

“This had nothing to do with Mike, and your feelings weren’t hurt. You were having sex with me, while thinking about someone else.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were, and I won’t have it!”

“What’re you talking about? How can you even draw that conclusion?”

“All night at dinner you’re staring at my body, not at me. Then you rip my clothes off, never once looking at my face. Then you start touching me differently, but still I give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Until?”

“Until just now.”

“Ever dawn on you I might be adding variety to our love making?”

“Not when you pound me like a street whore.”

“What?”

“You practically raped me! So don’t even—”

She presses her lips into an angry frown and stares at me like I’m a stain in her panties.

Hoping to diffuse her anger with humor, I say, “I guess a blow job’s out of the question?”

Lissie grits her teeth.

“Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t thinking about another woman. What’s really going on? Are you having an affair?”

“No! Honey, I swear!”

She climbs back in bed and turns her back to me. “Thanks a lot, Buddy.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Look, I—”

“Just…stop.”

“But—”

“Real class act, you are.”

“But—”

“Asshole.”

Out loud I say, “Jesus, Lissie,” but in my mind I’m thinking, How did she know?

But then I realize, women always know.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

It’s the middle of the night. Lissie’s sleeping soundly.

I slide carefully out from under the covers, pad down the hall, and creep softly down the steps to the kitchen. I pour myself a glass of water, sit at the counter, open my laptop and fire it up. I feel guilty, like I’m sneaking porn or something. When the welcome bell chimes, I nearly jump out of my skin, and shuffle quickly to the hallway to look up the stairs to see if Lissie’s coming. I stand there a full minute, but the house remains quiet, save for the light whooshing of my laptop fan in the next room.

I go back to the kitchen counter, click the internet icon and wait for the welcome page. When it appears, I type www.wishlist.bz in the address bar.