Макс Коллинз - Spree

Nolan put the travel brochures on the nightstand and turned off the lamp; he sat in the dark, naked under the covers, hands folded on his plump belly, which looked plumper than it was, contrasted with the rest of his lean, scarred, muscular frame.

He was waiting for Sherry. This was the ritual, on the nights they made love, which was perhaps every other night, except in her period, of course.

She would say, “I’ll meet you in the bedroom in five minutes.” He would say fine, and would slip downstairs to shower in the can, off the guest bedroom. She would be upstairs, readying herself. Bath; diaphragm; makeup; perfume. The perfume was this hundred-and-fifty-buck-an-ounce shit from Beverly Hills, which even with his fifteen percent discount from Petersen’s was a crock. His Christmas gift to her last year. It did smell good.

Within the specified five minutes, Nolan would be between the sheets; nothing but him and his Old Spice, powder and after-shave both. Another ten to fifteen minutes would pass, during which he would either read or think. He didn’t mind the wait; he liked time to himself, and with all the hours he was putting in at Nolan’s, ten minutes here, fifteen minutes there, meant something. He found these lulls relaxing. Calming.

Just about when he’d given up, she’d appear in the doorway, her slim, curving form a silhouette against the hall light behind her. Sometimes she’d switch on the overhead bedroom light and be naked for him. Most women are beautiful in the dark; Sherry was beautiful with the lights on. Her legs were long, sleek — not muscular, not fleshy — sleek. Supple. Her waist was impossibly narrow. Her breasts were full, nipples very pink against her creamy white flesh, translucent flesh gently marbled blue, life flowing through her. The hair between her legs was darker blond than the hair on her head, but just as well tended; she trimmed the bush, brushed it — he’d seen her do this, from time to time; this is for you, she’d say, smiling wickedly. Driving him crazy.

The only imperfection was an appendix scar, and this, too, he liked: it made her human. Her breath was very bad in the morning, like anybody else; and without her makeup she was better than plain but less than pretty. He liked that too. He liked the fantasy of his bedroom but he also liked the reality of daily life with her, a smart, funny cookie who was getting good at helping him run his business.

Tonight she didn’t switch on the light, as she stood in the bedroom doorway; tonight she was in a red and black corset affair, breasts almost spilling out the top, mesh black stockings that rose to midthigh; beneath the corset, silhouetted, was her pubic fringe. The sheet between his legs rose to salute her.

She came over and flipped the covers back and, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaned over and put him in her mouth; he closed his eyes and began to believe in a life after death.

Then she climbed on top of him and rode him till they both came; it took a while, a nice while. She tumbled off to one side and Nolan reached over to the bed stand and got them both some tissues.

“I love to fuck you,” she said.

“I hate it,” he said.

She kissed him and snuggled close. “Sometimes I just have to do that — take charge of you.”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

She kissed his shoulder. “I get tired of you dominating me all the time. Sometimes I just have to strike back.”

“Feel free to get back at me this way anytime.”

“I wonder if it would be any less fun?”

“What?”

“Making love. After we were married.” That again.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never been married.”

“Me either. Have you been giving it some thought?”

He had been.

“Not really,” he said.

“I think maybe we should. Get married.”

“Oh?”

“For your standing in the community, if nothing else. You’re a respectable businessman. Living with a young woman.”

“In sin,” he added.

“In sin,” she smiled.

“I could adopt you.”

“Incest is against the law.”

“Well we can’t have that, can we. Breaking the law.”

“That’s right — you’re reformed.” Sherry was well acquainted with Nolan’s criminal past.

“I’m a different man, now,” he said.

“Do you really think so?”

“Sure. I like crossing the street with the light. It’s a whole new thing.”

“You never miss it? The excitement?”

Sometimes.

“Never,” he said.

“I bet you had a lot of women.”

“Yes, but you were my first virgin.”

“Very funny.”

“When did you lose your virginity?”

“Junior high.”

“Some young stud.”

“No. One of my teachers.”

“Dirty old man, then. Should’ve been shot.”

“Not really. He seemed old, at the time, but I think he must’ve been about twenty-three. He was married, but unhappy. He got a divorce, later. Wonder what became of him?”

“Doesn’t seem like a memory you’re troubled

“I’m not. He was cute. He screwed me on his desk. A bunch of times.”

“I don’t think I want to hear this.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Are you lying?”

Getting screwed on a teacher’s desk sounded like a Penthouse magazine letter to Nolan.

“No,” she said. “I’ve always liked boys.”

“It sounds to me like you’ve always liked men.”

“Yeah. I always went with the older guys. In junior high, it was high school guys, once I broke up with the teach. In high school, I went with college boys. And I always put out.”

“Are you bragging?”

“No. I just want you to know something — you’re the first man I’ve ever been with who’s made an honest woman out of me.”

“I haven’t married you yet.”

“I don’t mean it like that. I never lasted with anybody more than a few months; then I’d get bored. It took you to settle me down, Nolan. I haven’t wanted anybody but you, since the day we met.”

For a second there, Nolan expected violins; but there weren’t any. That was a relief.

“What are you going to tell me next?” he said. “That the time we were apart, you were faithful to me, too?”

“Of course not. But I’ve stayed faithful to you, since the day I moved into this house. And I’ll stay faithful to you till the day you boot me out.”

“That day won’t come, doll.”

She smiled on one side of her face; she liked being called “doll.” She told him, once, she liked those old-timey sounding terms of endearment. Doll. Baby. Sweetheart. Nolan didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Have you been faithful to me?” she asked.

Yes he had.

“What you don’t know won’t hurt you,” he said, and kissed her forehead.

“You don’t have to marry me,” she said.

“You’re not pregnant, then?” He blew air out, as if relieved.

“You’re a riot, Nolan. I just mean, I’ll stay here, whatever the case. Till...”

“Till I boot you out. Right. Well, we’ll think about this marriage thing. There’s things to consider, you know.”

“Such as?”

“Our respective ages. I’m better than twice yours.”

“I don’t care.”

“What if we had children?”

“What if we did?”

“I don’t like the idea of going to my kid’s graduation in a wheelchair.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Not silly; realistic. In ten years you’ll be in your thirties and I’ll be in my sixties.”

“I don’t care.”

“In about fifteen years, you’ll come through that doorway in a Frederick’s nightie and nothing will happen under these covers.”

“How do you know that?”