John Lutz - The Ex

“On her high school swim team,” Molly said.

“Freak things happen,” David said glumly.

Forever.

Molly began to cry.

After Deirdre described what had happened at the funeral home, Darlene looked horrified.

“That was a terrible thing to do!”

“Why?” Deirdre asked. “Just because angelic little you wouldn’t do it?”

They were walking along crowded Fifth Avenue. Darlene was wearing tight slacks that showed off her slender, shapely dancer’s legs, and a white pullover with a scoop neck that made her own neck look even thinner and more delicate. She and Deirdre had met in front of the public library, near a stone lion that guarded so much knowledge. Deirdre’s high heels were making regular clacking sounds on the concrete as she strode along the sidewalk. Beside her, Darlene walked quietly in soft soles.

“I certainly wouldn’t do it in a mortuary,” Darlene said. “And don’t tell me about all the Freudian relationships between sex and death. That’s no excuse.”

“I don’t need an excuse. Anyway, Freud was a fool.”

People glanced at them as the two women approached, then the crowds on the sidewalk parted to let them pass. Darlene had such a confident stride that folks automatically made way for her, sometimes even stepping wide to get out of her path. Deirdre was jealous. She couldn’t help but notice the deferential way people always treated Darlene, as if she were some kind of royalty.

“Why did you have sex there?” Darlene asked.

“Because I wanted to, and so did David.”

“You made him want to. I’ve been thinking a lot about your situation, Deirdre. What you wanted, what you still want, is to control David entirely. To possess him sexually and in every other way.”

“I never made a secret of that. Not with you, anyway. Propriety is the spice of life.”

“Don’t spring those cutesy puns and malapropisms on me, Deirdre.”

Deirdre didn’t like being talked to in such a manner, but an apology here might be the wisest choice. “Okay, I’m sorry. It’s an old habit.”

“I don’t like it. And I don’t approve of sex with a married man in a funeral home. It’s inexcusable.”

“But we both enjoyed the risk. This might be impossible for you to understand, but for some people sex is best when it’s dangerous. It’s much more of a thrill.”

“Does that explain why all those poor people died of AIDS?”

“It explains some of it, I bet. I didn’t realize you had such a social conscience.”

Darlene stopped walking. Deirdre continued for a few steps. then stopped and turned. They moved into a doorway so they wouldn’t be knocked down by the relentless mass of pedestrians.

“I care about you, Deirdre,” Darlene said. “I don’t want you taking those kinds of risks, sinning that way. I care about your body and your immortal soul.”

Deirdre was astounded. “Are you some kind of religious freak?”

“No.”

“Then don’t be so judgmental.”

Darlene looked down at the cigarette butts and crumpled gum and candy wrappers littering the pavement. Then she looked up at Deirdre. “Okay,” she said seriously, “maybe you’re right. From now on I’ll try not to judge.”

Deirdre felt better. She reached out for Darlene, but Darlene moved away. Almost as if she were afraid.

“You’re not scared of me because I like wild sex, are you?” Deirdre asked.

“Of course not. And who says I don’t like wild sex?”

Deirdre laughed. “I can’t imagine you…actually doing it.”

“Well,” Darlene said, “I actually do. I have male friends.”

Deirdre glanced across the street at a corner coffee shop. “Let’s go over there and have something to drink.”

“I can’t and you shouldn’t,” Darlene said. “You’ve missed enough work today. Your boss might object.”

“Not Chumley. I’ve got him trapped around my finger.”

“Deirdre!”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You’re so manipulative.”

“Aren’t you being judge-”

“Yes, I am. My turn to apologize. But you really should get to work.”

“Chumley truly won’t care if I’m another hour late. Because I took time off today, I plan on working very late tonight. It’s already arranged.”

“Be that as it may,” Darlene said earnestly, sounding old-fashioned the way she did sometimes, “I can’t go across the street and have a drink with you. It’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“It just is.” Deirdre thought she was going to glance at her watch again, but she didn’t. Instead she moved out of the doorway, into the throng of passing pedestrians. “Sorry, Deirdre.”

“Wait a-”

“Bye! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

And she was gone.

Maybe you’re sorry, and maybe you’re not, Deirdre thought.

She was hurt and disappointed. She had wanted to talk with Darlene, to find out exactly what she thought that Freud had said about sex and death. She wanted to set Darlene straight about Freud.

Then she glanced at her watch, the way Darlene so often did, and began striding briskly to work.

Sex and death indeed!

“You’re killing me!” Chumley moaned.

Behind him nighttime Manhattan glittered outside his office window. It was a large office with gray file cabinets along one wall. On another wall was a sales chart, a bulletin board plastered with memos and shipping schedules, a Minolta copy machine on a table with folding legs. Cardboard storage boxes were stacked in a corner. It was an office not for show, but where work was done.

Two gray steel desks, one larger than the other, matched the filing cabinets. On the large desk sat a black multilined phone, file folders, a wire Out basket, a fancy gold and black marble pen set, and framed photos of a smiling, middle-aged woman and two preteen girls wearing smaller but brighter versions of the same smile.

Chumley was seated in his desk chair rolled out from behind the larger desk. Deirdre, her skirt hiked to her waist, was straddling him, moving her hips with increasing speed and force. With each pump of her hips the chair squealed as if in pain. Sometimes it was Chumley who groaned, not in pain. After hours had never been so good for Chumley.

He had his head thrown back now and was moaning softly. Deirdre knew the moment. She grinned down at him, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him violently on the lips. His body arched and trembled beneath her and she rode him as he reached orgasm.

“Jesus!” Chumley moaned, and his body relaxed. Went completely limp.

Deirdre lifted herself up from him just enough to work her hand down between their bodies. She kissed him again, hunching her shoulders, then used her hand to bring herself to climax. She’d been close, and it took her less than a minute.

Her breathing was only slightly hard and not at all ragged, but Chumley’s chest was still heaving as he sucked in oxygen. Laughing deep in her throat, she leaned forward and probed his ear with her tongue. He turned his head away.

“I’ve had it, Deirdre,” he gasped. “Whew!..Sorry.”

She planted her feet on the floor and rose up off him, letting her skirt fall back into place then smoothing it down over her thighs. She leaned back with her hips against the edge of the desk. Chumley, fully dressed but with his pants and boxer shorts down around his ankles, remained sprawled in the chair, slowly winning the struggle to regain his breath.

“You are something,” he said between gasps.

She smiled at him, then picked up her panties from the floor and stuffed them in a pocket of her skirt. She was looking out the window behind them. The blinds were raised high and the drapes opened wide. Hundreds if not thousands of lighted windows faced them. And some that were not lighted. Those were the ones that interested her, people staring out at the world from darkness.