John Lutz - The Ex

She went back to the sofa but didn’t sit down. Instead she picked up the folded Times then laid it back on the cushion, feigning casualness, putting the subject of Dr. Mindle behind them.

Time to steer the conversation down another road.

“I don’t like the way things have been going lately,” she said.

“No one does,” David replied.

She sat down in a corner of the sofa. “I meant with my work. Traci called about the architectural manuscript. The author’s going to make trouble.”

“Some of them do,” David said. “He’s probably relying on the fact that he knows more about architecture than do you or Traci.”

“That’s the problem. He’s an architect and not a writer. Everybody in this goddamned world is trying to be something or someone else.” Like that fucking Deirdre. “Have you noticed?”

He smiled. “Oh, I’ve noticed.” He walked over and sat down a cushion away from her. “I do have some good news for you, Mol. The company that manages this building says we can move to another apartment it manages a few blocks from here without violating the terms of our lease. We have our choice of two. You can look at them tomorrow while I’m at work.”

“That’s great,” Molly said. And she meant it. Here was a significant first step in the journey away from Deirdre. “But what makes you so hot to move all of a sudden?” she asked. “You were resisting the idea before as if I’d suggested a vasectomy.”

“Was I? Well, I thought about it and came to the conclusion you were right. It’d be better for all of us if we got out of this building.”

Molly wondered if his “all of us” included Deirdre, but she decided not to ask. Instead she moved over to him and kissed his cheek.

“You said the right thing, David. That does more for me than Doctor whatever-his-name-is could possibly do.”

He patted her hand. “I thought you’d feel that way about it. I’m glad.”

When he stood up, she reached for the remote control that sat on one of the sofa arms, aimed it at the TV, and pressed the bright red power button.

At the soft electronic pop the TV made when it came on, he turned suddenly. “What are you doing?”

Molly was puzzled by his reaction. And by something in his voice. Fear? “I was going to get Channel One,” she said. “Catch up on the local news.”

“Is Michael asleep yet?”

“Maybe,” she said, wondering what this was about.

“Let’s take him and go out someplace. Maybe walk down and get some ice cream. He loves to do that.”

“But he’s in bed.”

“So? How much trouble can it be to get him up? Hell, he can go in his pajamas. There are only so many chances in life to get ice cream. You’ve got to take them.”

She wasn’t going to argue against that philosophy She pressed the remote’s power button again and the television went silent and dark.

“Are you restless, David?” she asked. “Or is there some reason you don’t want me to watch the news?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I don’t know why, but I don’t feel like watching television tonight. Any kind of television.”

From her window overlooking West Eighty-fifth Street, Deirdre watched David, carrying Michael, walking with Molly toward the lights of shops at the corner.

They paused for Molly to adjust her shoe or sock, and David moved over to walk on the curb side. An unconsciously protective gesture, Deirdre thought with envy. She’d read somewhere that the custom dated back to when gentlemen walked closest to streets of mud to shield against ladies getting their dresses stained from the splashing of passing carriages. She narrowed her eyes and for an instant her lips arced in a tight, grim smile. Wouldn’t want little Molly to get soiled.

She placed the side of her forehead against the warm glass, leaning forward and staring with fierce attention at them, clenching her teeth so that her jaw muscles danced. Her hands were clenched too, into tight fists that she leaned on against the wooden sill.

When the Jones family was out of sight, Deirdre straightened up and stared down as she unclenched her fists. She’d dug her long fingernails into her flesh so deeply that her hands were bleeding. The blood on her palms reminded her of photos of stigmata, before she’d become a lapsed Catholic.

Leaving the window, she went to a cardboard box and dug out a Bible she’d stolen from a motel room outside Saint Louis. Then she went into the kitchen and got a sharp knife.

She sat down in the living room and began methodically slashing the Bible’s pages, tossing them to the floor with abandon when they separated from the binding.

When she was finished, she gathered up the pages and the mutilated fake leather Bible jacket, carried them in to the kitchen sink, then burned them.

The forsaken, the truly lost, obeyed only their own commandments.

It was almost midnight when Molly loomed over David. She’d removed her sleep shirt and panties and stood nude next to the bed, trailing a corner of her silk scarf lightly over his cheek.

She grinned as he swiped at the scarf with his hand, then opened his eyes and saw her in the dim light.

“Mol?” There was surprise in his voice. And, she thought, anticipation.

She bent lower and kissed him then, reached down and felt him between the legs. His penis was flacid now, but she could change that. The really sensual sexual organ was the brain, and she was going to enter David’s mind tonight even if he thought it was the other way around.

Standing up straight, she used both hands to twirl the scarf into a taut twist of smooth material. Then she smiled. “How about tying my hands and feet, lover? Would you like that?”

He paused, then surprised her.

“Not tonight, Mol. Not that kind of game.”

“You’ve played that kind of game before.”

He almost sat up, as if she’d alarmed him.

“Remember? The lodge in Maine?”

“Ah, yeah.” He seemed to relax. “No forgetting that.”

Puzzled, she stared at him. “You want me to tie you up?”

“No.”

“Something wrong, David?”

“Nothing.”

“The way things have gone lately, I thought you might want me to spice up our bedroom time.”

He reached up and grabbed the scarf, hurting her finger as the material was wrenched from her grasp, then threw it across the room into shadow.

She was stunned. Confused. “Jesus, David! There’s no reason to get mad.”

He lay very still for a while, not answering. Then he cupped a hand behind her head and pulled her down to him. She resisted, still unsure and angry. But this was at least some reaction from him. And she needed that, dammit, she needed it! She let the strength drain from her as he kissed her.

He smiled at her with something like regret. She thought he was going to apologize for snatching away the scarf, but he didn’t. “Nothing needs spicing up where you’re concerned, Mol. I’m just not into that kind of stuff anymore.”

She kissed his forehead, then his lips. “You used to be adventuresome in sex. Used to get a little kinky from time to time. I never minded that. I liked it.”

“So did I, but I don’t feel adventuresome tonight.”

She settled back down beside him in the bed.

Within a few minutes, his hand brushed her nipple, then moved lower. As his finger found its familiar spot and began its subtle rotation, he rolled toward her, craning his neck, and his lips warmly encircled the nipple that still tingled from his touch.

“Plain vanilla, David,” she said, half-jokingly.

Only half-jokingly.

A light rain was falling the next morning as Molly delivered Michael to Julia beneath the canopy in front of Small Business.