John Lutz - The Ex

“I just left an old friend,” Deirdre said. “David.”

Darlene looked puzzled. A running man brushed Deirdre, knocking her toward the building. She moved out of the stream of pedestrians. Darlene followed.

“I thought I told you about David,” Deirdre said. “At Port Authority.”

Darlene’s soft brown eyes widened. “That’s true, you did. He’s your ex, am I right?”

“Right,” Deirdre said. “He and I had lunch together, a nice visit.”

Darlene grinned with tiny white teeth. “That’s not the way people usually talk about their ex. Any chance of it becoming more than a pleasant lunch?”

“The bastard got married while I was gone,” Deirdre said.

Darlene was still grinning. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Aren’t you naughty?” Deirdre laughed. Two women stared at her and had to walk around her. “Walk with me?” she invited Darlene.

Darlene glanced at a silver watch that fit loosely on her thin wrist, then shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got some spare time before I have to meet some friends.”

Deirdre started to walk, and Darlene fell in beside her. They entered the dark shade of a building, where it was noticeably cooler, then emerged into hot sunlight.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Darlene reminded her.

“I don’t know the answer,” Deirdre said honestly. There would be some things they’d never talk about, at least for a while.

Darlene smiled at her. “The way you look, Deirdre, you can make the answer whatever you want.”

Deirdre smiled back. “You really think so? I mean, you’re the one with the young Audrey Hepburn looks. Men go for the delicate, breakable type. You’re built like a model or a ballerina, and I’m built like…well, sex.”

“I’d trade anytime,” Darlene said. “The way the world is now, there aren’t many men looking for the kind of woman they’d take home to Mother.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course. They want to take you home, but believe me, Mother doesn’t figure into it.”

“Except with some men,” Deirdre said. “Mothers can have a terrible influence on some men.”

“David?”

“No. Not him at all. David could always…”

“What?”

“He was always a good lover.”

Darlene stopped walking, causing Deirdre to barely avoid bumping into her. She raised her elegant thin arm and glanced again at her expensive watch. “I’d better get going or I’ll be given up for lost,” she said.

“I don’t want to make you late for your friends,” Deirdre said. She wondered for a moment if Darlene would invite her along.

But Darlene was silent, glancing around. She had such a sweet, clean profile. They moved over and stood on a corner with a cluster of people waiting for the traffic light to change to Walk.

“Are you going to be in town long?” Darlene asked.

“Awhile.”

“Me too, this visit.”

“Her name’s Molly.”

“What?”

“That’s the name of David’s wife. The one who took my place. Molly.”

Darlene stared at her oddly, maybe with disapproval.

“They have a child,” Deirdre said. “A little boy named Michael.”

Darlene was silent.

“I thought you should know.”

“I don’t understand why,” Darlene said.

“You should know about Molly and Michael, as well as about David. But especially about Molly. It will help you understand what’s going to happen.”

Darlene appeared confused for only a second, then shrugged, as if whatever happened, it would be fine with her. “You said at the bus station you were going to find a hotel. Where are you staying?”

But the light changed and she was virtually swept away by the surging crowd before Deirdre could answer. She smiled helplessly at Deirdre and waved.

Deirdre stood on the corner and watched her disappear in the streams of pedestrians that flowed along Broadway’s wide sidewalk like competing currents in a river. For an instant her entire fragile body was visible, striding along with rhythm if not strength. Then only her slender upper body could be seen, and after a while only her head and long, pale neck. And then she was gone.

Darlene reminded Deirdre of a woman who was drowning.

“Most men probably feel that way when they unexpectedly see their ex-wife after years have passed,” Molly said.

She and David were lying in bed in the sultry dimness of the summer night. It was cool enough that they didn’t have the window-unit air conditioner on. She liked it that way, so she could hear Michael if he woke up. Still, she could feel the sticky dampness of perspiration beneath her on the smooth sheet, slowly molding her form to the contours of the mattress.

Beside her, David sighed. It was more a sound of frustration than of weariness.

“I’m glad you told me about meeting her,” Molly said. She raised her upper body and strained her neck so she could kiss his cheek. It was damp and warm and he needed a shave. Traces of cologne or soap still lingered with the scent of his perspiration.

She stayed propped up on her elbows for a few seconds, then let herself fall back, her head sinking into her pillow.

“She surprised me, Mol.” David said softly.

“Sure she did. It’s like your past sneaking up on you while you’re thinking about lunch.”

“That’s exactly what it was.”

Molly was suddenly and acutely curious about Deirdre. She’d never even seen a photograph of her, other than a blurred snapshot David had made a show of tearing up and throwing away. A tall woman-at least she’d appeared tall in the photo-with a lot of hair and a fiercely beautiful smile. “How did she look?”

“Oh, the years have made her…kind of plain, I’d guess you’d say.”

“There was no need for you to worry over telling me about it,” Molly said. “So you ran into Deirdre at the deli and talked to her for a while. What were you supposed to do, spit olives at her?”

He laughed softly in the shadows. “I wish that had crossed my mind.”

“You’re not the first man to see his former wife and experience discomfort. It doesn’t mean anything other than that you’re human.”

“Being human can be a problem.”

“You’re happy,” Molly said, “right?”

She instantly regretted the doubt that had crept into her voice. Or maybe only she had heard it.

“Hell, yes, I’m happy.”

The bedsprings whined and she felt his hand brush her cheek, then gently caress her breast through the oversized white T-shirt she slept in. She was aware of a tightening deep inside her and her breathing quickened. The T-shirt was wound around her body so that much of its excess was pinned beneath her. Across its chest, distorted by the twisted fabric, it was lettered FOR SLEEP OR SEX. She’d received it at a bridal shower as a gag gift, but she found it practical and comfortable. The thin cotton strained and stretched, and David’s hand was beneath the shirt and sliding slowly toward her left breast. His breath was warm in her ear, then his tongue.

“Wait a second, please!” she breathed.

“What’s wrong, Mol?”

“Nothing. Really.”

He withdrew his hand and she swiveled on the mattress and stood up. The firm wood floor felt cool beneath her bare feet. She pulled the T-shirt over her head and tossed it in a twisted, pale heap on a chair. Then she slid her panties down to her ankles and stepped daintily out of them, as if relieving herself of shackles. Sounds from the street were filtering in through the screen, cars swishing past outside, faint voices shouting blocks away, the throbbing bass beat of a car radio that faded quickly, a distant siren making exuberant loops of sound. The sheer white curtains swayed slightly in the faint breeze as if in a slow, ghostly dance. She left the window open and switched on the air conditioner mounted in the window alongside it.