Roger Grayson - The friendly couples

"You can tell me inside," he said as he opened the screen door, taking the key from her hand and unlocking the door. "What we need is some hot coffee if we plan to talk."

"No, Martin, really…"

"You're not going to say no to me now, are you?" he said, almost pushing her inside with his hand. He looked for a moment for the illuminated night switch, then flicked it up. The fluorescent lights flickered hesitantly before sharing their energy with the rest of the room.

Janet did not want him in the house. This was her refuge from Martin and the outside world. It belonged to her and to Greg. "Martin, please, not tonight."

"I like mine black," he said curtly, walking through the swinging door to the living room as though he owned the house.

Janet stood in the glaring light for a moment, not knowing what to do. Perhaps, if she gave him the coffee, she could make him understand. She turned, looking for the coffee, but could not remember where she kept it in her own kitchen. Get a hold on yourself, she thought, as tears started to fill her weary eyes again. How am I going to do anything if I fall apart. Where is the coffee? The white canister stood where it always had on the counter next to the built-in range.

She walked to the counter and removed the wooden lid. Automatically she scooped six tablespoons of the freshly ground beans into the clean white pot. Staring at the percolator she became impatient that it would not perk immediately. This is ridiculous, she thought. I'm standing in my own kitchen making coffee for a man who has just screwed me in his hopped up automobile, a man who is supposed to be my husband's best friend, and now I've used him, and he is going to think it represents something more. Why must I have these problems? Not even the damn coffee pot will work right. What is becoming of me. Am I so rotten as to hurt Martin as well as Greg? Please hurry, coffee!

Her hair was tangled and she tried to straighten it. The image reflected in the glass door of the oven was one of a woman who did not deserve the good life she had, she thought. I look like a whore, and now I'm beginning to feel like one. But I'll find a way out, I just have to. The coffee started to boil over. It had been perking too long.

"Where's my coffee," Martin shouted just before she swung open the kitchen door and entered the room. Martin was sitting on the overstuffed couch in front of the stone fireplace. He had built a fire that was already roaring. He was looking through a new woman's magazine that Janet had purchased the day before.

"These women's magazines are unbelievable," he said smiling almost contemptuously at her as she crossed the room. "There is more sex and sex problems in this single issue than anyone would ever suspect of finding in Lady Chatterly's Lover. It's no wonder that women can think of nothing else to talk about, except their sex lives, or the sex lives they wished they had. I probably would too if I read this kind of trash all the time."

"That's not so," she said, finding that she was defending herself. She wanted to get to the point and make things clear to Martin. Confession was supposed to be good for the soul. She wanted to tell him that she had used him. Perhaps, he would understand. He must understand, she thought. He's too kind, too intelligent not to.

"Those magazines have good advice, Martin. Maybe if more women read them, and maybe men, too, you and I wouldn't have the marriage problems we do," she said, handing him a cup of hot black coffee. "Thank you. Here, have some of this," he said, pulling the leather covered flask from his pocket. "I saved some for us."

"No, Martin, I can't," she protested as he poured a shot into her cup. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Martin. What happened tonight was a horrible mistake. It just can't be allowed to happen again."

"A mistake. Who the hell are you trying to kid. I'm not a school boy, young lady. You practically raped me on the dance floor, and certainly didn't object when we drove to Mulholland. Now you are going to try to tell me it was a mistake? What's the matter, didn't you like it? Say no to that and you take the cake as liar of the year."

"Martin, we were drunk…"

"Oh, hell, who are you trying to kid. You were as horny as a Goddamn bitch in heat."

"Please," she said. "Try to listen. I don't want you to misunderstand. You must believe me. I…"

"Drink your coffee. We came inside for coffee didn't we?" he said. "Don't shake your head. Drink your coffee!" Janet obeyed. His tone frightened her, and she picked up the cup, sipping at the laced drink. Surprisingly the liquor he had poured into the cup wasn't bitter at all. It added a little something to the taste, more of a tang, than an alcoholic taste. She took a big gulp. Martin smiled.

"Martin, I was going to try to make Greg jealous. I wanted to use you. I'm sorry for that. I didn't mean it to go so far. I–I just got carried away."

Martin laughed. He spilled some of his coffee. Use me, he thought, that has got to be the ultimate. She wanted to use me. He couldn't stop laughing.

"What's so funny? What did I say, Martin? I didn't mean to hurt you." His laughter increased to an almost roar. "Stop it! Please stop it!" she screamed.

He settled down for a moment, still smiling his contemptuous smile. Neither said anything for almost a minute. Janet was terrified at the grin on his face. For the first time since she had known Martin, she was aware that there was more to his smile than mirth. "Why-why were you laughing at me?" she asked.

"I suppose you could call it a private joke. I've never been used by a woman before, not to go to bed anyway."

Janet sipped at her coffee. She was beginning to feel slightly dizzy again. The movements in the room were slowing down. The fire made it much too hot for her. She wanted to hurry and undress upstairs and climb into bed. The thought of bed unexpectedly excited her.

"I told you," she said. "I didn't want it to go that far."

"Sure you did. But do you think for one minute that I'm going to believe you. You work well, and fast. I never saw a woman so eager to fuck."

"Martin!" she exclaimed, unable to say any more. The word had shocked her, but the thought it conjured only excited her. She could not understand the sudden erection of her nipples as he had said it. She was afraid of the eyes that looked intently at her.

"What do you plan to do, Janet? Tell Greggy boy that his little wife took his best friend out and screwed him in his car like a teenager?" he said, his grin widening. "No, I don't think you will. I'm still his best friend, and a deceitful man would believe a friend before he would believe a deceitful wife."

"What do you mean deceitful man?"

"For Chrissake, don't tell me you don't know that your precious husband is a thief."

"What? You're wrong. You're lying, Martin. Why? Stop it. Please don't."

"He didn't tell you, did he?" Martin said, knowing that she was innocent of her husband's wrong-doings. "How do you think that you can afford this nice house, or the new car or the color television and stereo? Do you think Greggy boy did it all with his own little hands. Well, on second thought, he did," he laughed again, "but with sticky fingers."

He watched her shocked look. Tears streamed down her already tear stained face in long black streaks from her mascara. Impossible! she thought. Greg would never lie to me. He would never steal. Martin watched her for a moment. "Your display of loyalty and shock is touching, but entirely useless. If you didn't know before that he was stealing, then I'm doing you a favor by showing you that your husband is a man you can't trust to tell you his most important secret, the one that is haunting him, keeping him out of your bed. But then, he may have found another bed more to his liking. If he could lie to you about this, he could certainly lie to you about screwing another woman."