Norman Singer - The Hungry Husband

"No shit." said Brad, with rising interest.

David felt a weird sense of power, being able to say so much about Joyce and still keep her identity a secret from her ex-husband. "But you know something, Brad…?"

"No… What, old-Buddy?"

"I'm too goddamned naive for my own good…"

"Uh huh… that's what I always said about you," Brad's smile was brilliant, downright captivating.

David leaned across the table for a stage-whisper. "I made the mistake of wanting to see her again. Imagine trying to have a big romance with a cock-hungry broad like that. I guess grownups don't play that way, eh, Brad? They just hop right on to the next one. Safety in numbers and all that cynical jazz. That's how you cats operate, so I guess I'd better get the hang of it. Except… maybe I'm too old to start playing that way, too damned sincere and idealistic to love 'em and leave'em the way you do huh. Brad… you old Tiger you!"

Brad was staring at him, his smile slowly dissolving as he leaned across the table, nearly knocking his forehead against David's. "Answer me one question, Dave…"

"Shoot," said David; tiger-to-tiger hookup now.

"When you saw it was Joyce showin' up for that date, why the fuck didn't you walk away from her?"

David swayed backwards in his chair, almost knocking it over. "I… I don't follow you," he managed, dimly wondering how much weight Brad had on him, and how long it had been since he, David, had defended himself in a bloody fist-fight.

"Yesterday was my Sunday to visit the kids," Brad went on calmly, "and just before I left, Joyce told me everything…"

"Oh… well… that wasn't very nice of her," David mumbled, glancing about the room for exits.

"At first she thought you were pretty funny, like a twentieth-century Diogenes looking for an honest orgasm. But now that you've started tailin' her around at supermarkets…"

"… Oh now wait a minute!.. one lousy supermarket!"

"… She begged me to keep you off her back!" said Brad.

"Now that's funny!" David tried to chuckle but choked on it.

"What the hell do you mean by waylayin' that woman right in the heart of Hillsborough?" Brad's voice rose a little now. "Dammit, if you want to play dirty, lay off my family. You hate my kids or something? Do they need this kind of shit in their lives? That's why I pulled out, for Christ's sake, and let everyone think Joyce was so blameless… so those brats could honor their mother in peace!"

David saw several surrounding patrons try to perk up their ears and he tried to interrupt Brad, although he was feeling pretty queasy by this time… "Brad, what can I say?" he muttered lowly. "I know I'm a… a prize fink and a bastard, but I couldn't help myself. You know what a… I mean… how she, the way she…"

"It was Dirty-Pool, David!" Brad said through clenched teeth. "Jesus, you were the only friend I had left in this world who hadn't laid her. Don't you see what you've done to me… to both of us?"

… Oh you handsome popular sonofabitch! thought David; you've been screwin' every girl in San Francisco, and you begrudge me this one bang-in-the-hay simply because it used to be your property…!

"Look Brad, it's not as if I ever looked at her while you were still married… like all those other guys, I mean. You have to remember she's your ex-wife now, and she's… well she's fair game…".

"Keep it up, boy… keep callin' her names, that's lovely!"

"All right, if you want the truth, she insisted that I take her on…"

"Oh sure, she forced you. An ass like hers and she had to tie you down for it, huh, Dave? What'd she use… chloroform, Sodium Pentathal…?"

"Dammit, I tell ya she wouldn't take no for an answer-she threatened to tell Linda…"

"Oh Ho! Was that before or after you threatened to tell the Hillsborough P.T.A. if she refused to go to bed with you whenever and wherever you wanted it?"

David gasped, his mouth hanging open. "Brad, if she said that, she's a damned liar, and I think you know it…"

"Look Dave, you can knife me in the back any time you want, but it just so happens that Joyce is the mother of my children, and for your information, no mother of my kids is a sex-freak or a pig or a cock-hungry broad. She happens to be very well thought-of on that whole fuckin' Peninsula, and that's how I mean to keep her. Last night I gave her the big scoop. I said 'Joyce, as far as I'm concerned you can screw all you want to-but screw outa town! Otherwise I'm gonna drag you through the dirtiest custody-battle on record, and name names-all those local boys who made good… and man you'll really hear some bombs go off!' "

… Name names, thought David… my name. And not "Thorndike" either. Names like Montclair… and Fortune, and down-the-drain Mr. Future…!

With a shivering sacrifice-sigh, David rose and pointed a finger at his jaw. "Hit me, Brad. Right here, if it'll make you feel any better. I know I've got it coming…"

In a scuffling fury Brad scraped back his chair and got to his feet, his huge physique hulking and massive, as several waiters watched and waited in a breathless tableau of suspense. "You've got something coming, Dave, and I'm gonna see that you get it. I'm gonna knock you right on your ass!" David closed his eyes and waited-the end-of-an-era, he thought… "But not here, old-Buddy," Brad went on. "Oh hell no, I want to give you something you'll remember… so I'm gonna hit you right where you live…"

With that-and without bothering to pick up the check-Brad turned and stormed out of the restaurant.

Where I live, thought David, dazedly resuming his seat. When the headwaiter rushed over to ask if there was any trouble, David dismissed him by saying that he and Brad had been rehearsing a play to be performed at the Y.M.C.A. And then he tried to evaluate all that Brad had threatened: To hit me where I live would have to involve Linda, because where I live is at home, which is where she lives… so that's what he plans to do, tell her everything! Oh hell no, that doesn't sound like Brad. He wouldn't fink deliberately just to get back at someone who'd finked accidentally. But how do I know that, dammit!.. he's been a pretty bitter boy lately, the big pissed-off bruiser. Everybody's been down on him, with me the last in a long line of traitors. Well, with Linda I'm safe anyway, because she hates his guts and wouldn't believe him on a stack of bibles, no matter what he told her. Christ, he absolutely nauseates her, and she wouldn't even let him in the door or give him the time of day, because that brawling Papa-Bear approach would never work on my meek little poem of a wife. 'Cause after all, I'm her husband, and even I know better than to try using the hard-sell attack on her, even though I've never tried it…

… Hmm… there was a profound marital message lurking in all that logic; but David didn't want to think about it now when he'd reached such a jazzy juncture in his life and still had a whole helluva lot of history to make. How could he care what happened on the home-front when he was so hot-to-trot and conquer distant lands?

With that cavalier thought in mind, David paid the check and went out to a public phone booth. Whereupon he pulled out his computer-list and dialed the very next number.

"Hello, is this Hazel?"

"Yes," a voice full of toasty husk and harmony, "and this is David Thorndike."

"That's true, but how did you know? I mean, with so many on the list, how could you be sure…?"

"Process of elimination," Hazel interjected. "You're the only one on my current list who hasn't tumbled yet."

"Oh?" said David; but decided not to examine this reply too closely; since feeling like something leftover from a bargain-counter didn't exactly fit in with his present mood. And anyway, the therapy of speed was the important element here. He needed the sweet balm of a rebound-match, and fast! "Well, how are you, Hazel?" he said.