A. Homes - In A Country Of Mothers

Jody wasn’t pleased. She’d just come in the door, numb and dumb from the narcotic combination of too much work, too much lunch, too many drinks before dusk, and the prospect of giving up the life she’d always wanted for something completely unknown. She was also in the middle of doing laundry for the first time in almost a month, and she looked like shit.

“What’s wrong?” she said, opening the door.

“Hi,” Peter said, kissing her.

Jody didn’t kiss back. There were some people she simply wasn’t interested in kissing, and Peter was quickly becoming one of them. He kissed too urgently. His tongue ashed wildly in her mouth, as if he’d lost a family heirloom among her molars. Behind every kiss was his full weight, thrown against her with equal passion.

He ignored the fact that she didn’t kiss back, lifted her shirt, and started kissing her stomach.

The farther away his face is, Jody thought, the happier I am. “So what’s the problem?”

His tongue was in her belly button and it was starting to hurt. She imagined that when he finally pulled away, her intestines would rise up and out in a long curly line like a charmed snake.

“This is the problem,” Peter said, stepping back, unzipping his pants and letting his hard-on pop out.

“I don’t get it,” Jody said, unimpressed.

“It’s been like this all day. It’s not healthy, you know. I mean, there’s a condition you can get from this.”

“I’m sure you’ve dealt with similar phenomena before,” Jody said, sitting down on her sofa.

“Touch it,” Peter said.

“Touch it yourself,” Jody said.

He shook his head and stepped towards her.

“Do I have to?” she asked.

“I brought it here for you,” Peter said.

“If I do this, you have to leave right away. I can’t spend the whole night with you. I have a life.”

“Fine,” Peter said, positioning himself in front of her.

She had the urge to take him in her mouth. As penises went, his was very nice. More than anything she wanted to suck it, but didn’t feel that Peter deserved such luck. He held her hand, spit on it, then put her hand down on his dick. She couldn’t believe he was spitting on her again; no one had ever done that before. He kept putting his hand on top of hers, showing her what to do, and it was incredibly boring. Jody figured if he wanted it a certain way, he should do it himself.

“Come on — let’s go in your room,” Peter said in the thick, mass-murderer tone men sink into when they’re too excited for their own good.

Jody went only because she had nothing better to do. The stuff in the dryer wouldn’t be done for another half an hour; the couch was completely uncomfortable. The quicker she got it over with, the sooner Peter would leave, and maybe, just maybe, there might be something in it for her.

Before lying down, Peter took off all his clothing and neatly draped everything, even his socks, over the chair.

Still clothed, she lay on her bed. What was she supposed to do — undress like at a doctor’s office? If so, where was her gown? At least if she got to put on one of those blue paper gowns, there’d be some excitement, some possibility. The thin plastic belt could be used to tie her up; the gown could be open in the front or the back — something, anything.

Naked, Peter sat on Jody, straddling her hips. He pushed up her shirt so her breasts and belly were exposed. Trapped beneath him, pelvis semi-crushed, lungs in jeopardy, Jody could do little more than raise her hand and put it on him again. She did it violently, feeling a little guilty for subjecting such a nice penis to such a brutal beating, but realizing that in the end Peter himself would surely be punished more than his dick. Almost immediately he started making noises she found annoying. She always found it annoying when people made noises. Enjoy, but don’t fucking vocalize. Moaning was what people in movies did when they were crushed between two cars. Without warning, he came onto Jody’s chest, onto her stomach and breasts. Shock kept her from saying anything.

“I came on you,” Peter said, sitting up straight.

Jody tilted her head as far down as she could, trying to look, not caring that it made her chin double or triple. Peter touched the come, rubbing it around over her breasts. Jody leaned back and closed her eyes, thinking that in situations like these the best thing to do is not to respond.

As soon as Peter left, Jody took a fast, scalding shower. Hot-pink and wrapped in her bathrobe, she took the elevator down to the laundry room. It was not exactly a smart move — the kind of thing an idiot would do in a movie and then end up raped, strangled, and stuffed into a dryer set on high. Still, Jody was tough, she was brave, she was bold, she took a huge kitchen knife with her. A stranger had taken her clothing out of the dryer and folded it into two neat stacks, taking care to pair the socks.

While she was collecting her things, Ellen came in with Rob. Jody figured they were planning to fuck on the folding table as part of Ellen’s plan to do it at least once in every possible location and position.

“What happened to you?” Ellen asked, touching the bright pink skin on Jody’s neck. “Overtime on a tanning bed?”

Jody shook her head. Telling Ellen about Peter would ruin her chaste image, and Ellen would never let it go. Besides, Jody was somewhat surprised at herself for doing it in the first place.

Rob glared at Jody. A long time ago, Jody had answered Ellen’s phone at two o’clock in the morning, and ever since Rob thought Jody and Ellen were having an affair behind his back. Jody couldn’t believe anyone would be that stupid.

“Got to go,” Jody said, picking up her laundry. She was in a hurry to get back upstairs, to change the sheets, beat the sofa cushions, to reclaim her night.

“Bye, sweetie,” Ellen said, kissing Jody’s cheek. “Call me at the office tomorrow. And put some lotion on yourself when you get upstairs.”

Jody lifted Ellen’s hand, holding it up toward Rob. “Great ring,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be really happy together.”

Ellen flashed her a voodoo look and Jody laughed. She couldn’t help but laugh. It probably made Rob even more annoyed, but she kept laughing all the way into the elevator, an intense kind of manic laugh, a laugh that could turn into a scream at any minute.

G loria Owens arrived before her husband, and they started the session without him.

“Sometimes I really hate him.”

“Who?” Claire asked.

“Jim,” she said. “Sometimes I really hate Jim.”

Claire nodded. Patients always thought it was shocking when they talked about hate. They acted as though they were revealing a horrible hidden secret. Their greatest realization was the simple relief that came from seeing that nothing bad happened as a result of the confession. I hate. I despise. Claire barely responded when people said it. Her lack of response was intentional, designed to push the patient further, to go beyond hate and into the fury for which there was no name.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jim Owens said, bursting into the office without knocking, twenty minutes into the session. Someone coming out of another office must have let him into the waiting room.

Claire was surprised. People didn’t just barge in like that. What if there had been a time switch and the hour didn’t belong to him? What if Claire had been in there alone, between patients, taking a nap or doing who knows what?

“I was just saying that someday we might get divorced,” Gloria said as her husband sat down.

He smiled at Claire as if to ask, Was this your idea?

Even though Claire was probably a few years older than the Owenses, she felt vibrant, changeable, and youthful in comparison. The Owenses were well into middle age. They’d settled, you could tell just by looking. Both were about fifteen or twenty pounds overweight, pounds gained by not caring, not having to worry about impressing or seducing the other. They felt entitled to satisfy cravings, take pleasure from candy bars in the afternoon, ice cream with the late news, steak dinners. They were used to each other. If they got divorced, it would be difficult; they wouldn’t be able to simply go forward as a freed man and woman. They would have to make changes, go on diets, rethink careers, wardrobe, friends, and addresses.