Read Online Flipping Out by Marshall Karp - Free Book Online
Authors: Marshall Karp
Tags: Suspense
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said. 'And then when
I mentioned the poem...' I paused to give Big Jim room to jump in.
He took the bait.
'Yeah, did you see the way she kept putting down her own daughter and
monopolising the conversation?'
I nodded my
head.
'The woman's a
pain in the ass,' he added, blissfully clueless.
'A bona fide,
certified pain in the ass.'
'You gotta feel
sorry for her poor daughter,' Terry said, giving Jim his best poker face.
I, on the other
hand, broke into a big, broad, shit-eating grin for the first time all day. I
really get off on irony.
Chapter Seventeen
Diana and I decided
to spend the night at a hotel.
'Was it
something I said?' Marilyn asked.
Diana laughed.
'Don't be silly.'
'Then it's
something Terry said.'
'No, we just
need a night alone,' Diana said.
'Are you sure
you want to spend money on a hotel, just so you can have wild sex? Our house is
so noisy we'd never even hear you.'
Diana smiled.
'Therein lies the problem.'
'Oh,' Marilyn
said. 'You want the no-ear-splitting- music, no-blaring-TV, no-barking-dog,
no-screaming-kids, quiet, romantic, kind of sex?'
Diana tapped the
tip of her nose. 'Bingo.'
'That's not
possible at our house. Where you guys staying?'
'The Marriott on
Ventura.'
'Well, that's
convenient,' Marilyn said. 'You can walk to the Galleria.'
'We won't be
walking anywhere,' Diana said.
'You're making me
insanely jealous,' Marilyn said. 'Just go-'
We went. The sex
turned out not to be as quiet as predicted. If you had been listening outside
the door of room 313, you'd have heard the hushed rustling of clothes, tender
whispers, gentle kisses, soft moans, shallow breathing, and then, suddenly,
unexpectedly, a full-blown crying jag.
Much to my
surprise, I was the one crying. It took me five minutes to regain my composure.
Diana just stroked my face and said nothing.
'This has never
happened to me before,' I said.
'It's good for
you to let it out,' Diana said. 'It's healthy.'
'It's
embarrassing. I don't cry. Especially in public.'
'We're naked in
bed. How public is that?'
'I don't
understand what happened,' I said.
'Yes, you do,'
she said. 'Maybe you don't want to deal with it, but you must know why you're
crying.'
We were lying in
each other's arms under cool sheets. I rolled over to face away from her, and
she snuggled in tight behind me. I stared aimlessly at the clock radio on the
night table. It jumped from 6:41 to 6:42. We had only checked in twenty minutes
ago.
'She's dead
almost two years,' I said.
'Jo's death
opened up a lot of old wounds,' Diana said.
'A fellow cop
losing his wife. Even the names are close - Jo, Joanie.'
'I get all
that,' I said. 'Of course, I thought about Joanie at Jo's funeral. But this is
too weird. Crying while I'm having sex?'
'A lot of women
do it all the time.'
'Oh, God,' I
said, 'you're making it worse. Women have unpredictable hormones. Women have violent
mood swings. I may not have proven it lately, but I'm a man.'
She stroked the
back of my neck. 'I know. You're a virile, super-masculine, tough cop, macho
man.'
'Who just cried
like a girl during sex,' I said.
'Tell you what,'
she said, sitting up. 'Let's get dressed and go out to dinner. We'll get you
some steak and potatoes and beer, and we'll find a jukebox that has the theme
from Rocky, and then we'll
come back here and try it again.'
She smacked me
hard on my bare butt.
I rolled over,
grabbed her, threw her back down on the mattress, and kissed her hard until she
had to break away just to catch her breath. 'I don't need no stinking steak and
potatoes,' I said.
And then, we
made love.
I was glad
Marilyn and Terry weren't in the next room. They'd have complained about the
noise.
Chapter
Eighteen
Brendan
Kilcullen has been a cop for twenty years, and he's got the scars to prove it.
A bullet wound in his right thigh, a jagged gash down his left arm from a beer
bottle, and three holes in his dress uniform, where service medals have been
pinned.
He's been a
devout Catholic
I mentioned the poem...' I paused to give Big Jim room to jump in.
He took the bait.
'Yeah, did you see the way she kept putting down her own daughter and
monopolising the conversation?'
I nodded my
head.
'The woman's a
pain in the ass,' he added, blissfully clueless.
'A bona fide,
certified pain in the ass.'
'You gotta feel
sorry for her poor daughter,' Terry said, giving Jim his best poker face.
I, on the other
hand, broke into a big, broad, shit-eating grin for the first time all day. I
really get off on irony.
Chapter Seventeen
Diana and I decided
to spend the night at a hotel.
'Was it
something I said?' Marilyn asked.
Diana laughed.
'Don't be silly.'
'Then it's
something Terry said.'
'No, we just
need a night alone,' Diana said.
'Are you sure
you want to spend money on a hotel, just so you can have wild sex? Our house is
so noisy we'd never even hear you.'
Diana smiled.
'Therein lies the problem.'
'Oh,' Marilyn
said. 'You want the no-ear-splitting- music, no-blaring-TV, no-barking-dog,
no-screaming-kids, quiet, romantic, kind of sex?'
Diana tapped the
tip of her nose. 'Bingo.'
'That's not
possible at our house. Where you guys staying?'
'The Marriott on
Ventura.'
'Well, that's
convenient,' Marilyn said. 'You can walk to the Galleria.'
'We won't be
walking anywhere,' Diana said.
'You're making me
insanely jealous,' Marilyn said. 'Just go-'
We went. The sex
turned out not to be as quiet as predicted. If you had been listening outside
the door of room 313, you'd have heard the hushed rustling of clothes, tender
whispers, gentle kisses, soft moans, shallow breathing, and then, suddenly,
unexpectedly, a full-blown crying jag.
Much to my
surprise, I was the one crying. It took me five minutes to regain my composure.
Diana just stroked my face and said nothing.
'This has never
happened to me before,' I said.
'It's good for
you to let it out,' Diana said. 'It's healthy.'
'It's
embarrassing. I don't cry. Especially in public.'
'We're naked in
bed. How public is that?'
'I don't
understand what happened,' I said.
'Yes, you do,'
she said. 'Maybe you don't want to deal with it, but you must know why you're
crying.'
We were lying in
each other's arms under cool sheets. I rolled over to face away from her, and
she snuggled in tight behind me. I stared aimlessly at the clock radio on the
night table. It jumped from 6:41 to 6:42. We had only checked in twenty minutes
ago.
'She's dead
almost two years,' I said.
'Jo's death
opened up a lot of old wounds,' Diana said.
'A fellow cop
losing his wife. Even the names are close - Jo, Joanie.'
'I get all
that,' I said. 'Of course, I thought about Joanie at Jo's funeral. But this is
too weird. Crying while I'm having sex?'
'A lot of women
do it all the time.'
'Oh, God,' I
said, 'you're making it worse. Women have unpredictable hormones. Women have violent
mood swings. I may not have proven it lately, but I'm a man.'
She stroked the
back of my neck. 'I know. You're a virile, super-masculine, tough cop, macho
man.'
'Who just cried
like a girl during sex,' I said.
'Tell you what,'
she said, sitting up. 'Let's get dressed and go out to dinner. We'll get you
some steak and potatoes and beer, and we'll find a jukebox that has the theme
from Rocky, and then we'll
come back here and try it again.'
She smacked me
hard on my bare butt.
I rolled over,
grabbed her, threw her back down on the mattress, and kissed her hard until she
had to break away just to catch her breath. 'I don't need no stinking steak and
potatoes,' I said.
And then, we
made love.
I was glad
Marilyn and Terry weren't in the next room. They'd have complained about the
noise.
Chapter
Eighteen
Brendan
Kilcullen has been a cop for twenty years, and he's got the scars to prove it.
A bullet wound in his right thigh, a jagged gash down his left arm from a beer
bottle, and three holes in his dress uniform, where service medals have been
pinned.
He's been a
devout Catholic
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