Read Online Pike's Folly by Mike Heppner - Free Book Online Page B

a hard worker either,” she said, “at least not compared to some people. Carla’s a hard worker. I guess that’s why she’s my boss.” She gazed at one of the nearby couples, a nice-looking man and woman who were sitting over their espressos while a busboy cleared their dirty dishes. “I feel like I haven’t done anything with my life.”
    He didn’t know what else to say, so he asked for the check and paid in cash, leaving a fat stack of bills under his water glass. Looking at the money, Marlene said, “That was wonderful,” but then remembered she’d had almost nothing to eat. It depressed her, wasting Thanksgiving on a few lousy quail eggs.
    When she was finished with her wine, she offered him her hand, which he held over the table. He could tell by the dullness in her eyes that she was drunk. He knew this Marlene as well as the other; they were like two different copies of the same picture—all the details matched up and yet, side by side, they suggested a difference.
    â€œDo you think I’m a bad person?” she asked.
    He let go of her hand. “Of course not.”
    â€œBecause . . . I don’t know. I was a good kid, and everything seemed okay when I got to be an adult, but then I just stopped wanting to do things.” Something lit up inside, and she stared across the table. “I’ve got to do it, Stuart. Tonight. I want someone to see me.”
    He glanced nervously toward the maitre d’, who was standing at the next table. “Take it easy, hon,” he said.
    â€œI’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    His cheeks flushed hotly. “I never said that.”
    â€œI know exactly where I am and what I’m doing. I want to be naked.”
    â€œShh, hon, you’re raising your voice. Let’s just go back to the inn. Trust me, you’ll be glad in the morning.”
    Some heads were turning to look at them, so she said, “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”
    Oddly enough, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, either. He didn’t know what he wanted.
I’m a mess,
he thought.
    After a pause, she asked, “Stuart, are you sorry that you married me?”
    He scowled. Questions like this always annoyed him. “No. Why?”
    â€œBecause I’m so boring.”
    â€œYou don’t need to entertain me. That’s not why people get married.” He squinted to see what she was doing with her right hand. Having already unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, she’d gone to work on the third. “Cut it out,” he snapped.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, dropping her hand.
    â€œAll right, Christ, fine . . . if you’re so goddamned determined.”
    He pushed his chair away from the table, and she followed him out of the restaurant. Other couples were just arriving for the second seating; the men were older than Stuart, better dressed, with an air of inherited wealth that reminded him of the Reese family on local TV. As for their wives, Stuart counted a number of lantern jaws, which he’d always associated with over-bred, entitled women. He couldn’t imagine any of them doing what he and Marlene were about to.
    Once outside, Marlene hurried across the parking lot, taking tiny steps in her heels. The cold autumn air embraced her, and she could feel an undefined, ethereal body racing a few steps ahead of her own physical form. It was the same sensation as when she’d streaked across the backyard with Stuart, only more intense.
    Sitting in the car, he reached over from the driver’s side and put his hand on her leg. Her pantyhose was rough, and her skin felt hot through the material.
    â€œWhere should I get undressed?” she asked.
    His ears pricked up; he felt as though he could experience each second of time an instant before the rest of the world did. He looked out the window, then behind him, across