Read Online Too Easy by Bruce Deitrick Price - Free Book Online

He can’t pick up the phone.
    No, I’ll call Kathy, meet her on 26, cancel, tell her it’s no good. Got to cool this down.
    I’ll explain it to her. Kathy, you are wonderful. Maybe the most wonderful woman in the world. But I am married and we really ought to keep our balance.
    He imagines what’ll happen. She’ll look at him with this slightly pitying expression. He knows he’ll feel like a weakling.
    She’ll say what she said once before: “Maybe, Robie, I’m basically a more serious person than you are. Women usually are, don’t you find? It’s never just fucking for us.”
    He’ll feel like a real jerk.
    Then she’ll smile and joke, “Of course, sex is nice, too. Stand closer and I’ll tell you what I thought up. You will love this. . . .”
    Then he’ll feel like an engorged penis, six-feet, one-inch long.
    He snatches up the phone.
    Be a man, he thinks. It’s the best sex imaginable. That’s good. I deserve this. A gift from God. I love Kathy. I really do.
    Damnit, man, call Anne, tell her you’ll be late. Anne, Anne, Anne. . . . We have to talk. . . . I’ll tell her the truth. Anne, this is bigger than I am. I can’t say no to this. . . .
    Or maybe I just jerk off in the bathroom, calm down, then I could talk to Kathy rationally. Kathy, please, let’s be reasonable about this.
    Maybe meet her on the street, so even if she gets to me, we can’t do anything. Yeah, what about that?
    Robert leans his elbows on desk, pressing his hands back through his long hair, rubbing his face. The skin feels hot.

Chapter
13
    â€¢  Anne comes back from a meeting with her immediate boss, a woman named Estelle. A woman who smiled and said, “Don’t worry, dear, your future at this company is assured.”
    Translation: No promotion for you, drone, now get back to work. And why is there no promotion? Because, Anne guesses, Estelle wants a man in the slot. Oh, yes, slot. Good word.
    Anne settles heavily at her desk, sighs, mutters, “Damn you, Estelle, I deserved that. . . . Oh, God, forgive me my trespasses as I forgive those . . .” She tries to go back to work.
    Instead she stares at a large framed photo on a side cabinet. Her and Robert, two years ago. Look at him. Isn’t he something? That big sincere face, the longish brown hair. A real man, or real enough for me, and yet a real person. They say women are slow to fall in love. Took me about twodates. And I thought, yes, if I can swing it, he’s the one. Then you spend a year trying to let it happen. Pretending you’re surprised by the discovery that I love you.
    And now what have I done? Am I losing him? Could such a thing happen? She stares at herself in the photo. She hardly comes up to his chin. She appears, she thinks, serious . . . contained . . . quiet . . . intelligent. Yes, all that. But pretty or glamorous or sexy? She stares. Not sure. Uncertain. Or have I driven him away because I’m so dull? Oh, dear God. A tax specialist. Well, what could be more boring?
    She thinks of him at the paper in Manhattan. A dynamic, exciting job with smart, offbeat people. The pulse of the city driving them all. She’s seen it, seen him in action. And here I am in dreary little White Plains, sinking in spread sheets. Numbers, numbers, numbers. Many of which have hardly any connection with reality.
    She laughs. Whatever that is.
    She works in a slow, distracted way, suddenly realizing it’s past twelve thirty and she hasn’t accomplished very much. She decides she doesn’t want company just now, that she’ll go out for lunch alone. She walks three blocks to a small coffee shop, not the kind of place that lawyers are likely to go to. The streets are wet and chilly. Everything seems gray and sullen.
    No, she decides, it’s just me; the streets look just like