“Would you look at her shaking her booty!”
Carl turned his head to follow Wanda’s eyes. They were glaring
at Genta, who was walking across the restaurant towards the bar.
“Well, you know, with a figure like that after three kids, all
still under the age of six, you’re entitled to swing and sway.”
Wanda arched her eyebrow. “Yeah, but she’s shameless.
Her skirt is midway between her rump and her knees. Her neckline nose
dives between her big boobs. That outfit is no bigger than a teddy.
That’s not the kind of thing you wear to lunch at Merlin’s.”
Carl hazarded another look. “No, that’s the kind of dress
you wear to lunch if you want to be admired by horny married men on
lunch break.”
Carl smiled a weak smile. Wanda gave him an angry stare.
Flaring her nostrils, she said, “You want a piece of her, don’t
you, Carl?”
Carl’s back stiffened. “Oh, oh, are you going to start
that again? Are we going to witness another one of your fucking insane
jealous rages?
“You might. I know women like her . . . and men like you. Always
out on the prowl. Always looking to put hot dog into bun, tenon into
mortise, piggy into blanket.”
Carl let his shoulders slump. “Wanda, it’s over. That’s
in the past. I only have eyes for you now.”
Satisfaction did not drench Wanda’s face. “You don’t
get it.”
"What don’t I get?" Carl huffed.
"You… don’t… get… what… a…
woman… wants."
"I would get what a woman wants IF I got a woman who knew what
she wanted.”
“Your ego is a lot bigger than that paltry penis of yours. And
a lot like it. You have as much insight into what anyone else wants
as a pigwhich you are a lot like.”
He turned so pale the stubble on his chin stood out black and coarse.
“Your idea of etiquette is throwing yourself naked on a bed,
opening your legs and saying, ‘please come in’.”
Wanda threw down her fork and gritted her teeth. “You worthless
bag of filth. I’ve never been unfaithful to you. Don’t
I wish I could say the same about you. You are a canker, a sore that
won't go away.”
He bit his bottom lip, and bent towards her. “You know, we’ve
been through this before. We wouldn’t be going through this
now if you were smarter. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you
are. I mean rock-hard stupid. So stupid it goes into a whole new dimension
of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid.”
She leaned into his face. “You are vile, worthless, less than
nothing. I will never get over the embarrassment of being betrayed
by you, of being made a public spectacle by your floozie. I feel debased
just for knowing I am married to you. I hate belonging to the same
species as you.”
He clenched his fists. “You know, Wanda, you are a weed, a fungus,
a bloodsucker. You made me grovel. And I did. I was glad to. So get
over it.”
"And did I mention you smell?"
"Yes, a thousand times. And you know that is not true."
"You are the moral equivalent of . . . .”
“Hello, you two. My, don’t you look like two perky little
love birds!”
Carl and Wanda looked up. It was Genta. Her husband, Helmut, had his
arm around her waist.
“We envy you two,” he said. “You always look so
much in love.”
Wanda blushed. “Thank you.”
“My, you look lovely, this afternoon, Genta,” Carl said.
“Doesn’t she,” Helmut said. “Do you like her
dress? She wore it for me.”
“It’s lovely,” Wanda said.
“Yes, it’s lovely,” Carl said.
Ron Pasquariello is the author of seven non-fiction
books and several pieces of fiction. He lives in and loves Sonoma
County, California.
