Carl Hiaasen by Nature Girl Page B

your wife do that was so weird?”
    Shreave spit the sticky chunk of candy into an ashtray and attacked the beer. Eugenie waited.
    “Just a strange vibe,” he said finally. “Things she said. The way she was looking at me.”
    Eugenie nodded. “She wanted to have sex, right?”
    “How’d you know?” Shreave was amazed.
    “Boyd, we need to talk.”
    “I didn’t bone her, Genie, I swear to God!”
    Eugenie smiled. “Sugar, she’s your wife. An occasional orgasm is part of the deal.”
    Shreave reddened and lunged for his beer once again, dark crescents blooming under his arms.
    “Boyd, I can’t do this anymore,” Eugenie told him. “And please don’t say you’re going to ask Lily for a divorce, because you aren’t. And even if you did—”
    “I haven’t told her I got fired. That means we can be together every night!”
    “How, Boyd? What about my job?”
    He set down the beer bottle and damply clasped her right hand. “Suppose you quit Relentless and started working days somewhere else. It’ll be great—I could have dinner ready when you get home and stay here till midnight, Monday through Friday. Lily won’t suspect a thing. She’ll think I’m at the call center.”
    Eugenie Fonda withdrew her hand and dried it on his shirttail.
    “Boyd, listen up,” she said. “I really don’t want to be your full-time fuck buddy. Call me a dreamer, but I still think I could wind up with a normal guy in a normal relationship, once I stop sleeping with married men.”
    Shreave sat back, ashen.
    “Now don’t you dare start to bawl,” Eugenie said.
    Shreave’s head drooped. “I can’t believe this. First I lose my job, and now you want to break up with me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find out I’ve got cancer.”
    Eugenie led him toward the door, saying how sorry she was and what a blast they’d had together and how it was time for both of them to figure out what they truly wanted from life.
    “But I
know
what I want,” Shreave said. “You.”
    “Good-bye, sweetie.” She bent down to kiss him, but then he didn’t leave.
    “Boyd, I said good-bye.”
    He remained rooted and defiant in her doorway. “I’m not going anywhere till you tell me the real reason you’re dumpin’ me.”
    Seriously, Eugenie Fonda said to herself, do I need this?
    “It’s the least you can do,” Shreave said.
    In addition to the best damn hummers you ever had in your life, Eugenie thought.
    “Genie, I want the truth.”
    “Fine,” she said. With some guys, cold and cruel was the way to go.
    “Boyd, you’re boring. You’re gonna put me into a coma, you’re so fucking boring. I’m sorry, but you asked for it.”
    He looked up at her with a twisting and skeptical smile. “Boring? Nice try. What’s his name?”
    Eugenie Fonda took hold of Boyd’s shoulders. “There is no
him.
Now, adios, cowboy,” she said.
    He shook free. “No, wait—how’m I boring?” His strong, silky voice had shrunk to a tubercular rasp.
    “No, sugar, the question is: How are you
not
boring?” Eugenie Fonda felt a disquieting nibble of guilt, so she hastily unloaded both barrels. “When’s the last time you did anything interesting? Anything at all?”
    “With you?”
    “
With
me.
To
me. Anything that wasn’t totally predictable,” she rolled on.
    “But—”
    “But nuthin. I don’t care to spend the rest of my days servicing a couch potato. When’s the last time you were even out in the sunshine, for God’s sake? Michael Jackson’s got a better tan.”
    “But I told you about my accident!” Shreave interjected.
    Eugenie waved him off. “Don’t even start. You fell on a cactus, big fucking deal. Everything still works fine.” Then, letting her gaze drift below his belt, she added: “More or less.”
    That did the trick. Wordlessly Shreave plunged down the steps and reeled toward the parking lot.
    As his car screeched away, Eugenie Fonda experienced a tug of remorse. If only he’d surprised me just once, she