And it ain’t fair, either.”
“I love clothes. Clothes make me feel good. Do I ever stop you from buying whatever you want?”
“No, but I never said you did. And besides, I never buy anything.”
“I needed a new wardrobe. My things are falling apart.” “I hadn’t noticed. You look fucking terrific in everything.” “You don’t get women at all, do you, Max?” “How did you pay for everything?” “I charged it, how do you think?” “Charged it …? ” “Visa? Ever heard of it?” “I’m just asking, is all.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll get taken care of. Anyway, it’s not your money.”
“I didn’t say it was. Baby, don’t be upset with me. I’m just interested in what you’re up to.”
“Besides, I have ways of getting my money back.”
“How’s that?”
“Oh, never mind. You don’t understand how things work.”
The discussion ended the way every one of our discussions ended. Within seconds I had her on top of me, her tight, classical ass bobbing up and down on my rock-hard prong, her excited brown missile of a nipple between my teeth, my fingers holding on to the daggers of her high heels.
“Let’s not argue, okay?”
“Okay…. ”
“I mean, we shouldn’t argue with each other, ever.”
“Okay…. ”
“We need each other. We’re all we’ve got. It’s you and me against the world.”
“Right…. Still love me?”
“Feel that?”
“Okay, then.”
And in this way the issue was settled—at least for the time being.
I never understood why Livy needed to dress in such finery to wait tables at the Purple Turtle, but two or three weeks later she decided that most of the stuff she’d bought on that binge had to go back.
“Didn’t you already wear that thing to work?” I asked as I watched her tossing a silky violet pullover into its packaging.
“It’s not right on me,” she snapped. As if I was a complete dolt not to have noticed.
“I don’t know—I thought it looked pretty damned sexy myself.”
On that point she ignored me. “Are you coming with me or not?”
From the no-nonsense set of her jaw, I could see that my beauty was in an unusually determined frame of mind that Saturday morning. The mall parking lot was swarming with vehicles cruising for empty spots. Mall-crawling is the great suburban diversion, and you can’t blame people—what else is there to do in the wasteland? Finally we landed something along the outer rim, which meant we’d have to lug our load damned near a quarter mile to the entrance.
The queue at Macy’s was long; all bored housewives and tired career girls taking their sweet old time on the weekend. Every fucking transaction took forever. When we finally reached the register, Livy’s resolve had given way to a brittle, unexplained disdain for the surroundings.
The twenty-something model wannabe with the nameplate identifying her as Giselle seemed bored and weary.
“I’d like a refund for this dress,” Livy declared, pulling a diaphanous gown out of a bag.
With the tip of her tongue Giselle discreetly shifted the wad of chewing gum from the inside of her right cheek to her left.
“What’s the problem?”
Giselle’s voice was slightly nasal, annoying. Livy flipped the garment upside down.
“It’s torn. Right here. You can see.”
She pointed to a tear in the inseam at least three inches long.
“Was it this way when you bought it?”
Livy snorted. “Would I bring it back if it wasn’t?”
Giselle looked from Livy’s face to mine. Some uniquely feminine misgiving had appeared in her moss-green eyes. She pushed back a bang of pomaded hair and blew a stream of air through thin, lavender-coated lips.
“This hasn’t been worn, has it?” Livy glared.
“Because store policy states that if a garment has been worn even once—”
“I don’t give a damn about store policy! I demand to see the manager!” Livy huffed.
“Look, there’s really no need to—”
“I demand to see the
“I love clothes. Clothes make me feel good. Do I ever stop you from buying whatever you want?”
“No, but I never said you did. And besides, I never buy anything.”
“I needed a new wardrobe. My things are falling apart.” “I hadn’t noticed. You look fucking terrific in everything.” “You don’t get women at all, do you, Max?” “How did you pay for everything?” “I charged it, how do you think?” “Charged it …? ” “Visa? Ever heard of it?” “I’m just asking, is all.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll get taken care of. Anyway, it’s not your money.”
“I didn’t say it was. Baby, don’t be upset with me. I’m just interested in what you’re up to.”
“Besides, I have ways of getting my money back.”
“How’s that?”
“Oh, never mind. You don’t understand how things work.”
The discussion ended the way every one of our discussions ended. Within seconds I had her on top of me, her tight, classical ass bobbing up and down on my rock-hard prong, her excited brown missile of a nipple between my teeth, my fingers holding on to the daggers of her high heels.
“Let’s not argue, okay?”
“Okay…. ”
“I mean, we shouldn’t argue with each other, ever.”
“Okay…. ”
“We need each other. We’re all we’ve got. It’s you and me against the world.”
“Right…. Still love me?”
“Feel that?”
“Okay, then.”
And in this way the issue was settled—at least for the time being.
I never understood why Livy needed to dress in such finery to wait tables at the Purple Turtle, but two or three weeks later she decided that most of the stuff she’d bought on that binge had to go back.
“Didn’t you already wear that thing to work?” I asked as I watched her tossing a silky violet pullover into its packaging.
“It’s not right on me,” she snapped. As if I was a complete dolt not to have noticed.
“I don’t know—I thought it looked pretty damned sexy myself.”
On that point she ignored me. “Are you coming with me or not?”
From the no-nonsense set of her jaw, I could see that my beauty was in an unusually determined frame of mind that Saturday morning. The mall parking lot was swarming with vehicles cruising for empty spots. Mall-crawling is the great suburban diversion, and you can’t blame people—what else is there to do in the wasteland? Finally we landed something along the outer rim, which meant we’d have to lug our load damned near a quarter mile to the entrance.
The queue at Macy’s was long; all bored housewives and tired career girls taking their sweet old time on the weekend. Every fucking transaction took forever. When we finally reached the register, Livy’s resolve had given way to a brittle, unexplained disdain for the surroundings.
The twenty-something model wannabe with the nameplate identifying her as Giselle seemed bored and weary.
“I’d like a refund for this dress,” Livy declared, pulling a diaphanous gown out of a bag.
With the tip of her tongue Giselle discreetly shifted the wad of chewing gum from the inside of her right cheek to her left.
“What’s the problem?”
Giselle’s voice was slightly nasal, annoying. Livy flipped the garment upside down.
“It’s torn. Right here. You can see.”
She pointed to a tear in the inseam at least three inches long.
“Was it this way when you bought it?”
Livy snorted. “Would I bring it back if it wasn’t?”
Giselle looked from Livy’s face to mine. Some uniquely feminine misgiving had appeared in her moss-green eyes. She pushed back a bang of pomaded hair and blew a stream of air through thin, lavender-coated lips.
“This hasn’t been worn, has it?” Livy glared.
“Because store policy states that if a garment has been worn even once—”
“I don’t give a damn about store policy! I demand to see the manager!” Livy huffed.
“Look, there’s really no need to—”
“I demand to see the
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