straight to her front door. He followed her through the cavernous, darkened house and into her kitchen. She grabbed two wineglasses and a bottle and continued with her strident pace. He almost wanted to call, “Hey, wait up!”
The word “agenda” came to mind and he started to wonder what hers was. Maybe she had found out her husband was having an affair and this was her way of making up for it. Other things crossed his mind. Or maybe , he thought. Maybe she’s just like you and this is all she wants. Just one night that neither party will remember too well years in the future.
Maybe , he thought.
She led him through the house and out the back doors. Once outside they were in a huge garden, the like of which he had never seen before. Back there was another fountain, this one smaller, in the middle of the garden. There were also a number of statues—almost enough to be gaudy—arranged sporadically throughout the garden, a small underlight illuminating each one of them. There were men and women in various poses and they reminded him of the sculptures of Roman gods.
The woman split off the cobblestone walkway and, kicking off her shoes, sat down on a mat of depressed ornamental grass. She looked up at him before he sat down, her mouth twisting into that malicious little smirk and there was a look in her eyes that told him exactly what she wanted. Following her lead, he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and took a seat next to her.
“Do you drink wine?” she asked.
“Yeah. You know, I’m not real picky.”
“If you were, you wouldn’t have a problem with this at all. I could tell you that it was Rollin 1946, but you wouldn’t know what that was, would you?”
“No. I definitely wouldn’t. Stuff’s a little out of my price range,” he said, immediately feeling kind of dumb.
“Well, then let it be a mystery to you.” She picked the bottle up and held it, her large eyes running up and down the length. “I need to go back in and get the corkscrew. I always forget the corkscrew.” It sounded filthy, the way she said “corkscrew.”
She stood up and moved back into the house. He picked up the bottle. It contained no label or anything hinting at its contents. Well, this is it, he thought. She’s brought me here to poison me. But he couldn’t see how that would benefit her at all. Then she would just have a dead body on her hands.
The woman came bouncing back out with her hands full. She sat back down across from him, childishly criss-crossing her legs. “Would you like to do the honors?” She handed him the corkscrew.
He went to work on opening the bottle.
“What’s your name, by the way?” she asked.
“Oh, Elliot. Yours?”
“Magdalena.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“That’s trite. But thanks.”
The cork came out with a small pop. He smelled the opening and was surprised at the sweetness of it. He had lied when he told her he would drink anything. He hated wine almost as much as he hated champagne. “This is a nice place you have here.”
“Thanks. You state the obvious really well.”
“Are you married?”
She laughed. “Of course. Why? Does it matter? Besides, why do you ask?”
He couldn’t really give an answer. He didn’t mind at all. As he approached middle age, he found married women to be the most abundant.
“Because you don’t know any rich women? A woman can’t have a nice house and drive a nice car if she’s not married?”
“ No. I only asked because you seem pretty...”
“Forthright?”
“Yeah, I guess. Is he coming home soon?”
“Let me give you a quick lesson about the female psyche, Elliot. Women want fucked as much as men. Maybe more, sometimes. A man could probably get off by rubbing up against a tree but it’s not that easy for a woman. We ache. And the ache is way up inside and it has to be teased, coaxed, or simply beaten out. Only then do we get release. We may be a little pickier than men but the longing, believe me, is still
The word “agenda” came to mind and he started to wonder what hers was. Maybe she had found out her husband was having an affair and this was her way of making up for it. Other things crossed his mind. Or maybe , he thought. Maybe she’s just like you and this is all she wants. Just one night that neither party will remember too well years in the future.
Maybe , he thought.
She led him through the house and out the back doors. Once outside they were in a huge garden, the like of which he had never seen before. Back there was another fountain, this one smaller, in the middle of the garden. There were also a number of statues—almost enough to be gaudy—arranged sporadically throughout the garden, a small underlight illuminating each one of them. There were men and women in various poses and they reminded him of the sculptures of Roman gods.
The woman split off the cobblestone walkway and, kicking off her shoes, sat down on a mat of depressed ornamental grass. She looked up at him before he sat down, her mouth twisting into that malicious little smirk and there was a look in her eyes that told him exactly what she wanted. Following her lead, he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and took a seat next to her.
“Do you drink wine?” she asked.
“Yeah. You know, I’m not real picky.”
“If you were, you wouldn’t have a problem with this at all. I could tell you that it was Rollin 1946, but you wouldn’t know what that was, would you?”
“No. I definitely wouldn’t. Stuff’s a little out of my price range,” he said, immediately feeling kind of dumb.
“Well, then let it be a mystery to you.” She picked the bottle up and held it, her large eyes running up and down the length. “I need to go back in and get the corkscrew. I always forget the corkscrew.” It sounded filthy, the way she said “corkscrew.”
She stood up and moved back into the house. He picked up the bottle. It contained no label or anything hinting at its contents. Well, this is it, he thought. She’s brought me here to poison me. But he couldn’t see how that would benefit her at all. Then she would just have a dead body on her hands.
The woman came bouncing back out with her hands full. She sat back down across from him, childishly criss-crossing her legs. “Would you like to do the honors?” She handed him the corkscrew.
He went to work on opening the bottle.
“What’s your name, by the way?” she asked.
“Oh, Elliot. Yours?”
“Magdalena.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“That’s trite. But thanks.”
The cork came out with a small pop. He smelled the opening and was surprised at the sweetness of it. He had lied when he told her he would drink anything. He hated wine almost as much as he hated champagne. “This is a nice place you have here.”
“Thanks. You state the obvious really well.”
“Are you married?”
She laughed. “Of course. Why? Does it matter? Besides, why do you ask?”
He couldn’t really give an answer. He didn’t mind at all. As he approached middle age, he found married women to be the most abundant.
“Because you don’t know any rich women? A woman can’t have a nice house and drive a nice car if she’s not married?”
“ No. I only asked because you seem pretty...”
“Forthright?”
“Yeah, I guess. Is he coming home soon?”
“Let me give you a quick lesson about the female psyche, Elliot. Women want fucked as much as men. Maybe more, sometimes. A man could probably get off by rubbing up against a tree but it’s not that easy for a woman. We ache. And the ache is way up inside and it has to be teased, coaxed, or simply beaten out. Only then do we get release. We may be a little pickier than men but the longing, believe me, is still
Similar Books
