now, he cautions himself. Al has obligations, responsibilities. He sits rigid, eyes closed tight, willing himself to stay where he is. Al can almost feel her body, the cloth of her panties in his hand as he yanks them down, her pussy clenched against his cock. He clamps his hands together.
“Manny’s sick and I’ve got a shift to run tonight, Gin. You expect me to do that on an empty stomach? Or on a couple of these—what the fuck are these things anyway?” He waves a hand at the bowl of strange looking fruit on the table.
“Figs,” Gin says. “Manny brought them by yesterday. They’re from Frank Murphy. They’re good, Al.”
“Wonderful … just wonderful.” Al can’t hit her. The last time he did that her face swelled up something awful, and he really can’t afford that kind of press. Later.
I’ll get you later, Gin.
He throws his chair back and it tips over as he gets up. “I’ll get something at the deli,” he says. He leaves, slamming the back door shut behind him.
It always amazes Ginny that as much as she wants to please her husband, somehow she never gets things right. She slides to the floor, rests her back against the refrigerator, and thinks about it. Like Al says, she should have figured out when he would be home for dinner and had a nice meal ready. He surprised her so early at 5:00 p.m., but even so, she never should have served him that stupid stew. Ginny could have thawed a roast and made it nice and rare the way he likes it, and she could have baked some little red potatoes until they were crispy on the outside, and maybe even some baby carrots. As usual then, Ginny’s mind leaves the dinner problem and wanders off into what she considers the main issue.
Maybe if they had a child? Would life be better then? Ginny wants a baby in the worst way. But lately, Al is so rough with her in bed, it’s kind of scary, not to mention the fact that he keeps saying he doesn’t want any babies. She has promised him she’ll do all the work and keep things nice for him, but he always says, “No-way-Jose!” And when she asks him why, he doesn’t even answer.
The phone rings, intruding on her thoughts. Ginny crawls over to where it rests on the kitchen counter. She pulls it down onto her lap and stares at it. She certainly doesn’t want to talk with anyone right now. Besides, it’s probably Al’s sister or his mom, and one is every bit as annoying as the other. The answering machine picks up.
“Hi,” she hears her cheery voice ring out, “we’re not able to come to the phone right now. Leave a message and we’ll call you back.” She sounds so cool and together. So happy.
“Virginia, you there?” her sister-in-law Anna asks in her raspy voice. Ginny holds her breath as if the woman can hear her breathe. She knows her bitchy mother-in-law is probably nearby as well. “Ginny?” She hears the impatience in Anna’s listening silence. “I wasn’t aware you were going out tonight.” Accusing. Then, “Call me.” An order. Anna hangs up, and Ginny lets her breath out.
She picks up Al’s chair and sits down at the kitchen table. At least she has the night off, because Al probably won’t be home until ten or maybe later. Ginny helps herself to a fig from the bowl on the table—a fat, yellowish one. The fruit is delicious. It was real nice of Manny to bring them by. He’d gotten a whole lot of them from his buddy, Frank Murphy.
Sucking on the juicy fig, Ginny begins to feel better. Not exactly fine though, because the really bad thing about these upsets with Al is when he decides to forgive her. His “forgiving” is sometimes just too rough. But she doesn’t want to think about that just now, so she has another fig and then feels almost good.
Odd,
Ginny is thinking,
because I’ve never really liked figs.
I’m relaxing in the glider swing, my sore ankle on a pillow, while I work on my second beer and another cigarette.
Frank’s black pickup pulls up then, and he piles out
“Manny’s sick and I’ve got a shift to run tonight, Gin. You expect me to do that on an empty stomach? Or on a couple of these—what the fuck are these things anyway?” He waves a hand at the bowl of strange looking fruit on the table.
“Figs,” Gin says. “Manny brought them by yesterday. They’re from Frank Murphy. They’re good, Al.”
“Wonderful … just wonderful.” Al can’t hit her. The last time he did that her face swelled up something awful, and he really can’t afford that kind of press. Later.
I’ll get you later, Gin.
He throws his chair back and it tips over as he gets up. “I’ll get something at the deli,” he says. He leaves, slamming the back door shut behind him.
It always amazes Ginny that as much as she wants to please her husband, somehow she never gets things right. She slides to the floor, rests her back against the refrigerator, and thinks about it. Like Al says, she should have figured out when he would be home for dinner and had a nice meal ready. He surprised her so early at 5:00 p.m., but even so, she never should have served him that stupid stew. Ginny could have thawed a roast and made it nice and rare the way he likes it, and she could have baked some little red potatoes until they were crispy on the outside, and maybe even some baby carrots. As usual then, Ginny’s mind leaves the dinner problem and wanders off into what she considers the main issue.
Maybe if they had a child? Would life be better then? Ginny wants a baby in the worst way. But lately, Al is so rough with her in bed, it’s kind of scary, not to mention the fact that he keeps saying he doesn’t want any babies. She has promised him she’ll do all the work and keep things nice for him, but he always says, “No-way-Jose!” And when she asks him why, he doesn’t even answer.
The phone rings, intruding on her thoughts. Ginny crawls over to where it rests on the kitchen counter. She pulls it down onto her lap and stares at it. She certainly doesn’t want to talk with anyone right now. Besides, it’s probably Al’s sister or his mom, and one is every bit as annoying as the other. The answering machine picks up.
“Hi,” she hears her cheery voice ring out, “we’re not able to come to the phone right now. Leave a message and we’ll call you back.” She sounds so cool and together. So happy.
“Virginia, you there?” her sister-in-law Anna asks in her raspy voice. Ginny holds her breath as if the woman can hear her breathe. She knows her bitchy mother-in-law is probably nearby as well. “Ginny?” She hears the impatience in Anna’s listening silence. “I wasn’t aware you were going out tonight.” Accusing. Then, “Call me.” An order. Anna hangs up, and Ginny lets her breath out.
She picks up Al’s chair and sits down at the kitchen table. At least she has the night off, because Al probably won’t be home until ten or maybe later. Ginny helps herself to a fig from the bowl on the table—a fat, yellowish one. The fruit is delicious. It was real nice of Manny to bring them by. He’d gotten a whole lot of them from his buddy, Frank Murphy.
Sucking on the juicy fig, Ginny begins to feel better. Not exactly fine though, because the really bad thing about these upsets with Al is when he decides to forgive her. His “forgiving” is sometimes just too rough. But she doesn’t want to think about that just now, so she has another fig and then feels almost good.
Odd,
Ginny is thinking,
because I’ve never really liked figs.
I’m relaxing in the glider swing, my sore ankle on a pillow, while I work on my second beer and another cigarette.
Frank’s black pickup pulls up then, and he piles out
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