and make me a drink? I’ll just be a minute.” And before she could recover from his request, before she found the pacing once more, he had zipped away and was inside the bathroom with the door latched behind him.
She glared at the door for a few seconds, and then went into the kitchen to prepare a vodka martini. The first broadside had ended without any serious damage on either side, and was more like a skirmish than an outright battle, having the flavor of two battleships feeling each other out before getting down to serious warfare.
Gail smiled grimly to herself as she made the drink, acting out the ritual of tumbler, ice, alcohol, and lemon. Part of her couldn’t help but be relieved that he was back; her worry had been genuine. But now he had to pay for making her worry, and she was to be allowed to whip him until her anger was drained. Afterwards, she knew, they would make love. It was perfectly obvious to her that he had been with another woman. Its very transparency, in fact, provided the edge of amusement that kept her anger from total venom. She knew that he was at that very moment washing off the traces of the crime.
Gail wasn’t jealous of Eliot on the level of superficial encounters. She knew the sort of appeal he had, and the amazing resources of erotic energy. During an average day, he would come into contact with several high-powered attractive women, or young impressionable secretaries. It’s odd, she pondered, one thinks of a secretary as somehow being in a different category from a woman, as though it were a species all its own. She knew that Eliot loved her, insofar as he was able to love, given his enormous defense against feelings. He often reminded her of the little boy who, at the end of the cowboy film, is disgusted that the hero kisses the heroine instead of his horse. She would have been threatened to the core if she had had any suspicion of his approaching a serious relationship with someone else; but when she imagined him with a woman, it was always in the form of a conquest; and that gave her a small sexual jolt between her legs. No, her state of mind at the moment was not rooted in jealousy, but in simple indignation at having been left waiting and worrying.
Eliot’s passage was not so straightforward. He was in potentially very serious trouble. If Gail ever learned that he had been with Julia, there was no telling how violently she might react. A brief image of her rushing at him with a kitchen knife flashed through his mind. Or she might just collapse, which would be more difficult to deal with. Gail sitting woodenly in a chair, her eyes vacant, her jaw slack, the sorrow of double betrayal turning her skin to chalk held far more terror for him than any histrionics of anger ever could. But that was only the beginning. For after her came Julia. She had not known that he had a date with Gail at the very moment she was arching her buttocks and inviting him to penetrate her and drive her to that form of shameful glory which we call the orgasm. Their meeting was touchy enough, but they tacitly excused one another on the grounds of prior agreement, and the fact that they had already proved they could fuck without its spilling out into their lives. Besides, there had been a sense of fitness in their getting together, a karmic balancing that could not be defended on rational grounds. But when Gail called, and Julia learned what the situation was, the vibrations in her apartment began to fog all visibility beyond the strong message that he had better leave at once. His only salvation with Julia lay in his certain knowledge that she would not hurt her friend by letting her know what had happened. But she could and probably would make life very difficult for him at the office for a few days. As he soaped his crotch a second time, feeling foolish about doing it, he tried to take a quick inventory of exactly how vulnerable he was to Julia. He shuddered. She had enough on him to send him to jail for
She glared at the door for a few seconds, and then went into the kitchen to prepare a vodka martini. The first broadside had ended without any serious damage on either side, and was more like a skirmish than an outright battle, having the flavor of two battleships feeling each other out before getting down to serious warfare.
Gail smiled grimly to herself as she made the drink, acting out the ritual of tumbler, ice, alcohol, and lemon. Part of her couldn’t help but be relieved that he was back; her worry had been genuine. But now he had to pay for making her worry, and she was to be allowed to whip him until her anger was drained. Afterwards, she knew, they would make love. It was perfectly obvious to her that he had been with another woman. Its very transparency, in fact, provided the edge of amusement that kept her anger from total venom. She knew that he was at that very moment washing off the traces of the crime.
Gail wasn’t jealous of Eliot on the level of superficial encounters. She knew the sort of appeal he had, and the amazing resources of erotic energy. During an average day, he would come into contact with several high-powered attractive women, or young impressionable secretaries. It’s odd, she pondered, one thinks of a secretary as somehow being in a different category from a woman, as though it were a species all its own. She knew that Eliot loved her, insofar as he was able to love, given his enormous defense against feelings. He often reminded her of the little boy who, at the end of the cowboy film, is disgusted that the hero kisses the heroine instead of his horse. She would have been threatened to the core if she had had any suspicion of his approaching a serious relationship with someone else; but when she imagined him with a woman, it was always in the form of a conquest; and that gave her a small sexual jolt between her legs. No, her state of mind at the moment was not rooted in jealousy, but in simple indignation at having been left waiting and worrying.
Eliot’s passage was not so straightforward. He was in potentially very serious trouble. If Gail ever learned that he had been with Julia, there was no telling how violently she might react. A brief image of her rushing at him with a kitchen knife flashed through his mind. Or she might just collapse, which would be more difficult to deal with. Gail sitting woodenly in a chair, her eyes vacant, her jaw slack, the sorrow of double betrayal turning her skin to chalk held far more terror for him than any histrionics of anger ever could. But that was only the beginning. For after her came Julia. She had not known that he had a date with Gail at the very moment she was arching her buttocks and inviting him to penetrate her and drive her to that form of shameful glory which we call the orgasm. Their meeting was touchy enough, but they tacitly excused one another on the grounds of prior agreement, and the fact that they had already proved they could fuck without its spilling out into their lives. Besides, there had been a sense of fitness in their getting together, a karmic balancing that could not be defended on rational grounds. But when Gail called, and Julia learned what the situation was, the vibrations in her apartment began to fog all visibility beyond the strong message that he had better leave at once. His only salvation with Julia lay in his certain knowledge that she would not hurt her friend by letting her know what had happened. But she could and probably would make life very difficult for him at the office for a few days. As he soaped his crotch a second time, feeling foolish about doing it, he tried to take a quick inventory of exactly how vulnerable he was to Julia. He shuddered. She had enough on him to send him to jail for
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