at the cassette in his hand, then stared at Deirdre. “My God, there are copies, aren’t there?”
She kissed him again, quickly, while he was still in shock and assimilating what was happening. He didn’t respond. He was too stricken by events even to resist.
She cocked her head to the side and flipped her hair as if she were in a shampoo commercial. “Copies? Well, I don’t know for sure.”
“I do,” he said in a voice that betrayed his resignation.
She moved in and kissed him a third time, smiling up at him. “Michael’s gone back to sleep,” she said, “or he’d be in here again by now.”
His mind was still trying to gain equilibrium, to reassess the future. “Molly told me about the incident with Michael and the cat.”
She gave him another of her nimble, unexpected kisses, this time on the point of his chin. “She certainly made more of it than there was, David.”
“She said you’d been in our bedroom. That you were wearing some of her perfume when she went up to your apartment.”
“Anyone can buy any kind of perfume. She’s imagining things again, David. She’s awfully insecure and she imagines things. I noticed that about her from the beginning, and like I told you, it’s getting worse.”
She moved up against him. He started to back away. Paused and stood still.
“How did you get in here?” he asked. “I mean now, this morning?”
Smiling, she inserted her hand beneath the elastic waistband of his shorts. He felt her fingers twine around his limp penis and begin their slow and expert pulsing motion, somehow in time with his heartbeat. “Oh, I guess I must have found a key someplace.”
He had an erection; he couldn’t prevent it. It wasn’t his fault!
“Or took an impression and had a key made,” he said.
She continued to smile and press her body against his, increasing pressure and backing him toward the bedroom. He was surprised by her strength. She had to have very powerful legs to generate that kind of force.
“No,” he said, with some determination, not loudly enough to disturb Michael. “We’re not going to do this.”
“Of course we are,” she persisted.
“No, we’re not going to do it here! Especially not in our bed!”
She maintained pressure against him, snaking her free arm around his body to reach the plastic cassette he was holding and tapping it with her long red nails. “Aren’t we really?”
“Listen, Deirdre! We have to talk!”
“Jesus, Deirdre, we can’t do that here!” He was whispering now, pleading. “Not now! Not here!”
They were at the threshold, then past it. He felt Deirdre’s body move against him and heard the door shut and latch. She’d adroitly closed it with her foot.
“Damn it, Deirdre!”
Laughing, she shoved hard against him, forcing him backward faster, gaining momentum until they both fell onto the bed.
The springs squealed loudly under the sudden weight of two people.
They continued to squeal.
When Molly returned from her run, she dropped the fat
Then she walked to the bedroom door and opened it.
David was still in bed asleep. He must have gotten up during her absence, though probably only to use the bathroom. The window was wide open and the air conditioner next to it was humming away on high, not the work of a man all the way awake.
She looked down at him lying there with the sheet tucked beneath his chin, and she smiled. She was still perspiring from her run but she looked and felt invigorated. Hurriedly, she removed all her clothes except for her jogging shoes, then climbed into bed.
David sighed and turned his head to the side, not opening his eyes. She drew back the sheet and gripped the waistband of his shorts, then laboriously worked them down over his buttocks, genitals, knees, then feet, and tossed them on the floor. Amazingly, he still hadn’t awakened.
She gently prodded his shoulder. He was sweating even though the room was cool. Or maybe she only thought it was cool because she was still warm from her run.
“Hey, you,” she said softly, prodding again.
He opened his eyes and stared over at her. “Huh? Hey, I thought I was dreaming.”
She grinned. “Want something better than a dream?”
He wiped at his eyes then worked the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I don’t really feel like it anymore, Mol. Got too much on my mind.”
Still grinning, she encircled his limp maleness with her hand and began manipulating, stroking. “It’s a mind that can be changed.”
It took a few minutes, but he responded to her.
“See,” she said. “Grab them there, and their hearts and minds are sure to follow.”
Not releasing him, she settled down beside him, her face close to his.
“There’s an interesting thing about running,” she said. “If you’re in the right frame of mind, it can be foreplay. Something to do with endorphins, maybe.”
He sighed and rolled toward her. Maybe he was readier than either of them had known.
The bedsprings began their rhythmic squeal.
When Deirdre had returned to her apartment, Darlene was still seated on the sofa, drinking coffee from a cup with a yellow rose design that Deirdre had bought at a shop in the Village. She was wearing a stylish green dress and had her slender legs crossed and twined about each other modestly. The kind of chaste, perfect woman some men liked to muss up, Deirdre thought.
“I told you I wouldn’t be gone long,” Deirdre said.
Darlene smiled and shook her head. “You are really something else.”
Deirdre picked up the other cup on the table and sipped. The coffee was cold. “Want a warm-up?” she asked.
Darlene shook her head again. “Just got one.”
Deirdre went into the kitchen, refilled her cup from the glass pot, then returned to the living room.
“You were gone long enough to get into mischief,” Darlene said, “considering that you were visiting your ex- husband while his wife was away.”
“For crying out loud, Darlene, little Michael was right there in the apartment. Nothing happened.”
Darlene’s large, dark eyes shifted as her gaze traveled up and down Deirdre. “Your clothes are mussed.”
“You’re not my mother,” Deirdre said.
Darlene sighed. “Sorry. I was being judgmental again.”
“You want to listen to some music?” Deirdre asked. She walked over to the stereo, anticipating Darlene’s answer.
“Sure. If you don’t want to talk about your visit with David.”
“Do you like the Beatles?” Deirdre asked, thumbing through her box of audiocassettes.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
She looked over at Darlene, surprised that she’d expressed a sense of humor. Usually she was so serious.
“You’re frowning,” Darlene said. “Put the cassette in and relax.”
“Okay, I deserve some relaxation. It’s been a hard day’s night.”
Now it was Darlene who frowned.
By the time the music began, Deirdre was seated next to Darlene on the sofa. They began talking animatedly, sometimes laughing so hard that Darlene’s hand would shake and her coffee would spill onto her green skirt.
