The Harder They Fall

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “The bed’s bigger?” he suggested.

  “I think it gives me an illicit thrill to be running back and forth between bedrooms,” she said, laughing.

  “How can it be illicit?” he asked, pulling his shirttails out of his pants. “We’re married.”

  “It feels illicit.”

  “That’s because you’re having a good time,” he said, standing behind her and bending to kiss the back of her neck.

  “Very true,” she replied, closing her eyes.

  He pulled her dress off her arms and she stepped out of it as it fell. His hands slipped down to her hips and he arched himself against her.

  “A perfect fit,” he murmured in her ear.

  Helene sighed as she felt his arousal and he dropped his head to her bare shoulder. His mouth moved along her naked back, the friction of his tongue against her skin causing her knees to weaken.

  “Helene?” he said, sliding his hands under her arms and enclosing her breasts, his voice muffled by her flesh. He stroked her nipples with his thumbs, teasing them into peaks as she moaned helplessly.

  “Yes,” she whispered, turning to face him, lifting her mouth for his kiss.

  He responded instantly and she opened her lips under his, welcoming the invasion of his tongue. She ran her palms over the hard surface of his back, pushing aside the folds of his loosened shirt. He put his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her, setting her on the bed. He stripped off their remaining clothes and then fell with her full length, pulling her tight against him again.

  “Each time I’m with you I’m afraid it will be the last,” she said, burying her face against the smooth expanse of his shoulder.

  He held her off to look at her.

  “Don’t talk like that,” he said sternly.

  Helene reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair, the silky strands slipping through her grasp, and then dug her nails gently into his scalp.

  “I guess I can’t believe you’re really mine,” she whispered.

  He grunted and shifted position, adjusting himself so she could feel him more fully.

  “I really am,” he replied.

  Helene wrapped her legs around his hips, her eagerness inflaming him. He kissed her again, so intensely that she thrust against him restlessly, muttering something he couldn’t understand.

  “What do you want?” he said, his lips against hers, his tone low and sensuous.

  “You,” she said. “Now.”

  He gave her what she wanted.

  * * * *

  “I’m hungry,” Helene said.

  “I’m not surprised. You ate almost nothing at dinner.”

  “I was excited.”

  “Honey, that wasn’t excited. Excited is what we just had here in this bed.”

  Helene punched him. Lightly.

  “Ow,” he said, unconvincingly.

  “I sure wish somebody would get up and make me a sandwich,” Helene announced.

  Silence thundered through the room.

  “I had such a big night, the ring and everything,” she added hopefully.

  There was a slight rustling of sheets, some thumping of pillows, but no verbal response.

  “I am pregnant, after all,” she said dramatically, pulling out her trump card.

  “Oh, all right,” he replied, sighing loudly and shifting in the bed. She heard his feet hit the floor and then the lamp on the bedside table snapped on, shedding a buttery glow across the spread.

  “Turkey with lettuce and tomato on a hard roll,” Helene said with satisfaction.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “This is not Joe’s deli,” he replied. “You’ll have to take what’s there.”

  “I bought all of that myself yesterday,” Helene said smugly.

  “For just such an emergency,” he said, pulling on his pants.

  “You never know,” she said, grinning.

  “Apparently, you do,” he replied pointedly, laughing as he padded into the hall.

  “Don’t use the roll if it’s stale. There’s whole wheat bread in the keeper,” she called after him.

  He stuck his head back into the bedroom. “Anything else? How about a fresh rose on the tray?”

  “That would be a nice touch,” she offered brightly. “And don’t forget the mayonnaise.”

  “On the rose?”

  “On the sandwich, wise guy.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said dryly, and she listened contentedly to his progress down the hall and then heard the squeak of the refrigerator door. She propped several pillows against the headboard and sat back against them comfortably, drawing the sheet up under her arms and smoothing the spread across her lap. She relaxed, closing her eyes, and was almost asleep by the time he came back.

  “Wake up,” he announced as he came through the door. “If I made this masterpiece at two in the morning you are going to eat it.”

  Helene blinked and straightened. “Looks great,” she said.

  “It looks like I hacked the roll in half with a machete,” he said apologetically, “but I did the best I could.”

  Helene surveyed the plate, which bore what might have been the remains of a kaiser roll stuffed with what resembled a wilted day-old salad. She picked it up gingerly.

  “How does it taste?” he asked doubtfully, as she took a bite.

  “Yum,” she said, truthfully. It tasted a lot better than it looked. She chewed enthusiastically.

  “Well, anyway, it’s food,” he said, sighing and climbing in next to her. He popped the top of the can of beer he had brought for himself and handed her a glass of seltzer.

  “Thank you,” Helene said tenderly.

  “You’re welcome.” He rolled onto his side, watching her eat.

  “Want a bite?” she asked, proffering the ragged roll.

  “No, thanks. I killed it, I’m not going to eat it too.”

  Helene giggled and then hiccupped loudly.

  “Oh, no. Not again,” she said, gasping for air. She put the plate on the floor and tried to hold her breath, but she hiccupped once more.

  “You know what the doctor said,” Chris reminded her. “It’s the baby pressing on your diaphragm. Just relax and breathe normally.”

  Helene relaxed, took a deep breath, then hiccupped twice.

  He sighed and pressed her flat onto the mattress. “Close your eyes,” he instructed.

  Helene did so.

  “Close your mouth and exhale through your nose,” he said.

  She obeyed.

  “Now let your arms and legs go limp,” he intoned.

  Helene felt all her muscles go slack.

  He peeled the sheet back from her torso and took one of her nipples in his mouth.

  “Hey,” she said, sitting up.

  “Cured your hiccups, didn’t it?” he asked.

  Chapter 7

  “What do you want to do tonight?” Helene asked, as they were finishing dinner the following evening.

  Chris looked at her and grinned lasciviously.

  “Besides that,” she said.

  He shrugged.

  “Can we go to Brodie’s?” she asked.

  “Why do you want to go there?”

  “Just to see it.”

  “It’s not a place for you,” he said shortly.

  “Why not?” Helene demanded. “Is it the national headquarters for Murder, Incorporated?”

  “It’s a beer joint, Helene, you won’t be meeting a lot of first grade teachers there.”

  “Maybe that’s why I want to go.”

  “Expanding your horizons?”

  “Possibly. You spent a lot of time there. Are you trying to hide your past from me?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Playing district attorney again?”

  “I suppose I can always go by myself,” she said airily.

  “You’re not going there by yourself,” he said firmly.

  “Well?” she countered.

  “All right.” He ran his gl
ance over her outfit. “You’ll have to change your clothes,” he said.

  She looked down at her skirt and blouse, sheer hose, dark pumps. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” she asked.

  “You look like you’re about to give a lecture on the difference between hard and soft g.”

  “I thought you liked the way I look,” Helene said softly, suddenly feeling hurt.

  Chris put down his coffee cup and slid out of his chair, coming to stand behind her at the sink.

  “I love the way you look,” he said, pushing her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck. “But it will make you stand out like a reindeer in the Easter parade at Brodie’s Bar and Grille.”

  “Then what should I wear?” she asked, turning around and into his waiting arms.

  “Jeans and a T-shirt. Boots.”

  “I don’t have any boots.”

  “Tennis shoes, then.”

  “You mean sneakers? That’s what we call them in New Jersey, sneakers.”

  “Right.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Go put on your sneakers and I’ll take you to Brodie’s.”

  Helene hurried to change and reappeared in the kitchen minutes later, wearing her oldest jeans with a leather belt and a faded cotton shirt tucked into it.

  “There you go,” Chris said, when he saw her. “Perfect.”

  “I don’t feel perfect. I had to let the belt out two notches and the top of my jeans won’t button closed.”

  “Gee, you look like you’ve gained at least... two ounces.”

  “Three pounds,” she said glumly.

  “My, my, what’s next? Weight Watchers? Come on, chubby, your chariot awaits.”

  Brodie’s was in the same section of downtown as the house Chris had shared with his mother, on a dark corner across the street from a defunct convenience store with Spanish-language signs tacked to its front. Neon advertisements glowed in Brodie’s windows and country-and-western music blared from the smoky interior as they pushed their way through double doors and went inside.

  The main room was dominated by a wraparound bar, with most of the stools occupied by customers, and a group of pool tables with a clutch of booths at the back. Through an alcove at the left dancers moved to the music of a jukebox just inside the door. Voices called out greetings to Chris as they entered, and he nodded to several people as he steered Helene past the bar toward one of the tables. Once they were seated a waitress appeared almost immediately.

  “Hi, Chris, how ya doin’?” she asked brightly as Jimmy Buffet’s “Margaritaville” began to pulse through the room.

  “Hi, Marge,” Chris replied.

  “Two beers?” Marge said.

  “Mineral water for me,” Helene said.

  “Mineral water?” Marge said, looking at Chris.

  “You have club soda, don’t you?” Chris asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Beer for me and club soda for the lady.”

  “This must be your wife,” Marge said, examining Helene with a practiced eye.

  “That’s right.”

  “Ginny told me you got married.”

  There was a long, pregnant pause.

  “I’m awfully thirsty, Marge,” Chris said gently.

  “Right,” Marge said, and walked away.

  “I’m beginning to think that you knew best about my coming here,” Helene observed quietly.

  “Don’t pay any attention to her,” Chris said.

  “Did you see the way she was looking at me? I’m sure Ginny can expect a full report at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Ginny has already seen you.”

  “Then they’ll compare notes.”

  “Are you really that insecure? Is that why you wanted to come here?”

  “Let’s put it this way. I realize that I’m something of a departure from your previous life and I have been curious about what you were doing before you met me.”

  “I was doing nothing before I met you. My life began the first time I saw your face,” he said quietly.

  Helene reached for his hand across the table, her eyes filling with tears. Every time she began to panic about the differences between them, the chance she had taken in falling in love with him, he said something like that and her fears dissolved immediately.

  “How about a game, Chris?” said a voice at her elbow.

  She looked around to see a middle-aged man, suntanned and weatherbeaten, gazing at Chris expectantly.

  “I don’t know, Chet. I’m here with the lady,” Chris replied, smiling slightly.

  “Oh, it’s all right with me,” Helene said hastily.

  “This the missus?” Chet asked.

  “That’s the missus,” Chris confirmed.

  “Ma’am,” Chet said, inclining his head and extending a callused hand. “Right proud to meet you.”

  Helene shook hands with him, her fingers soft and small against his horny palm.

  “This is Chet Ridgemont, Helene. Chet works on the Simpson ranch over in Red Pass,” Chris said.

  “Pretty filly,” Chet said to Chris.

  “Thanks,” Chris said shortly, glancing at Helene. She felt she had passed some sort of test.

  “Dance?” Chet said to her.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that,” Helene said, glancing at the couples doing the two-step in the next room.

  “It’s easy, I’ll show you,” Chet said.

  “I think she’s a little tired tonight, Chet, maybe some other time,” Chris intervened.

  “That’s right. Go ahead and have your game,” Helene said. “I’ll just relax and listen to the music.”

  “Why don’t you get a table, Chet? I’ll be right along in a minute,” Chris said.

  Chet nodded to Helene and moved off to the side of the room, where he was soon selecting a cue and chalking it.

  “Can’t you do the two-step, Mrs. Murdock?” Chris said to Helene as he rose.

  “It didn’t come up much in New Jersey,” Helene replied.

  “You’ll have to learn if you plan to stay out here,” he said.

  “Some other time.”

  “Sure you’ll be okay alone?” he asked.

  She nodded and regretted it shortly, as Marge slid into the seat across from her as soon as Chris was gone.

  “Here’s your drinks,” Marge said, depositing a club soda in front of Helene and slipping a paper coaster under Chris’ beer.

  “Thank you,” Helene said pointedly, taking a sip of her drink and turning away.

  “Not from around here, are you?” Marge said.

  “No.”

  “Back East?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so—you talk kinda funny. Like those people on TV giving out the evening news, you know what I mean?”

  Helene didn’t know what to reply to that, so she just smiled and took another sip of her drink.

  “So how long you been out here?” Marge went on.

  “Not long,” Helene answered, thinking glumly that she had brought this interrogation on herself by insisting on coming here.

  “Me, I never thought Chris would get married,” Marge volunteered. “He was always such a free spirit, took his good times where he could find them. It seemed like he just lived for that ranch and the rodeo. All those trophies in that case against the wall are his, you know.”

  “They are?” Helene asked in surprise, wondering what else she didn’t know about her husband.

  Marge nodded. “Chris didn’t want them and Brodie said they’d be good for business, the champ bein’ a regular customer and all.”

  Helene glanced over at Chris, who was leaning across a pool table angling for a shot.

  “Think you’ll be staying out here?” Marge inquired.

  “I imagine so. Chris wouldn’t want to leave the ranch.”

  “Marge, you got some thirsty people looking for you back at the bar,” said a voice to their left.

  Both women looked up to see a heavily muscled blond in his late thirties
grinning down at them. He had his short sleeves rolled up to expose bulging biceps and a pack of cigarettes tucked into his sagging breast pocket. His smile revealed a broken incisor and did not extend to his hard blue eyes.

  “All right, Randy,” Marge said meekly, sliding out of the booth and scurrying back to the bar.

  Randy took her place, still grinning. “I’m Randy Sills—I work here nights. Keeping order, you might say.”

  “Are you the bouncer?” Helene asked bluntly, before she could stop herself.

  “That’s right. And you’re the Murdock bride. Been hearin’ a lot about you from Sam. Your husband’s headman is my uncle.”

  “I see.” Helene looked nervously over at Chris, who was leaning on his cue watching Chet take a shot.

  “So which brother is it you’re hooked up with, exactly? I keep forgettin’. You were engaged to the dead one and now you’re married to the live one, is that the story?”

  “That’s it,” Helene said coldly, now actively trying to catch her husband’s eye.

  “Quite a switch, huh? I mean I never met the older one but Sam says he was just the opposite to our boy Chris—must have taken some gettin’ used to, right?”

  Chris finally looked up from his game and saw Helene staring at him. He dropped his cue without even glancing at it and it slid off the corner of the table and hit the floor.

  “Hi, honey,” Helene said loudly, reaching out to take his hand and smiling warmly when he arrived.

  “Sills,” Chris said flatly in acknowledgement of the other man, his eyes wary.

  “Hiya, Murdock. I was just havin’ a little chat with your wife,” Randy said.

  Chris nodded, unconvinced. His wife looked too stressed for that to be the whole story.

  Randy rose and slid out of the booth, turning until he was facing Chris in the aisle.

  “She was just about to tell me what it was like to go from your brother to you. Like one of them what do you call ‘em, those lady slaves.”

  “Chris, let’s leave,” Helene said quickly, getting up and tugging on his arm. She was too aware of what the tightening of his jaw meant to wait for the rest.

  “Watch it, Randy, your brains are running out of your mouth,” Chris said quietly. Too quietly.

  “Yeah, well, at least I’m not the type to steal my brother’s woman. Hardly waited for the body to get cold before you jumped the fiancée, right, boy?”