by Kitty Margo
In all honesty, I think I would rather catch him in a heated bump and grind with another man. For some reason, I think it would hurt less. My admittedly warped sense of reasoning assures me that a fling with a man would be just a passing phase with Adam, whereas if he had a thrust session with another woman there would be some dreaded degree of emotion involved.
Actually, I can’t even convince myself of that either, since my best friend is a transgendered female and I know how deeply she loves. I’ll tell you all about her later.
I heard Adam take a few cautious steps and then pause as if weighing his limited options. He has a large bay window in the front of his house so he had already seen my Jeep parked in his driveway, I was sure. Now he just had to figure out what to do with me, since his infinitesimal brain had probably already issued the severe thunderstorm warning that I wouldn't be in a particularly jovial frame of mind.
Summoning his courage, as Adam would never be accused of having nerves of granite, I heard his heavy footfalls land on the opposite side of the door. But did he open it? Oh! Hell no!
The chicken shit weasel chose to insult me, most egregiously, by going into his bathroom and raising a window beside the door. Did he honestly believe that I would remain on one side of the screen, while he and his paramour reenacted scenes from Memoirs of a Geisha on the other?
“Hey, Eve.” He peeked through the wire mesh and tried to form a weak lopsided smile as he pretended that all hell wasn’t about to break loose.
The man should issue a daily prayer of gratitude toward the inventor of window screens.
His attempt at a smile failed while all his blood seemed to drain from his upper region and into his bright red boxers. Rather romantic boxers with little white hearts randomly scattered throughout the silky material. It crossed my mind that he had never modeled this particular pair of lovey-dovey underwear for me.
As I peered through the screen, I noticed that his sandy brown thinning hair was tousled and the bags under his eyes were pronounced. This was a good indicator that he hadn’t been awake long.
At 5’9”, Adam was only a few inches taller than me with the most adorable little boy face and the clearest blue eyes, reminiscent of Jeff Hunter in King of Kings. He is charming, witty, and without fail, the life of the numerous parties he so loves to attend. His penchant for revelry stems from the fact that he can get blitzed, forget that he is fast becoming a middle‑aged man, and therefore not have to behave like one.
Adam was your typical nocturnal bad boy. And as bad as I hate to admit it, as he had no doubt been cavorting under the covers with his latest tramp seconds earlier, I loved him with every ounce of my troubled soul.
“Who is she, Adam?” I was trying hard to steady my breathing and control the raging impulse to do a somersault through the window screen landing in a handstand on his head. This could not be happening! Was I really such a colossal fool? “And don’t even give me that ‘she is just a friend’ crap!”
“She is my… housekeeper,” he had the nerve to stammer, while at the same time applying his most charming and convincing smile. However, his expression conveyed that of a scampering forest creature caught in the headlights of a speeding, out of control Mini Cooper.
His housekeeper? The man’s house was currently in foreclosure and he was constantly riveted to CNN in hopes that President Obama would come up with a loan modification program, which actually worked, in time to save his house from the looming auction block. And he expected me to believe that he had been blessed with a sudden windfall, with enough funds having miraculously materialized for the hiring of domestic help? Seriously?
I wondered if her domestic duties included cuddling. Adam had a habit of cuddling with me in my bed. Believe me! Cuddling was all we did! He also has a little problem with… well… let’s just say his hard drive has been downloaded to a floppy disk.
Needless to say, he had never once mentioned the acquisition of a dust bunny. How much would you care to wager his housekeeper’s eyes were of the slanted variety? “Then your house should be quite spotless. Let me in, Adam.”
“She hasn’t started cleaning yet. In fact…today is her first day. She’s only been here a few minutes!”
“That’s okay, I don’t have anything else to do today. I’ll help her clean. You know, since I own a cleaning company! Quite frankly, I’m surprised that, since I own a cleaning company, you didn’t at least come to me for some suggestions on who to hire.”
“Well, I would have. But… honestly… she just up and volunteered to do it.”
Oh! So residents of the red light district rendered their services for free nowadays. I was standing on the precipice of losing my last remaining thread of composure right there on his front porch in front of God and fellow countrymen.
“That was really generous of her, wasn’t it? Anyway, let me in. I need to check out her cleaning supplies and ask if she has any tried and true remedies for that nasty bathtub grout.”
Obviously there wasn’t a bottle of 409 on the premises. “Oh! I forgot… today’s not her cleaning day. She happened to be in the neighborhood, so she stopped by to bring me a plate of food. Look at me, Eve! I was asleep!” He yawned mightily as further proof.
He had been asleep, that much was true. But did it prove a thing? Nope. Sure didn’t. For no matter how long she had been there, one glaring fact remained. She was there!
“I’ll just bet she did stop by to bring you something to eat.” All pretenses flew out the window as I spat vehemently, “Did it smell like fish?”
“No, Eve.” He shook his head vigorously from side to side and sighed a heartfelt sigh before continuing with his monotonous drivel. “You’ve got it all wrong! It’s not like that at all!”
Then please be so kind as to rectify any misguided illusions, before you incite me to the violence that I am trying so hard to suppress! “Okay, since I have the situation all wrong, Adam, let’s try to clarify a few things. You did say you were asleep, right? So how on earth did she get in? Does she perchance have her own key?”
“No, Eve! She doesn’t have a key!”
I could almost hear the clanking wheels grinding and beginning to spin in his feeble brain. “Um… I must have forgotten and left the door unlocked last night.” He jerked toilet paper from the roll and decided that now might be the perfect time to dust cobwebs from the windowsill. One might have assumed him leaving that tiresome chore for his new goddess of domesticity. “I heard you knock and opened my eyes and there she was.” Satisfied the windowsill was now dust and cobweb free, where would he direct his nervous energy next? The hard water stains in the toilet bowl? “Just believe me this one time. I’m telling you the truth, Eve!”
Truth! Huh! I doubt he could spell the word if it was tattooed on his miniscule dick!
I wondered if I picked up the loose brick on his porch steps, which just so happened to lay a few convenient inches from my feet and bashed his skull with it would my lawyer get me off with the ever-popular crime of passion defense?
“Does she make a habit of strolling into your home uninvited? Perhaps someone should have a discussion with her concerning the rules of decorum in this country. I would be more than happy to assist you with that.”
“No! She doesn’t!” His voice had risen a couple octaves. Obviously his cage was getting rattled. “Maybe she knocked and I didn’t hear her! Hell, I don’t know, Eve!”
The fact that the dimwit considered himself to be both an accomplished liar and master manipulator, and me lacking the mental capacity needed to see through both, perturbed me. Well, actually it annoyed the pure hell out of me! While rest assured neither was an accurate assumption. I wanted to see the floozy and a team of wild Clydesdales would have major difficulty dragging me off his front stoop before I did.
“Open the door, Adam! Please, don’t say another word! Just open the door!”
“No, Eve! I know how you are! You don’t think clearly when you’re mad!”
Ya think?
Then he put massaging fingers to his temples leaving me to believe he was trying to formulate a quick plan to get his latest cuddle bunny out of his house with all her limbs intact. He rubbed his hands over his face and bouncing from one foot to the other pleaded, “Just let me wake up, Eve.”
Since the raised window was in his bathroom, he took a moment to urinate, holding his shriveled member in one hand and his forehead in the other. The first thing he did upon awakening was head to the bathroom. I knew this from past experience. It only confirmed my suspicions that his Merry Maid had arrived much earlier.
My interpretation of the situation was that they had enjoyed an early morning session of erotica and had then fallen blissfully asleep in each other’s arms, only to be awakened by my rather persistent knocking. I glanced down at the loose brick again. Nope. Better keep a tight rein on my temper.
Adam finished his business, stalled for time by washing his hands, then strode casually to the window. Taking a whiz had evidently drained his brain as well as his bladder as he had the unmitigated balls to say, “Here is what you do, Eve. You ride up the road and let me get rid of her. Then come back and we can talk."
What fantasy world did this moron pay property taxes in? Adam knew me better than that and I found his proposed scenario to be delusional at best.
“Now let me tell you what is really going to happen, Adam.” I leaned toward the screen, put my nose about an inch from his, and said with every ounce of conviction that I could possibly muster, “I am going to march right out there and sit on the hood of her lovely vehicle and wait until she comes out.” I issued a silent prayer for forgiveness even as I said this blatant and outrageous lie! Lord knows there wouldn’t be enough Tide With Bleach in the state of North Carolina to get the rust out of my clothes if I slid across that hood!
Adam and Chia both work second shift in the same factory and have for several years. In fact it would seem they had developed such a close working relationship that she had begun stopping by his house almost daily for the proverbial afternoon delight.
It just so happens that my son’s best friend Justin also works with Adam and Chia and just that morning had called to nearly rip my heart out of my chest by informing me of Adam’s philandering ways. Fortunately for me, Justin had refused to sit idly by and keep quiet regarding Adam’s cheap and tawdry shenanigans. He had gone on to explain how Adam had grown accustomed to leaving his back door unlocked so nymphet Chia could crawl in bed with him after dropping her- few shy of a baseball team - kids off at school. How she had a habit of bringing a home cooked Asian delicacy to work, so they could make goo goo eyes and snuggle together in the canteen while sharing it. How she was wont to eat with her right hand, while her left hand -the one with the wedding band- remained discreetly under the table in the vicinity of his lap.
“And since we are both painfully aware that this confrontation won’t be pretty, the best thing for you to do is open the door so we can all carry on the pretense of being civilized adults.” However I promise you, I couldn’t recall a single instance when I had felt less barbaric.
“Only if you promise not to cause a scene, Eve.” He was clearly hoping against hope that I could be swayed by the gnawing look of terror in his baby blues.
Nope. I must confess. I wasn’t feeling swayed at all.
“You know someone will call the cops. You also know my neighbor is the sheriff.” He was making a failed attempt at one of his lame and pathetic scare tactics.
“Adam, honestly, do you really think I care?” I kicked at the loose brick with my shoe.
Don’t pick it up, Eve! Don’t pick it up! “You know my parents would sign my bond.” Although I realized it wouldn’t be beneficial to my cause, I couldn’t help adding, “It would make my parent’s day and be worth a night in jail for the immense pleasure of going ape shit on your cheating ass!”
He cast a nervous sideways glance toward the brick with a stricken look that suggested he might be pondering the phrase; Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The man’s tedious mind couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of just how scorned I was feeling at the moment.
“Just promise you will take your anger out on me and be civil to her. Unlike you, Eve, she’s timid and unaccustomed to drama.”
All I could say was bless her. For the hussy would be well versed in dramatics, to the point of playing a starring role in the remaking of Fatal Attraction, when I finished with her. Suddenly, as I was thinking this, my field of vision began to tunnel and jagged white lines flashed across my pupils. That was a bad sign, normally signaling the onslaught of a migraine. Now wouldn’t that just be the kicker and the height of all embarrassment, if a migraine hit right about now?
I would be forced to lie down on the bed, probably between Adam and his latest victim of seduction, pleading with them to close the blinds, turn out the light, and please keep their thrashing to a minimum until it passed. I put trembling fingers to my temples trying to stave off the blinding pain and noted that while his concern for the harlot was touching, me being civil to her wasn’t going to happen in this or any other lifetime.
“Okay,” I lied.
Three
He paused seemingly aware that he could be making the most colossal mistake of his worthless life. “Good. I’m going to open the door, but remember you promised.” Then, being Catholic and deciding that a little confession was good for the soul, he blurted, “Chia is here! But nothing has happened!” He was extremely nervous now as his breathing was with shallow, labored gasps. Perspiration dotted his brow, although there was a frigid wind blowing by me and through the open window that felt like it was sweeping over a polar ice cap. “She is on her period, Eve.”
I did tell you the man was an imbecile, did I not? All that told me, if it was true, was that they had discussed the fact that they couldn’t fornicate, this time, because it was her time of the month. Why else would a woman’s menstrual cycle even come up in casual day to day conversation? To me this was irrefutable proof that they were indeed enjoying the benefits of frequent bouts of hanky panky. I was beyond livid and seeing bright patches of red wondered if the added splash of color was due to the impending migraine or blinding rage.
“Open‑the-door‑Adam!”
“I told you the only reason she came was to bring me a plate of food!” he shrieked in a voice suddenly gone falsetto. “I have never touched that girl! Why do you always jump to the wrong conclusions, Eve?”
Why did I always jump to the wrong conclusions? Well now, let’s see? The maid was here, while not with the intention of using a Hoover. Well, not the electrical version anyway. That was his first lie. The second was that she had dropped by with a steaming platter of vittles. Oh! And she just happened to be in the neighborhood. That being the swanky Twin Rivers Golf Course neighborhood where her dilapidated vehicle stuck out like Ellen DeGeneres would if she were seen sashaying down Weeping Willow Street in a black leather mini skirt, fluorescent orange tube top, and six inch spiked heels.
So where was the Asian cuisine? Lies flowed so easily, let’s just watch him squirm his way out of this one. “Show me the plate of food, Adam. Please, prove to me that you are telling the truth, for once in your miserable life, and I will never doubt you again.” I was becoming painfully aware that my fists were clenched so tightly my fingernails were on the verge of slicing into my palms.
He rubbed his knuckles vigorously across his eyes and exhaled a long shuddering breath. Probably trying to channel Chia and convince her to scoot into the kitchen and stir up a simple entree from one of Rachel Ray’s 30 Minute Meal cookbooks. Rice. The skank should know that recipe by heart. One look at Adam’s dolefully downcast eyes convinced me the charade was over. There was no plate of food.
He kept me waiting on the porch like a Jehovah Witness with pamphlets in hand for about 5 more minutes. And where was the foreign object of his affections? Why, hiding in the bedroom closet of course. He finally agreed to open the door after I again lied
through my teeth and promised not to cause a scene.
The poor man had to be beyond dense, or delusional, if he truly believed I would leave his property this day without creating some version of a small spectacle.
I cringed hearing him go room to room whispering her name as he diligently searched for her hiding place. “Chia? Chia? Baby, where are you?”
Baby? Did he actually call the miscreant baby?
His soft reassuring voice carried through the open window as he found her hiding spot and persuaded her to leave the safety of the closet. I heard him promise to protect her, with his very life if necessary, from the insane woman at the door. The fact that she believed that lie was tangible proof that I wasn’t the only one who might benefit from some quality time on a leather couch.
“Go sit by the fireplace and don’t talk.” He pronounced each word slowly as you would if you were speaking to a six year old child, or a brain dead adult.
If the slut had been home with her husband and six kids, where she belonged, she wouldn’t have had to worry about being the recipient of a few minor bruises or hairline fractures. Now would she?
I craned my neck toward the window straining to hear, while he told her in a loving, tender tone that I just wanted to meet her. Then I would leave. Right. I would leave. Keep dreaming Alice, for you are still in Wonderland. Just Adam’s tone made me want to snatch her bald headed. I took a steady, calming breath as he finally reached deep within and summoned the courage to unlock the door.
Glancing through the bay window with my now squiggly vision as he was unbolting the door, I glimpsed Chia’s shadowy silhouette floating across the room and coming to rest near the fireplace. Evidently to be within arms reach of the fire poker should the need arise? Perhaps I should bring my brick inside, consequences be damned.
Somehow, I resisted the powerful urge to claw at Adam’s eyes with my French manicured nails as I followed him into the house. Within minutes I would fervently wish that I had relented to the urge and gouged the beautiful blue orbs right out of their sockets.
