\u201cBut will it sell?\u201d Barber asked, eyes swinging scythe-like up from Glen\u2019s little offering.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think so,\u201d Glen proffered, shallow-voiced.<\/p>\n
\u201cWill it really?\u201d Barber cut again, rapping his Parker pen on the table with a judge\u2019s timing.<\/p>\n
Hoping that his sweat wasn\u2019t showing, Glen adjusted the knot of his necktie, feeling clownish in its polka-dot pattern. Velma had picked it out for him that morning, though he\u2019d opted for a tamer brown at first. \u201cIt\u2019ll give you verve,\u201d she\u2019d said, \u201ca bit of energy for your big meeting.\u201d It gave Glen no verve. He heard Bozo\u2019s honking horn every time he looked at it.<\/p>\n
\u201cUm,\u201d Glen stalled, clawing for latent confidence, \u201cI\u2014I really think so. \u2018Better Detergent for a Better Clean.’ It convinces buyers there\u2019s a superior product out there, or it implies it, when so many people just look at all detergents the same.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut why is it better, Glen? See, you\u2019re trying to convince them, and that takes too much time.\u201d Barber leaned forward, plasticine hair haloed by the conference room\u2019s fluorescents. Glen struggled to meet the Creative Director\u2019s assertive gaze, to look squarely at the keen gravity in Duke Barber\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you have a wife, Glen?\u201d<\/p>\n
Glen Homewood raised his left hand with a weak smile, displaying the band.<\/p>\n
\u201cBeautiful. What\u2019s her name?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVelma.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we talk frankly, Glen? Man to man, for just a moment?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTell me, then, when you first fucked her, did you just whip out your cock,\u201d Duke pantomimed an obscene unsheathing, \u201cand did she say \u2018boy oh boy, that\u2019s the product for me, I can just tell I need it?’\u201d<\/p>\n
Glen\u2019s legs tensed, a gelatinous knot of discomfort lodging in his throat.<\/p>\n
\u201cOr,\u201d Duke went on, \u201c did you have to do some convincing? A few weeks\u2014hell, maybe even months in your case\u2014of laughs, whispers, and little touches at the hem of her dress, before she even thought of letting you take a bite outta her?\u201d<\/p>\n
Duke had the same sort of look Glen\u2019s priest gave him when he was overdue for confession. As if he could see Glen\u2019s weakness somewhere in his dense frame, or his mediocre mustache, or the desultory movement of his fingers. Where was this going? Why was he talking like this?<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, just looking at you,\u201d Duke reclined, \u201cI\u2019m guessing it\u2019s the latter.”<\/p>\n
At that, a mote of resistance told Glen to fight back. To defend his wife\u2019s honor, swat Duke\u2019s pantomiming hands from the table, to assert himself, reject this insult on Glen\u2019s manhood.<\/p>\n
But Duke was right. He was spot-on about he and Velma having sex\u2014or, how long it took before they did. So a larger, much more powerful thing in Glen told him to confess. Just like at St. Etienne\u2019s. To listen to Duke\u2019s words, terrible though they may be, because he had pinned Glen square. And he surely had more knowledge to give.<\/p>\n
Glen nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course. Let me ask you another question\u2014of those two options, which would you rather have? That sort of reckless presentation,\u201d Duke pantomimed again with a naughty grin, \u201cand all the pleasure that follows, right then and there? Or all that convincing? You wanted to fuck her so bad, and ultimately, it didn\u2019t really matter whether you did it sooner or later, because you eventually got it. But you deserved it then. She wanted it then, too, just didn\u2019t know it yet, and all the weeks you wasted with those sweet nothings and hours-long talks about salary and kids weren\u2019t ultimately worth a damn \u2018cause your dick was still dry!\u201d Glen squirmed in his chair. \u201cSo the better route, for you and her, would\u2019ve been to save all that agonizing, the blueballs, the platitudes, and one night in your car, to whip out your cock\u2014your superior cock, as any Barber & Matheson man\u2019s surely is\u2014so all Velma had to do was take a look, maybe even a feel, to know that you\u2019re the man for her. Tell me, Glen, wouldn\u2019t that have been much better?\u201d<\/p>\n
The soupy knot of unease in Glen\u2019s neck thickened. He felt like he\u2019d have to go to confession soon and he hadn\u2019t even said anything yet. Glen thought of Velma, the mote of resistance hating the sound of her name in Duke\u2019s mouth. But then, another thought. Another, more powerful thing. A projection of the lurid scene Duke Barber so casually described. The quick-flashing fantasy of a rapid, virile act in the back of his Chevrolet 2100. A reckless unsheathing, just like Duke said, so different from the nights they\u2019d spent learning each other, tenderly molding the clay of their hearts to fit in the other\u2019s palm. So different from courtship over soft and quiet conversations, luncheons, strolls\u2026<\/p>\n
What Duke described was another world. A better world? More worthy of Duke Barber, who sat in the corner office, and drove a Porsche 904, and drank fine Laphroaig scotch, and held gravity in his eyes?<\/p>\n
More worthy of a man?<\/p>\n
Glen nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s right, Glen. Of course that would\u2019ve been better. And the truth is, the same goes here. You\u2019ve got a superior product\u2014Dr. Oscar\u2019s Bubbleclear Detergent\u2014and you\u2019ve got the choice to persuade and convince,\u201d Duke sneered, \u201cor to whip it out now and save both you and the customer the blueballs. Which also avoids the possibility of Velma\u2014the customer, I mean\u2014finding an inferior cock in the meantime that\u2019ll solve the problem faster, even if not so well. Do you see what I\u2019m saying, Glen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2014I think so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen do it,\u201d Duke said, reclining.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhip out your cock, Glen.\u201d With his head turned just so, the fluorescents\u2019 glint made bladed crescents in his gaze.<\/p>\n
Glen stammered, then went silent, words choked by the thing that clung inside his neck. Duke\u2019s eyes were steady. His hair chiseled, as if from marble. His jaw locked, lips sealed, as if he\u2019d never spoken a word before. As if he\u2019d sat, inevitable, in this room since the day that it was built, waiting for Glen to reveal himself. To show what he was made of. What was he asking?<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2026I don\u2019t think\u2026I can\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe product, Glen. We\u2019re still working in analogy here,\u201d Duke condescended. \u201cStop the persuasion and show her why Dr. Oscar\u2019s Bubbleclear Detergent is the better detergent. And show her now.\u201d<\/p>\n
Glen\u2019s fingers wiggled without his command, as if signaling Duke for a breather.<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck her, Glen,\u201d Duke bit. \u201cIn 10 words or less.\u201d<\/p>\n
Glen\u2019s first instinct was to ask exactly what Duke meant, the analogy still too coarse for his taste. The fantasy Duke had planted of him and Velma in the back of the Chevy still flashed in his mind, and he needed to wrap his head around all this persuasion, and blueballs, and that ugly word, \u2019fucking\u2019, but he had no time to reckon it all.<\/p>\n
He could see it in Duke\u2019s face, an almightiness that had only grown since Glen had sat down. A look that said if Glen asked another question, if he pussyfooted with one more word, he would be disassembled like a catalog-ordered home appliance, put back into the build-your-own employee box he\u2019d come from, and shipped immediately back to Sears Roebuck\u2019s nonentity warehouse.<\/p>\n
So Glen found himself, once again, at the cusp of non-belonging. Staring at the insignificance that had been his home since grade school, a dark, smothering smallness he\u2019d finally overcome by getting into Barber & Matheson as a technical writer seven years ago. A thing that now opened its mouth to take him again, pulling him closer with the weighty draw of Duke Barber\u2019s cunning and relentless eyes.<\/p>\n
Glen looked down at his polka-dot tie. The thing that would give him verve. Then, back up to Duke. He spoke with as clear and steady a voice as he could muster:<\/p>\n
\u201cBubbleclear Cleans With Verve\u2014Your Clothes, Whiter in Less Time\u201d.<\/p>\n
Duke Barber\u2019s jaw clenched, muscle ridged and swelling beneath his skin. Then, he smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s a headline that sells, Mr. Homewood.\u201d In an instant, the lump in Glen\u2019s neck was flushed out, erased by the clean, bright sound of Duke\u2019s acceptance. And he belonged. And he was good again. \u201cThat is why they recommended you from Technical, Glen. Welcome to the Creative Department.\u201d<\/p>\n
Duke lithely stood and extended a statuesque hand. Glen hefted himself from his chair to meet him.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m honored, Mr. Barber\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course. But let\u2019s not keep going with the blueballs, let\u2019s cut to the chase. You\u2019ll be attending our next conference with Dr. Oscar and his product development team to discuss new detergent and washing machine products\u2014that\u2019s on Tuesday. They\u2019ve been having some trouble and asked us to pitch a few ideas for them. Nothing too revolutionary, just small offerings to fill in the gaps.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course, Mr. Barber,\u201d Glen said, hand tingling in Duke Barber\u2019s firm grip. He would have to cancel his standing appointment for steak dinner with Velma on Monday night, he was certain. But that was small potatoes.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd one more thing. You can write, and that\u2019s all well and good, but part of my little analogy here was to see if you can stomach the hard talk. How you do under pressure. That, I\u2019m still not so sure about.\u201d<\/p>\n
Glen nodded slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo put on a suit of thicker skin, Mr. Homewood. You\u2019re in a different world now.\u201d Another instinct to ask a question, to get Duke to clarify just what he meant\u2014Glen\u2019s mind was still reeling. Before he could ask, though, the other man leaned in close, speaking softly into Glen\u2019s ear as he held his hand in a firm grasp. \u201cMaybe take a bite out of lovely Velma tonight, like we talked about. Try cutting to the chase.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh,\u201d Glen said, \u201cI\u2019m not so sure I could\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust try, Glen. See what happens. It\u2019s a different world than you think, up here.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When Glen got home, he smelled Thanksgiving. The screen door swung open with a whine and when the front door gave way, a fragrant yawn of roasted turkey and butter and fresh greens met him there, lazy and perfect.<\/p>\n
\u201cVelma?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh!\u201d a call from the kitchen. \u201cI didn\u2019t hear the door!\u201d Then he saw her, capering toward him through the hall\u2014soon as she saw his face, the smile at the corner of his lips, she grinned a sunbeam. \u201cYou got it, tell me you got it\u2014no you don\u2019t have to tell me, look at you, I can see it all over you, come here!\u201d Velma laughed and brought him in for a hug, and he smelled butter, flour, home upon her neck. Glen laughed with her, the two swapping giddiness for as long as their limbs could hold them.<\/p>\n
\u201cI made you a big spread!\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can tell, smelled it soon as I opened the door. Have you been cooking all day?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMhm! I knew you\u2019d earn it, Mr. Homewood,\u201d she pulled him in close again with an embrace, friendly, generous, and unexpecting. That touch, molded to him, that he\u2019d come to know over so many soft afternoons, luncheons, and strolls. \u201cDid your tie help?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d Glen smiled. \u201cIt did.\u201d<\/p>\n
A table resplendent with a whole turkey, mashed potatoes, squash roasted with olive oil, salad with butter lettuce, cabbage and carrots and a homemade vinaigrette awaited him in the dining room.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have, Velma,\u201d Glen said, mouth full of mash. \u201cYou didn\u2019t know if I\u2014damn, these are good.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI knew, I knew. I could tell you were unsure, but Barber & Matheson knows talent and cares for you well.\u201d A spasm in Glen\u2019s neck as she said the name \u2018Barber\u2019, referring to the man who had not spoken her name so kindly that afternoon. A mote of resistance. \u201cThat\u2019s why they hired you, and that\u2019s why Mr. Barber asked you to meet today, and that\u2019s why you\u2019ve got your big promotion,\u201d Velma wiggled in her chair. \u201cThey knew you\u2019d earn it, even though you weren\u2019t so sure.\u201d<\/p>\n
Glen smiled, but as the mashed potatoes went down, a slimy ghost of disquiet trickled after it. The things he\u2019d heard today. About her. The things spoken by Duke Barber, a man among men, who\u2019d been talked about as God in the technical writing room, who\u2019d been spoken of with hushed and jealous voices.<\/p>\n
Velma smiled at him. Glen thought of their dates, their trips to ballgames, their afternoons, luncheons, and strolls. Their courtship.<\/p>\n
How reckless he could have been.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, nothing,\u201d he replied. \u201cJust thinking about the meeting.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt went well, didn\u2019t it?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen why do you look so glum?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, I just\u2014he said I needed thicker skin, is all.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid someone say something mean?\u201d she cocked her head.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no, nothing mean. Just, you know how guys get in the bullpen. A little crass sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did they say?\u201d she smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing, really.\u201d<\/p>\n
It took a moment for Velma to cut the line. \u201cWell,\u201d she said, \u201cyou don\u2019t need to be worried about finding crass men to be crass, Glen. Don\u2019t pay it no mind, alright?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlright,\u201d Glen conceded. Velma looked beautiful there, at the other end of the table. In the dim light between their chairs, his foot sought hers and found it, toying with her toes through thin dress socks. Both of them blushed. And as he saw her cheeks turn red, Glen recalled what Duke had said. How he\u2019d told him to just try. To take a bite.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what\u2019s next?\u201d Velma asked, tucking into a piece of soft, well-seasoned squash.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, there\u2019s a meeting next Tuesday, a big one with the Dr. Oscar people.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s exciting! Did he just love your detergent headline? I\u2019m sure he did. \u2018Better Detergent, Better Clean\u2019? I thought that was so good, Glen, clean, and simple, and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, he thought it was alright. Had me try another one that he liked better, said it was more\u2026direct.\u201d Under the table, Glen slid his foot along the top of hers, a long, slow glide. \u201cHe wanted something more upfront,\u201d Glen said, lowering his voice to something he thought was sultry. Trying to meet her gaze. Trying something. Just like Duke told him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d she went on, unaffected, \u201che liked whatever you said enough to let you meet the famous Dr. Oscar, how wonderful!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat he did,\u201d Glen said, a little disappointed by her obliviousness to his advance.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the meeting about?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProduct development, I think,\u201d Glen said as he softly wiggled his toes against hers, trying to make it obvious. \u201cSo we\u2019ll talk about new products and such, how they\u2019ll sell, who they\u2019ll sell to, how to market them. Come up with new ideas.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou think you\u2019d help them make a new detergent? Is that what you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably a new detergent in the Bubbleclear line, but maybe something else, something for the washing machine itself, I\u2019m not sure what.\u201d<\/p>\n
Seeking again, his foot found the inside of her arch and tickled at it, brushing along it with a soft pull. He tried again to meet her gaze, to catch her eyes in his look of wanting. But Velma seemed entirely unaware, chewing on another idea instead, looking confused. \u201cI don\u2019t know how they come up with all those products, to tell you the truth, Glen. Don\u2019t you think we have enough soaps and detergents, I mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d he said, a little curt as he subtly tapped his big toe against her, one more attempt to get her to notice the look he was putting on. \u201cI just\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t get me wrong, of course, Glen, I\u2019m so proud of you, but I\u2019m just not sure what sort of thing you\u2019ll come up with. I remember when my momma made her own soap, mind you, and all these new products just feel unnecessary most of the time. Speaking as the one who does all the cleaning\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the talking,\u201d Glen said more harshly, firmly, sharply than he\u2019d intended. Like smearing a warm cigarette into the driveway with a mean, heavy twist of the heel.<\/p>\n
After a moment, he pulled his foot from her, back to his side of the table, uncertain of himself, and took another mouthful of mash. When Velma looked up at him from her plate, it was with surprise. And a bit of hurt.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry,\u201d Glen said, \u201csorry. I\u2019ve just been a little stressed today, dear. As you can imagine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d Velma said in a faux-cheery voice, sunbeam blotted out for the moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019ll be sure to let you know what we come up with,\u201d Glen offered up in truce.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease do,\u201d she smiled.<\/p>\n
They ate, and finished, but the night never returned to the same bubbling, giddy joy of their first embrace. Velma offered to do dishes as Glen took a beer and cigar out onto the back porch, removing his shirt\u2014something he never did\u2014to let his chest and arms soak in the cool spring evening. To try on a new suit of skin.<\/p>\n
As Glen sat and smoked in his plastic armchair, he considered. Watched lights pop on and off amid the suburban maze behind his back fence. Listened to the distant bark of dogs and the clatter of steel-lidded trash cans. Watched light spill and snuff out as porch doors opened and shut. Cigar smoke surrounded him. His exposed limbs rested.<\/p>\n
Why had he said that to her? Why had he barked? Glen closed his eyes and played his own words back in his head: \u2018and all the talking.\u2019 As he repeated the sound in-mind, the voice began to morph. Edging away from Glen\u2019s meager tenor and dipping down to Duke Barber\u2019s imposing baritone. Hell, he had sounded like Duke. Just a little bit.<\/p>\n
Soon, with the slow wash of beer and the incense of the cigar wafting over him, Glen dipped into other thoughts. Something like dreaming.<\/p>\n
Duke\u2019s words from their meeting made their way across the heady night like radio, entering his haze. How crass and terrible they\u2019d sounded. So obscene, he\u2019d felt the need to drive straight to St. Etienne\u2019s on the way home for a confession, though something had stopped him. It was the memory of Duke\u2019s chiseled, robust look, the statuesque grip with which they\u2019d shaken hands. His eyes, which had already pulled from Glen enough confession for the day. Which had already given him an idea or two for penance.<\/p>\n
Glen leaned further back in his vinyl-backed chair, dipping deeper into miasmic thought, and took a blind toke of his cigar. Tasting its burnt warmth, he pictured the interior of his 2100. Pictured Velma, beautiful and young and pert as before they\u2019d married. Pictured sitting with her in the back seat. Pictured her waiting for him to do something reckless. Something he\u2019d never known she\u2019d wanted.<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck them,\u201d Duke said. The Creative Director was there, somehow, in the car\u2019s front seat, taking in the scene of Glen and Velma in the back with his steady, noble eyes, watching them. Catching them.<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck them in 10 words or less,\u201d Duke said.<\/p>\n
\u201cBubbleclear Cleans With Verve,\u201d someone said. Glen turned and saw the backseat again, only he wasn\u2019t in it anymore. Instead, sitting next to Velma, his would-be-wife, was a handsome blonde man in a laboratory cloak, a stethoscope around his neck and a reflecting disk strapped to his head\u2014Dr. Oscar. The mascot Barber & Matheson used in their ads. \u201cYour Clothes Whiter in Less Time,\u201d the stranger\u2019s perfect voice croned as he disrobed, as Velma\u2014the buyer, the housewife, the one who needed him, looked on in awe.<\/p>\n
Glen twitched in his armchair, eyes still closed. This was making him feel sick\u2014he tried to shake the image off, to envision something else. With a feverishly heavy draw from his cigar, he strained to remember how he\u2019d felt shaking Barber\u2019s hand, to remember the feeling of acceptance he\u2019d so long craved, the sound of him saying \u201cthat sells.\u201d<\/p>\n
But it did not last. The scene in the car went on, as if he couldn\u2019t shake it. As if something in him didn\u2019t want to.<\/p>\n
Then it got worse.<\/p>\n
Dr. Oscar, unsheathing himself.<\/p>\n
Velma, in the backseat, eyes wide with delight.<\/p>\n
Terrible, suffocating feelings in Glen\u2019s throat.<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck them,\u201d Duke baritoned loudly from the driver\u2019s seat. \u201cThey want it, whether they know it or not. Show them,\u201d he droned as Velma took Dr. Oscar in hand with her perfect sunbeam grin, bending down to him. \u201cGive them what they want.\u201d<\/p>\n
The cigar smoke caught in Glen\u2019s esophagus, stale, rotted, sour. He tensed his neck to keep from coughing. His lip began to tremble. His eyes stayed closed. The projection kept playing, playing, playing\u2014<\/p>\n
The back porch\u2019s screen door swung with a creak and Glen\u2019s eyes shot open, sweat dripping from his temple. Turning, he saw Velma emerge from the house. Beautiful, perfect Velma, glowing beneath the bulb hanging over the doorway, a beer in hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s your shirt?\u201d she asked casually, then, after another look, \u201cAre you alright, Glen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCigar smoke,\u201d he grunted, stumbling over the words. \u201cTook a little in the wrong pipe, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh,\u201d she said, taking a seat in the chair next to him. \u201cYou look like you\u2019ve seen a ghost.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d Glen looked back over the neighborhood and took a long throat of beer. They sat in silence for a while. Watched trash cans glinting in headlight beams. Listened as someone tuned their radio to \u201cBe My Baby\u201d by the Ronettes a few doors down. The sweating subsided.<\/p>\n
\u201cI suppose I\u2019m a little nervous,\u201d Glen said after a while. \u201cMy meeting with Duke\u2026it just feels different than I\u2019m used to, maybe. A different world.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow so?\u201d Velma asked, taking a swig of her own drink.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a\u2026a different ethic, I think.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA different ethic.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c…How?\u201d<\/p>\n
Glen pondered. \u201cYou know how my cousin Adam talked about Korea? Said once you got there, the second you stepped off the boat, you finally realized you might have to take a life. But that it was necessary\u2014just a different ethic. So you got used to it. And it was okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGlen,\u201d she chuckled awkwardly, \u201cI\u2019m not sure making an advertisement for the Bubbleclear detergent people is the same as killing a Korean.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d he said. \u201cProbably not.\u201d In the silence that followed, radio waves crept back into Glen\u2019s mind, ghostly words sent out from the hours-past, uneasy tremors of a Barber & Matheson conference room. The lights of the suburb beyond them popped in and out. And something in Glen silently fermented. Thickening, unseen, within his skin.<\/p>\n
\u201cVelma?\u201d he eventually asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cMhm?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cLie down on the porch.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked like she was about to laugh, but as she took stock of his face again, her expression fell, sunbeam eclipsed with concern.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
Glen looked at her, his arms flexing with uneasy potential against his frame. He looked her in the eyes, Duke Barber\u2019s voice coming out his mouth as he tried wielding gravity with his gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you want me to fuck you,\u201d Glen said, the slightest hint of a tremor on the last two words, so unfamiliar, \u201cthen lie down on the porch, on your back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t be serious,\u201d she attempted a laugh but caught herself again. She looked like she could not reckon him.<\/p>\n
Eyes still as firm as he could keep them, Glen drained the rest of his beer, each swig reminding him of his body, deadening the sickly uneasiness that he told himself was thinner skin washing away. He held her gaze as she searched him for a tell, and in her stare he caught flashes of curiosity, of worry. Then, something else, something stranger, anxious even. Alluring.<\/p>\n
It almost looked like she feared him.<\/p>\n
With a slow, unsteady hand, she reached across her breast to the buttons of her cornflower-blue dress. Glen kept steady on her, letting his eyes drift down and watch as a button was undone with a quiet, dampened snap. Then another\u2014a peek of mauve brazier, lace-frilled. Another, and the globes of her breasts warmed in the light of the backdoor bulb. Button after button, revealing navel, stomach, relaxed and soft-looking in her chair. Glen felt his hands trembling, fingers uncertain of their hold on the beer bottle, clinging to their grip of the plastic armrest.<\/p>\n
They locked eyes again. He felt completely incapable of saying anything more, of trying to tell her what he was feeling\u2014at once stirred and revolted by what he saw. By what she confirmed for him. Still, she undid herself, looking at him curiously, hesitantly, with each undone button, as if hoping this one or the next would finally make him say something.<\/p>\n
A flash of disgust in Glen\u2019s mind, and he nearly told her to stop, to cover herself, that the lights in the dark beyond them would surely see her. But he said nothing, the last words he\u2019d spoken having sucked the strength right out of him.<\/p>\n
He\u2019d tried something. Now he saw what it got him.<\/p>\n
Velma then stood before his chair and let the dress fall. Glen met her eyes, watching this woman, his wife, unclasp the back of her bra as lights popped on and off behind her in an endless collage of screen doors and kitchen windows and glinting trash cans that had never looked so odd to him before.<\/p>\n
The bra fell. Her panties soon after.<\/p>\n
Wordless, that strange, alluring look still on her face, she knelt down and leaned back on the unfinished porch wood\u2014surely unsmooth, surely scratching her back.<\/p>\n
From his chair, Glen looked at her over the curvature of his own belly. Watched her waiting for him, cataloged her patient gaze.<\/p>\n
Then, as the radio sounds in Glen\u2019s head fuzzed again into a static, he stood, and unbuckled his belt, and a small, strange piece of his molded heart cracked off, falling as a shard onto the back porch wood, where it teetered and faded into nothing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
So Glen found himself, once again, at the cusp of non-belonging. Staring at the insignificance that had been his home since grade school, a dark, smothering smallness he\u2019d finally overcome by getting into Barber & Matheson as a technical writer seven years ago.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":21196,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20727","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-benjamin-ray-allee"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20727","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20727"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20727\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21197,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20727\/revisions\/21197"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/21196"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20727"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20727"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20727"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}