So they sat next to each other without touching at all.
Beverly was curious and wanted to know more about Bill. Bill told her there wasn’t much more to tell. He told her she pretty much knew everything about him, or at least everything that was worth telling. When he said that, she told him it was pretty much the same for her.
“I haven’t had sex in weeks,” Beverly finally blurted out. She looked at Bill and smiled. “I’m young and vibrant. It’s not that I can’t go without it, but Jesus Christ, I don’t want him anymore. How could he do this to me?”
It was a fair question. It was a question Bill had no answer for. All he could think was he hoped his wife didn’t know. He hoped she had no clue, no idea, not even the slightest inkling.
As he thought back upon it, all he could think was that shit happens. He didn’t go to meet that professor to go to the demonstration. He didn’t help that kid who was getting beat up to get arrested. He helped him to do the right thing. He didn’t plan to get convicted of anything, to go to jail, to not be able to get a job using his college degree. He didn’t plan to become a college graduate bus boy, then a broiler cook. He didn’t plan to spill soup on that customer and then have to defend the waitress because that customer was being a major asshole. He didn’t plan for her to thank him the way she did or for that to start something.
It did start something. But that something would have started anyway because Alfreda wanted a piece of him, Bea was licking her chops and Marie wanted some white meat. Then there was Norma. Drenovis sicced her on Bill except it didn’t go the way Drenovis expected. Norma and Bill had a grand time.
And then there was Mother Mary. Drugs. Alcohol. Fatigue. Dissatisfaction with the way life had gone…
Mother Mary was just one of those what-the-hell existential decisions. He was high. He was drunk. He came upon her as she was bent over with her hands busy and her head just about inside that oven.
It wouldn’t be the only time he reached up a girl’s skirt. It wouldn’t be the only time he’d felt someone up uninvited and just because. It wouldn’t be the only time it turned out not unwanted, not discouraged. It wouldn’t be the only time it was the beginning of an invitation.
But he loved Mother Mary. He cared for Arlene and he cared for Lorraine but he loved Mother Mary. It wasn’t just that she rocked his world, which she positively did. She touched his soul and she grabbed his heart.
“You know I’m a grown up girl,” Beverly said.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, really. And I am starting to know what I want.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“I want to be free of him.”
“You can do that. All you have to do is do it.”
“I’m gonna confront him. I’m gonna let him know I know and let him know it’s over.”
Bill didn’t say anything. In part it was because he was still stuck on her question of how he could do that to her.
This wasn’t an unfamiliar question for Bill. It wasn’t a question he hadn’t grappled with.
He wanted to tell her that he had discovered something that might temper her seeming decision. He wanted to tell her that you could love more than one woman at the same time. He wanted to tell her that it had happened to him, that without looking for it or wanting it or even understanding it, loving two women at the same time had surely happened to him.
He might have said something or started to, but Beverly turned and kissed him. She kissed him passionately.
“See,” she said. “I am a grown up girl.”
