Page 12 of Shame the Devil

“It’s four months.”

“Like I said. A long way. Why are you worrying about it now? Or—wait. Does Orbison want you to work for him there?”

She took a breath. “No. I’m getting laid off. And I’m thinking that I need to move on. Move ahead. In my life. Now that Dyma’s leaving, and I don’t have a job, and so forth. Time to try something new. Time to shake things up.” Time to shut up, was what. But Mark wasn’t saying anything. Why not?

“Wait,” he said. “Is this about us? I mean, sorry about the layoff, but you can get a new job. You’ve got great skills. So what’s this all about?”

“What?” she said. “No. I just told you. I’m talking about moving on. Moving ahead. All that.”

“Except that it’s some kind of ultimatum,” he said. “Some kind of marriage thing. I told you, I’ve done that. It wasn’t fun. We’re still having fun. If we were married—boom, fun’s gone. I’m a stepdad, you’re telling me we need to buy a house, I’m cleaning gutters. Even more responsibilities. Who needs it?”

“You’re right,” she said, and he looked surprised. Also gratified. Like,That was easy.Which was what she was. Easy. Go along with anything. Don’t ask for more. “Except that I’m not sure how fun this is. Seriously? This is enough for you? This is the best we can do? Hanging out?”

“We had dinner,” he objected.

“WhichI cooked.Which is exactly like being married for me, but you didn’t even have to pay for it.”

She couldn’t believe how she sounded. Bitchy. Dramatic. And yet somehow, she was going on. “And, no, it’s not some kind of ultimatum, because you clearly don’t want to marry me, or we’d have done it.”

“Well, hang on,” he said. “I have to think about it, that’s all.”

“Mark. You’ve hadfour yearsto think about it.”

“Four years of good times and good sex,” he said. “Worked for me. How did I know it wasn’t working for you? And all right, I’m thinking about it. See? I’m thinking.”

“Well, no.” He didn’t even sound upset. He sounded inconvenienced. Somehow, her mouth opened and the words came out. “Not always so good. Sometimes I fake it. The sex,” she added, in case he was confused.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “What?”

“I do. I fake it.” There was a roaring in her ears. She’d never said this. Not to anybody. Notever.

“That is not true,” he said. “You’re just saying that to get to me. I can tell when a woman’s coming.”

“Can you, though?” she asked. “Can you really? Maybe she just wants it to be over, because she can tell she isn’t going to get enough tonight. Maybe she’s just waiting until you fall asleep so she can finish up without hurting your feelings. Maybe you go right to her breasts for about five minutes, and then you go for the home run, and half the time, you forget to evenkissher. Why would you think that’s a woman’s night of ecstasy?”

“Nobody else has ever complained,” he said. “And if you didn’t like it, why didn’tyoudo something? Say something? I’m a man, not a mind reader. Sure, a guy’s going to … to go for his favorite parts. It’s like a … an amusement park. That’s thepoint.”

“Nobody’s ever complained,” she said, “because we lied. Ask Kathy. I bet she’d say the same.”

“I’m not asking her anything.” She couldn’t see his face that well, because it was dark, but she could tell he was getting mad. She didn’t make people mad. She made peoplenotbe mad.

Except now, apparently.

Mark went on, “You’re just saying that to get me to do what you want. Why would you think that would make me want to marry you? You really don’t know anything about men, do you? We want a woman to be confident enough to … to own her own sexuality.” Something, Jennifer would bet, that he’d read on some men’s website. Something that meant, “You don’t have to do all the work, dude! If she doesn’t get off, well, maybe she didn’t want to!”

She was going to say that. She was. But he was still talking. “We want her to dress sexy when she’s out with us, so all the other guys know what we’ve got and wish they had it, so we can get excited about that. Instead of having her look like she wants to disappear under the table, and not in a good way. Just because you slept around and got pregnant when you were a kid and everybody knows it, that doesn’t mean you can’t look hot ever again or everybody will think you’re still slutty. You know why I don’t take you out? That’s why. You’re fun naked, but you look fat in clothes, and you don’t know how to flirt or make a man feel good, or you’re scared to do it, so whyshouldn’tI skip the boring part?”

An older guy had been climbing out of his car at the curb. He’d probably heard every word of that, and Jennifer tried not to wince. She also tried not to hear. She let the words wash over her, started to disappear underneath them, and then remembered. She was supposed to be real. She was supposed to be honest. Most of all, she was supposed to bebrave.

“Fine,” she said. “You said it. I said it. I know how you feel now. I’m all done. I’m going home.”

“Jen …” he said. “Wait.”

“No,” she said. “I’m going. I’m gone.” And fled.

Not that brave, no. But she’d broken up with him, hadn’t she? And at least she hadn’t cried.

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