Shorts
“Can I go change?” she said.
“huh? oh. Yeah, sure.” he said and she got up. Then, “umm. What are you going to change into?” he asked.
She looked down the hallway from the living room. “A hooker, I think.”
“Oh.”
She was looking for her bag.
He got up and walked into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and looked inside, leaning over.
She forgot where her bag was, so she kept looking for it.
He stood up, looking confused. He closed the door. “What’s so interesting about being a hooker?”
Her bag was behind the loveseat. She bent over it and snatched it up. “A hooker gets paid for being raped.”
He tilted his head. “Who’s raping you?”
She paused by the kitchen. “Not you”, and turned down the hallway.
“Is that a supposed to be a compliment?” he called out and reopened the refrigerator door, rummaging through the fruit compartment at the bottom.
He stood up. He closed the door, stood in front of it. He looked out the window into the garden. He then looked at the kitchen table. The only fruit in the house was in the fruit basket on the table and they were plastic. He walked over to the table and picked at the basket. An apple. A banana. A pear. A string of grapes. He stuffed them all back into the basket but kept the apple and sat down.
She came out of the bathroom. She had unbuttoned several buttons at the end of her blouse and tied the ends just above her belly button. She had taken off her leggings and had put on short-short jean shorts that ended at the top of her thighs but the shorts were not tight-tight. Strolling into the kitchen, tossing her bag onto the floor, she held out her arms. “How do I look?”
“Here.” he tossed her apple. “Might as well if you’re tempting me.”
She smiled. “How much should I charge?”
“Depends.” he started picking through the basket again.
“On?”
“Wholesale or retail.”
She crossed her arms and crossed her legs, looked up at the ceiling. “What’s the difference?”
He started picking the fake grapes off the fake stem. “Retail, you work for a pimp. Wholesale, you work for yourself.”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He smiled, picking a grape. “She loves me.” He picked another. “She loves me not.”
She sat at the table and leaned forward. “Would you like to be my pimp?”
He stopped. “I’d rather be a john.”
“You wouldn’t be able to afford me.”
“Consider it a donation.”
She stretched her legs, wiggling her toes. “I still wouldn’t be able to write it off as an exemption.” she said, looking at him through her bangs.
“You wouldn’t have to file taxes anyway.” he said. Then he shook his head.
She slowly lifted her legs just above the edge of the table and laid them on his knees. “Look.”
He did. “Hmmm”, he said, nodding, “what am I looking at?”
She jerked her foot near his face. “Take a good look.”
He looked at her ankle. There was a anklet. He had given it to her a long time ago. “hmmm”
“Remember?”, she asked.
“Not really.” he held her foot and took a grape from the tabletop. He tried to fit it between two of her toes.
She kicked him lightly. “Jerk.” she said and wiggled her toes on his lap.
She stopped. He leaned on the table, resting his head on his palms.
“What?” she asked.
He turned to her. “I love you.”
She rolled her eyes. “You say that all the time. How am I supposed to believe you? You won’t even be my pimp.”
He shrugged. “Conflict of interest.”
“You’re not a politician.”
“If I was, I could be your pimp”
She looked at him. She smiled. “I love you.”
“And you want to be a hooker.”
She took her legs off his knees and stood. She walked behind him, brushing his shoulders with her fingertips, leaned forward, and draped her arms around his neck.
“..hey mister, looking for a good time?” she whispered into his ear, hands on his chest.
“What can I get for a dollar?”
She stepped back in front of him, sliding onto his lap. “You’re in luck.” she cooed.
He traced his finger along her legs, fingering the anklet, “..oh?”, he said.
She grinned. “I’m on sale.”
Rather
“What are we doing tonight?” she asked.
He looked up from the typewriter. “huh?”
She lowered the paper. “Are we doing anything tonight?”
“oh.” he said. He looked at her. “No.”
“I want to do something.”
He kept typing. “hmm.”
She put the paper down.
He stopped, reread whatever was on the page. He leaned on one of his palms. He started typing again, eyes going up and down from the keys and the page.
taptaptap tump taptap tump taptaptaptaptap.
She watched him.
He stopped, looked at the page, started again. She got up.
He kept typing.
She stood right next to him.
He stopped. Read what was on the page. He started again. taptaptaptaptaptap tump taptaptap.
She hit him with the newspaper.
“Hey!” he rubbed his head.
She put her hands on her hips.
He looked at her. He looked at the typewriter. He looked at her. “I’m writing about you.”
“You’re ignoring me.” she said.
“Only because I’m trying to get you down pat.”
“I’d like to be pat down, actually.” she turned away and walked in to the kitchen.
“I tried that before.” he said. “You wanted to check the classifieds.” He looked at the page.
She poured herself a glass of lemonade. “It was the personals, actually.”
He slowly faced the kitchen.
She came back out and sat on the sofa.
He stared at her.
She smiled. “Worried?”
“Worried?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Worried.” she nodded her head.
He folded his arms and leaned back, seemingly pensive. He then replied, “Not really.”
“And why not?” she now raised an eyebrow “I’m a hot commodity.”
“Really…?”
“Of course.” she said, putting down her glass on the coffee table. She started to count off. “I’m sweet-”
He nodded his head, eyes wide. “yeah..?”
“-understanding-”
“Oh really..?”
She stared at him. “Yes.”
“That’s rather frightening that you think that.”
“You should be rather frightened by what I’m going to do to you.”
“I’d think it would turn me on, actually.” he turned back to the typewriter.
“You would think that you sicko.” she picked up her glass and took a sip. She glanced at him over the rim of her glass and caught him glancing at her.
He smiled.
She smiled.
End of story.
Honeymoon
“I’m hungry.”
She turned to him in the bed.”For?”
He was staring at the ceiling. “A honeymoon.”
“Get the ring first.”
He rolled his eyes. “Why does it have to be so complicated?”
She shrugged, smiling. “Not my fault.”
He turned to her. “So let’s just do it.”
“Nope.” she smiled. “Make it legit.”
“Says who?” he asked.
She turned over, away from him. “My parents, your parents, their parents….I want a big wedding anyway.”
“But we don’t always agree with them.”
She buried herself deeper into her pillow. “I’m not getting into this.”
He leaned over to her. “You did just a couple of hours ago, when I took off your clothes.”
“I was forced.” she said over her shoulder.
He rested again on his back. “That’s the way you wanted it.”
“How long are we going to keep this going?”
“Until you’re sick of me and can’t stand the sight of my toes and you leave me for a rich art dealer’s son.”
She said over her shoulder. “Art dealers don’t have sons, they’re all gay.”
He put his arms behind his head.”oh yeah, I forgot.”
He stared at the ceiling. He wondered where the remote was. He looked at the bed. Left. Right. He stared at the ceiling.
She turned back over to him. She looked confused. “Were you serious?”
He looked at her. He looked back at the ceiling. “Honestly?”
She didn’t say anything.
“At one time I was very serious, but it was just a phase. Happened before I met you. Couldn’t be anyone but Serious. People got me confused with Deep.” He looked at her. “They said we looked a lot alike.”
She kicked him underneath the sheets.
“ow.” he rubbed his shin. “Of course not.”
She leaned up on one elbow. “So, you don’t want a honeymoon.”
He opened his mouth, then stopped. He looked at her. She was staring at him. He looked back up at the ceiling. He shook his head. “I’m not going to say anything. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t mean anything.”
She stared at him. He stared at the ceiling.
She huffed and quickly turned away from him, pulling the sheets over her head.
He looked at her outline beside him. He looked back up at the ceiling. He sighed. He looked at the clock. He frowned.
“What are we doing in bed at ten o’clock?”
From beneath the sheets: “You were horny at seven.”
He turned to her and propped himself on one elbow, resting his head in his palm. “And I suppose you weren’t.”
Through the sheets: “No. I wasn’t.”
“Oh.” he nodded his head. “Must’ve been my imagination.”
“No, it was just your time of the week.”
“I’m surprised.” he touched her shoulder. She jerked it away burying her self deeper under the sheets. “Your time of the month isn’t due until next week.”
From the underneath the sheets: “And you’ll be sorry mister.”
“I need the rest anyway.”
She pulled the sheet off and turned to him, surprised. “Am I that good?”
“You don’t hang out here when you’re having your period. It’s much more peaceful.”
She turned back over. “Keep this up and it’ll last a lifetime.”
“I’d like that.” he said.
She turned over to him. “You really mean that?”
“Yeah,” he looked at her, “I’d like for us to last a lifetime.”
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
She smiled.
He smiled.
She gave him a kiss on his forehead.
“So make it legit.” she said and turned back over.
He sighed.
Tap Dancing
taptaptaptaptaptumptaptaptaptaptap
She opened her eyes.
tumptaptaptumptaptaptaptaptaptaptumptap
She rolled to the other side of the bed.
He was typing.
taptumptaptaptaptaptaptump
She grumbled. “What are you writing?”
He didn’t turn around. “You’re table dancing for me on the coffee table.”
taptaptaptaptaptumptaptaptaptumptap
“oh really…?” she rubbed her eyes.
He stopped. He looked over his shoulder. “To keep it from being fiction, you’re having a hard time turning me on.”
She threw a pillow at him.
He ducked.
He blew her a kiss, started typing again.
taptaptaptaptaptaptaptumptaptaptaptump
She stretched, both arms to the ceiling.
“I find it really hard to believe.” she said.
taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptump
“mm-hmmm.”
“This is all kind of strange.” she got out from under the sheets, stretching her neck from side to side.
“mmm.”
taptumptaptaptaptaptumptumptaptaptaptaptaptap
She picked her robe from off the floor, noticed that he hadn’t broken stride. She stood behind him. “Do think I should tell my parents about my pregnancy?”
taptap–
“WHAT!?” he spun around.
She dropped into his lap. “You wish, jerk.”
He smiled. “Only with you.”
“And how many times have we’ve said that?”
“To you or the other concubines?”
“In total.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “Not counting the hooker that was here last night…”
She smiled. “You know what I mean.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this.”
“And that is?”
He looked at her. “I only tell you all this sappy shit because you’re the only one that buys it.”
“Hey,I love shopping.”
“And I love you. See the problem?” he tried to push her off.
She threw her arms around him.
“Sorry, you’re stuck with me mister.”
“And what am I stuck with?” he asked.
She titled her head, “A sweet and very eligible young lady with a twisted sense of humor who’s honest.”
“Who’s honestly a mess.”
“Ever since I hooked up with you.”
“Hooking up with me was one the smartest things you’ve done.”
“The jury is still out on that one.” she said and laughed, making faces at him.
“Clown.” he said and tried to kiss her.
She drew back. “No no.”
“Morning breath?” he asked.
“Yours.” she said and laughed again.
He pushed her off and she jumped up.
She was still making faces.
He turned back to the typewriter.
“Hey, come on.” she pouted.
He turned back around. “What?”
She smiled. “What are we doing today?”
“Shoplift baby food probably.”
“No, come on, what are we doing for real?”
“Most of this..” he pointed to the typewriter. “Has been my imagination.”
“That’s besides the point.” she turned around and started walking to the bathroom. “I want to go to the beach.”
“Have fun.” he said.
“We. Are going.”
She turned on the faucets in the bathroom.
He looked down the hallway, towards the bathroom. “Only if you wear a two piece.”
She stuck her head out the doorway. “Only if you soap up my back.”
He jumped up. “I hear the waves crashing already.”