Ballad of a Hard Woman

     His stoner grey eyes scanned his wife’s Mac screen, ingesting line after line of verbal ball-busting. He stubbed out the butt and lit up again. Chain smoking. That’s what you get when haven’t been sexing up the wife. The front door slammed, which she didn’t really do because she wasn’t a drama mama.

     “How’d it go?” She took an extra thirty seconds after pouring her Bols to answer him.

“Taraskevics lawyer contacted my agent.” She didn’t turn around. They were still pussyfooting around each other.

“How the fuck did they find out?”

She shrugged. “The same way they all find out. It wasn’t as if I made anything public at The Vibe. Then again she wouldn’t fucking be caught dead there! The working class carry a stench you know…” Her brow furrowed when his overbite flashed.

“So what did Taraskevics’ bitch say?”

“They expect a copy of the final draft.” She said slowly. He put his foot up on the chair and leaned back taking a long, delicious pull. “I honestly don’t know how you can be so nonchalant about this.” He rested the cig in her ashtray and sniffed sharply with one nostril, flicking his long bottle blonde hair. He looked like a juvenile delinquent. A 45-year-old juvenile delinquent.

“There is nothing- and I mean nothing- to get so fucked up about. Not at this age.”

“We are the same age.” She pointed out.

“And…?” She threw up her arms and went upstairs. Why bother?

They’d been at it for weeks, and he thought she finally got over it. But seriously, when did chicks get over anything? Taking an old Irish woman’s advice, he chased her.

“Look, it’s not like what you put down is even a first draft. Nowhere fuckin’ near it!” He knelt by her vanity chair. She looked away. “You didn’t even get to the good shit yet.” He laughed. Her strawberry blond brows knit and she glared at his reflection.

“As usual, you’re not paying attention. There’s plenty of good shit in there!”

“I meant the sex shit,” he cracked to her twin in the glass. “It’s what you’re target audience really wants to read.” She crossed the room hugging herself, he made himself comfy in her chair. “Hey, we looked a bit different back then. Mental imagery and all that shit.” He failed at lightening the mood. “Please talk to me.”

“You wanted to stop me not too long ago, if I recall.”

“That was before…”

“Before the shit hit the fan in Guernsey? How convenient for you. FUCK! You- you threatened to motherfucking divorce me after you found out that I called Metal Hammer back! You actually said you’d leave me!”

“Is that what this is about?”

“No!” He believed her. “Why did you relent?” She dropped her arms, slapping her thighs. “Why the sudden 180? You’re such a stubborn bastard about this shit, even my head spun.” He approached his wife and clasped her slim shoulders.

“You remember Paris?” There did a million tours of France. “You remember I swore up and fuckin’ down that I’d protect you? And that nobody would hurt you because of me?” She wasn’t exactly coherent, but she remembered something along those lines. “And then after the funeral, when you went toe-to-toe with Evelyn, I tried to stop you.” Her mouth flattened. “I think it was then I kinda figured I should really lighten up on the protection shit.” Her green eyes screwed up at him. “You had something to say then, and you have something to say now.”

Instead of breaking down, she jumped him. It was a good thing the bedroom wasn’t that big and he landed on the bed, avoiding any further back fuck-ups.

“You play dumb beautifully.” His hands went under her skirt and squeezed her ass with both hands.

“And it took you how long to compliment me on that?”

“I wasn’t planning to. Ever.” He took advantage of his wife’s distraction and rolled on top of her.

“And now you will be punished.” He didn’t hold her wrists that tightly, though her struggling was genuine.

“Dumbass!” She shoved her nose into his. “I will not be manhandled!”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever the fuck!” She squealed when he pinched and fondled her thighs. “Spread ‘em!” On cue she tossed her head to the side, hair all over her face, but he could tell that she was squinting to see when he put it in. He could be rougher, make her wail like his Strat, but in light of what’s been happening, the bedroom magic was on a schizophrenic fizzle/flare flux.

Not digging it.

He hoped that as soon as this memoir shit was done and over with, they could get back to picking on each other and fucking like rabbits. Menopause had its upside. When he grabbed her chin to pinch open her mouth, her jaw dropped before he could squeeze. To repay his wife for being the cocktease he treasured for the last 20 years, he sunk his teeth into her lower lip forcing her to take that breath she’d been holding.

“Chrissie… Chrissie…”

Christine!