The Feast of Love - Charles Baxter [60]
“Oh, I’m not that mean —”
“Yes you are.”
“Not to him, I’m not. Besides, you don’t know him. He makes me into a nice person, sometimes. You don’t know what he can and can’t do. I’m different with him than I am with you. You know, now that you mention it, maybe I should apologize.”
“To whom? To me? For being in bed with me?” he asked. “You’re being vague. That’s not like you. It’s not me you should apologize to.”
“No, no, that’s not what I’m getting at. You’re missing my point. Deliberately. Well, Bradley . . .” Somehow I couldn’t finish the thought. I couldn’t remember whom I thought I should apologize to. He had confused me for a minute. That wasn’t like me. My mind felt bleary.
Right about then the phone rang. He told me not to answer it, but I did, leaning over him so that my breasts brushed against his legs. It was a solicitation call, one for window treatments. I hung up briskly and looked over at David.
“What about Bradley?” he asked me, as if we hadn’t been interrupted. “Speaking of whom, why are you here with me?” His eyes, I thought, were quite bright with something like curiosity. “Let me get this straight. If you’re planning on getting married to this Bradley, this coffee guy, this sketch-pad fellow, what exactly are you doing here in bed with me? And how come you didn’t tell me until now? You’re supposed to be fat with your new love. You should be thick with it.” He scratched his shoulder and frowned squarely at me. “You should be strutting around arm in arm with him. You should be nestled with him, listening to those Mingus albums of yours. Instead, here you are, and you’re in bed with me. I thought this marriage idea of yours was a goof. You always said it was a goof.”
“A goof? No, I never said that. I’m sure I never said that. I wouldn’t use that word. I don’t know. As for us, you and me, we’re having sex. What do you mean, what am I doing here with you? I’m doing what we always do together. We talk and make love, and make love and talk.”
“Well, if you’re going to marry him . . .”
“I am going to marry him.”
“Then you shouldn’t be curled up naked with me like this, should you? Correct me if I’m wrong. You should be out there, wherever ‘out there’ is, with Bradley, this fiancé of yours, and being with him.” He waited for a moment. “Exclusively.”
“ ‘Exclusively’? Oh, come on. Don’t be priggish about this,” I said, collecting myself. “Exclusively. What a word. I don’t see why. Why I shouldn’t be here, I mean. You’re married, after all. You’re the married one. The guilty party.” I pointed at his finger. “When we’re both naked, just the two of us, you’re still dressed in your wedding ring. I’m not even married yet. I’m just that plain old traditional figure, the other woman. The mistress.” I had his cock in my hand. I was determined to keep this light, comic, social, and not insane, and I started to suck him playfully, but he wouldn’t let me go any further, shaking me off, and he sat up.
“Stop that. We need to talk. That’s different,” he said. “My being married.”
“No, it isn’t,” I told him. “It’s exactly the same. You can’t criticize me.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “You’re going in, a first-timer to marriage, lecturing me on ethics while you go down on me. You’re betraying him before you’ve even been faithful to him. What kind of scene can you call that? You haven’t even tried to be faithful. There was a time when I was faithful to Katrinka. You’re so restless, Diana, you haven’t even given your own marriage a chance. You’re pre-bored, for Chrissake. You’re like a monster who wants me to play with all your toys, out of sheer boredom.”
“You’re jealous, David. That’s sweet.”
“No I’m not. I’m taken aback, is what I am. I’m really taken aback.”
“ ‘Really taken aback.’ Listen