What would it be like to be married to Kirby instead of Seymour? she wondered, as the car pulled into the driveway of Kirby’s building. And slipping quickly past the doorman, she urgently punched the elevator button, thinking—Kirby! What if Kirby was the answer—and she was in love with him after all?
She walked quickly down the hallway, suddenly consumed with an irrational fear that he wouldn’t be home, and she wouldn’t be able to see him after all. She rang the bell, and when he didn’t answer the door right away, her heart began pounding in her chest. She had to see him, she thought, pressing the bell again. She could hear it ringing inside his apartment, and she held her breath, hoping to hear footsteps. Instead, she heard nothing, and beginning to panic, she rapped on the door with the side of her fist.
He wasn’t home, she thought in despair, this one time when she really needed him. She looked at her watch; it was five-fifteen and he’d said he’d be home by five o’clock. She would wait. She would give him five minutes, and standing nervously in front of his door, she kept checking her watch, and after four minutes had passed decided she would wait another five. How could he do this to her? she wondered, and then began thinking terrible thoughts. Maybe he had done it on purpose. To punish her, to show her that he wasn’t tied to her schedule. Or maybe he didn’t like her anymore and didn’t want to see her again, and this was his way of getting rid of her . . .
From the end of the corridor she heard the ding of the elevator and the sound of the doors sliding open. This had to be him, she thought, and sure enough, in another second Kirby came strolling around the corner, wearing a knit skullcap and a brown leather jacket, carrying his cell phone in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. “Hey,” he called out, as if she were a casual acquaintance he’d run into on the street. It wasn’t exactly the greeting she was hoping for, and for a second, she was crushed. But she told herself it didn’t matter; the important fact was that he was there.
“I was just about to leave,” she said.
He shifted the groceries from one hand to the other, and reached into his pocket for his keys, giving her a quick peck on the lips as he unlocked the door. “I had to rehearse this scene for my acting class and I was totally into it,” he said, stepping past her and into the apartment. “You know how when you’re totally into something and you don’t even notice that time is going by? And then I remembered that I had to get milk. Every day, I keep telling myself to get milk, and I don’t.” She followed him into the kitchen, watching him as he removed a container of milk from the plastic bag and placed it on the top shelf of his nearly-empty refrigerator. Milk! she thought. She wished he’d been thinking about her instead.
“How are you?” he asked, turning around. “I haven’t seen you for, what? Like a week?”
“I couldn’t help it,” she said, relieved to discover that his slight aloofness was only due to the fact that he’d been missing her. “I’ve had a hell of a day . . .”
“Me too,” he said emphatically, passing by her and going into the living room. “I’m kind of nervous and excited. I’ve got to do this scene tonight in my acting class and I want it to be really good.”
“I’m sure it will be,” she said.
“It’s like real emotional, you know?” he said, sitting down on the couch and raking his hands through his hair. He looked up at her. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Come over here.”
“Oh, Kirby,” she murmured. She suddenly felt like a puddle of need. I never feel this way, she thought, and wondered if she was going to cry.
“Hey, what’s up?” Kirby asked. She sat down next to him, and he put his arms around her shoulders, and she relaxed against him, relishing how wonderful it felt to just be held. Kirby wasn’t the most intelligent person in the world, but he always managed to figure out what she needed emotionally, and she turned her face up to him, wanting to explain about her day. But he must have misread her signals because he immediately started kissing her.
Her mouth stiffened in protest. She went along with him for a few seconds but then pulled back. “Kirby, I’ve had a really weird day,” she said urgently, wanting him to understand. “I had to fire someone . . .”
“I thought you did that all the time,” Kirby said jokingly.
She smiled patiently, suddenly annoyed that he was trying to make a joke when she was desperate to be serious. “The person happened to be my boss. Or rather, my old boss. And now I’ve taken his job.”
“So you should be happy,” Kirby said, tugging on her arm to pull her toward him. He nuzzled her neck just below the ear, and whispered, “You’ve got a new job. I’m always happy when I get a new job. It means I’m gonna get more money.”
“It isn’t just that,” she said, turning her head away.
“You’re not going to get more money? That doesn’t sound very smart to me.” He sat back triumphantly, as if he’d just revealed some great insight. She looked at his handsome, placid face. It was, she thought, like the face of a golden retriever. Beautiful, but dumb.
Her stomach dropped. She couldn’t really feel that way about Kirby. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t quite understand. He just wasn’t very educated—he’d only had two years of community college while he was trying to break into modeling. “Come on, darling,” she said, standing up and taking his hand. “Let’s go into the bedroom.” Once they started having sex, everything would be fine and she’d have those good feelings about him again.
“I was wondering if you even wanted to have sex,” Kirby said, allowing her to lead him. “You’re being kind of strange today.”
“It’s only because of my day,” she said, quickly undressing and then carefully placing her clothes on the top of his bureau, tucking her underpants beneath her skirt. She lay down on the bed, and he lay down naked on top of her. Now that did feel good, she thought, wrapping her arms tightly around his back so that she could feel the weight of him. There was nothing like a young man with a muscular body. His skin was so soft—softer, she imagined, than her own . . .
“Should I get the ties?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. Sometimes he tied her wrists to either side of the bed (there was no headboard, so he tied her to the metal strut on the back), and being constrained always heightened her arousal. But she didn’t want that today. She wanted him to set her free from her afternoon. She wanted him to make her feel like someone else, the way he always had before. Some wanton woman in a porn movie, maybe. A woman who did it with a man while other men watched . . .
“Fuck me,” she said.
He slid his hand between her legs. “Whatever you want, pretty lady,” he said.
Oh no, she thought wildly. Why did he have to say that? Especially when her desire was so fragile at the moment. Pretty lady. She mustn’t think about it. She had to ignore it and relax. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Did she even want to have sex at all?
“You’re not that wet,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling gingerly, hoping to cover up her feelings. “I guess I’m tense . . .”
“I’ll untense you,” he said. He slid down to the bottom of the bed, pushing her legs apart, and then placing his hand on the top of her vagina, pulled the lips up