Free I Loved You Wednesday by David Marlow Page A

upper lip is pursed now, as I go into Humphrey Bogart: “Sho ya wanna play rough, huh, shister?”
    Chris gulps dramatically, feigning fear. I pick up a huge butcher knife, point it at her, then turn to the counterwhere I cut a thin slice of tomato, which I then casually drop down the front of her blouse. “I don’t want to hear any more about Bradley. Okay? It’s enough.”
    Without so much as a beat, Chris turns, opens the refrigerator door, pulls out the plastic pitcher of ice water and tauntingly and vengefully singsongs, “Brad-ley . . . Brad-ley . . . Brad-ley!” before emptying the contents directly upon the shaving cream already embedded on the top of my head, drowning me in a sea of chilled water.
    “I’m melting! I’m melting? ’ I cackle sinisterly with pointed, open-clenched fingers like the Wicked Witch of the West as I make an agonizingly slow descent to the floor, where I collapse in a clump.
    Wiping her hands of the whole mess, Chris casually steps over my lifeless form, on her way into the living room, gingerly bemoaning, “I wish I weren’t so depressed. I’d really enjoy having all this fun if Bradley were here playing with us.”
    Picking up my wet, freezing head, I yell into the other room, “Will you forget about Bradley for five fucking minutes? You’re here with me!”
    “Please, Steve. Don’t get boring,” says Chris flatly.
    “BORING?” I roar, storming into the bathroom. “Look who’s talking!”
    I shower to cleanse the gook from my body, while Chris mops up the mess in the kitchen and finishes preparing the meal.
    We sit down to eat, and as I pour the wine, Chris finds she has little appetite since working herself into a mini-state over not having heard from you-khow-who.
    “I’m too exhausted to continue playing the clown, Chris.”
    “Quite all right. I prefer feeling icky anyway.”
    “Well, don’t wallow in it.”
    “I’m not wallowing, Steven.”
    “What then?”
    “Floating.”
    “You’re floating on ickyness?”
    “You might say.”
    “Isn’t that a little silly for a girl supposedly in love?” “I am not in love. I’m miserable. If that shmuck hasn’t the decency to call, it’s all over. Fuck him.”
    “Why so vehement?”
    “Because I’m in love,” frets Chris.
    “Oh,” I say softly, summoning a comeback. “Well, maybe he called, but you weren’t in.”
    Chris’ face lights up in temporary wonder. “Of course!” she shrieks. “Why didn’t I think of that? He’s probably calling me right now. Oh, that’s it. How dumb-dumb-dumb. I’m here, picking at my food when I should be home waiting for his call.”
    “But....”
    “No buts about it!” insists Chris, pounding the table with her fist. “He’s probably calling right now. Good. Let him wait!” she concludes with conviction.
    “Huh?” I ask, mystified.
    “Let him think I’m out with someone else.”
    “Why?”
    “Why not?” she demands.
    “I ....”
    “But then again ... what if he doesn’t call back?” she asks, suddenly surprisingly upset.
    “Don’t worry,” I assure her. “He’ll call back.”
    Growing visibly agitated now, Chris taps her fingers nervously on the tabletop. “And what if the romance is over?” she asks, distressed, chewing on a thumb.
    “Then it doesn’t matter,” I answer in a foolish flight of reason.
    “Doesn’t matter?” Chris raises her voice, displaying the slightest bit of hostility. “Are you mad, Steve? For God’s sake. Of course it matters. I’m in love and my darling’s been trying to reach me and you know how difficult it must be for him to leave the bar to make a phone call. Poor thing. I’ll callhim!”
    “Now?” I ask, confused.
    “Of course. Oh, why didn’t I think of this before? Why didn’t you?”
    “Because I know better.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the only thing to do.”
    “Chris, I’m serious. He won’t like that. Throwing yourself at him, coming on so strong, is a big mistake.” “I