Free Angry Buddhist (9781609458867) by Seth Greenland

herself.
    She returns to the sofa and sips the drink. She crosses her legs again, lets her sandal dangle. A while ago Hard had talked about taking her down to Cabo for a weekend to go deep sea fishing and she is hoping he’ll mention it again so they can firm it up. He had told her he had to get home in an hour and she wanted some sense of a plan before he departs. This is when he mentions perhaps they should not see each other any longer. Nadine’s sandal drops to the floor.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s not like I don’t want to but my life’s complicated enough. I’d love to keep doing
this
.”
    â€œYou mean you want to keep fucking me?”
    â€œCome on, girl. That’s not fair. I don’t give
The Collected Poems of Robert Service
to everyone.”
    Nadine takes a moment to register the absurdity of the words Hard has just spoken. As if she cares a dust mote for Robert Service, or any other poet for that matter. Hard could have recited
Purgatorio
from memory and it would not have made a difference. Synapses firing wildly, her only concern is survival. Her hold on a stable life is slipping and the poems of Robert Service are, in this context, a provocation.
    â€œI can’t stand Robert Service! I don’t care about the friggin Yukon!” He has no response for that. A man’s taste in poetry is a sensitive place in which to strike. Trash his personality, but hands off
The Shooting of Dan McGrew.
Nadine senses his goal is to get out of there without a scene. Something in her does not want that to happen.
    â€œWhat am I supposed to say?”
    â€œWhy can’t you leave her?”
    â€œThis is tougher than I thought, telling you. You’re my gal.”
    She thinks he might actually mean it. He sounds sincere. But to her ears, they always do. She can’t judge anymore, has no faith in her ability to discern the slim reeds of truth in the limitless swamp of prevarication. When she’d been confronted with similar situations in the past, she had had cried but she does not want to do that now.
    â€œI thought we were gonna get married.”
    She wants him to take her hand and tell her what he said was a mistake and he can’t live without her anymore but she’s still sober enough to realize that is ridiculous. This won’t be the moment he confesses his love but the one where he tries to weasel out of every cheap word he’s ever served her.
    â€œI think that’s probably not gonna happen.”
    The margaritas are strong and hers have travelled directly to her impulse inhibitors. This becomes clear when she realizes the words coming out of her mouth are: “What would you think if I told your wife about us?”
    He takes another sip of his drink and regards her with what she views as a certain degree of detachment. She doesn’t like it. “What would I
think
? I’d think it was not the best course of action.”
    â€œNot the best course of action.” Nadine is mocking him and, further, she understands the price he has to pay for the sex is the acceptance of her mocking—at least temporarily. She knows he considers himself a gentleman and will at least hear her out before departing. “Why not?” It is a ridiculous follow-up, but she can’t think of anything else to say.
    â€œNow, look,” he says, as if to a child, “I’m not gonna leave Vonda Jean and she’s not gonna leave me.”
    â€œHow do you know?” Nadine senses she is starting to sound desperate and pitiable and that makes her angrier than she already is. She wishes she hadn’t consumed the second margarita. And all that Valium.
    â€œI’ve done this kind of thing before. And she knows.”
    â€œShe does?”
    â€œAnd she hasn’t left.”
    â€œIf she lets you fool around, then why can’t we go to Cabo? It’s an open marriage, right?” This is reflexive, and the desperate pathetic