Woman Aroused | Page 3

making a go of anything, if a lousy five-cent cup of coffee, if
nine bucks, can start this!"
"Let me tell you something," I said, my voice rising. "If you'd only stop
being the big career woman, if we had a real home, regular meals, we
wouldn't be drinking coffee in some dive. If you could forget trying to
be the center of attraction for a few minutes, I could keep my mind on
my change. Or if you hadn't showed your legs to the counterman he
would..."
"I like that! Oh I really love that!" Flo yelled, tears making her make-up
a mess. "Because you're so smart you can't tell a ten from a one, you
place the onus on me! If..."
"That's the wrong word, you mean blame."
"You damn tightwad! If you weren't so cheap, we could have gone
to..."
"Sure I'm tight with money," I said coldly. "I have to be, you and your
big ideas. Flo, the walking Vogue. If you'd only come off your cloud
and realize...."
"You... you writer!"
I stood up but she moved away from me. I pulled her into my arms,
held her while she struggled. "Flo, please, let's cut it, I'm sorry. Please
Flo.... I've looked forward so much to having you again."
She rested her head on my shoulder, began to bawl. "I didn't want to
fight, Georgie, and yesterday was so very good. But we always battle
over money--or something. Nine crummy dollars. My mother always
said you..."

"Now wait, this is just between us. I don't care what your mother said
or..."
Flo pushed me away. Her face was a wet mess. "Well, George Jackson,
the high-society lad! My mother... and you, the smug son of the
toilet-seat king!"
I couldn't resist saying, "Sure, a plumber who made an honest living.
Which is something nobody in your four-flushing family ever did.
There isn't a one of them worth a damn except your brother Eddie
and..."
"That's right, stick up for that... that... bum!" Flo sobbed. "You
encourage him in his crazy ideas."
"For God's sake stop talking about the kid like that, wounded and...'
She fell on the bed, sobbing hysterically. I stood there, waiting for her
to quiet down. She stuffed the top of my blue satin sheet in her mouth,
making pitiful muffled sounds--and smearing lipstick on the sheet. I
said, "I'm sorry, Flo. I swear I'm sorry." I don't think she even heard me.
I always ended up saying I was sorry.
I stood there for a few minutes, looking down at her, sorry the way
things were going, and even more sorry in a vague sort of way I was
mixed up in somebody else's troubles and complexes. But when Flo got
up and began to dress, I felt sick. She said in a normal voice, "Georgie,
what's wrong with us? We always battle over something, something
petty. Nine bucks... guess our marriage is only worth nine bucks, and
no bargain at that."
"Look, Flo honey, it's only been two days. Give us more time..."
"No use, we both know it. This time we're really through."
"We've been really through so many times," I said.
She shook her head sadly. "This time I mean it."

She went to the bathroom, washed her face, repainted it, and within a
few minutes she was gone and the place was full of a haunting empty
silence.
It was exactly twenty after two a.m. and we had been "together" since
Friday night. I poured myself a drink, tuned in one of the all-night disc
jockeys, and sat down. It was the first few minutes after she left me that
I always missed Flo most.
We had been married almost a dozen years before, when she was 22
and I 35. We spent six years together, then the divorce and our frequent
reunions. We loved each other, as the saying goes, but I suppose it was
a case of neither of us being built for marriage. In our own way we
worked things out fairly well. Our reunions stopped me from getting a
little frantic about sex and companionship, and I guess it worked that
way for Flo too. The first years hadn't been bad, but Flo is the efficient
type that must go in for smart conversation all the time, dress like
something out of the latest fashion magazines. Unfortunately, the
magazines are usually six months ahead of the latest styles, so seeing
Flo was a constant shock. This may sound like a hell of a lot of small
reasons why our marriage didn't last, but it was all pretty important to
me. Somehow, her extreme styles kept me at a distance. Of course there
were other things; like her dancing in the coffee pot in those gold