Four Blondes

“What do you think?”

She can already feel his erection.

“Just a minute,” she says.

She leans over and picks up the phone. He strokes her bottom. So gently, she feels excited again. She opens her legs just a little bit. “Hello,” she says.

“What’s up,” her assistant says.

“Just checking in. Tell Amber I need her copy first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I can’t,” her assistant says. “She’s still at that press conference.”

“Just tell her, okay?” Winnie says. Thinking, Typical. Amber Anders was the girl who plagiarized her piece.

She hangs up the phone.

“Everything okay?” Tanner asks.

“Perfect,” she says.

JAMES AND WINNIE AT HOME

James can’t get home fast enough. For once. If he can get home before Winnie, he can take a shower. He can pretend everything is normal.

From now on, everything is going to be normal. He’s going to concentrate. He’s going to write that book. (He feels like shit. He can’t take it, this feeling like shit anymore. Is this how Tanner feels after he takes drugs and fucks some random chick he doesn’t care about? Mixed up and confused?)

He opens the door to his apartment. Closes it. “James?” Winnie calls out. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Winnie is in their boy’s room. Playing with their child. Helping him string beads on a cord. She’s sitting on the floor with her shoes off. She looks happy.

“Look, Daddy,” his boy says.

“Hello, Sport,” James says.

“Daddy. Bang bang,” the boy says.

“No,” Winnie says. “Don’t shoot Daddy.” She smiles. “Isn’t he such a boy?” she says.

“Bang bang,” James says to his boy. “Bang bang back.”

“Clay’s here,” Winnie says in a stage whisper. “Veronica kicked him out of the house. I’m thinking I should kick both of you out and let you go to a hotel. But on second thought, maybe I should go to a hotel and let you pay for it.”

“Do you want to go to a hotel?” James asks.

“What do you think?” Winnie says.

“How was your day?”

“Great,” Winnie says, looking up. “I fucked Tanner all afternoon in his hotel room.”

I wish you had, James thinks. Then they’d be even. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about anything. (But he would have to worry about Tanner. He wouldn’t be able to be friends with him anymore. And every time he looked at Winnie, he’d have to think about Tanner fucking her. And all the other girls Tanner had fucked. Maybe he’d have to divorce Winnie.)

“Uncle Clay threw up in the sink,” his boy says.

“Sssssh,” Winnie says. “How was your day?”

“I went to that press conference. It was useless.”