After work Monday I went home, took a short nap, a shower, I shaved, and just generally tidied myself up. I stood there in front of the bathroom mirror and looked down at my limp penis and thought about Jeannie. I gave up. I sat down on the toilet seat and I cried. I could really go for Jeannie, yeah I could really go for that girl, but I knew...
I drove over anyway; might as well face the music, this relationship was like the Titanic, big strong healthy guy but the propeller was too fucking small. Wasn't that it? They had the oomph and the determination; the propellers just couldn't get the thing turned in time.
When I got there and knocked; she opened up right away. Jesus she looked pretty. She'd done her hair in a new way; it was like how those Amish women wear their hair with a bun in the back but with the hair neatly held in place on the sides by tight, very feminine braids. I wish I knew what the style was called, but with the pale green blouse, white apron that came up over her shoulders, and knee length pleated dark brown skirt I thought all she needed was one of those little white caps. Damn, even worse the apron was tied off in the back with a neat white bow. Of course, with the eyes, the ears, the smile, the cheeks, the...I couldn't come near to finishing the list, she was just so adorable. I wish...
I handed her some flowers I'd picked up on the way over, "Here," I said.
"Oh," she said, "they're lovely. I'll just get them in a vase." That's when I noticed the flowers on the table. She was one jump ahead of me.
She started toward the kitchen, "Come on in. I stopped and got some chicken. I thought, instead of pizza I'd bake tonight so it'll be a little while. You can help by snapping the beans while I get the potatoes in the oven. You like baked potatoes?"
I replied, "I love baked potatoes, but come on you don't have to go to all this trouble."
She smiled back at me while she opened her oven, "Yes I do."
While I snapped beans she washed two potatoes and put them in the oven. Then she sat down across from me and suddenly waxed serious, "Caden we've got to talk."
I saw she was serious, but it didn't occur to me it was more than maybe concerns about the office. I said, "OK, what?"
She folded her hands on the table. She looked at me, "You're what twenty- eight maybe twenty-nine?"
"Twenty-nine," I said.
"I'm thirty-one, and an old thirty-one. I'll be thirty-two in a month. I'm older than you. You've been with the firm, what, five years?"
"That's right," I said. I started to add, "Look if you're worried about..."
"No," she said, 'It's not about our jobs. It's about us, you and me. I mean if there is an us, a you and me."
I smiled, "I think there is. I'd like to think so."
She hesitated just a second and then, "You know how many four letters words you can get from your last name?"
I was stumped, "No, never thought about it. Why?"
She said, "I can get forty-seven words from your last name. Sounds crazy I know, but you're all I seem to think about. Know what else?"
I was clueless, "No what?"
"I lied about the party. I mean I lied that I couldn't get someone to take me. I had several offers. I wanted to go with you. Know why?"
This was interesting. I wondered where she was headed, "No maybe you could tell me."
"You've been with the firm five years. I've been there eight. I remember the day you came. All the girls do. You're the kind of guy every girl dreams about. I guess what I'm saying is you're a dreamboat. But you were pretty busy; Angela you know, and then you married her. I, I mean we, we watched you change. I'm sorry but I'm glad you're divorced. I'm glad for two reasons."
I was listening. She absolutely had my attention. I said, "Go on. I'm listening."
"OK," she said, "you know what a shrike is?"
I said, "No."
"A shrike is a big predatory bird. It's said that it attacks and destroys other birds. It'll ruin another bird's nest. It'll kill their chicks. I mean they say it's a bad animal. Sometimes in stories and in movies writers will describe a woman, I mean a wife who destroys her family, who undermines and harms their own husband and their own children as being a shrike."
I'd never heard of the term and didn't know what to say, but I felt like I had to say something. It was appropriately stupid. I said, "Really."
Jeannie said, "Yes, really. From what I've heard these women don't even know they're doing it. They lie to themselves. They'll lie about everything. It's like they can't handle happiness."
I nodded and added, "You've been doing some research. I would have never thought of something like that."
Jeannie went on, "I didn't think of it. I didn't bring it up first. Madeline O'Meara. You remember her; the woman who retired a year or so back. She was the first to use the word to describe your ex-wife. Madeline said it was like Angela had cut open your chest and was eating your insides out, and that she was so 'sick' she didn't even know what she was doing."
I reacted, "She said that?"
Jeannie kept going, "Madeline said more too. She said you were one way at work, but whenever Angela was around at parties and such you were entirely different. It was like you were afraid of her. And she explained to us how Angela used what she called 'special words' to make you act and feel insecure.
"What words? What kind of words?" I asked.
Jeannie hesitated then added, "They weren't bad words, but they were mean words. You know words that could have two meanings. She'd talk to you and say 'little man' or 'my little guy', or 'little fella'. Madeline said she was talking about...your thing. You know. Your penis. Madeline said she knew that was what she meant because Angela said things, and I heard her too. She said things like, 'you couldn't carry the water, and 'you couldn't deliver the goods.'"
I was getting nervous. I knew I was starting to perspire, but Jeannie was so wound up...
