Page 14 of Lucky Night

It’s freezing out, in case you hadn’t noticed.

Right, he says. Thus the need for an additional tissue-thin top.

She bats his hand away. They tussle. The camisole rips.

Stop thinking about it. You’re both over it. He is, anyway. Easy. Everything rolls right off him. He doesn’t seem to feel a shred of guilt about what they do. Still, she wishes he wasn’t so obvious about his pervy little cheating kink. He loves that she’s Catholic, too. She’s sinning, cardinally, mortally, breaking commandments, risking hellfire, for him and his atheist cock.

She arches her back so he can reach under and get at her bra.

Happy busk, he murmurs.

What?

He unhooks the clasp. Never mind.

Never mind. Which mind? She has so many. She’s scattered, pieces of her everywhere. Many Jennys. He only knows this one, the partner in crime, side piece, suburban seductress. He doesn’t know how she goofs with Natey and Ben. Her singing and dancing in the kitchen, her silliness. How she takes care of—cares for—Tom. How serious she is about her writing, what it means to her. How could he? He won’t even read her books! They are a key part of her charmed life, a life she has to marvel at. Because she’s never lost. Not anything she truly wanted, not anyone she loved. Parents still alive, boys thriving. She does what she loves, and she’s made buckets of money. She has wonderful friends, she’s in her prime (these years are the years of my prime, girls, you must always recognize the years of your prime). She has suffered so little.

Which means it’s coming for her. That alarm. They should have gone down. Or called. He wouldn’t even call! But why didn’t she call, instead of asking him to do it? Why is she always so passive?

I want to be on top, she says.

She pushes him off and climbs onto him, hiking her skirt up. He thrusts up against her, but she rises, evading him until he grabs her and pulls her down.

Oh yes, he says. Can you move back and forth, like—yes, like that. You still have your panties on? We’re going to need to remedythat. Good God, Jenny, you have the most fantastic breasts I ever—slow down, you’re moving too fast.

She thrusts against him faster. Since when do you get to tell me what todo?

Since…oh God, do that again. Kiss me. I swear your mouth is…oh goddammit, Jenny.

A charmed life. Only one truly awful thing has ever happened to her. The Tom thing. Which really was miserable. Though she has a hard time accessing the pain now. It’s like the agony of labor—once it passes, you can never fully recall what made you scream so loud and hate the world. Thus does a species survive. And a marriage.

Though speaking of labor. She still can’t get over that he did it when she was pregnant. Could he be more of a cliché? She’d quit her job, she had a maniac toddler, a belly like a fricking whale…there were scenes. Tears. How could yous. Though even amid the worst of it, while she was ranting and raving, she had the oddest feeling. That none of it was real. Or rather it was, but the Jenny participating in it—Betrayed Wife Jenny, sobbing and reaching for throwables—wasn’t her. She was playing a part, performing horror and heartbreak while some other Jenny was lodged deep inside, arms wrapped around her knees, waiting for the drama to subside.

What does that mean? Is she a fraud, a sociopath, does she not really feel? Impossible. Her love is immense. For her family, her work, the world. But she’s felt that strange dislocation a few times since. Mostly with Tom, big arguments where she’s lost it, she’s just going nuts, but part of her stands aside, head cocked, like,Yeah, I’m not buying this. Are you buying this?

She’s on her back again somehow, he’s gotten her skirt off, he’s kneeling over her.

Where’s that thing you had on? He feels around on the bed and finds her camisole. I want you to wrap it around my cock. I want you to stroke me withit.

Like this?

Oh God yes, don’t stop.

So okay, she’s a schizo and a cuckoobird, fine. This relates to lying to Nick how? Unclear. But now she’s faked a fake orgasm, and he’s going to be intent on making her come. She might not be able to pull it off a second time so soon. Meaning that she might have to fake it for real.

Faking It for Real: The Jenny Parrish Story.

Funny how he believed the lie about the fake orgasm, but didn’t believe the truth about Herve’s party. Not that she blames him. She does lie to him from time to time. Whether she’s eaten at a particular restaurant, read a particular book. She’s knocked a couple of years off her age, too. Stupid stuff, but crucial. Because she realized, around year two, that he couldn’t be the only person she tells the truth to. If she’s going to betray everyone she loves, shecan’t not betray him. That would be fatal. ’Twould be fatal, as Nick would say, in his mock-heroic mode. Or Julian, her main character.

He enters her at last. God, that’s…maybe she will be able to come again. Poor Herve. She promised him she’d stop by, but then the thing with Nick came up, and it had been so long. Yet another person she’s letting down. Line forms to the left. Single file, please. No cutting.

Stop. Be here. Where he’s thrusting away, growling in her ear. The sweetness of it, the perfect fit. The absurdity. Sex is so ridiculous, so easy to mock from the outside, but when you’re in it, when you’re doing it? It’s…God, it’s life. It’s the whole world. The only thing worth doing. How could she have thought of giving this up, the time she almost gave it up? Her secret. The thing in her life that’s all hers. Even if it’s completely wrong.

I want you from behind, he whispers, close to her ear. Jenny. Can I have you from behind?

I’ll think about it, she says.

Completely wrong. Here it comes—guilt, her constant companion. The affair adds plenty to the running total—you’re a cheater, you’re a liar, selfish, so selfish—but even without it she’d be full up. Do the boys get enough of her attention, what about Tom, are herparents okay, why is she surfing cat adoption sites when she should be reviewing copyedits? She is faulty, inadequate, a personal project in constant disarray.

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