A Touch of Panic by L. R. Wright

Author:L. R. Wright
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781631941566
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2018-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

GORDON MURPHY MADE his call and lay on the motel bed to wait.

Things were going well at the house. He had decided to leave the workmen on their own for the next week: he would spend that time meticulously putting in place the plan that would bring everything together—that would bring him and Cassandra together.

He daydreamed about her while waiting, wondering what she’d be like in bed. He knew from their session on the beach that she wouldn’t be like Woman Number Three.

Number Three was undersexed. This had been in comforting contrast to the rapacious charms of the philosopher; it became, however, a problem.

With this woman, his skills were utterly wasted. He didn’t think she felt a damn thing. She didn’t complain; she had apparently decided that this was an area of human experience in which she was destined to remain an outcast. She would accept anything that he wanted to do to her. After a while he didn’t want to do anything at all.

Their last night together (although they didn’t know it was their last night) was a Wednesday, and Gordon had to teach an eight-o’clock class the next morning. He liked to get to sleep early on Wednesday. Good sex was an acceptable alternative—but he hadn’t had any good sex. She was lying next to him having given him no sex at all, and she was relieved that he had lost his erection, he could feel her relief.

Oh, he knew what was in her devious brain. He’d known all along. She had decided that she would put up with having sex in order to get a husband with money, and tenure, and manners, and looks. She’d put up with any amount of sex for that kind of a good deal. But she was happier when she didn’t have to. And now she was thinking to herself that she could put the sex stuff behind her for another day. It wouldn’t occur to her to offer to try again. Any second now she was going to change the subject to something more to her liking.

“Aren’t you about due for a sabbatical, Gordon?” she said. Just as he had predicted.

“That’s right—1993.”

She turned onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. She’d do the warm thing now, he thought, the affectionate thing, and come back to the sabbatical later. He could see her simple mind working. She reached out a finger and stroked the lines that stretched from his nose to the corners of his mouth. Gordon took that hand in his and squeezed. After a few seconds, he let go.

“How about if I make you a sandwich?” she said.

Why not? thought Gordon, who was hungry. Among other things.

She put on one of his robes, a blue-and-white striped number made of silk, and they went downstairs. He was wearing white terrycloth that showed off his tanning salon brownness.

He sprawled in a kitchen chair and watched her work. She pulled bread from the cupboard, got lettuce and tomatoes from the fridge and went to the pantry for a tin of tuna.

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