Scary Old Sex by Heyman Arlene

Author:Heyman, Arlene [Heyman, Arlene]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Literary, Short Stories & Anthologies, Short Stories, United States, Literary Fiction
ISBN: 9781632862334
Google: 3fpurgEACAAJ
Amazon: B015JJ8TNG
Barnesnoble: B015JJ8TNG
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
Published: 2016-03-08T06:00:00+00:00

Matt shows Ann a full-page Alvin Ailey Company ad in the Seattle Times (“Oh, how fine they do dance!”) and so she knows, before Matt tells her, that Lucinda Wylie, a principal Ailey dancer, will be stopping by. Ann smiles fiercely. Lucinda and Matt had an affair many years ago, before he met Ann. Through Lucinda’s two marriages, the first to a wealthy Swede, the second to a black writer, Lucinda has kept in touch. Matt’s relationship with her has always worried Ann, although she believes, and Matt has reassured her, that her worries are groundless. Since Lucinda and Matt see each other not that much, maybe once a year that Ann is aware of, Ann worries not that much. Still, now, Ann takes shallow breaths through her mouth for a few moments until she can breathe normally. The next day, she notes with some small satisfaction that her last thought on falling asleep as well as her earliest thought on awakening this morning—neither thought had anything to do with Lucinda.

Ann sees her first. She is striding down the hospital hallway in a form-fitting vermilion dress, which flares at the thighs. Crystal drop earrings swinging as she walks, Lucinda wears her straightened hair in a taut upsweep high on her head. She is at least seven feet tall, Ann thinks, the healthiest person Ann has ever seen. In her presence the patients plodding the hallway seem to be lifting their feet a little higher, a nurse pushes her pill cart with more vigor. Lucinda takes both of Ann’s hands and says deeply, “How is he? How are you?” Her hazel eyes burn in her dark face.

Ann looks up at her, mumbles, “Okay. All right,” and in trying to get her voice to normal volume, hears herself howling. Lucinda embraces her. Ann is ashamed that the fucking tears start. After a while Lucinda reaches into her pocketbook and offers a package of tissues to Ann who shakes her head and points at the big box of tissues on the supply table behind them in the hallway. When she has control of her voice (it sounds robotic to her ears), she thanks Lucinda for coming.

Lucinda grimaces and, with long fingers, waves away Ann’s thanks.

Ann explains the dress code, opening the drawer of the night table to hand Lucinda a mask and gloves and an extra-large paper gown. Lucinda nods confusedly and gets into the outfit, which somehow looks stylish on her, raffish. Ann dresses also, feeling small and dowdy, and the two enter Matt’s room.

He is dozing, snoring lightly, and when Lucinda looks at him, her forehead gullies and her bright eyes darken and she seems to lose a few inches in stature. She sways for a moment so that Ann wonders if she is praying, and then realizes she is possibly crumpling at the knees. Ann should bring her a chair. But Ann is overwhelmed by seeing in Lucinda’s face and body how ill Matt is.

Matt wakes glumly, sees Ann and brightens, sees Lucinda and brightens—more? Yes, more.

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