(no subject)
She drives home from the beauty parlor in the Beemer, still checking her reflection in the rear view every few moments. The new haircut--it was only supposed to be a touch up on the dye job, but she allowed herself to be persuaded--makes her look 19 years younger, she thinks, and spontaneously she pulls over and buys a bottle of wine.
Ever since last summer's Adventure (it achieved proper noun status long ago) things have been strained with David. He had believed her, in a way--he hadn't had her committed, anyway. He had managed to get an idea of the event in his mind at any rate; Ree had been hijacked and somehow fallen for the man in a sort of instant Stockholm Syndrome. Fortunately, David had never asked her if they had slept together, which had saved her having to lie. She didn't like to lie to David, particularly.
Tonight, she decides on the spur of the moment, she will make him dinner, and they will have wine, and she will wear whatever ridiculous thing he gave "her" for her birthday last spring, and they will make love, and who cares that it isn't Saturday? And maybe things will heal a bit.
The apartment is big and elegant and expensive and empty. There is a note. It's not unlike a thousand other notes David has left. She sighs--she has been widowed by the Internet far too long to do anything so crass as cry--and puts the wine away, and changes into a robe to watch television on a rather enormous set.
They're showing For A Few Dollars More on TBS, and although she's seen it in a half-dozen times she watches it again. Mostly for his eyes, and because for the first half-hour his right hand is covered in a wristguard.
As she watches, she touches herself with only the last two fingers of her right hand. He was my great Adventure.
Ever since last summer's Adventure (it achieved proper noun status long ago) things have been strained with David. He had believed her, in a way--he hadn't had her committed, anyway. He had managed to get an idea of the event in his mind at any rate; Ree had been hijacked and somehow fallen for the man in a sort of instant Stockholm Syndrome. Fortunately, David had never asked her if they had slept together, which had saved her having to lie. She didn't like to lie to David, particularly.
Tonight, she decides on the spur of the moment, she will make him dinner, and they will have wine, and she will wear whatever ridiculous thing he gave "her" for her birthday last spring, and they will make love, and who cares that it isn't Saturday? And maybe things will heal a bit.
The apartment is big and elegant and expensive and empty. There is a note. It's not unlike a thousand other notes David has left. She sighs--she has been widowed by the Internet far too long to do anything so crass as cry--and puts the wine away, and changes into a robe to watch television on a rather enormous set.
They're showing For A Few Dollars More on TBS, and although she's seen it in a half-dozen times she watches it again. Mostly for his eyes, and because for the first half-hour his right hand is covered in a wristguard.
As she watches, she touches herself with only the last two fingers of her right hand. He was my great Adventure.