After three martinis and twenty “God damn that cheating slut,” Marty smashed the Lalique vase, Waterford bowl, Royal Doulton balloon lady, and Tobacco Leaf serving platter on the kitchen floor.
William deserved no less for his decision to resume his affair with his old flame, Roberto. He knew very well how Marty felt when he and Roberto went out drinking, when his mother invited Roberto to family functions, and when his father brown-nosed him because, like him, he voted Republican.
“I need some freedom,” William had asked just two nights ago, just before they went to bed. “That doesn’t mean I want to break up. I just want to open it up a little, you know what I mean?”
Marty had sat up in bed at this remark. Things had been going so well between them – they’d had great sex twice since the past Sunday. William had never given any indication it was boring him. Marty said no, let’s take our time about this, and he put up the usual arguments you’d expect from a clingy housewife.
Marty guessed that was his role in this relationship, the clingy housewife.
And then this afternoon, William had called, saying he was going out with Roberto, and that it was a sex date. “But we agreed,” William had told him, “we could have occasional flings.”
Marty had said no, Roberto was off the table, but William insisted. “We’ll talk about this when I get home after my sex date.”
After he was done cleaning up, Marty asked himself, how’d he ever explain the broken collectibles? It’s not like that drunken time when he’d thrown all of William’s old porn away. He couldn’t explain it all away with one of his stock lies.
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