Buying It

My girlfriend, Marsha, and I decided to look at a house. We had no hope of buying it. It would burn up an afternoon, at least.

The agent was a tall, professional, powerful looking woman. She had us pegged, it was obvious, but still gave us the tour. It was an open house, and we were the only ones there.

She showed us all the rooms, the spaces perfect for a family of up to four, the washer and dryer attachments in the basement even. Marsha and I held hands and showed excitement. "Look at that, honey," she'd say, pointing. "That would be perfect for us." We even let out an occasional, unified "Ooh." The agent, whose name was Dorothy, looked genuinely amused.

Finally, we let the agent let us alone for a while to consider the place. We went into the master bedroom, its blank, unfurnished spic-and-spanness. We lay on the floor and looked at the absolutely clean ceiling—amazing the details they cover.

"It's a big room," Marsha said.

I agreed. It was quite big, and it was only a bedroom. "If only."

She pinched me on the side, roughly. I rolled over on top of her, and she didn't resist until I was there.

"That woman's still downstairs," she said, giggling though.

"Dorothy," I said.

"Yes, Dorothy." Marsha corrected herself. "Dorothy's still downstairs."

I considered the opportunity. The agent—tall, professional, a creature of fantasy; the kind of woman you know at the right moment wouldn't hesitate to let go. I half let my imaginings run their course, half felt bad that I was thinking of her joining us while on top of my girlfriend and reaching clumsily for her breast.

"Come on," I said.

Marsha seemed split as well. She let me get closer and closer, then skillfully led my hands away from certain things, areas, then let me back at them, then warded me off again. I kissed her and opened my eyes, and hers were open too.

"She has to know we're not just walking around up here," she said. "They can tell things like that, these people."

I unzipped and revealed myself, rubbed it against her so she knew it was out. I noticed, quite fiercely for a moment, the vodka on our communal breath, how it intensified, clashing in the air between our mouths. Would we have been doing this without the flask we finished in the car on the way over?

"Doug," she said, as if her parents were just outside the bedroom door. She took hold of me but did nothing with it, not even any pressure to put it away.

"I'll wait right outside," Dorothy called from downstairs. "Give a holler if you want anything from me."

My urge heightened. As soon as I heard the screen door swish closed behind her, I called out, "Care to join us?" and my girlfriend squeezed me with one hand and covered my mouth with the other.

"Mmmmph!"

"Doug!"

"Like she doesn't know," I said between her fingers. "I think she's only worried we'll muss up the carpet."

Still she looked at me as though I didn't completely understand.

Again, I was considering the agent—those professional clothes coming undone with purpose and determination, how trained she was never to never miss as opportunity, my girlfriend inviting her to share, me lying back with a feigned smugness and letting those two take over…

"Say it's ours," Marsha said suddenly. She took a gentler hold on me, letting me know I was invited, but I had to earn it. "How do we have our room?"

"I'd still want you on the floor," I said, smiling devilishly.

But she was not into that game now. "Where's the bed?"

I looked around for a spot. "That wall," I said. "That wall with the light." The parallelogram of sun angled down enough to cover the head of a queen-sized.

She wriggled out from under me, got up and went to the door. "Nothing like a bedroom where you can't sleep," she said. "You got the fucking sun in your eyes!"

The motion she made with her statement was violent, a swing at the air. I sat up, zipped up. "Not like we can afford the place," I said.

Marsha turned and left. She went downstairs, and I went to the window to watch her go. The agent had moved off the porch and was by the front gate, which she opened for Marsha. Marsha stopped a moment, and they talked. It was only a few moments, a few words, but between women that's more than enough.

The agent turned and looked at the house, scanning for me. She stood by the gate like a guardian, a regular Sphinx. I stepped back from the window. I stayed out of sight. The house had a back yard. I could get out that way.

---

Return to CONTENTS