Labor Day Weekend
By: Perry Burchard
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 by Perry Burchard
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Smashwords Edition License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold. Thank you for supporting the literary arts by not redistributing the story.
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This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
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“Truth or Dare?” I asked.
Katrina stifled a case of the giggles. “Truth”.
I took my time with the question. I’d just completed a dare that occupied the gray area between playful fun and crossing a line, and my id was afraid my ego would push us back into the safe zone.
“When was the last time you did it with someone other than Bill?” I couldn’t believe I was in my late twenties and still saying ‘did it’. The words felt foreign to my mouth but fit the adolescent nature of our little game, the getaway mood of the whole weekend. Our problems and jobs were back in the city; they didn’t hop in the borrowed camper with us.
My wife Paige snickered; I’d walked in on the last time she’d had sex with someone other than me; it was shortly before I stole her from the guy. At least, that’s what his take on it was. In my opinion, he’d already lost her by the time I came along. Intercourse, or the cessation of it, isn’t a black-and-white delineator of the life and death of a relationship.
I expected Katrina, who’d pushed the envelope more than the rest of us, to find it just as funny.
But she hesitated for a wide-eyed beat before breaking out into laughter.
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Paige knew Bill from work. After failed attempts to set me up with male friends for the first two years of our marriage—I’m anti-social and she’s highly gregarious, which is why she’s such a good match for me—Bill and Katrina were a lucky coincidence. They happened to be at a new Laundromat we decided to try out. Naturally, Paige had to go say ‘Hi’.
Now, tell me if this has happened to you too: I had been scoping Katrina out, as any guy does with a good-looking stranger, the second I walked through the door. And my wife runs up and gives her a hug! Talk about awkward.
Katrina’s attractive, though not in a typical way. Her nose fits her face well, but it’d be considered too big on almost anyone else. And her mouth would be too wide on almost anyone else. For her, the combination works. She’s got incredible skin, rarely wears more than eyeliner and lipstick. And very nice eyes, unnaturally bright green. I’d originally thought they were colored contacts, but, no, they’re the real deal. She looks tall, too, though she’s not; her body’s just proportioned that way. She doesn’t have too-skinny man hips like a lot of tall women do. It’s more in the way her narrow waist tapers up to broad shoulders.
Yeah, so I spent a little too long describing her, didn’t I? I’d better clear this up right away: Paige is the one for me. She’s not exotic, but she’s really cute; when she’s in her forties, people are going to gush over how young she looks. I still, every now and then, have to remind myself she’s for real. But if you’ve been in a relationship for any length of time, you know how it is. Show me the best looking woman in the world, and I’ll show you a guy who’s tired of … yeah, you’ve heard that one before.
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I was the only one in the camper that noticed Katrina’s reaction to my question; Bill was still laughing so hard from my dare that she could have said ‘last night’ in response and he wouldn’t have heard. Paige was guzzling from her apple-ma-berry whatzit wine cooler and missed it, too. Not me. I’m always seeing the darkness that lurks under people’s faces. Like I said before, I’m antisocial.
She recovered quickly, to her credit, tilting her head sideways, clutching both hands together on her bosom, batting her eyes. “Why, Bill was the first one for me.”
That got him laughing even harder; he was almost ready to roll out of the little shelf that served as a bed on their end of the camper. It would’ve been a hell of a roll, folks, because the guy’s a good three or four inches taller than me, and I alternated between shooting guard and small forward at the little Southern Cal college where I played ball.
“No, the last time …” she trailed off, appearing to dig hard in the cobwebbed corners of her memory. I wouldn’t have that problem. I remember quite clearly each and every experience I’d had prior to Paige. “I was actually in High School. The guy’s name was Mike. It was over in, like, a minute and a half, and we were scared to death until my next period.”
Apparently, Bill already knew about him, because he added in something about Mike’s current position at Denny’s.
We all had a good cackle about that, Paige throwing something in about Jack, the guy I “stole her” from, and Katrina was off the hot seat. Minutes later, she had Paige running up to the highway to flash the next car she saw, and our little game was fun again.
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In that initial Laundromat encounter, we found out that Bill and Katrina lived in the same apartment complex as us. Eventually, this led to ‘we ought to do something sometime’, something I never commit to, but Paige does.
Right away I saw how Bill filled a room with his presence. His height was part of it, but he also had a contagious personality and an aura of gregariousness. Bill never got down or depressed; since I’m one of those depressive, brooding types, I’ve always envied that quality in him. Bill approached every moment in life like it might be more exciting than the last. For me, there’s only brief, fleeting moments of joy; rhinestones in the otherwise gray, coarse fabric of my existence. Bill wouldn’t let me mope around if I was down, and he wasn’t obnoxious about it; he chose to lead by example. I wonder how successful he’d have been as a psychologist instead of a marketer. I guess both fields require the same qualifications, don’t they?
I tell you all this so you understand that I really like Bill. He’s probably the first guy I’ve considered a friend since college. This friendship stoked the guilt that dogged me about his wife. I had to exert an increasing amount of effort to put the clamps on unguarded thoughts. It would lead to some comically awkward situations.
One such moment grew out of a Saturday morning golf outing. I golf once a year as a reminder of how much I suck at it. Bill wanted to come along, so I dropped by to pick him up.
Katrina answered the door. She was wearing a tee-shirt and a comfortable pair of shorts, and, as I couldn’t help but notice, nothing else.
Her should-be-too-wide mouth broke in a self-conscious smile. “Oh, Hi! Bill wanted me to tell you to hold tight. He doesn’t have any balls. Uh, golf balls. He ran to Target to get some.”
I couldn’t stifle a smile at her slip-up, and that spawned a titter from her. “Oh, knock it off, and come in, you perv! You’re welcome to wait for him in here.”
I thought about leaving and coming back, but discarded the idea. I thought, maybe, if I said ‘no’ to her offer that she’d read something into that. A friend, one that is comfortable around another friend, would thank her for the invitation and go on in. So that’s what I did.
They had a couch in there, and a chair that matches it. Instinctively, I took the chair; a couch isn’t a good ‘loner’ piece of furniture. My body language must have been hysterical. I’m not good at eye contact as it is, and around an attractive woman, I’m a farce. Paige says that’s why she noticed me when we first met, because I just ‘looked so cute when I got all shy’ around her. I told you, folks, I’m really lucky to have her.
Katrina should have gotten something on under that tee-shirt, but maybe she thought it would be rude to make me wait by myself. Maybe she was afraid that if she put a bra on, I’d realize she hadn’t been wearing one. Either way, as we carried on a clunky, effort-laden conversation, I had to remind myself not to look at her chest. It’s pretty hard to do when eye contact’s already difficult. Her legs already garnered too much of my attention; she’d rubbed some lotion on them, or something, and they invited me to run a hand along them and feel how smooth they were.