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Cocktails at Mother's WC 243 Eva struggled with her outfit; I observed, silently. She doesn’t like when I add my two cents. “This doesn’t work!” she screamed. The fuchsia sweater flew across the bedroom. “I thought it looked fine,” I mumbled. “What?” “We’re going to be late, Eva.” I tapped the face of my Rolex. “You don’t need to remind me.” She wrapped the red belt around her waist and cinched it. “I look like a sausage with a rubber band around it.” The belt flew across the room, joining the pile of discarded garments. “We can’t be late. You know how my mother gets.” “I don’t give a flying burrito about your mother.” I didn’t want to open that can of beans, so I busied myself retying my tie. I watched her in the mirror while she selected a paisley scarf, the one my mother got her last Christmas. “That’ll make her happy.” “Oh, that’s right. She got me that.” The scarf went flying; at the same instant the phone rang. “Hello? Yes, Mother, we’re just leaving...Okay...okay...sure. See you in a few.” I hung up the phone. “What did she want?” “She wants us to pick up some olives for her martini. So we have to go.” Eva stepped into a dress that buttoned up the front. She was wearing a sexy push-up bra. I turned toward her. Our eyes met. We fell onto the bed in heated passion. Mother would have to drink her martini naked. |
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