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by Miriam Kotzin and Bill Turner Mario pushed Jeanette's hand away under the table and nodded toward the door. "Leave casually," he said, "Or the cunt will nag me for days about you." Jeanette smiled and eased her way from behind the table to return to the kitchen. "I'll be back when she's gone," Jeanette said as she walked away. Renee walked past a large, gaudy black and white photo of the statue of Constantine. That was an emperor that couldn't get enough, Mario thought, he wanted it all and got it. Mario waved at Renee as she walked toward him. "Hi, sweetheart," he said as he wiped his second chin with his napkin. "What are you doing here?" "Joining you for dinner," Renee said. She slipped into the chair across from him. "I thought you were coming home tonight." She paused. "I made a lasagna, the way you like it, with mushrooms and extra cheese. Special. Mario, you promised." Mario shrugged. Renee was a young thirty-five he thought, and she kept herself up, which should be easy enough considering the allowance he gave her. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head with just a few wisps making curls at her neck and on her face. She had a nice mouth, and her blowjobs were one of the reasons he married her. But over the last year or so she had complained that when he fucked her in the mouth, his belly got in the way and she couldn't breathe. She said she wasn't comfortable. The least the bitch could do was to pretend to like it. He pulled the heel of bread off the loaf in the basket, then tore off a piece and dunked it into the small dish of oil and balsamic vinegar that was on the table. He smeared a clove of roasted garlic on the bread and then shoved it in his mouth. The oil was slick on his lips. "You should try some," he said to Renee, then tore off another slice. "It'll put hair on your chest." "That's not my problem, Mario," she said. "We never have time together any more. You're here more than you are at home." "Ah hell," he said, "You're not going to start that complaining stuff again are you?" "Patricio told me that you spend at least five hours a day here," she said. "I worked my ass off building my business. I hired good people to work it for me now. If I want to come down here for breakfast, lunch and dinner, that's my business." He coughed as he swallowed a small chunk of bread, coughing harder until his face turned red. He shoved his fingers into his mouth and pulled out a small piece of bread. "See what you did with your bitching? I almost choked to death. Who's going to pay for your tit jobs if I choke to death?" "I care about you Mario," she said, "You're killing yourself like this." "Fuck your half-assed ignorant medical opinion." He slung the piece of bread onto his bread plate and pulled another piece to dunk in the oil. "I didn't know they opened a family practice wing at the Beauty College." "I'm only saying this because I love you, Mario." Renee said. "I can hardly recognize you. You used to be so handsome." "And what am I now? The frog prince?" he picked up his wineglass and drained it, pouring another full glass of house red from the liter carafe on the table. It was nearly empty. "Pinot Grigiot you're drinking. Mrs. Fancy Pants." "Your sister called me this morning, Mario." "Yeah," he said, "Mother Teresa. What did she want?" "She's worried about you. She said you were out of breath just walking from the driveway to her front door," Renee said. "She was upset. And so was your mother." "I don't have to go there," Mario said, "if it upsets them. “What right do they have to be talking about me behind my back? They have something to say, let them say it to me." "They told me they tried to talk to you." "And you, you're so worried? Why'd you make lasagna? You should maybe make me cottage cheese and fruit. You trying to kill me now?" He motioned to the waiter for more bread and oil. "Bring me a couple extra of them garlics." He pointed at Renee with a chunk of bread dripping oil. "Garlic's healthy. I heard it on the radio. Anti-oxidants. You're always yapping about them too. You make eating sound like a lube job for the car." He put the bread in his mouth. A bit of the crust stuck to his lip. He flicked it off with his forefinger. The room began to twist, ever so slightly. Mario recognized the light-headed feeling and waited for it to pass. He figured the bitch was raising his blood pressure thirty points with her nagging alone. The room was filled with little balls of bright light. He could see them out of the corners of his eyes. The stupid bitch was saying something else and gesturing wildly, but he couldn't make it out. He saw the oil dish coming at his face, but he wasn't able to stop it from hitting him. Everything went black. *************** Patricio stood at the side of Mario's coffin, Renee holding his arm. She could sure fake a good cry, he thought. He'd have to be careful or she'd own Constantine's too. The father was wrapping up the ashes to ashes and dust to dust bit. Those worms were getting some of the finest second-hand Italian food they'd ever eat with this fat fuck. He was the last to toss a handful of dirt onto the coffin. He looked down at it and covered his eyes to shield his wink. He really appreciated the way that Mario had treated Renee over the past two years. Wherever fatso was now, he'd know the score, but it all washes out in the end. Soon enough, he'd join Mario feeding the worms. Then they could debate who got the best blowjobs. Somehow, he didn't think it would matter. About the Author: Our collaborative fiction is published or is forthcoming in Hobart, Monkeybicycle, Somewhat, Admit Two and The Beat. Each of us has established a publication record in print and on-line. Miriam teaches literature and creative writing at Drexel University in Philadelphia, PA USA where she directs the Certificate Program in Writing and Publishing and is faculty advisor to Maya, the student literary magazine. Bill has a day job, though he dreams of being gainfully unemployed. They live and work in Philadelphia. Email: kotzinturner@hotmail.com |
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