Ladies' Man by Richard Price Read Free Book Online Page A

ugly. My brains were screaming Sorrysorrysorry-sorry.
    "
What
is on your
mind
?" she asked in a hushed voice. I killed her mood, okay, and now that I was getting the chance for a showdown, all I felt besides two years old was apologetic and guilty. I felt sorry and convictionless—a self-centered bastard.
    I sighed. "It's, I dunno. We, we don't make
love
anymore like we used to." I came down heavy on the word "love." I never called it making love in my life. She sat silent glaring at me with that cement face, her hands curled around her teacup. My shoulders slipped into a permanent hunch.
    "You know, we used to be"—I sucked air through my teeth—"so
tight
around that, and, and I know you're going through whatever you're goin' through and you're close to a breakthrough and all that, but ah, shit, I dunno, I, ah, I need
sex
from you, I need some physical
attention
, you know?" I almost gagged on the word "breakthrough," tried hard not to coat it with sarcasm. In that moment I knew I was her enemy because I was lying to her, betraying her for a piece of tail for myself. She sucked as a singer, she was putting herself through agony for nothing, and that was the dead nuts.
    "You know, La Di." I picked my words as delicately as I would have tiptoed through a cow pasture, even though I was already hip-deep in shit. "The need to get laid is an honorable need."
    Silence, then a hoarse whisper from a death mask. "Well, then go out and get laid." Not even a blink.
    "Baby, I don't want nobody but you," and that Was the gospel truth. I relaxed slightly because I had said something honest. "I dunno." I shrugged and smiled weakly. "Maybe Tin just more sexually oriented than you."
    "Well, I just guess the hell you
are
!" she hissed and charged into the bedroom. The door slammed like a stinging slap. I was in a comfortably frightened state of shock. I stared at my coffee; my fingers felt puckered and dry. I felt like my life would go on forever. Suddenly the door flew open and La Donna stood hunched over, face red, knotted fists at her side.
    "I'm
very
sexually oriented!" she bawled and started crying so hard and bitterly that I thought she was going to vomit.
    So, the day started off like shit. Once she began crying like that the worst part would be over, but the whole thing was starting to feel like a routine, the same goddamn soap opera every day. We hugged, kissed, I felt better, she felt better, I made promises, she made promises, I fell madly in love again. I didn't know what she was feeling on that score. For me the fight always had the same origin. She would make me feel undesired and I would want to bust her hump for it; then when I did I felt guilty and horrible, she got trembly and self-righteous, the tears, etc. Sometimes it wasn't even so much about fucking. I just wanted to feel like she considered me hot stuff. And I would sell our souls down the river for a taste of that feeling. But as I trudged down Broadway, dragging my sample case to the bus stop, I was never so clear on the monotony of it all. And the sad fact was that I realized one of the reasons I didn't change channels was because everything else felt like a rerun.
    In the beginning it was the best. I hated to think about how good things used to be before this singing bullshit started. I used to go up to her bank, she worked at a Portuguese bank on Fifth Avenue, and surprise her with bag lunches. And in the lunch I'd hide a little present. Once I got crazy and put a pair of jade earrings inside the baked strawberry farmer's cheese and she almost cracked a tooth. And it was hard for me to -come uptown because my turf was the Village, which during lunchtime traffic was not exactly around the corner.
    And I got her to read. She was never a big reader, but I had the touch. Knew exactly what books to turn her on with. She was into women, so I threw her some Flannery O'Connor, some Shirley Jackson, a little Willa Cather. On weekends we'd go tip to a friend's cabin in