Waiting, he lay perfectly still in the hot moist darkness. His body, naked beneath the thin sheet, was covered with perspiration. He lay in a kind of patient agony, waiting for his wife to sleep. He stared straight up at the moon-washed ceiling, somehow containing his breath, thinking about what was in the living room behind the screen, on the studio couch.
His wife writhed and twisted, then settled again on the bed, nearly touching him. Working very slowly, he edged away from her — waiting, as a fury of blood drummed in his ears.
Sometimes his heart beat so loudly he imagined Grace would hear.
And he was listening, too...
Listening for those intimate, secret sounds that now and then reached him from the living room. The sound of delicious turning, of a carelessly moved leg. Long, plumply curved, lovely.
Shirly.
Lying in there on the studio couch, waiting, too.
Waiting for him.
Sometimes he almost yelled, it was that bad.
“Nick?” Grace said.
He didn’t answer, cringing inside, cursing.
“Nick, you asleep?”
Grace stirred. One hand reached out and touched his arm, then jerked away. He knew very well that she wouldn’t stop until he answered her. He knew she knew that he was awake. Husbands and wives know those things, feel them.
“Nick?” she whispered softly.
“Yes. What?”
“It’s so
“Yeah,” he said quietly, thinking, “Go to sleep, you bitch — go to sleep.”
“I can’t go to sleep.”
“You don’t try.”
“I do so try!”
“For God’s sake. How you expect to get to sleep lying there, talking to me? Calm down. Take long breaths. I’ve got to sleep, Grace. How can I with you telling me you can’t sleep?”
She sat up on the bed. “But I can’t sleep.”
He lay there gnawing the inside of his cheek. Moonlight was bright in the room. He was soaking wet now, his heart thumping and thumping.
“Guess I’ll read awhile.”
Before he could even speak, she turned on the bedlight. It glared across her. He came to one elbow.
“Grace! Good God, I can’t sleep with that light on. You’ll never get to sleep reading. You’ve got to lie down and relax.” He lay down, forcing himself to remain still, holding on somehow, listening.
His wife frowned at him. Then, quickly, she flipped off the sheet and slipped out of bed. She wore a red shorty nightgown, and she was a very pretty woman. Nick didn’t think so, however. He could see her only as a barrier to a force that was driving him out of his head.
“Wonder if Shirl’s asleep?” she whispered, standing by the bed, scratching her thigh. “You think she can sleep in this awful heat?”
He kept his eyes on the ceiling. “She certainly won’t be able to sleep with you tramping around, talking. Why the hell don’t you get in bed and try to sleep?”
She smiled at him. She had dark hair, richly thick around her curved shoulders. Her breasts thrust at the thin fabric of the gown.
“Going to get a glass of water,” she said, turning, moving toward the hallway that led to the bathroom. “Good Lord, it’s hot — hot — hot!”
Her round buttocks shadowed under the gown, bunching as she padded from the room.
He lay there. He waited. The toilet flushed, roaring into the night. Grace cleared her throat. She started to hum, then quickly ceased. A water faucet spouted, ran, and ran, and ran. He writhed on the bed, slithering against the drenched sheets. He heard her hold the glass under the faucet. She drank, turned the faucet off, dumped out the glass, slapped it carelessly back into its wall-bracket.
“Ooops!” she said, admonishing herself. “Shhh!” The bathroom light clicked off. She padded into the bedroom, smiling toward him.
“Nick?”
He moved his eyes slowly open. “Huh? Oh, Jesus, I was asleep. Aw, cripes, Grace — you woke me up.”
“Sorry, darling. Say, you remember what I did with that book from the library? The one about the flea circus? It’s so interesting. You oughta read it. I can’t find it.”
He lay there. “Please,” he said. “You’ll never get to sleep reading something you like.” He came to one elbow again, his hair soaked, eyes bleary. “Come on. Get in bed. Turn off the light. Just snuggle down and stretch out, and you’ll soon be asleep. Okay?” He grinned at her.
“Oh, all right!” She snapped it at him. She crossed to the bed, flopped down, pounded at the pillow, sighed, turned off the light and lay there. “Maybe I should go in and see if Shirl’s all right,” she said.
He said nothing.
“It’s hotter in the living room than it is out here.”
