by Marco Vassi
"What?"
"A decision. Either you want me as your woman or not. Make up your mind." She looked at him imploringly. "And listen to your heart."
Larry was transfixed. There was no room left in which to maneuver. His practice had pushed him against a wall and his wife had set the wall on fire. If he believed her now and she was lying, he'd never be able to trust his judgment again. If she was telling the truth and he didn't believe her, he'd lose her and his self respect. The sun had now hit its stride and was hot on his back.
Eleanor leaned toward him. "Larry," she said, "It's me." And she smiled.
But something in the expression caught at him. He gazed at her with wonder, recognizing a look that has haunted countless millions for centuries. It was the most famous smile in the world, that of La Giaconda, the Mona Lisa.
Then, as he was drawn more deeply into it, the expression changed. Eleanor's lips seemed to undergo a subtle transformation. They grew slightly more fleshy, more curved at the edges. This was more familiar in other cultures at other times, but Larry had seen it often enough on paintings and statues. It was the smile of the Buddha.
Larry swayed on his feet. He couldn't tell how much of what he saw was perception and how much hallucination. He felt ready to drop from exhaustion. "Is this all an illusion?" he thought, encompassing the whole of existence with his question.
"Are you all right?" Eleanor asked.
"I don't know what's real anymore."
"You can find out," she said, her voice floating on the morning air.
"How?"
"You can do one of three things. You can aim that thing at me and pull the trigger and know very fast whether I'm lying. Or you can put down the gun and walk out that door and never look back. Or you can come to bed and make love to me."
Larry stood unmoving, the three choices spinning in his mind. But even as he considered the enormity of his decision, Eleanor leaned forward and stretched, as casually as though she'd been reading a book and taken a break to yawn. It seemed, in the circumstances, the essence of callousness or carelessness, and Larry was aghast, until he saw that the gesture was studied, planned, the same kind of stilted acting she'd projected over the past week. Simultaneously, the movement raised her breasts and charged her skin with a tingle of voluptuousness that sent desire flushing through him. And in that instant, he knew.
Eleanor's stagy stretch became a real yawn, and she lay back against the pillows again. She looked very sleepy and gazed at him softly. Larry felt breath filling him. His mind was suddenly empty of all images and concerns. And his cock was hard, straining against his jeans.
The rest was simple. He lifted his arm, brought the gun to his temple, and pulled the trigger. And before he even heard the dull metallic click, he laughed, then spun around and hurled the weapon through the open window. He turned back to Eleanor.
"Want to play Scrabble?" he said, grinning, moving toward her, watching the light dance in her eyes.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1987 by Marco Vassi
ISBN 978-1-4804-9617-0
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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