Titled: Undecided Part 2

Part 2

 

Jackson and Stacy fucked.

            Sometimes they were quick about it. On this night, they fucked long and hard. An odd humidity hung in the bedroom. They finished.

            “I love you,” she said.

            Jackson coughed and sighed.

            “I love you too, hon,” he said, turning his body to face her.

            “Who’d you think about?” Stacy asked.

            “Oh-… thought I’d mix it up, you know; a little change…”

            There was a pause.

            “Go on…” Stacy interjected with a laugh.

            “You, of course,” Jackson spoke, laughing as well.

            They were playful, the two of them.

            “Good to know,” she said. It was good to know. He had her going there for a second.

            Jackson opened the top drawer of the bureau beside the bed, and pulled out a pack of Newport’s. He offered her one. She politely refused. On occasion she would partake, but not on this night. She was concerned.

            “Sure you don’t want one?” he asked again, pulling out a lighter.

            She thought for a moment.

            “Yeah, I’m sure. My husband’ll smell it. He doesn’t like me smoking.”

            He nodded.

“You can always shower, if you want.”

            She considered, again. She shook her head.

“All the same…”

            Jackson raised his eyebrows and lit his smoke.

            “He keeps you on too tight a leash, you know.”

            She let out a laugh. She couldn’t help it.

            He paused; then smiled.

            “You know what I mean, though. Sure he’s a fool when it comes to this,” he said, motioning his hands, indicating the general affair, “but he’s one hell of a control-freak.”

            “You’re telling me this?”

            Jackson was indifferent.

            “He’s gonna find out eventually, you know. About us, I mean.”

            She didn’t respond. She looked troubled.

            There was no talk for a long time. She thought a lot. She finally spoke.

“You know, when- when I was driving here. Earlier… I- I think I might’ve seen his car behind me, not too far from here.”

Now Jackson was troubled.

“You’re sure?”

“No, I’m not,” Stacy answered. “I don’t know that it was him. The car just looked like his. It’s… It’s probably nothing.”

She stared. She thought. She laughed nervously between thoughts.

“Yeah. Probably nothing,” he concurred.

The room was quiet. Quiet and cold.

Jackson drug deeply from his cigarette. He blew out. He coughed again.

Silence.

“On second thought, can I have one of those?” she asked.

“Sure” he said quickly and nodded. He reached back into the drawer, and handed her a cigarette.

“I guess just… ‘Why not?’ I figured.”

“Yeah,” he answered.

He lit her cigarette for her.

She, too, coughed. She hadn’t smoked for a long while.

They sat there, each of them. Smoking in silence.

They had been seeing each other, the two of them had, on a constant basis: two or three times a week for a little under two years. Sure, there were those moments when Stacy feared that her husband would catch on, but nothing ever materialized out of that. He was as dumb as an ox with looks to match. It actually worried her quite frequently; however, she had never mentioned such a thought to Jackson- hence the alarm.

            “How is it?” he asked.

            “It’s a cigarette,” she replied in a rather snide fashion Jackson didn’t much care for. He had too much time to think; a quiet room. He began to wonder why he ever fucked her in the first place. She was married. They could get caught. He could get killed.

            “What time is it?”

            “8:37.”

            “Oh, okay.”

            He had met her husband before. Dave was his name. Jackson had come over before to help Stacy “watch the kids” while Dave was away on business. He arrived home from the airport earlier than expected and caught his wife and this strange man sitting in the living room together. She said that Jackson was a friend from work. Dave didn’t bite. He told Jackson to “get the f**k out” of his house. Jackson was sympathetic. He supposed that any (rightly) suspicious man would have done the same. But considering that there was no real evidence of any foul-play, Dave was left only to guess.

And Dave did guess.

Dave spent too many lonely nights at home while Stacy went to the store or went to her book club or simply went for a drive. That last one was by-far the most suspicious. She was always going places. Dave didn’t like it. He sat home and didn’t do s**t. He didn’t want to. He preferred to sulk and brood and clean the gun that his wife said he would never need.

            “Do you think you should be getting going?” Jackson inquired.

            Stacy didn’t respond. Jackson was stuck between worried and annoyed.

            “Don’t want him getting on to us, do you? I mean… if he isn’t already,” he said with a chuckle. Stacy found nothing funny in it. She was a moody sort.

            “Yeah, I guess so,” she said. She both did and didn’t want to leave- not that it mattered much. She knew that she would have to. It was odd. No matter how fed up she was with Jackson, she never wanted to leave him. Maybe she loved him. Maybe she just didn’t want to go back to her jackass of a husband. She didn’t know, nor did she care. She saw no future with the man she was presently lying next to.

            Stacy exhaled and got out of bed. She wore nothing. Jackson watched her as she began to gather up her things. There was little more he could do. She put on her panties and brassiere.

            “When do you want to see each other again?” he asked.

            “Umm… I- I don’t know.”

            Jackson waited for her to follow up. She didn’t.

            “Any idea?”

            “I really don’t know,” she replied. “Just call me in a few days or something. I’ll have it figured out by then.”

            “Okay.”

            He got the feeling that he irritated her. He didn’t like that feeling. When he felt that way, he didn’t want to talk. She put on her pants… then blouse… then shoes… all in silence. She acted way too busy to care about anything he might have to say.

            “Okay… So… I guess you’ll call me in a couple days?” she said.

            “That a question?”

            “Yeah…”

            She seemed sweeter than before. The woman he had wanted to sleep with had returned.

            “Of course I’ll call you, babe. You know I will,” Jackson replied.

            “And remember-”

            “- if anyone but you answers, hang up,” he threw in with a smile.

            They both felt better about things. He sat up in bed. She was ready to leave.

            “Goodbye, sweetie,” she said, picking up her keys and purse from the coffee table.

            “Bye, Stace.”

            She walked out of the bedroom and through the living quarters, approaching the door at a quick pace. She reached the house’s exit, stopped, and looked back. She could make out her lover, sitting in bed from where she stood. The front door was visible from just about any other door in the place. Stacy blew Jackson a kiss. He reciprocated. She was about to grab the knob when there was a knock at the door- just outside- but two or three feet away from her.

A knock.

…

Then another.

…

Then another.

…

Three knocks with about a round second separating each.

Oh, God, it’s my husband!

Stacy drew back her hand as she turned to look at Jackson. The gap between her upper and lower lip grew. Her eyes widened. She was horrified. Jackson shrugged his shoulders, noticeably uncomfortable himself.

Who was it? Who?

They didn’t know.

And they couldn’t. The door had no peephole- no way to look out.

They were left only to guess. 

Guess and stare.

Speed was required. After what seemed like an eternity of confusedly gawking at each other, the couple hopped into action. Jackson began to dress. Stacy walked back to the bedroom, taking enormous steps, attempting to be as quiet as possible. Her man threw on a nearby t-shirt. They attempted verbal communication, but what was produced could best be described as a series of squeaks and squeals accompanied by grandiose upper-body convulsions.

            “Wha-oo-i? Wha-oo-i-oo?”

Somewhere in the melodrama, Stacy was able to gather that she was supposed to go to the bathroom and shut the door. She gave a nod of profound understanding. She went. Jackson struggled to put on his button-fly jeans. Stacy reached the bathroom. She quickly- quietly- closed the door. He was finished dressing, and walked toward the door, attempting to look casual, though nobody was watching.

Jackson stopped in his tracks. He hurried back to the bedroom; back to his bureau. He arrived at the stand and opened the top drawer. Frantically searching, he pushed aside his Newport’s, two boxes of condoms, and an old Old Spice container. He pulled something out from the back of the drawer. Something metallic. Cold steel. He shoved it down the waistband of the rear of his jeans. He left the bedroom, and walked.

Arriving at the front door, Jackson turned to the bathroom where Stacy hid. She had cracked the door so as to sneak a peek, herself. He motioned for her to close it. She did, waited a moment, then quietly cracked it open again.

Jackson shook his head and arms about; psyching himself up. He exhaled.

A series of images mobbed his mind’s eye: memories. He didn’t put much stock in it.

He grasped the doorknob firmly.

Turned it slowly.

And opened the door.