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Added: Aynsley Lueras - Date: 18.11.2021 07:27 - Views: 29678 - Clicks: 5314

There was, after all, that blank wall in their new master. They slept with the French doors open to hear the sea. Nadine woke with the sun, so if the nude was on the opposite wall, she could watch the woman emerge between and a. There was no rush to get out of bed. This still surprised her, not needing to rush.

It felt like a new demand on her time. The days were always the same. Because Gwil headed off to bed so early now, he was up hours before she awoke. Was it the 11th or was that yesterday? The days, however, were always firmly in hand: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were her six-milers, the same course south through their gated community to get to beach path three, and then back home again, retracing her steps. Sunday mornings were free to read the entire the Wall Street Journal Weekend and then play eighteen, but only if Gwil insisted.

She liked to hear Gwil say it: not a pinch of fat on her at seventy-four. Spry, he said, which made her think of a bird of prey. As if Gwil wanted to rush her headlong into an operating room. And what would he do while she was laid up for months?

What then? The orthopedic doctor had been friendly enough. The doctor stepped out while his assistant made her change into long, jersey shorts. There was no mirror in the examination room but Nadine knew she looked ridiculous. She rolled down the waist band of the shorts once, two times, so the hem rose to her knees. She was glad she had remembered to shave her legs that morning. She folded her pants and stacked them on top of her sandals, next to her purse on the floor. She expected they cleaned the floors regularly according to hospital code.

Gwil winked at her over his crossword. The doctor conducted his exam with minimal embarrassment to her and then opened the door and shouted. Nadine looked down at her lap. The word plain settled with a thud. There had been fat, old couples in the waiting room. Old men with bellies who breathed loudly, their wives busting at the seams in fat person jeans.

A different woman led her past other exam rooms to the X-ray. Nadine thought about going back for her shoes and then realized how ridiculous the shorts would look with her sandals, so she walked barefoot down the hall. After the X-ray she was walked back to an office cubby next to the exam room where Gwil waited. When the doctor pulled up the X-ray of her pelvis on a giant computer screen, it took her a second to realize what she was seeing below the white crests of her hip bones. Gwil had snuck up behind her to hear the doctor. Just what we like to see. A woman in a white lab coat brushed by, jostling Nadine into the cubby.

Gwil was behind her juggling her clothes and purse, dangling her sandals by the thin leather straps. He was staring at the screen, at her grotesque parts. Later, when they were finally home, Nadine busied herself with making dinner. The silverware should be below the rack displaying her china. It was already habit opening this drawer instead of that one. I thought it was good news from the doctor.

He gazed up at the high ceiling. Faux beams, expensive plaster treatment. All those white walls. She willed him to just shut up. The next morning, Gwil had an early tee time with his new buddies at the club, so Nadine was left to enjoy her morning coffee alone.

When she gathered up the local paper, she saw the magazine on the counter. Vanity Fair was not something they ordinarily purchased, but she vaguely remembered Gwil telling her about an interview with a kid now running the tech company that was the rival of the one Gwil sold more than a decade ago. On the magazine cover was a photo of the young millionaire in a black sweatshirt sitting cross-legged inside an egg-shaped chair, which hung from the ceiling. Nadine shook her head. He probably encouraged his employees to ride skateboards down the hall while they texted. Nadine had little interest in his story, but she took the magazine with the newspaper out to the kitchen patio along with her coffee.

She dragged the chaise into full sun. Shadowed slats of portico striped the patio. Her body was hushed by the crashing of waves far below. She turned the and gasped. The words of the title were done like the gaudy Mylar balloons that loomed over the checkout line in the grocery store. Her elbow jostled her mug and coffee spilled onto the side table. The bodies were not those of real women, but mannequins.

Their skin was salmon-colored, their nipples a shade pinker. She read the caption under the photo of the two mannequins whose legs were spread wide. Some dolls had a small triangle of hair down there while others were smooth like a little girl. Genitals was not the word the magazine used.

Nadine had taught her children to call their organs by their real names. These words, these photos, made her ashamed. And something else. She listened to be sure Gwil was not coming homing early. She angled her chair to face the French doors. The largest photo took up half the . It showed two of these dolls; they were blonde and nearly identical. Both had extremely large bosoms.

She glanced at the French doors and then held the magazine closer to her face. She thought of the play dough her grandson Tucker left out on the kitchen counter. Nadine remembered the oily, squeaky feel of the store play dough. Now, she studied the dolls. Everything about the pink women looked like plasticine. Or some sort of bouncy rubber. Were they? Made of rubber? Is that what men wanted to feel against their skin? To put their mouths on?

A dark-eyed junco landed at the birdfeeder, startling her, and she slammed the magazine shut. But she could still picture the girls. The plastic folds, the neat slits down there. Smooth and perfect. Were the dolls given a smell? She peeked again.

Like the pink inside a mouth. She thought of the word. A word Gwil had never uttered, but maybe he thought it. Maybe back when they were young and locked up in his college dorm for hours, maybe he did but never said. She went inside and slammed the French doors behind her. She took the magazine into the guest bathroom and slipped it between the National Audubon book and Birds of the Southeast on top of the toilet.

She turned the Vanity Fair binding toward the wall so she might forget it was there. She had showered and was composing a grocery list when Gwil proposed that they visit the galleries downtown. His eyes softened and he got that faraway look which was becoming more common. Maybe we should have put the bed against the wall. Not have to look at it. And now he looked at her quickly, his eyes worried.

The thin plastic wire of the hearing aid coiling into his ear slight as his fine grey hairs. She looked out the window when she felt the flush creeping up her neck. Which doll was he picturing? The hair or no-hair one? The one with nipples swooping out to each side like she was built for not just one man but two, one on either side, a nipple for each mouth.

She felt his hand on her arm and then he reached for her hand and clasped it. He walked ahead of her. He had gotten thinner and a little stooped. He looked old. She could double her daily mileage, go faster, but she could not skip out of the sentence. It was just a matter of time. Her own mother was seventy-eight when she died from a stroke.

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