chapter 1
fiction
HUFFINGTON
09.23.12
side her lower lip, and she liked the distance between the
bottom of her nose and the top of her mouth. She liked the
curve of her ear. And in those likings and their basic balance, she felt herself take shape as Daniel drove.
B
RIBBON: TROY DUNHAM
ACK AT HOME, she spent longer than usual
in the bathroom, suddenly re-discovering all
the lotion bottles in the cabinet that were
custom-made for different parts of the body.
For feet, for elbows, for eyes, for the throat.
Like different kinds of soil that need to be tilled with different tools. When she entered the bedroom, fully cultivated,
skin stenciled by a lace nightgown, the lights were off. Only
the moon through the window revealed the tiny triangles of
skin beneath the needlework.
“Time for bed, honey,” she said cheerily, which was code for
don’t touch me. But there was no real need; his back already
radiated the grainy warmth of sleeping skin. She slid herself
between the sheets and called up another picture, this one of
Daniel, a green bill wrapped around his erection like a condom. The itch of the corners of the bill as they pricked inside
her. His stuff all over the faces of presidents. Stop it now, Janet, she thought to herself, but she finally had to take a pill to
get the image out of her head; it made her too jittery to sleep.
D
ANIEL WENT TO work at the shoe company in the morning, suit plus vest, and Janet slept in, as usual. Her afternoons were
wide open. Today, after she had wrested all
the hot water out of the shower, she went
straight to a lingerie shop to buy a black bustier. She remained in the dressing room for over twenty minutes, staring at her torso shoveled into the satin.
“So, Janet,” called the saleslady, Tina, younger and suppler, “is it lovely? Does it fit?”