What Goes Around
New review on Amazon.com for What Goes Around
Rich Variations,February 7, 2015
excerpt from the story
Follow Your Bliss
Harmon Rutledge blamed his mother for everything: his prematurely receding hairline, the curly red hairs on his big toes, that he looked like Dudley Do-right minus horse, and that he had married someone who was obviously wrong for him.
Despite that debilitating beginning, he had now solved his marriage problem. There was something anti-biological about marriage, he thought. Cells divided and doubled their nuclei; they didn’t cut themselves in half and join up at the navel. The whole marriage experience had been somewhat disgusting to him, particularly the bodily fluids part and the color red seeping through the white tissue she wrapped around her tampons before she tossed them in the wastebasket in the bathroom. That was over. He never had to see that again. And of course, now there was the benefit of being independently wealthy and never having to answer to another woman again. Take that, sweetie pie.
The beginning of his relationship with Dr. Trudy Davis, who had not changed her name when they married, had seemed promising. Out of her light grey pant suit and buttoned up white blouse, the lady doctor was hot, really hot. It hadn’t taken any of his persuasive powers to get her to go topless during their entire Tahiti vacation, where, of course, none of her patients or colleagues would ever see her.
But when they returned home to humdrumland, that’s when the trouble started. She expected him to do his share of the household chores, to put up with her late rounds at the hospital looking in on whatever poor schnook had been unlucky enough to have to be hospitalized, or endure her early morning on-call phonation. He really didn’t mind her working, or her dedication. It was that she was capable of completely tuning him out, as if he weren’t standing right in front of her waving his arms, sticking out his tongue, and shaking his hips. But the final straw came one morning when she questioned his selection of a silk purple tie to go with his pink button down shirt and dark charcoal suit.
“Purple? Honey, isn’t that just a little over the top, even for successful bankers?”
It wasn’t just her question. He could have worn the green paisley and been happy. It was her tone, like she had something to tell him about how to dress when he had been dressing himself for success for the last twenty years without her.
“What do you think I did every morning before I met you?” Harmon retorted. “I’m good at this.”
She gave him one of those little sardonic smiles of hers, where her mouth thinned and pursed. He could see the little lines that would be there in another ten years. Something in him snapped. She had to go. He just had to figure out how. It never took him too long to act.