She didn’t say a word to me. Didn’t offer to kiss me. Didn’t help me with my baggage.
The silent treatment.
That’s why I was shocked as hell when she went past our neighborhood and continued on into Glenden.
To the Doubletree. To our sleazy lovenest behind Glenden’s one strip club.
Dian still didn’t say anything directly to me. Went inside the office. Came out with a key. Pulled her MIata around back.
Walked up to our room without saying a word.
Of course, I followed.
She was almost naked when I reached her–a blouse, a skirt, hose flying to the floor.
We didn’t make love that afternoon. There would be time for that later.
Instead, we fucked.
Doggy, in the center of the bed. Hard.
Against the sticky walls of our Doubletree den.
Finally, in the shower, slower, more attentive, more like lovers than fuckers.
Dian dressed. Waited outside in the Miata as I pulled my shit together.
When I got out to the car, Dian didn’t look at me. Held on to the steering wheel and white knuckled it.
Slowly, she began. “Buck, we’ve got a full house. Your business is growing in ways that your children and I can’t help with much anymore. And Tom Jernigan won’t quit calling–he says you’ve got about a week to get your shit together and run for City Council.”
“Goddammit, Dian, the last thing I need to do is run for City Council.”
“Goddammit, Buck, the first thing you need to do is run for City Council.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’ve been feeling sorry for yourself and hiding inside of a bottle and that shit’s got to stop. A good place to start again is by helping somebody other than yourself.”
I’ve got to admit that stung more than a little.
“OK. You’ve obviously given this some thought. What’s our next step?”