Coe Review

lipstick; each lip is blood red and perfectly shaped. I close my eyes and allow
her access to my mouth. Her kiss is wet and tastes like coffee and toothpaste.
Annie and I have kissed on four separate occasions, back in the beginning
of our relationship. Her lips were soft but always chapped, and she'd pucker
like an aunt. Rebecca lingers above me, and I keep my eyes closed, assuming
she wants me to notice her blouse.
At the restaurant she sits next to me in the booth. I push my shoulder
against brick wall to my left, and the table leg digs into the side of my knee.
We order drinks from a waiter with spiky, gelled hair, and then Rebecca tells
me about a new saleswoman at the jewelry store.
"She simply talks too much, and I think she's annoying our
customers."
"Why don't you mention it to her?"
"I'm afraid it would hurt her feelings. She tries so hard and seems so
innocent. I'm afraid if I say anything, she'll start to cry."
"I'm sure she'd get over it."
"Maybe you're right, Dennis. But the truth can be painful."
I think Rebecca's talking about herself. She may be revealing the tip of
our iceberg, the long-ignored emptiness that looms deep within our marriage.
Has she ever wondered about another woman? And what would she think of
Annie? I gulp my whiskey and water and smile into the glass, thinking my
relationship with Annie is almost comical: foot and leg massages, kisses on
the forehead. I finish my drink and picture her lying in bed, with a blanket
pulled up to her chin. This woman is a threat to no one.
The waiter comes back to take our order. For the first time I notice
his right ear is deformed, and I imagine a frightening attack by a rabid dog
with snarling teeth. He reads today's specials off a sheet of paper, and I feel
embarrassed for him. I want to say it's okay. Leave the paper. We can read it
ourselves. I order another drink, and Rebecca wrinkles her nose to show her
disapproval. The waiter offers to take my glass, and I joke that I haven't had
time to lick it clean.
Twenty minutes of empty chitchat follows, and then the waiter brings
out two over-sized plates. I order a third drink, and then Rebecca and I eat
while making brief comments about the garlic mashed potatoes and the
tastiness of our shrimp and swordfish. When our meals are finished, the
waiter stops to offer dessert.
Rebecca smiles. "No thanks. We have something waiting at home."
She slips her hand between my legs and squeezes my thigh. I gasp, and
the waiter turns his head towards another table. He then says he'll bring our
bill, and I allow myself once last look at his ear. I focus on the uncertain
night ahead—Rebecca and I haven't had sex in weeks—and drink the rest of
62 The Desert Between Us