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Your cheatin’ Heart Attack

Kent Robinson

    Wake up, George! Wake up, God damn it! C’mon, wake up, don’t die on me now! Fuck! GEORGE, WAKE UP, YOU ROTTEN ASSHOLE!
    First you slept with that God-awful Hanley woman. After that it was Deanna Smears, the town’s No. 1 harlot. Here lately it’s been Leslie Carlton. Okay, she at least manages to maintain a fairly classy reputation in spite of her sexual peccadilloes, which, from what I’ve heard, straddle both sides of the fence, if you know what I mean.
    I’m classy, too, George. I think you finally came to your senses on that point. But if you think you’re going to die of a heart attack our first night back together, you’ve got another think coming.
    Christ Almighty, from what I’ve been hearing, it sounds like you’ve spent most of the last eighteen months having sex with other women. You ought to be in terrific shape!
    George, George, for Christ’s sake, wake up, wake up, C’MON!
    Where are the damn paramedics when you need them?
    This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair at all. I worked hard to get you back. A lot of women in my position would have said to hell with you. But I was willing to turn the other cheek. And now — now — this!
    I know men sometimes stray. It’s in their nature, I guess. I tried to be a forgiving sort, tried to keep us together. Who wants to go through the hassle of a fuckin’ divorce? We can patch things up. So don’t check out on me now, blast it! Not after what you told me.
    I took a night class on oral sex offered at the college. We had to suck on chilled cucumbers, for God’s sake! And I paid a pole dancer slash stripper to teach me a lot of her tricks. Then, just today, I went out and bought this sleazy black lingerie outfit and got myself all decked out for you. Garters! High heels! Skimpy panties and bra! I could tell by the hungry leer that appeared on your face when you first walked in the door that I’d played my cards right. Well, if wearing this getup and behaving like a whore is what it takes to win you back from Leslie Carlton, then that’s what I’ll do.
    Why didn’t you tell me black lingerie was your preference for a woman in bed? Your thing! I had to find out about it through a third party. Gawd! Can you possibly imagine my embarrassment? I could feel myself turning redder than the beets at the Ralph’s store where I heard it.
    And speaking of feeling myself, I even took a masturbation course — “to make friends with, and become more comfortable with,” my own body, as the instructor put it. And now I definitely am friends with my body. I am! More than ever! As comfy as a cow in a pasture! I mean, look at me in these garters. I could tell you were turned on by the way they make my exposed thighs bulge out in an even shapelier manner. And big, solid tits. These puppies will barely stay confined. Why you ever ran away from this juicy package is hard for me to fathom. Hell, I like myself so much dressed this way that I was almost ready to use some self-pleasure techniques I learned. But I knew you were coming by, so I managed to restrain myself.
    Ooh! Restraining myself. Now there’s one I forgot: I engaged in some bondage sessions with a dominatrix. Imagine that — a real-life dominatrix right here in town! Eventually tonight I was going to break out the handcuffs and the ball and gag. Just think, George, five feet ten inches of scantily clad, squirming female flesh helplessly bound and cruelly silenced for you to torment.
    Yes, George, I’ve been a busy girl, a very busy girl. And it’s all been for you. For us! So wake up, George, for crying out loud, oh, please, George, please wake up and tell me where you hid that FUCKING LOTTERY TICKET!
    You can’t die now, George; not after teasing me with a big surprise like that. You’re right, it’ll help reunite us. Without a doubt! Two hundred and forty million dollars would reunite anybody. But, listen, the ticket is not in your pants pocket, because I already looked. You must have been confused. Or do you mean another pair of pants somewhere else?
    I checked, and the ticket isn’t in your wallet, either. Is it in your truck? In a safe-deposit box?
    Finally! The paramedics.

#    #    #

    Gentlemen! Thank God you’re here. Come in, please come in. Hurry! It’s my husband — he’s in the bedroom. I think he’s had a heart attack.
    Medications? Well, I don’t know of any, but I haven’t been living with him for more than a year. He used to take an Anacin every morning; that’s all I can remember. See, we’ve had some — some marital difficulties. He’s been sleeping elsewhere, if you know what I mean. Darn it, tonight was when we were gonna see if we could make a go of it all over again! I took a bunch of sex classes and cooked him his favorite meal this evening, chicken and dumplings, and I bought this real slutty-looking lingerie garb and wore it the entire time to turn him on and — and — what?
    Oh, my God, yes, this slutty outfit! I’m sorry, in all the excitement I forgot to throw on a robe or something. I — I — please, don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t make a habit of dressing up in stuff like this and parading around in front of strange men. I — oh, shit, I’m so embarrassed!
    What about George? Is he — is he — ? His age? Um, he’s forty-two — no, forty-three years old, his last birthday would’ve been two months ago, in August. He’s forty-three, and I’m thirty-six.
    What was he doing? Well, obviously, he was in bed, we were in bed, and I was on top of him. We were kissing, and he was — he was feeling me up and getting pretty hot and bothered, and he whispered in my ear that he had a big surprise for me, and I thought, you know, he was just talking dirty or something, because I could feel how swollen he’d become inside his boxers. And then he told me what it was, what the big surprise was, but — but — and then this happened. He groaned real loudly, and the sweat on his body seemed to get awfully cold, and his eyes bulged out for a few seconds, and he suddenly lost consciousness. That was about twenty minutes ago. I think he stopped breathing, too. I tried pounding on his chest to revive him, but it didn’t help.
    Yes, I realize this is the kind of situation in which a person would be better off knowing CPR. But I don’t know CPR, so I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is. Should you be focused on my lack of CPR knowledge at this moment, or should you be trying to save my husband? I realize they’re working on him, but what are you doing? You’re just standing there talking to me and gawking at my big tits.
    No, George doesn’t have a history of heart attacks. No congenital defects. Doesn’t smoke or do drugs, drinks a beer once in a while... He’s always been as healthy as a horse. He works construction, and as you can see, he uses his muscles a great deal. Look at that physique! He looks like he ought to live to be a hundred. You can understand why other women were attracted to him.
    What’s wrong? You’re — you’re stopping...
    He’s dead? You’re pronouncing him dead? I don’t believe it. Are you serious? My forty-three-year-old, looks-like-Superman husband is dead? How can that be? Are you sure you did everything you could? Oh...oh — !

#    #    #

    Hello, Leslie? Leslie Carlton? This is Jackie Walker. I was reminded that I wanted to call you when I read that story in today’s paper about you purchasing the winning lottery ticket. Congratulations! Two hundred and forty mil! Wow! That’ll pay for a few collagen treatments, huh?
    No, listen, look — look, I realize my husband was a very handsome man, and you weren’t the only woman he slept with after he and I started having troubles, believe you me. So I, I don’t hold a thing against you, and I wanted you to know that. After all, we shop at the same supermarket, we see each other at the post office or the movie theater every now and then... I just don’t want there to be this thing between us, you know what I mean?
    Good! Good! Well, listen, I feel a whole lot better just hearing you say that. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. But I do have two questions.
    First, I’ve been rounding up George’s things to auction off, and I noticed some of his clothes are missing. Did he happen to leave any pants over at your place? No? I mean, you were the last woman he fooled around with, so I just thought, you know... All right, if you say so. Maybe he threw them out.
    Second, I’ve heard stories about you. And frankly, I’ve experienced an awakening of my own in the past year. You know what I’m talking about? Are we on the same wavelength here? I could introduce you to a dominatrix who would really rock your world. And I was wondering... You think the two of us might get together some night? Go out on the town? I mean, c’mon, we’d just be two single girls, roughly the same age, out for an evening of dancing and fun. And afterward...afterward... Well, I recently bought this black lingerie outfit. I look fabulous in it. It’s to die for.

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