The following days were pretty much the same for Marion, Harry and Ty. Harry and Ty got wired at night and worked their asses off, slowing down as much as possible when the other guys got on their cases, and then taking a few sleeping pills and sleeping through the day. Just once being a habit with Harry he was accustomed to the routine by the second night so when he got home in the morning he made love to Marion for a couple of hours before taking a couple of her sleeping pills and crapping out. Now I know why you lose weight on these things, you ball the weight off. You know, its just the opposite for some men. Yeah? Thats right. It makes them completely impotent and in some cases indifferent. Tougha lucka joe. That aint my problem. Comere, and Harry pulled her down on the bed and Marion giggled as he kissed her on the neck. What are you doing? Harry snapped his head back and looked at her, If you dont know I cant be doin it right. They laughed and Harry kissed her on the neck, the shoulder and the breast and moistened his lips and kissed her stomach, I want to see if I can wear it out. Which one? How many ya got? and they both laughed and giggled and passed a loving morning until it was time to sleep the day away.
At night, while Harry was at work, Marion sat on the couch with her sketch pad and pencils and charcoal. She crossed her legs under her and hugged herself and closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift into the future where she and Harry were together, always, and the coffee house was always full and a feature article had been written about it in the NEW YORKER and it became an in place and all the art critics came to sit and drink coffee and eat pastry and look at the paintings by the great artists of tomorrow that had been discovered by Marion; and artists and poets and musicians and writers sat around talking and discussing and from time to time Marion would display her paintings and all the other painters loved them and even the critics loved her work and praised its sensitivity and awareness, and when she was not at the coffee house she could see herself in her studio painting, the light from the paintings dazzling the eye, and then she would pick up her sketch pad and look around for something to sketch and nothing seemed to be exactly what she wanted to do and so she tried to set up a still life with objects from the kitchen or living room, but nothing seemed to excite or inspire her so she went back to her fantasies and enoyed the comfort and reassurance they gave her and they were more real than sitting on the couch looking at the pencils, the charcoal and the virgin sketch pad.
Each day Sara checked the mailbox very carefully, but still no reply from the McDick Corp. But she stuck to the diet anyway, but it was becoming harder and harder even with eating a whole cup of lettuce. She spent the day with Ada and the ladies getting the sun and still they came and asked and she showed them her red hair but still nothing new happened. When the sun went behind the building some of the ladies went in the house, especially those with the reflectors, but Sara and a few others stayed outside enjoying the cool shade. Even then it was not easy to forget about the food and just enjoy the special attention she got as a soon to be contestant on a quiz show, her mind drifting to images of lox and bagels and delicious cheese danish that were so sharp she could smell them and actually taste them and the ladies voices drifted by as she smiled and licked her lips. But the nights were worse as she sat, alone, in her viewing chair, watching the television, with her back to the refrigerator hearing him murmuring to her, spasms of fear knotting her stomach and a heaviness squeezing her chest. It was bad enough him bugging her, but then the herring started too. A couple of yentas already. Never stop. All the time talk, talk. Her ears started to feel like they were under water. I feel good, so why dont you go haunt Maurrie the butcher. Bite his thumbs off. Youll do everybody a favor. — in sour cream with onions and spice, hmmmmmm — I dont hear you—with a hot bialy… or onion roll — I like Kaiser, thank you, and anyway Im not hungry— and that growling in your stomach keeps me awake — growling, schmowling, thats just my stomach thinking thin—and the lox is red like your hair with the cream cheese and bagel — who needs it? One more day and I/ll have a meat patty for lunch and you can drop dead, thank you very much, and Sara drank another glass of water—zophtic, zophtic — and put the glass in the sink and tossed her red head at the refrigerator, shook her tuchis in his face, and went to bed. She was getting up a couple of times a night now and was almost tempted to stop, or maybe cut down, on the water, but she kept thinking of all the pounds that were going down the drain and she continued to drink, drink, drink, water all day long, not too disturbed by the nocturnal visits to the bathroom. But now she was dreaming. Sometimes a couple of dreams in one night. Like seeing chickens flying through her room, but they were neatly plucked and roasted to a golden brown with little balls of kasha on their backs. And then that roast beef. It kept rolling down the hill threatening to crush her but somehow it just whirled by, just missing her by a few inches, dragging behind it a gravy boat filled with rich brown gravy, and bowls of mashed potatoes and chocolate covered cherries with cherry juice filling. A couple nights of dreaming and Sara decided enough already. She got the name of the doctor from her lady friend and made an appointment. I dont know from diet pills, but eggs and grapefruit I/ve had up to here thank you.
Harry had a hollow, sinking feeling in his gut, which was reflected on his face, when Marion told him she was seeing the shrink for dinner and a concert. Why do you have to see him for krists sake. You can cut the son of a bitch loose. I dont want him mentioning to my parents that I have stopped therapy. I want that fifty dollars a week. Marion looked tenderly at Harry and spoke as gently as possible, with feeling and care. Sweetheart, I am not going to sleep with him— Harry shrugged and threw a hand up in the air, Yeah, youre just—I told him I have the curse so hes planning on going home after the concert. Harry tried, desperately, not to show his feelings, but he failed and his chin kept getting lower and lower and he started getting bugged with himself for not being able to stop himself from sulking. Whats that supposed to mean? Marion smiled, then started chuckling slightly hoping to snap Harry out of it, but Harry was unyielding. Suddenly Marion hugged him and squealed with absolute glee, O Harry, youre jealous. Harry halfheartedly tried to push her away, but stopped trying after a moment. Marion kissed him on the cheek and hugged him, Come on sweetheart, put your arms around me… come on… please??? please???? She lifted Harrys arms and placed them on her shoulders and he grudgingly left them there for a moment then did not resist as she pushed them down around her and snuggled into him. Eventually he exerted a little pressure and held her closer and Marion sighed and nestled her head into his chest then kissed him on the lips, the cheek, the ear, the neck and forced him to squirm and giggle, and continued until he was laughing and begging her to stop, Comeon, stop… stop, you crazy bitch or I/ll biteya on the chroat, and he started kissing her on the neck and tickling her and she joined him in laughing and they were both panting and begging the other one to stop until they eventually laughed themselves into submission and they stopped, Marion sitting on Harrys lap, both hanging loose like rag dolls, tears of laughter tickling their cheeks. They wiped their eyes and face and took a couple of deep breaths, breaking out in chuckles from time to time. Suppose he doesnt believe you about the curse? O Harry, tapping him on the nose, dont be so naive. What do you mean? I mean simply that I know how to handle the situation. He will accept whatever I tell him whether he believes me or not. He wouldnt think of forcing the issue. Hes not the type. Suppose he was the type? Then, my dear, I would not be going out with him. Harry sweetheart, I am not a fool. She chuckled, I may be crazy but Im not stupid. Yeah??? Harry looking at her with a dubious expression on his face, Why doesnt he take his wife to the concert? Shes probably at a meeting of the PTA, Marion shrugged, how should I know? He likes to be seen in fashionable places with a beautiful young woman. Hes a typical John. It makes him feel good. Yeah???? Well, personally I think anybody who sees a shrink ought to have his head examined. O Harry, thats dreadful, chuckling, giggling. Then why are you laughing? I dont know. Out of sympathy I guess. Anyway, I have to get ready to go. She got up and started for the bedroom, then turned around and came back to Harry, who had gotten up too, and put her arms around him and hugged him tightly and put her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and sighed… O Harry, Im so glad you were upset, not because it makes you feel bad sweetheart, but it makes me feel good to know that you care that much for me. Care for you? Now whos insulting who, eh? You think I was playing games when I told you I love you? No, no, sweetheart, I believe you. With all my heart I believe you. But I guess I like the way it looks on your face. Okay, okay, we/ll cool it. She smiled up at him for a few long moments, then kissed him on the lips and went to the bedroom to dress, I promise I/ll think of you the entire evening. Thats great. I/ll think of you too eating and drinking wine and listening to the music as Im working my ass off. Harry laughed, I guess thats better than you working your ass off, and he continued laughing. O Harry, thats dreadful, and she chuckled and laughed with relief as she dressed for the evening.