Pool_2

through, "Yes, I really like the off white doilies. That was a nice choice," as if he really cared. But that was not an issue of honesty but of concession to marital well being. But, somehow, in some way, the deeper unspoken subject was advancing, slowly, by indirection, subtly, but clearly toward him. He couldn't take it anymore. "Mina! What's the point?" What has all this stuff got to do with me? was stamped on his impatient expression. Whack! He asked. "Marcus. Are you sleeping with Shannon?" If he had a bowling ball to his lips it would have been sucked in. "What!? Jesus H. Christ! What the hell is THAT?" "You didn't answer." "NO! Not. Nyent. Nix Didn't ever. Am not. Ain't planning to. Havn't tried and failed. Haven't even thought about it! Holy shit! What's, what's, what is THAT about?" "Just asking." "Oh, right!" but he was looking at her askance as she was doing a coy head bobbling diversion which in female body language says I'm just testing you. But it didn't work. "OK. Who's feeding you this crap?" "Nobody. Well. They whisper and I can't help but hear. I knew you would never do that," but then the zinger, "Right?" sparked him off again. This time the telephone was getting a bit flattened by the emphatic number strikes. "Same toots." "What?" "No matter how hard you hit the buttons, you get the same tones." Marcus grumbled, "ubi uber, ibi tuber," as he misdialed for the third straight time. Mina smiled, "I'm a rose, am I?" to his immediate, "Yes. Aspiring to be a thorn."