Intermission

Time: 12:45pm

The text message from Barbara surprised Ken. She never really texted him during the day, she didn’t care what he did. As long as the chores got done. He wondered how to even respond.

“i’m entertaining the decluttering salesgirl u sent without telling me. don’t worry, i’ll take it seriously,” he typed out. Then he added: “don’t make her suffer because you’re not happy.”

He looked at the text with a mix of pride and guilt, then deleted it and looked up at Raquelle, realizing her supervisor had hung up on her. He felt vaguely offended. She deserved a better supervisor at the very least. But more acutely, he was relieved. It wasn’t a lover that had called her.

For her part, Raquelle didn’t realize at first DH had hung up on him, it happened so quickly. She stood there for a minute waiting for him to say something, then saw that the call had dropped. She knew then that DH had totally lost control of the situation. So what did that mean? She didn’t know if he’d send a heart emoji in five minutes, or what she would do if he didn’t.

The gun was still in the attaché case. She and Ken were still in the kitchen, half-finished mimosas on the counter.

-I’m sorry, Ken said, for what my wife’s put you through.

-What do you mean? Raquelle asked. She was starting to realize Ken apologized a lot, but it still took her by surprise and she answered reactively.

-It’s so silly not to have told me about it. And then to complain about you, he added, sighing with exasperation. And then me, he finally said, grabbing the champagne flute, distracting you from this demo of yours.

-Oh it’s totally fine, Raquelle said, grabbing her own mimosa. This is nice, she said. I don’t get paid on commission actually, she decided to add. That should relax him a little bit.

-Oh that’s too bad, Ken said, swirling his glass.

-Why?

-Well, I was hoping to get the most expensive package.

-Oh, Raquelle said, looking around and gesturing as if she were taking the whole place in, this place wouldn’t need the most expensive package.

-It’s not my money, Ken said with a laugh that held a tinge of bitterness. I don’t mind, he added, as if he didn’t like the tinge of bitterness. What would a decluttering package look like anyway? Ken asked curiously.

Raquelle finished her mimosa.

-I could show you, she said as she put the glass down and turned to go back into the den for her attaché case.

Ken watched her walking away, and saw a little more sway in her step than was there. It was probably the mimosa, he reasoned. He started to follow her but Raquelle turned around and told him to wait.

-I’ll bring the demo out there, she said. She felt resigned but wasn’t sure to what yet. She’d left her phone on the counter and glanced over at it. It had probably been five minutes but she couldn’t tell from that distance. Maybe we could have another drink, she said. She was feeling the first one for sure.

Ken was relieved. The kitchen felt more open. The den was enclosed, and the sofa seemed even more cushy than before and he didn’t trust himself. Another drink would be good.

-How about that watermelon mimosa? Raquelle called over from the den while picking up her briefcase. She could feel the gun slide down to the bottom as she picked it up, remembering to hold it so it would stay under the demo material.

It was a .380 ACP pocket pistol, from a leading American brand. DH assured her it wouldn’t jam, and they’d spent a little bit of time out in the woods so she’d get the hang of using it, even though he kept insisting she wouldn’t have to use it.

She’d prefer not to have to pull it out at all.

She put the attaché case down on the kitchen island counter carefully while Ken pulled the watermelon juice out of the fridge.

-It’s got pulp, which is supposed to make the watermelon mimosa better, Ken explained. Simple syrup is good too, we’ve got some.

Raquelle let out a laugh.

-What’s so funny? Ken asked while closing the fridge.

-It sounds like you’ve imagined a watermelon mimosa before, Raquelle chuckled, watching Ken look through the kitchen cabinets for the simple syrup.

-Guilty as charged, Ken said.

That made Raquelle feel guilty. She glanced down and saw a text message from DH, and her heart stopped when it wasn’t the heart emoji.

“need the pic. put gun 2 kd’s hed and send for bd”

-I’m sorry, Raquelle said, to herself more than anyone else, as she clicked her attaché case open. After all that, the gun was visible immediately but it didn’t matter. Ken couldn’t see into the briefcase from where was standing. He hadn’t even been facing her when she opened it.

-What’s that? Ken asked as he turned back to Raquelle. He had poured the watermelon into fresh champagne flutes and was adding the champagne. Sorry for what? This clutter? Ken laughed as he grabbed the first two flutes to load them into the dishwater. It’s nothing.

-No, not that, Raquelle said with a baleful sigh. This, she said as she pulled her gun from out of the attaché case to show Ken.

-Oh, I don’t care, Ken said as he looked at the gun. It’s cute. I don’t think you need a permit for concealed carry in this state, he added.

That made her blush.

-It is cute, isn’t it? Raquelle blushed as she held it up and posed like one of the girls in a spy flick.

-Barbara hates guns, she won’t let any in the house.

-Do you shoot? Raquelle asked Ken.

-Oh no, never, he said. I just suggested once it might be smart to have a gun in our home. You know, for intruders.

-You’re more likely to be hurt by someone you know, she said.

-She mentioned that actually, Ken said as he passed one of the champagne flutes to Raquelle. She’d me more likely to hurt me than the other way around, he added, regretting how pitiful it sounded as soon as he said it.

-I’m not going to hurt you, Raquelle said.

Great, Ken thought, now she pities me.

-But I do need to point the gun at you, for a pic.

-That’s an aggressive pitch, Ken said, amused at the scenario. I thought you said you don’t get paid on commission?

Raquelle sighed. She didn’t imagine it would be so difficult to communicate what was happening to him.

-No, she said with some exasperation, it’s not part of the pitch. I’m supposed to hold you hostage, she said unenthusiastically, while my, she continued before correcting herself, while the guy on the phone robs your wife’s bank. He’s extorting your wife.

-I see, Ken said, trying to process what he’d heard. Is he your boyfriend?