Old City Hall Read Online Free PDF Page B

loafers and examined their shine. They needed buffing. That would cost him two or three minutes.
    Putting on his shirt, he did up his tie, then slipped on his pants and selected one of his favorite belts. Burnished brown leather with a simple brushed-metal buckle. When Fernandez was called to the bar, he had purchased a men’s fashion encyclopedia, and it counseled that a belt should be done up to the third notch. He pulled his belt on and tried to get it to the well-worn line after the third hole. But this morning it felt tight. It took him a moment to realize he had to suck in his stomach to do the belt up.
    Alarmed, he lifted his shirt and examined himself in the full-length mirror. Sure enough, his thin waistline had expanded. This was unbelievable. He’d always looked askance at the other male lawyers in his office, fat bellies overhanging their leatherette belts. That was it, he swore to himself, no more cheap sandwiches, no more eating doughnuts from the inevitable pack that got passed around the Crown’s office at the end of the day.
    Finally dressed, he emerged into the half-light of the bedroom. The illuminated clock radio beside the bed read 6:18. Two minutes ahead of schedule. Marissa had stirred in her sleep and rolled over. The sheet slid down, exposing the top part of her right breast.
    Fernandez tiptoed to the edge of the bed and bent to kiss her hair. His eyes drifted down toward the rise in the sheets. Even though he saw his wife naked all the time, he still found himself sneaking looks at her body at just about every opportunity.
    A warm hand touched his thigh. “You are not happy in my ironing,” Marissa said, her voice hoarse with sleep.
    His tsk-tsking must have been overheard. “
With
my ironing,” he corrected her. “Yes, it needs work.”
    Marissa’s hand fell away from his leg.
    Damn it, he thought. He kept making the same mistake. Hidden in his closet between two folded sweaters was a book he read on Tuesday nights when Marissa went to her English as a second language classes. It was called
Marriage Survival Guide: How to Get Past the First Years.
One of the key things it said, over and over again, was don’t be too critical, support your spouse.
    “But I’m sure you will get better,” he said, reaching for her arm.
    “I need to get the iron more hot, no?” she asked. Her hand came back up again and lightly caressed his pant leg.
    “Yes, hotter,” he said. “It’s difficult.”
    Marissa’s warm lips parted in a tentative smile.
    “And to press more hard,” she said. As she spoke she began to rub her hand up, then down, his leg.
    “
Harder
. See how fast you are learning.”
    “Hotter and harder,” she said as she pulled her other hand out from under the covers and began to rub his thigh.
    Despite himself, Fernandez lifted his eyes to the digital clock radio on the far side of the bed. The time was 6:26. Now he was a minute behind schedule. Without the early-bird parking, it was another four dollars.
    Marissa wet her lips with her tongue. She rolled over toward him and put her hands on his belt buckle. I wonder if she noticed the extra notch, he thought as she undid it.
    He took his eyes off the clock. You deserve this, Albert, he told himself. He was always the first lawyer in the office. So what if, for one day, he was the second or third.
    Marissa tugged at his pants.
    After all, he could skip lunch to make up the four dollars. And that way he’d lose a bit of weight. She reached for his hand and lay back, bringing it to the top of her chest. Her hardening nipple rose to the soft skin of his palm. She kept moving his hand lower as she elevated her hips to meet his fingers.
    His belt undone, his pants and then his boxer shorts brought down below his knees, she reached around his back.
    For the last few months Marissa had been complaining. “Albert, you leave too early every morning,” she’d said. “And home so late.”
    “It’s important,” he’d explained to her.