Wasted Beauty Read Online Free PDF Page A

dreck? He finds a swimsuit ad. The babe in the ad has something. She’s looking right at me, slim and pretty. What is that look? What does it mean? Is it just an accident of the moment? Is it real? Is there someone in her life who gets this attention? Could anyone be this deeply passionate? Doubtful. When you meet them, models and famous people never look like their pictures. Always shorter. Grayer. Homelier.
    But this one girl. It’s as if she’s looking right into my heart. Like she wants to penetrate me with her eyes. I guess that’s why they pay her the big bucks. To look like that. Rick squirts a dab of Laura’s hand lotion onto his palm.
    If Laura ever caught me at this, what would she think? How insanely embarrassing would it be to have your own wife catch you choking the chicken while checking out a swimsuit ad in Elle ?
    Dad never felt guilty. Just lived his life. He was married to Mom and then didn’t want to be married anymore, so he fucked around, left her and married his second wife. He’d had kids with Mom and then more kids with his second wife. He earned a living, watched TV, played golf, drank with his buddies and as far as anyone can tell, never had a second thought about anything.
    And here I am at two AM , with my putz in my hand, in the guest bathroom surrounded by embroidered towels and scented soap cakes. Something Dad never would have done. If he wanted some tail, he went out and got it. Probably masturbated two times in his whole life. Doesn’t matter. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Rick hunches over and with hollow fury focuses on the swimsuit girl from Elle . Those eyes. Sad like mine. I know you, baby. I know you. Finally it comes, the energy building. The wrecking ball of orgasm. Rick comes so marvelously and terrifically he moans out loud. Everything disappears for a moment.
    “Daddy?” The bathroom door opens a crack. Rick lets his robe drop closed, draping his erection. He turns, red-faced from the exertion, reading glasses still hanging off his fat, aging nose. “Daddy, I can’t sleep.”
    Kids know when something’s up. They’re attracted by any disturbance, curious, sometimes fatally. Henry stands in the doorway, sleepy eyes adjusting to the fluorescence.
    The canned response pops out of Rick. “What are you doing up?”
    “I was having a nightmare. Why were you shouting?”
    “I wasn’t shouting. Must have been part of your nightmare. Well, maybe you have to pee.” Welcome to the club, kid. The wonderful world of excretion. It rules your life. “Pee. Have a drink of water and I’ll tuck you in.”
    Henry eyes him suspiciously. A picture’s worth a thousand words. “What were you doing, Daddy?”
    “I was reading. I didn’t want to wake your mother.”
    “Oh.” Henry shuffles over to the toilet and turning his back on his father, tugs out his tiny white wiener and blasts a surprisingly strong jet into the limpid pool.
    “OK. All set? Back to bed. I’ll be right there.”
    Henry leaves and Rick snatches an extrasoft facial tissue, collects the coagulating gob and tosses it into the pastel water. Ah yes. Father and son. The passing of the phallic torch. He flushes.

REBA HAS INHERITED THE BUSIEST WINDOW, THE MIDDLE window. Everyone comes to her first. A red-faced elder in pressed overalls hobbles up and passes her a check. His fingers are callused and the backs of his hands speckled with liver spots. She gives him her best smile. “Hello, Mr. Van Pelt, and how are we today?”
    Mr. Van Pelt fondles a beet red boil under his right ear. “Alive.” The parchment skin on his rosy cheeks flakes off like dandruff.
    Reba tries not to stare. “Well, it is a lovely day, that’s for sure.”
    “What’s that got to do with the price of fish?” Van Pelt runs his tongue over his brown teeth.
    “When it’s a nice day out I always think I’m happy to be alive.”
    Van Pelt stares at her with pinhead pupils. “Don’t gimme any fifties. I can’t use the