Hot Stuff En Ingles

Hot stuff
(short story)
Aglaia Bouma
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Aglaia Bouma
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Table of Contents
Hot stuff
About the author
Connect with Aglaia Bouma
More stories by Aglaia Bouma

Hot stuff
In the glowing light her face shows slight fear. Yet she snuggles closer to me.
Absentmindedly rubbing the scar on her forearm she readsone of the leaflets
that were in the mail this afternoon.
“Cheap credit!” headlines one of them. At the bottom it reads in big red
letters: “Apply for our credit program today!”, together with a phone number. I
smoke, while she gets up to close the window in the kitchen. Then she walks
around the sideboard, which is no longer there and turns down the heating. Just
when she comes back to sitwith me, the doorbell rings.
*
Her ex-husband enters the room, the keys to the BMW chinking loudly in his
fingers. He nods at me and says: “Nice,” to her while he sits down on the
couch, his arms broadly over the back. She prefers a chair near me.
“Don’t I get any coffee?” the ex asks, resting an ankle on his knee.
She nods, gets up and walks to the kitchen at the end of the room. Inpassing, she casts a meaningful glance at me, in which, among other things, fear
still can be read. Of course it’s only right that she’s wary, but she shouldn’t
forget that I offer her warmth and coziness too. Moreover, without me there
wouldn’t be a fried chop on her plate tonight.
“How’s what’s-her-name? Your new girlfriend?” She’s scooping coffee in a
filter and doesn’t look at him.
“Marielle?Doing great, she's pregnant.”
Now she looks up. “That's quick.”
“Well, it was an accident. But I don’t mind.”
She throws the coffee back in the tin and starts again counting spoons. Not
until the coffee maker is turned on, she says: “An accident? And you believe
that? She’s a physician!”
That’s what I like about her. Feeding the fire, stirring things up a bit.
Suddenly I burn with desirefor her. The ex shrugs and puts his other ankle on a
knee, then he points to the trickling device: “Why not buy a Senseo? With one
of those, we’d already be drinking coffee.”
“Don’t have the money. I’ve got to buy quite a few things that you’ve taken
with you, remember?”
Her eyes are blazing, but her movements - getting cups, spoons, fresh milk,
sugar and sweeteners - are very calm.
“Then buyanother brand. There are many cheap coffee machines for pads.”
“Low quality ones, probably,” she replies, while the device announces with
one last sigh that it has done its job.
I love her. When I was utterly burned out, it was she who brought me back
to life, fed me and gave me air. In return for this care I keep calm now that she
places the tray with attributes on an inverted cardboardbox, on the spot where
once the coffee table stood. She’s doing fine without me.

“I wanted to talk about the car,” she says as she pours. “One weekend every
other week is far too little. I need it more often to buy new stuff. It's my car
too.”
The ex scoops four sugars. He slowly reddens.
“More often isn’t possible. I need it to drive to work and sometimes I need it
on weekends as well.”“Doesn’t that Marielle of yours own a car?”
“Yes she does, but a grown man can’t be seen in that thing.”
“So you have two cars at your disposal, almost all the time, and I have only
one, occasionally. Is that your idea of share and share alike?” She’s stirring her
coffee like mad. I smoke some more.
“You know what your problem is,” he starts in a scornful voice, “you just
can’t accept that...