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The Cheat-Clover and Atlas

Anxiety

Feature Photo by Hannah Myers

“Atee, it’s Clover. You got a minute?”

 “Sounds serious, everything okay?”

 “Atee, we need to meet.” The sea breeze forced its way into the telephone booth and beach sand stung her legs.

“I’m fine, but we need to talk.” “Something wrong Clover?” “Nothing’s wrong. Look Atee if I called asking to be laid, would we have this inquiry session? No, we wouldn’t. So, message me a time and place.”

Click! Clover hung up. The phone rang, answered only by the howling wind tossing plastic bags into the air, and discarded coffee cups rolling along the sidewalk. What the hell has got into that woman, Atlas asked himself, shutting his return call down.

The bottle of bourbon stood flanked by two glasses and an ice bucket. Atlas sat in the moth-eaten easy chair; ice crackled as bourbon washed over into the glass. With two criminal cases back-to-back this week, he didn’t need this. What’s gotten into her, so seriously agitated? The purposeful knock at the door barged into his thoughts. Clover stood, her eyes glaring at him. Stepping into the room, she went to the side table and poured herself a double shot, swallowing it in one gulp.

Her behavior stunned Atlas and shaking he topped their glasses. The two sat. “You must have had a really hard time finding this shithole Atee, you’ve never done this before. Open the blinds it’s dingy in here, stinks too.” “We have got to be more discreet if Jessie finds out…” “Oh, your beloved wife of 30 years you mean!” Clover interjected, yelling. “Clover, what’s got into you?” “A baby, that’s what’s got into me, I’m three weeks and counting.” “What are you going to do, get rid of it?” “In one deft movement, Clover slid out of the chair and slapped Atlas across the face. His glass went tumbling onto the carpet; ashen-faced with a visible three-finger imprint on his cheek, Atlas fell back into the chair.  

“You bastard, you want me to kill my child? You’re a psycho. I will never do that! This child will grow up with the best of everything. I think I might even sign for an undergraduate in Cambridge, our child will study law at the best facility. After all, this little one will have two lawyers as parents, won’t that be grand? “What about Jessie?” “I don’t care about Jessie, I have my baby, and Jessie’s yours; the difference is I will not be sharing her costs with you. She may not ever find out about your other floozies, but she will certainly know about this one.”

The door slammed, Atlas went over and sat on the bed, twisting his fingers and then combing them through his hair. “I’m ruined!” He muttered painfully.

To Cheat is like throwing a boomerang, it will always return to you. When your cheat returns to you it will be very hurtful.

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