Heart to Heart

So his wife she come over to my place and she make a scene. You doin with my husban? she wanna know. You think I been doin, I sez to her. It my fault if the man wanna come over here? It my fault if the man he crazy for my pussy. All these guys they come here, they jus crazy for the pussy. The matter with you? I axe her. You got a good deal, I sez to her. You got a nice house in the suburbs, I’ll bet. You probbly got a nice car, get to go on nice holidays. You got to get yerself so up about? Of all the nerve, she sez. She wants to know how I can even say such a thing. She say she come from Milwaukee. In Milwaukee people they jus don’t be-have this way, she say. Well pardon me for not comin from Milk-walky, I say. Can I do if your man he crazy for the pussy? It my fault? I’m just a beetch tryin her best to earn a livin. You that all right, she sez. She mean I’m a beetch. Hey, little Miss Beetch-From-Milk-Walky I say to her, the fuck you thinkin you are, comin in here’n talkin to me that way. What give you the right? You fuckin my man’s what give her the right, she say. Well try keepin the guy on a leash I tell that beetch straight. You hear me? Just try keepin your man on a leash, little Miss Beetch-From-Milk-Walky…Then she goan start to cry, don’t she. And you know what, that really gone ruin everythin for me. I just got I coulden stop myself feelin sorry for that beetch. Hey, c’mon, I say to her, I diden mean it when I was sayin to you about you was a beetch from Milk-walky…You don’t wanna go lisnin to me, I say to her. That was jus me talkin, I say. You don’t wanna pay no attention. Hey, lissun, you a bootifool woman. You too good for that stupid bastard anyways, I tell her. You don’t up your ass’n leave him. I put my arm round her, axe if I can get her anythin. She say what like a cup a coffee? No, like a joint or a glass of JD, I say. I’m all out of coffee. Then she get to rilly startin to blub, so I put my arms round her. And you know what, I get that I start to blub iz well…We a funny pair of beetches, I say. You sure I can’t intrest you in a joint? I axe her. No? Maybe a line of coke, then?…But she just keep blubbin like there ain’t never gonna be no end to her tears. I can’t tell you how bad I’s startin to feel. But hey, a girl’s gotta earn a livin, I splain to her. And my pussy the only thing in this whole wide world I got to sell. It my fault guys like her husban they so mad for my pussy? Hey, chin up, I say, could be worse. Leas you got to get the nice big house in the suburbs’n the car’n the nice holidays. All I got’s this dump to live in. Closest thing I ever get to a nice holiday’s a line of coke. Hey, she come back at me, she pay for the nice big house she got in the suburbs’n the nice big car’n the expensive holidays’n evrythin outta her salary. She work hard for a livin, she say, and she deserve evrythin she get. Evry las fuckin cent, she say. She atchully say that, evry las fuckin cent. Her man he a house husban, she say, she the one earn the bread. She a successful lawyer, she say. She gonna see that sonofabitch of a man a hers in court, she say. And she say it like she really mean it. Then she start blubbin all over again…


Nick Sweet‘s stories has appeared in numerous magazines, including Descant, Evergreen Review, Cutthroat, and SN Review. His novels Gemini Games and Winter Trees are available on Amazon.

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