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Show Motherlunge a novel 172 slinked around the campus of buildings owned by Pavia's company and it was so varied and relentlessly specific in its suggestions-each fully illustrated and importantly titled, e.g., the Chest Dip, the Oblique Crunch, the Extended Calf Press-up-it was their corporate kama sutra. "That's just it," Pavia said, her voice small. "He helped her do station 5." "Lifted her up?" From the phone came only Uruguay/ Barry White. Uruguay/ Barry White. Uruguay/ Barry White. "That asshole," I said. The grey fabric lining the walls of my cubicle seemed to reach its tiny polyester fibers toward me like the strands of a web. "Well, look," I said quickly. "Where are you guys, anyway? I mean, were you thinking-ah-were you thinking divorce?" Uruguay/ Barry White. "In case you haven't noticed, Thea, I haven't had a lot of time for measured conclusions. I just had a baby." My sister's voice rang with the musical tones of mild hysteria. "You know what I was doing? I was, you know, trying to be fair. Remember fair?" "I guess," I said. "Yeah." "So now he's going to file for divorce, and I'm going to be a single mom, and there won't be anyone-anyone-who cares when Xavier sits up by himself or if he..." an.d she began to cry. ".. .If he can pick up a Cheerio with his thumb and pointer finger." "I care," I said, and then with the special emphasis that only doubt can provide, "I really do!" |