“You call waging an illegal, immoral war law and order!” Llona slid her hand lower, under his belt, until the fingertips grazed the hair of his groin.
“It’s a war to stop Communism! If we don’t stop them now, we’ll be fighting on our own soil!” He stripped off Llona’s blouse and skirt.
“That’s Stone Age thinking. Haven’t you ever heard of co-existence?” Llona opened his belt, unzipped his pants, and let them fall.
“You can’t co-exist with the Communists! They won’t stop until they conquer the whole world!” He stepped out of his pants and removed Llona’s shoes and bra.
“Communism’s not some monolithic monster! And we can co-exist. We co-exist with Yugoslavia, and they’re Communist.” Llona removed his shirt and bit the nape of his neck.
“You people didn’t learn anything from Munich!” He kicked off his shoes and socks.
“And you people didn’t learn anything from the Nazi takeover of Germany. The first thing they did was suppress dissent!” Llona reached inside his jockey shorts and reassured herself that he was ready.
“You call it dissent! I call it treason!” He shipped off her panties and laid her down nude on the X-ray table.
“You’re the ones who are traitors! You’re betraying everything this country is supposed to stand for!” Llona watched him pull off the jockey shorts and her legs fell apart to admit him as he climbed onto the X-ray table.
Verbally, the argument ceased as they made love. But even while they were so engaged it continued in their heads, interior monologues buttressing each of their positions. Their bodies moved in rhythm, but their thoughts, stemming from their convictions, were worlds apart.
Llona’s thoughts were jumping ahead to her next meeting with Archer. What would it be like? Would he be as adamant about the divorce, as eager to shuck her in favor of Shirley Simpell as he had the previous evening? She supposed he would. But now she knew something Archer didn’t know. Knowing it, what should her attitude be? Gasping for breath, mounting to their mutual climax, Llona’s mind reverted to the most simplistic form of the question: Can this marriage be saved?
She wasn’t long in finding out the answer. Once their passion was spent, she and the doctor had precious little to say to each other. “Hopeless hawk!” Llona pulled on her bra and panties. “Commie symp!” The doctor adjusted his jockey shorts. A few moments later they parted with a snarl.
Archer was in the backyard when Llona arrived home. He was picking through the pile of extra tiles which they’d never gotten around to removing from the patio. He started guiltily at the sound of Llona’s voice.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I was getting together some tiles for Shirley,” he confessed, caught in the act, blurting it out. “I didn’t think you’d mind. I mean, we—that is, you--have no use for them. And she wants to tile her front walk.”
“Why are you taking the ones with letters?” Llona wondered, noticing.
“Uh, she wants to spell out a slogan.” Archer had the good grace to hang his head. “LOVE AMERICA, OR LEAVE IT.”
“That’s what I like about you, Archer,” Llona commented sweetly. “You’re a man of firm principle . . . who’ll go whichever way the wind blows the perfume.” Only the wind would soon be blowing Shirley Simpell’s perfume clear out of the picture, Llona reflected. A sudden gale was coming up, blowing Deathwards.
What then? Why, Archer would waft right back and settle into the home nest like a leaf come to rest. But did she want him? He was a philandering, bumbling, emotionally unstable bastard! But she wanted him all right. With it all, Llona had to admit to herself that she loved the simp even with his see-saw libido. She’d take him back. They’d live happily ever after. She’d live happily ever after -- making Archer pay . . . and pay . . . and pay!
“What are you smiling about?” Archer asked. “Don’t you realize our marriage has broken up? I’m leaving you for another woman! That’s nothing to smile about!”
“Isn’t it?” Llona kept smiling. “Isn’t it, Archer?” And the question flashed through her mind again: Can this marriage be saved? The answer, Llona knew, was simply that —
There’s more than one way to skin a cat!