Plain Gold Ring Pt. 01

"June. Nice to see you." The words are dry with little inflection, and little affection.

June perks up and stands a little straighter. John almost wants to smile at her. "Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Carver. We were just talking about how hot it's been this week."

Melissa turns away without acknowledging June's words and heads for the house, throwing John a significant look.

"Um," he begins, to apologize or to make more nonsensical chatter he isn't sure, but June cuts him off.

"Have a good night, Mr. Carver!" she shouts with too much pep, running across the street with the big dog at her heels.

Melissa is waiting for him when he gets in, pouring herself a large glass of wine. He opens his mouth to shout at her, to demand to know where she's been, but she speaks and what she says stops him cold.

"So, are you fucking that girl now?"

He squints his eyes and cocks his head as if she's spoken in a foreign language. "Are you kidding me?"

"Trying to get back at me? Fuck the youngest legal bitch on the block?"

He laughs as if he can't believe he's standing here partaking in this absurd conversation. "Fuck you, Melissa. Fuck. You. Don't even dare try to make this about me. You disappeared for an entire fucking day, doing God knows what." He reaches for a lamp and flings it towards the wall. The shards explode everywhere, but Melissa only calmly sips her wine. She's never been intimidated by John because they both know he'd never hurt her. She typically watches his tantrums with mild curiosity, like a detached mother.

He can't remember ever being this angry.

"Things need to change, Melissa." He calms himself down, and when he speaks his timbre is back to low and soulful. "Why are you so sulky all the time? We need therapy or we need to just sit down and figure out what's going on here because... I mean, this isn't working, is it? I love you, but Jesus, every day can't be so hard!"

Her eyes run over his body, searching for something. He knows what she's doing: assessing him. Seeing if he's for real this time, like a child who's heard no 10 times but found out it only really means no 4 times. She puts down her wine glass and creeps over to him.

"I was visiting Carrie, remember? You can call her if you don't believe me. We drank too much and I crashed on her couch." Her voice is soft, as if she's trying to lull him to sleep. She's done this before, and he hates how effective it is. "I don't want to fight you, John." She kneels down in front of him. Her manicured nails—french—run up his thighs. "I'm sorry I didn't call."

"Stop touching me."

"Why?" she asks, her head tilted to the side. He hates the goddamn cocky grin curving her pink lips.

"We're having a conversation."

"Right," she whispers, her fingers unbuttoning his fly.

He puts his hand on her head. His fingers sink into that lovely hair. "Melissa, we can't. It doesn't solve anything and I don't want to."

She looks down at his dick, pressing hard against the fabric of his clothes. "You don't want to?"

He can't speak anymore. She's taken the initiative and has slipped her hand into his pants, rubbing her palm against the head of his dick. He hisses and throws his head back.

She yanks his pants and boxers down—with his help, as he's given up, of course—and swallows him down with one eager motion. It's a wonderful blowjob. A familiar blowjob. He knows what she's going to do before she does it. It's not that she's boring, but she doesn't try to throw him any curveballs anymore. She doesn't have to impress him, and she knows that. She knows the tried and true method works.

John knows deep inside that she doesn't want to spice things up and doesn't feel like she needs to, but it's a blowjob and he's not going to let reason get in the way of the little bit of pleasure he gets these days. She cups his balls and runs her tongue down the length of his cock. And then she sucks him deep again and then he knows he's going to come.

It doesn't take long. It's just like a flash, really, like a button he needed to press to reprogram again. Maybe it's like a Valium, he thinks. No matter. He's come down Melissa's throat.

She gets up and runs her hands down her body, but she doesn't seem eager to do anything more. "I'm tired," she says. Gone is her calming, flirtatious voice. She's sated the beast, in her eyes. "I'm going to take a bath, then a nap. I ate already. Want me to order you something?"

He shakes his head slowly, as if underwater.

She shrugs, gives a finger-wave and then goes off to bed.

John feels a mess of emotions. Shame, disappointment, disgust, anger, love.

But he's most ashamed because during that one orgasmic second when your body becomes mindless—when you can't quite control the object you fixate on as the cum spurts from you and the atoms in your brain ignite and explode all over—the face that flashed before his lids was June's.

JUNE

His hand grazes her breast. She knows she should be into this, but she's just not. It's depressing. She's so sexually frustrated, but she can't do it with Tom. Plus they're in his car and it's too small and smells damp. Just not a sexy scene.

Rain pounds on top of his car as his hand lowers.

She pulls away from Tom, not missing the flash of disappointment and frustration in his blue eyes.

"Sorry. I'm just tired tonight."

"You were tired last night, too," he points out, sounding like a bratty schoolboy.

June swallows her sigh.

"Do you still wanna go see the movie?" he asks her, looking out into the dim and hazy parking lot of the theater.

"Sure."

They watch the crappy movie in silence in the little corner they picked out. There aren't many people in the theater. She sees a couple all but fucking a few rows ahead. If Tom wasn't being such a dick, June would point it out to him. And he'd probably get an idea that she wanted to do that, and then she'd have to say no again and it would be an even bigger fight. So she keeps silent, watching them from time to time and envying their passion.

When the movie's over and the lights come back on, June can tell Tom's still mad. She feels a little bad—it has been a while—but she's not in the mood.

She holds her head down as she follows Tom down the steps in the aisle, and that's when she comes face to face with her.

Melissa Carver is wearing a dress; well, a dress is hanging off of her is a better expression. It hasn't been properly zipped. Her hair is a mess, and her makeup is smeared all over her face.

She doesn't recognize the man standing beside Mrs. Carver, tucking his dress shirt into his pants and swinging his eyes from June to Melissa. He's not even cute. He's about Mrs. Carver's height. He's tan with a thick mustache, his face is all sweaty and he looks like he's smoked all his life. And he looks very, very worried.

"June," Melissa eventually says. "I'm... I didn't expect to see you here."

Tom isn't exactly sure what's going on, but he creeps in to listen more closely.

"I bet you didn't," June says mildly. Where the words come from, she doesn't know, but she feels so regal and confident in the face of Mrs. Carver's mess.

Mrs. Carver stands up straighter. "This is not what it looks like."

June wants to punch her. She wants to drag her around by her soft hair and stab her eyes and rip out her tongue. Rage flashes red in her mind and she can feel her hand tightening into a fist. What she wouldn't give to punch Melissa in her smug little face.

Because it is smug. She's caught off guard, but she has no doubt she'll get out of this. She's all polite and contained now, as June vibrates with rage.

Tom takes a hold of June's arm. "June, we gotta go."

"Nice to see you, Mrs. Carver," she manages to ground out.

She feels the woman's eyes on her until she's out of the theater.

Once they're back in the car, Tom turns on her. "What the fuck was that?"

"She's a neighbor of mine. Cheating on her husband."

Tom scoffs. "Oh. Jesus, I thought it was something really fucked up."

June narrows her eyes at him. "That is really fucked up."

Tom nods. "Yeah, but I mean, it doesn't really have anything to do with you so you don't have to worry about it."

"It has everything to do with me!"

Tom turns in his seat. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I can't just ignore that."

Tom rolls his eyes. "It's none of your business. And if the guy doesn't know on his own, then he's a moron. It's a Saturday night...where the fuck else does he think she is?"

She doesn't want to admit that Tom is partly correct. "Just take me home."

He turns the car on, shaking his head. The drive back is quiet. She knows he's pissed; she can feel the angry friction between them as they turn on her block.

She reaches for the handle and Tom stops her, touching her other arm.

"Should I even bother texting you later?"

"No. Don't bother." She yanks her arm away, bolts out of the car and slams the door.

He speeds away before she can even think of a good name to call him.

"Lovers' quarrel?" someone asks.

She's so mad that it takes her brain a moment to figure out where she is and who is speaking to her.

John Carver is standing at the edge of his property, arms crossed and a grin spread across his face.

Oh, God. She's never been a good liar. She's never even been good at withholding the truth. She swallows and takes a deep breath.

"We aren't lovers," she manages to say. "He's an idiot."

"Most of us are, sweetheart."

The endearment is a throwaway. Nothing, really. But it stirs something inside June and she finds herself crossing the street over to him, though she should really be staying the hell away from him.

"I'd agree with that assessment."

She's thinking of him when she says that, and she thinks he knows it. He examines her carefully.

"Everything okay, June?"

She studies that band of gold on his left hand. What a joke.

She opens her mouth to confess, but no words will come. "Yes, sorry," she finally says. She looks away, unable to look him in the eye. "Goodnight, Mr. Carver."

_______________________

Aunt Maggie sits at the kitchen table as June tells her what she saw the night before. She is still and hardly blinking. When June finishes Maggie shakes her head and peers through the blinds at the Carver house.

Once, when June was younger, Aunt Maggie sat her down before one of her tutoring sessions. She called her back and June stomped into the kitchen, one strap of the backpack dangling from her arm.

"I have a session."

"He can wait," she said. She was very serious. June sat immediately. "Mr. Carver is a grown man, June."

June blinked. "Okay."

"I know you have a crush on him."

Her cheeks burned, speaking the truth even as she shook her head.

"It's okay. I think he's pretty cute, too." Maggie offered a small smile. "There's nothing wrong with having a crush on someone like that. The more unattainable a guy is, the more we want him." She hesitated. "But he's a married man, and an older man, too, and I just want you to be on guard. You're 18 and you don't know... a lot about this stuff. I just want you to— Just tell me if he touches you, or flirts with you or something, okay?"

"Jesus, Aunt Maggie!"

Her own cheeks were flushed. "I'm sorry! I just had to say it. And I saw this movie on TV before about this teacher-student relationship and—nevermind, I know you like him and I know he's...fond of you, too, and it's just important for me to get that out there! And we're going to have a sex talk tonight, too. We're overdue. I just looked at you today and thought whoa. You're this woman all of a sudden."

"I know about sex."

Maggie relaxed and smiled one of her smiles. "Humor me."

Later that night Maggie explained a lot of things June's friends left out, and illuminated a lot of things they had yet to learn.

Now, many years later, Maggie is sitting in the same exact position as that day, and they're talking about the Carvers once again, only she's pregnant and cranky. And she probably still knows June has more than neighborly feelings for John Carver.

"I can't say I'm surprised."

June tries to get a glimpse of the house. "Do you think he knows?"

Maggie looks back at her. "I have no idea."

"Do I tell him?"

Maggie takes a deep breath. "I never know what to do in these situations."

Sam comes into the kitchen. They've been married a little over two years and it still takes June by surprise when he enters a room.

"What's up?"

"Junie caught Melissa Carver out with another man."

Sam pours himself a glass of water and looks over at June. He's a serious-looking guy, which always comes as a surprise when you find out he has a wicked sense of humor.

"Really? Doing what?"

"Sam, that's not the point!" Maggie is smiling, though.

"Um, yes it is. If they were playing checkers, I doubt the two of you would be whispering in here like this. So, again—what were they doing? Like, did you walk into a room and they were—"

"I saw them making out," June interrupts. "In the movie theater. A little bit more than making out, maybe. A lot more, I think, if his sweating and panting were anything to go by."

Both make a face.

Sam puts his glass down and whistles in disbelief. "Wow. I never pegged her as the type."

"What?" Maggie snorts. "I could sniff her out a mile away."

"Yes, yes, you are brilliant. But I do know what kind of woman she is. I just never anticipated her acting on it."

"Me either," Maggie agrees.

The two of them exchange a look June can't fathom.

"Should I tell him, Sam?"

He joins Maggie at the table and stares down into his water. "I've always held the belief that you should mind your own business when it comes to these things. I would advise you to do the same, sweetheart. Sometimes we think we're doing someone a favor. Sometimes we think we're helping someone out. Instead, all we get is a lot of heartache and a ton of trouble. Always comes back to bite you in the ass."

"Don't you think he should know? I would want to know!"

"No. I can honestly tell you he doesn't want to know. He loves that woman."

Maggie looks from Sam to me and back. "Sam—"

"He loves that woman," he repeats. "He thinks she's Cleopatra. You'd break his heart if you told him, but he'd never leave her. You'd just end up making him miserable for the rest of his life."

"Sam!" Maggie hisses. "Don't put that on her! She's not the one going out, cheating on her husband."

Sam rolls his eyes and stands. "I should know better than getting into it with you two. I can't ever win." He gives June a grin and turns to leave, but then comes back with a more serious expression. "He'll find out in time, June. Believe me. Stay out of it, for your own good."

________________________________

But June's never been known for doing things for her own good. She's forever getting mixed up in other people's problems. Really by now she should have learned her lesson, but she hasn't, unfortunately.

The next morning Mr. Carver is reading the paper on his stoop. She doesn't know where Melissa is, but her red car is absent. She's probably off fucking the John Waters lookalike.

Mr. Carver looks up from his paper. He doesn't smile at first; his eyes travel slowly up June's body. Her heart speeds up, because she knows that look. Desire. Then he gives her a slow smile.

"Mornin', June. You're up early today."

"Mr. Carver, can we—"

"John!" he laughs.

"John," she repeats distractedly. "Can we talk?"

"Need help with something?" he asks, more serious now.

June looks around the neighborhood. Some people are mowing their lawns, or gardening. Kids are playing with chalk on their driveways, or sprinklers are out and kids squeal as they run through the spray.

"Can I come inside?"

She thinks she catches him swallow. But then he smiles—definitely a forced smile—and says, "Sure."

She follows him into the house, so obviously decorated by Melissa. Everything is red and gold. Ornate. Ostentatious.

He points to the sofa and he collapses in the recliner, the one piece of furniture she can imagine he insisted on having.

Give me one thing, Melissa, she imagines him pleading.

"Are you looking for advice? Or...Are you okay, June?" He thinks for a minute. "Did that guy from the other night hurt you? Because—"

"Your wife is having an affair."

She blurts it. Just like a band-aid, she thinks, that trite saying. It's not true. It's a fucking lie, and she hates that expression. She wants to kick the testicles of whoever came up with it, or punch her in the tit if it was a woman. Because the pain, the burn of this will sting for a great, extended, long period of time.

John's face is frozen, lips open to say something that had died on his tongue once June gave him the news.

He tries to swallow several times. She is terrified he is going to hyperventilate or have a heart-attack, or worse—start crying. He is so still that it frightens her.

"John?"

He swallows again. "How do you know?"

His voice is low. Purposeful.

"I saw it. Them. At the movies last night. They were...during the movie."

His head bends and he seems to be examining the carpet. "And you're sure it was Melissa."

"Yes. We even spoke. She said it wasn't what it looked like but... I'd been watching them. For most of the movie. I didn't realize until the end."

His eyes close.

"Who was the man?"

"I don't know. Tall. Thin, with a mustache. Kinda older."

He's not really listening. They are quiet for what feels like hours. Eventually June can't handle it anymore.

"John, I'm sorry. I didn't know what to—"

"Thank you, June. Thank you for telling me," he says flatly without looking up. He speaks the words as if he is reading them off a piece of paper. "Would you mind if I went up for a nap? I think I need to lie down."

"No. No, of course not." She stands and is nearly to the door before she turns around and finds John in exactly the same position. "Mr.—John. You're not going to do anything to hurt yourself, are you? I mean, are you okay?"

He looks up, as if forgetting where he is and what he is doing. His eyes can't focus on her. They swing around the room, as if the answer for what's happened is just lying around somewhere.

"No. I mean, yes. I'm okay. Don't worry about me. Thank you."

Slowly June leaves, hoping he'll call her back.

John

Are there proper words to explain what he's feeling now? If there are, he doesn't know them. He's loved Melissa for years, and through so much. They've loved and kissed and cried and held one another. They've celebrated Christmases and birthdays.

They've lived a life together.

He wishes he knew what to do.

Does he call a friend? They won't understand. They'll offer sympathy. Maybe they'll feel it. But it's too humiliating.

Poor guy, they'll think.

What a fucking tool. Didn't even know, another might think.

He can't bear it. Doesn't even want to talk about it.

Should he call his dad, who never liked her, and say, "Here is your proof!"

Should he cry? Crumble into pieces?

He's sitting in the chair. He can still smell June's perfume.

Coming from anyone else, he might not have believed them.

You're mistaken, he'd have laughed. Couldn't have been her. Ha ha. Get your eyes checked, man.

But June? June he believes.

Melissa walks in a few hours later, sunglasses hiked up on the top of her head. She eyes him in his seat, takes note of his dejected pose.