Fiction by Pryor-E

Double Gravity


Is monogamy a reasonable litmus test of true love? Is there some vague space in between fidelity and it’s opposite, a land where (if the truth were known) most men and women live? And if your partner trespassed into that awful territory, could you, should you ever forgive?
Eileen wondered about these things as she slumped down in the coffee stained seat of the steel-grey, rapid transit car. Her head throbbed and her throat felt raw. Her brown eyes ached with dryness, as if they’d been tortured by too much windblown sand. Her long brown hair hung straight and damp around her face as she leaned into the window, closing her eyes against her pained reflection. She wanted to sleep but there was not enough time. She had gotten very good at sleeping as a means of escape. But it wouldn’t help her today. She had a job. And when she had to show up for something, well, damn it, she showed up.

That’s what she was doing this morning after that terrible night with Joe. She went to work even though it made her sick to think of all the lies he’d told her. This wasn’t the first time. She was sure of that. She hoped her face wasn’t puffy from crying and the lack of sleep.

Nauseous, nerves jangling like unanswered phones, she plans on running with Jacoby, anyway. Maybe she’s running with him because of how she feels? He will certainly know something is wrong from the moment he walks into the office, bouncing on the thick, springy carpet in front of her desk, big toothy grin on his freckly face, tossing out his usual greeting.

“Hi, Gorgeous.”

“Hi, yourself.” She is not giving him much to go on.

“We goin’ running at lunchtime?”

“Of course,” she answers. “I’m not my best, though.”

“No excuses,” he laughs.

She wants him to ask her about it. She doesn’t want him to ask.

“I had a rough night,” she says. “It’s not an excuse.” She is afraid if she talks about it she will break down. He doesn’t ask. Instead he trots off down the hallway to his own office.


Jacoby is one of those happily married office guys who flirts with everyone, old and young, black and white, good looking or not. All the women love him. She finds him amusing, but there is no attraction there. He is too all American for her tastes. Not her type. Oh no, not her type at all.
No, her type is dark, cavalier, sexy, and a lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch. The hurt and desperation of the previous night have turned to anger and resolve. Her eyes moisten as she thinks about his betrayal. How he has lied to her. “Again,” a little voice whispers in her head. Remembering it, her face flushes hot, right there in the office with the bright orange carpet under her feet. Her stomach summons her attention, queasy and rumbling. With a quiet moan, she turns in her chair to face the young woman working at the desk beside her.

“What’s up?” the other asks, her brows furrowing a bit.

“I need to use the restroom. Will you cover for me?”

They meet at the corner by the YMCA where Jacoby works out, changes clothes and showers after his run. His job allows him to take as much time as he wants. She puts on her shorts and tank top in the “ladies” room at work. There is a shower at the office, but it is in the men’s room so only the guys are supposed to use it. She showers there anyway, slipping in and locking the door behind her. Jacoby and some of the other runners are in on it. The boss hasn’t said anything to her about it. Yet.

Jacoby is shirtless above red nylon shorts. His body is fit and she notices his physical condition almost clinically. It occurs to her that they are standing on the sidewalk together, quite naked with only three pieces of clothing between the two of them, besides the shoes and socks, and she hopes her disinterest in his body, his pale complexion and reddish-blond hair isn’t too transparent. He’s become a friend and confidante to her. She doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. Usually they stretch, then start out slowly, mostly talking about work issues and running. But today, before they have finished the stretching, her bewilderment pours out of her like the cry of a lost child.

“Oh, Jacoby,” she wails, then drops her head into her hands, immediately embarrassed by the sound of it.

“Tell me about it, baby.” Jacoby’s voice sounds solid and sincere. She sees enough genuine concern in his eyes to tempt her to share the details of the previous night. They start running. She thinks it would be better not to tell him, but at the same time the story tumbles out of her, spilling in cadence to their methodical footfalls.

“I caught him. He was fooling around with someone. And he’s still denying it,” she chokes out the words, staccato style, between short, audible breaths.

“Well, if he denies it, how can you be sure?” Jacoby asks, his words slow and measured, as if laying out a logic puzzle for her. Typical engineer mentality, she thinks.

“I know,” she answers defiantly, then grabs another gulp of air. They are running at a good pace and she doesn’t want to get a stitch in her side. She breathes deeply, feeling the air enter her stomach, pushing it out in a forceful exhale. The effort of conscious breathing makes her feel stronger. “I found a woman’s name—Carolyn—and number—a Florida number—in his wallet. Of course he said she was just someone wanting more information about his business. We were fighting and I told him I planned to call her in the morning and ask her.”

“What did he say to that?”

They stop on the corner waiting for a light to change so they can cross the street and continue their run. She notices the dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and that his eyes are not true green, but olive-colored, like army fatigues.

“He got mad,” she says, as they cross the street. “That’s how I know he was lying.”

Joe had gotten more than mad. They’d both been drinking and that made things worse, of course. Her insecurities and neediness ran away with her like a wild beast when she drank too much. Joe grew more intolerant and violent. They’d had a few knockdowns. She remembered a cold night in Chicago when they’d had it out over another woman who couldn’t keep her big, doe eyes off of him. Out in the grimy snow behind a Greek restaurant, it was the slipping and sliding on the ice that kept them from hurting each other as he pushed her and she swung, then hung onto him, sobbing out her jealousy.

Last night he’d been furious with her. A crazy, jealous bitch, he’d called her. This is what he did when she caught him at something. He tried to make her question her intuition, her instincts. According to Joe, he never cheated on her. It was all her imagination.

But, if he hadn’t been lying this time, then she would like to know where he had been at three-o’clock in the morning when she’d called his hotel room over and over again and not gotten an answer. He’d been back east all week on business, while she stayed in the California apartment commuting to her job at this high-tech start-up, run by a pompous, young engineer, named Craft, who thought that if his secretary was unavailable, the next available woman should fetch his coffee for him.


She’d clashed with Craft during the first interview when he asked her how old she was and if she was married, questions she knew were off-base if not illegal in 1979, and although she felt well-qualified to set up his purchasing system for him, she’d stood up, extended her hand and boldly announced, “I’m not sure this is the right fit for either of us,” before the personnel woman escorted her to meet with the other managers, one by one. Surprisingly, she’d liked the other men and by the end of her rounds with them, she decided she wanted the job. Two weeks passed and she heard nothing. She needed a job. Joe’s money seemed to dissipate as quickly as he made it, like water going underground.

Finally, she’d called the personnel manager and asked if they’d filled the job.

“Not yet,” she told her.

“I’ve thought more about it,” she said. “I know Mr. Craft and I didn’t exactly hit it off, but please tell him that I called, that I’ve thought it over, I know I can do what needs to be done there and I’d like to come in and meet with him again.”

The message was conveyed. They met. She stood her ground but expressed a willingness to assist his secretary, if needed. She had the job.

She’d worked there, enviously watching a group of the guys going out for a mid-day run for nearly three months, before being invited to join them. It was Jacoby who’d found out she was also a runner and suggested she could use the shower on the 11th floor. They had started running together on the days when Jacoby was in town, which meant it was sporadic since the engineers often traveled to work sites in other states for two or three days at a time. She envied this life of travel, this jetting around the country on official business. It was the type of job that Joe had, too. It was what she wanted for herself.


By the time they reach the waterfront park she has told Jacoby how Joe got up in the night and pulled the woman’s card from his wallet, destroyed it or hid it elsewhere. She pours out how he actually tried to tell her she’d been mistaken, that the card didn’t exist at all. Reporting this in the mid-day sun, the idea blanches, stark in its ludicrousness. Recounting it to Jacoby, her eyes burn and the muscles in her legs tremble, like when you have just kicked the last half-mile of a race, then slow to a walk. Ambivalence about her situation – How could she stay? How could she go? – pulls her down like double gravity.

Suddenly, she stops running, bending forward at the waist, spitting a little onto the dirt at her feet. At least it is clear, a lady-like spittle, she thinks, wiping her mouth. Jacoby has retraced his steps and she straightens as she feels his hand on her shoulder. He is patting her back in the way one pats a faithful dog.

“You O.K.?” he asks gently. Jacoby is usually boisterous so the gentleness sets her off balance.

“Yeah, I’m O.K,” she answers, drawing and expelling a deep sigh of air.

“You sound a little crazy, if you don’t mind me saying so,” he laughs. He presses his hands onto both of her shoulders, turning her toward him and jostles her a little. His effort makes her smile.

“Of course I’m crazy about him,” she answers. “I’m crazy to be with him, too.” They stare at each other for just a moment before she turns away. “We’d better get back.”


They head back to the office, jogging side-by-side without conversation until they reach the YMCA, where they both lean over, sucking in deep breaths after sprinting the last block.

“Jacoby,” she asks tentatively, straightening her body again. She has an important question for him. She is hoping to find fidelity in his answer. “Do you fool around on your wife when you travel? Have you ever?”

She expects a reassurance from this everyday man who has befriended her. He stares hard into her expectant eyes, as if he knows she is gauging her own situation by his response. As if he knows that with a single word he may save or detonate her world. He kneels down and loosens his shoelaces, then stands up straight in front of her.

“Yeah, I have.”

“Jacoby!” She cries out loud.

The final blow has been lowered. If Jacoby cheats on his sweet wife, it is undeniable that Joe also cheats on her. She looks away and then looks back at him. He reaches out again and places his hands on her shoulders, an anchor. “One plus one does equal two,” he says, as if this explains anything. As if some very simple equation could set her tilting world straight.

“See you later,” she says softly, turning from him. And then, even as she turns, even as she walks away from him, a terrible thought, a bad idea creeps—no, pushes—its way into her consciousness like a warm, dark shadow. She pictures herself in Jacoby’s arms, relaxing with him, warm and secure, gently kissing, feeling safe, comfort enveloping her. Maybe, she thinks.

Her breaths are short and shallow, like they are when she is running hard. She pauses for just a moment when she reaches the mirror-like glass door of the office building and stares at her reflection. There is a look of resolve in her eyes, as if the answer to a very important question has just been realized. With sweating palms, she pushes the door open and steps inside deliberately, knowing where she is going next.

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