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Novels by Mary Marcus
New on the Blog
Warning: sex is on the line.
There it was, on the little message area of Facebook, my first request for on line sex. “Online only,” the perp has keyed. The perp has a made up name, and, I’m fairly certain, a fraudulent picture. The name is generic as all hell, and the image he posts of himself is beefcake on a motorcycle. Here’s part of what he wrote: “Online only, safe fun and I am going to make you cum.” Ha, ha, very clever. The English teacher in me wants to scold him: “incorrect usage of cum which refers to excretions not a physiological response.” But of course, I’m not going to write him back. In the note before that, one I didn’t answer either, he told me I was pretty, he told me I was hot. And I wonder how many of these he puts out there a day. A president of a big advertising agency I used to work for, always made a play for the new girls on their very first day at work. (Yes, if that doesn’t date me, I don’t know what does!) One was called in to the big guy’s office at the end of the day, one was offered a drink, and was told in rather plain unromantic language, what would happen if one said yes, which was getting to work on the best accounts, a front office, higher Christmas bonuses, the list went on…and I had thought the guy was sort of sexy when I got hired. Before, the astonishing, though not surprising power play. I was living with my husband in those days, who was my...Well Behaved Dog
A snow-white Pit Bull with a metal chain leash that gleams in the hot southern California sun is just across the street. I watch as the dog sits down on the curb the way well behaved dogs are supposed to. His master is all in white too. He’s a pumped up youngish guy with really nice arms. Something is gleaming around his neck. Henry and I are standing outside the house. We’d been out just a half an hour before this, but moments ago, I found him at the front door, as if to say, “I can’t hold it in another second!” Sometimes he doesn’t, so I am, to say the least, rather well trained to meet his demands. Now that we’re out again, he doesn’t want to walk or relieve himself. He just wants to sit and watch the people go by. He wants to bark at the skateboarders. He wants to ingratiate himself with the random someone or other who pleases him. And there’s absolutely no way of predicting who that will be, though usually the someone will be pretty and young. Henry is a real chick magnet. And if he’s at the beach he goes right for the cleavage. I see the guy in white is moving the arm that’s holding the leash and the pit promptly getting to his feet. By now Henry is barking his little head off. Jumping up and down and biting the leash. And I’m embarrassed, especially in front of this well-trained Pit Bull. They are heading toward us now, the guy in white and the snow-white pit. Henry is pulling...Gratitude
It is December 30 and I am in a terrible mood. Lots of noise outside at home. Hard to work. Traffic so bad, I can’t just escape and go to yoga. Henry looking at me reproachfully if I don’t take him with me every time I leave the house. Gridlock reigns on the street I take to the Whole Foods where I’ll be ripped off as I am several times a week and maybe more today because I’m buying all the ingredients for the stuff I’m bringing to various parties. The Whole Foods parking lot is so crammed full of upscale automobiles they’ve hired two people to direct traffic. Things wouldn’t be so bad if I could just walk to the damn Whole Foods market where I spend all our money. Shoulders hunched over the wheel, a couple of hundred dollars poorer, I’m driving home when I see him: he’s got to be homeless because only a homeless person would eat a plate a food off the top of the newspaper box. I also wonder how long newspaper boxes will be on the sidewalks. When will they go the way of the phone box? This is on the corner of Olympic and Barrington where he’s finishing his lunch. There’s a bone of some kind and he’s lifting the last piece of bread to his lips. He’s smiling. He’s so happy. He’s grateful for the plate of food. And I get it suddenly, I get it long and hard and it’s now January 2 and I still get it. Mary Marcus, quit complaining about stuff that doesn’t matter. Count your...
The New Me
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