Morality Is For Sissies

“Just nicking out to get the groceries!” I wrapped a scarf around my neck and shrugged into my favorite jacket with the fur-lined hood.  

Blaine appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a mug in one hand.  “Got cash?”  

“As good as.”  I smiled, stood on tip-toe to kiss him on the lips, and stepped outside.  I paused a moment to admire the way my breath misted the frozen air, then struck up a brisk trot to the supermarket.

I loved the snow, but it was a relief to step into the warm interior of the supermarket.  I grabbed a cart, threw my scarf and jacket into it, and set off up the biscuit aisle.  

“Anna!”  I laughed as a pair of strong arms caught me at the end of the aisle and whirled me around.  

“Put me down, Tom.” I thumped him playfully on the shoulder.  

He set my feet back on the ground, looking nervously down the aisle behind me.  “Is Blaine with you?”

“No, he’s at home.” I licked my lips, and looked up at him with mischievous eyes.  “Why?”

Two minutes later, we were pressed against the wall of a back store-room, lips locked together, hands frantically exploring every inch of each other.

                                                                  * * *

Half an hour later, I stuffed my disheveled hair back under my hat, and checked both ways before stepping back out of the storeroom.  

“Catch you later, Anna.”  Tom smiled his irresistible smile and disappeared up the potato aisle.  

Making no effort to hide my satisfied smile, I retrieved my shopping art and continued shopping.  In the coffee aisle, there was a two-for-one special on Peter Andre Coffee–Blaine’s favorite.

“Yes!  Last one,” exclaimed a red-haired woman, placing the last box in her cart.  

I felled her with a left hook, grabbed the coffee, and headed for the checkout.  The shopper in front of me was giving the cashier a hard time.  In fact, he was screaming so hard, he was blue in the face.  

Then the cashier wrapped a spare cart-strap around his neck and pulled, and he went really blue in the face.  I stepped over his lifeless body and placed my purchases on the counter.

“That’ll be $81.76.”  I ignored her, placing the bags back in the cart and starting for the exit.  

“Hey!  You can’t–” I whirled, drew my long-barreled six-shooter, and put two through her forehead.  There was a split-second of silence, as people stopped to look, and then they turned back to their business, and I went home.

                                                                 * * *

“Yeah!  Peter Andre Coffee!  My favorite.”  Blaine leaned down to plant a kiss on my cheek.  

I was already pulling the groceries out of the bags and stuffing them into the pantry as fast as I could.  

“S’up, babe?” Blaine looked on in bemusement.  

“I have dance class in a half-hour.  It’s Wednesday, remember?”

                                                                   * * *

I strapped on my silver heels and performed a few experimental twirls in front of the dance studio’s floor-to-ceiling mirrors.  I loved to dance.  More to the point, I loved to look at myself in the mirror as I danced.  

“Do we have any first-timers tonight?” Mr. Twiggs looked enthusiastically around the class.  Two hands rose tentatively into the air.  A guy and a girl.

“Right.” Mr. Twigg looked them over.  “You–?” he pointed at the girl.

“Michelle,” she supplied, helpfully.

“Michelle.  You can dance with Brian over there.  He’ll show you the basic steps.”  I stifled a snicker.  Brian was a brilliant dancer–and a hopeless geek.

“And you...”

“Robbie.”

“You dance with Anna.”

I switched on my thousand-watt smile as Robbie made his way over.  He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a mop of coffee-colored hair atop a finely-chiseled face.   Score!

“I’m Robbie.”  He extended a hand; confident but polite.

Within a half-hour, we were swooping across the floor together.  He proved to be a quick study.  “You’re a natural.” I positively beamed up at him.

We chatted amiably over our water bottles as the class wrapped up.  Cute, blonde Michelle bobbed over and slipped an arm possessively through one of Robbie’s.  

“Hi!  You’re Anna, right?” She raised one hand and gave me a little wave.  “Michelle.  I was watching you guys before.  You are such a good dancer.”

“I’ve been taking lessons for awhile.”  I shrugged it off with a load of false modesty.

“Really?” Her face fell slightly.  “How long will it take me to learn to dance like that?”

I shrugged.  “Depends how hard you’re planning to practice.  And whether you have any natural ability at all.”  An idea formed in my mind.  “But I could help you learn faster.”

“Really?” I had the sudden impression of a dog perking up its ears at the crinkling sound of the dog-food bag.

“Yeah, totally.  You guys should come over my place, and I could give you some extra coaching.”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure!  It’ll be fun.”

“Awesome.”  It was Robbie who spoke, smiling down at me with hungry eyes.

                                                                    * * *

Robbie and Michelle came over every afternoon for the next week.  I spent as much time as possible “demonstrating” the dance steps with Robbie, while Michelle looked on.  And then, Friday afternoon, Robbie turned up alone.

“Where’s Michelle?”

“She’s not feeling well.”

“Oh.  That’s too bad.”

“Yeah.”  He followed me into the living room.  “That Blaine guy is still at work, right?”

I shut the door behind us.  “Yeah.  Yeah, he is...” I barely got to finish the sentence before Robbie had both arms around me and we hit the floor.

                                                                 * * *

From then on, Michelle would be mysteriously “ill” at least once a week.  Everything was going beautifully.  

Until one unexpected Thursday afternoon when the living room door crashed open.

“Tom!” I gave a yelp that was half surprise, half fright, and pulled away from Robbie as though I’d been burnt, scrabbling madly at my shirt buttons.  “It’s not Wednesday!  What the hell are you doing here?”

“So it’s true.” His face was twisted into a grimace of anger and pain.  

“Oh, come on, Tom.  You know I love you.  I still see you every week, don’t I?”  I felt the first stirring of exasperation.  

“Yeah?  And how often do you see him?”  From out of nowhere, Tom suddenly drew a gun and aimed it at Robbie with a shaking hand.  “All I’m asking is the same as he’s getting.”

“Ooooh.  Competition.” Robbie had watched the whole exchange with a bemused half-smile.  Now, with cat-like speed, he swept one of my .357 Magnums off the coffee table, swung it around, and fired.  Tom dropped like a stone.

“Tom!!!” I squealed and launched myself across the room to his side.  His mouth was half-open in surprise, his eyes completely glazed over.  I whirled on Robbie, eyes blazing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!?” I screamed.  “I loved him!”

“But you love me more, right?” Robbie’s smile suddenly seemed more arrogant than sexy.  

“I loved both of you!  You knew that!”

“Maybe I’m not a sharing kind of guy.  Did you ever stop to consider that?”

I didn’t get a chance to reply.

“Oh my....Anna?”  Blaine had appeared in the doorway.  He looked in horror from the body on the floor, to my white face, to the shirtless Robbie calmly brandishing my handgun.

‘Maybe I’m not a sharing kind of guy.’  The words rang in my head.  Oh shit!  I lunged for Robbie’s arm, knocking it sideways just as he let fly at my husband.  As we tumbled over, I swiped my other Magnum off the coffee table.  We rolled to a stop, me on top, gun-muzzle pressed firmly to Robbie’s forehead.  I pinned his gun arm to the floor with my knee.  “If you do, I’ll kill you.”  My voice was empty and emotionless–exactly the way I felt inside.

Blaine slid to his knees, his face draining of color, and for a heart-stopping instant, I thought Robbie had hit his mark.  “She wasn’t kidding,” Blaine mumbled.

“Who wasn’t?”

“I wasn’t.” Michelle appeared in the doorway beside Blaine, clutching a very large, half-empty box of laxative in one hand.  “Who do you think suggested he come home early, you twit?”  She fixed me with a look of deepest loathing and disgust.  

And then she drew a gun from the waistband of her jeans and pressed it to Blaine’s head.  “How would you like it if I take your man off you!”

“Do it, and he dies.” My voice was perfectly even.

“Michelle, honey...” Robbie pleaded.

“Don’t you look at me like that, you bastard!”  Michelle drew back her arm and hurled the laxative box end over end at Robbie.  Unfortunately, her aim was slightly off, and as I was sitting on top of Robbie, I copped it full on the side of the head.  

As I toppled sideways off Robbie, it suddenly became clear to me how Michelle always seemed to be “ill” so often.  “Wow.  You really are a bastard.”  And I used my momentum to continue my roll behind the couch.  

Meanwhile, Blaine had used Michelle’s moment of distraction to dive away from her, snagging a pair of six-shooters from the mantel over the fireplace as he went.  I leaned over the back of the couch and groped beneath the cushions for the gun I kept hidden there.  Now I had one in each hand.

Robbie scrambled back to his feet as Michelle advanced on him, her gun centered on his forehead.  “Now, sweetheart...”  He raised my Magnum to point right back at her.  “You don’t want to start this.”  

“Nobody is starting anything.  Not in my livingroom!”  Blaine flew across the room, one six-shooter aimed at Michelle, the other at Robbie.  They both turned their guns on him.  

“I don’t think so!” I launched myself over the back of the couch and rested the barrel of one gun against Robbie’s temple.

“Hey!” Michelle drew a second revolver from her waistband, and pointed it at my head.  

“No, you don’t.” Robbie drew a second gun from one of his pockets, and leveled it at Michelle’s head.  

“You bastard!”  Michelle swung her first gun from Blaine to Robbie.

I aimed my second gun at Michelle.  And for a few seconds we all stood, unmoving.

“This is ridiculous,” Blaine said, at length.

“Oh really?  So what do you propose?” Michelle was sweating under the glare of three gun-barrels.

Blaine thought a moment.  “Ok.  Here’s what we’re going to do.  On the count of three, we’ll all put down our guns.  Anna and I will go our way, and we’ll never lie, cheat, or murder anyone ever again.  And you two can go your way, and do the same thing.”

“What, you mean like live moral lives or something?” Robbie scoffed.

For a terrifying half-second, I actually thought my husband was serious.  Then Blaine tipped his head back and laughed uproariously.  We joined in laughing.

And then we all pulled our triggers at exactly the same moment.