Chapters (37)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dedication
- The Truth of Thom Jones
- Selected Stories
- The Pugilist at Rest
- The Black Lights
- I Want to Live!
- Silhouettes
- Mosquitoes
- A White Horse
- Cold Snap
- Superman, My Son
- Way Down Deep in the Jungle
- Pickpocket
- Pot Shack
- I Need a Man to Love Me
- Sonny Liston Wasa Friend of Mine
- The Roadrunner
- A Run Through the Jungle
- 40, Still at Home
- Tarantula
- Mouses
- Daddy’s Girl
- New Stories
- Night Train
- Volcanoes from Hell
- A Merry Little Christmas
- All Along the Watchtower
- Diary of My Health
- The Junkman of Chengdu
- Bomb Shelter Noel
- Acknowledgments
- Credits
- About the Author
- Also by Thom Jones
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
“To give someone trust or credibility, you listen to them and then buy into what they tell you. When you know what they say is true, insightful, and that it feels right, over a period of time—as you come to know them, when they become your friend, you take on faith whatever else they may be pushing. As a criminal psychopath I learned that this is a vital, an essential truth. In the beginning what you had with Carl was really all on the level. Then they start lying and you believe them because you need to believe. That’s why suckers buy snake oil, baby. That’s why life is so damn tricky. It’s the reason people get paranoid. They’ve got good reason. If that was his picture in your room, the man is involved in real estate. Razor bumps and halitosis. White on white tie. Diamond rings on his pinky finger. Why, I can scarcely bear to picture such a gross and horrible presentation of vulgarity. How could ya fall for a straight john like that? A pigeon like that? Well, that is water over the bridge. He’s your boy. Then suddenly—whoa! This other passion is cooking for Maizie. Come to think of it he’s having fantasies about her for a time and vice versa—subliminal, can you dig? Until there is some event where the two of them are alone together, one thing leads to another and they are both fuckin’. Let’s not call it ‘making love,’ let’s call it what it was, all right? Fuckin’. Probably did it in the missionary style the first time. That’s how it usually goes, no improvisations or anything too darin’. All that exotic fuckin’—all of that comes later. Anyhow, he means no harm up to a point and then he has a choice to make. They’re probably surprised to know you got hurt feelings! I mean they are so much into themselves.”
She finished off her glass of wine and felt it warm her, it was a subject she was sick of, yet obsessed with, and this was another perspective. Nice of Bobby to try and cheer her up, but she was just so sick of it…all.
Bobby continued. “I mean, he’s probably got an old condom in his wallet. Just in case. They commit the intimacy. Maybe precede it with some fellatio and cunnilingus. They are really feeling ‘up’ because they are doing something clandestine—naughty, sneaky. What a thrill! I mean now he’s cheating at least two ways and this is really exciting. Are you feeling angry?”
“That,” she said, “but more objective than usual. Disgusted.”