STINKERS

Rising from Matt’s bed, Carrie saw the blue cashmere coverlet lying on the floor, picked it up, wrapped it around her nakedness. Barefooted, she walked over to the sitting room. Nosey as she habitually was, she opened his desk. On top of some papers was his check book. Of course, she just had to peep at the numbers. ‘Oh, my lord,’ she thought. ‘He writes a lot of checks but still has oodles of money.’ Quietly she closed the drawer, scanned the bedroom more closely than when Matt had brought her to his home after the meeting last nite. Everything was handsome, masculine, high quality, fine taste–and that included Matt.

Just a few hours ago they were complete strangers who happened to be seated next to each other at a wacky fund raising dinner to save Dying Dalmations in Denmark, or something equally idiotic. Her good friend, Lisa, had been Seating Coordinator and, as far as Carrie was concerned, did a super job. A thank you note, a phone call–later.

A bubbling sound came from the kitchen. An automatic coffee maker was spewing hot, strong coffee into a bronze colored mug. Matt took it, placed another mug under the tap, whistled and called out, ‘Hey, Carrie, come on in. Want fresh squeezed O.J.?’ No novice, Carrie dropped the cashmere coverlet at the kitchen door and told Matt, ‘Sure, but that’s not all I want.’ Just as she was about to retrieve her cover, she was covered by Matt. He held her close for a moment and let her go. They had breakfast and a great dessert, shared his sauna for 15 minutes and a hot shower for 15 more. When dry, he handed her the few under garments she had worn, her dress, her evening wrap and drove her to her apartment. His car disappeared quickly in the madness of morning traffic.

Carrie, on her own territory, was sated, cool, calm and hopeful. By eight that evening she was still cool, fairly calm, but less hopeful. Matt hadn’t called. ‘Hell’s bells,’ she thought, ‘I never gave him my phone number or did I?’ Her mind was mush. He could get it from Lisa or anyone at their table for 12.

9 p.m. her phone rang. It was Lisa who ran on and on about how much money the guests gave for the dumb Dalmations. Carrie tried to interrupt, get a word in sideways, wanted to thank her for setting her up with Matt, but there was no pause in Lisa’s excitement. An abrupt, ‘We’ll talk tomorrow nite, Carrie. I’ve really got a lot to take care of today.’ The phone went dead. Carrie went to bed. Two days, 3 days went by believing Lisa must have been too busy to call. What could Matt’s reason be?

On the 4th day after the ridiculous Dalmation fund raiser, Carrie’s doorbell chimed. A messenger handed her a white gift box, tied with a neat blue ribbon. She signed, hurried inside to open it. As she removed the ribbon, lifted the lid, a little straw fell on her carpet. There was a white envelope with a white card inside. Before looking for the gift she read the card. It simply said ‘Thanks for - -, find it.’ ‘ What can it be?’Her eyebrows furrowed as she reached into the straw, felt something odd, sort of hard, crisp. She pulled it out to find a seeded Kaiser roll with another card to finish the first. It read ‘the roll in the hay.’ Matt.

Carrie threw it across the room, dropped to the floor and cried all day. Matt, you god damn rotten, mean bastard....

And worse, her friend Lisa, was not her friend at all!