"I have to ask", he said. "Do, you still talk to her?"
She was just about done with his neck, and wasn't in the mood to talk. "Hmm?" she somehow obliged.
"Is that a yes, or a no?" he demanded to know, pushing her back.
She looked at him vaguely and then slowly curled up like a cat near his legs. Then she smiled a contended smile and relished the dillema in his eyes.
"Yes, of course", she said, reaching out for a cigarette.
He sat cross legged and hunched, lighting the cigarette for her.
"So, you, still...you know..."
"No. We're done with that. But we talk....from time to time. Why do you care?"
He got up, wrapping the sheet around his waist. She promptly pulled it away.
"Why?"
"Yes, why?" she asked, playing with the corner of the sheet and smiling.
He pulled back the sheet and wrapping it around again, walked towards the window. He observed the view from his 42nd floor penthouse apartment. The glittering lights below looked so far away...the glittering stars above looked so far away. He was far away from everything, he felt.
"I don't understand you artists. Is it absoulutely necessary for you to 'explore both sides of the hemisphere', or whatever it is that you say? Is it? It's such a goddamn cliche, you know", he said waving his hands dramatically.
"You're a bit of a cliche too, darling. The big business tycoon, with the mid-life crisis, and slutty mistress", she said, taking a long, slow drag from her cigarette.
"I don't think you're slutty. Just a bit of a whore, that's all", he said, his temples throbbing with anger.
She chuckled and got up and embraced him. "I love it when you're mad", she whispered and kissed him on his lips, but he pushed her back angrily, and she fell back on the bed, rather ungracefully.
"Darling, tell me", she said, lying there as she fell, "what would you do, if your wife found out?"
"Depending on her reaction, I'd either leave her, or you...", he said lighting himself a cigarette.
"Oh...so it matters what she thinks", she said softly.
"Yes" he said feeling knotty and exasperated.
Pacing a little he went back to the bed and leaned over her. "So we're both flawed, chliched and pretentious. Do you care?", he asked, trying to forget the conversation.
"No, I don't. But you do. But it's okay", she said, and pulled him into herself.
He didn't fight it. He was a fallen man. And he couldn't do a thing about it, even if he wanted. Not when the devil in the form of this beautiful creature, was doing such wonderful things to him. He didn't even want to be redeemed.
As he drove home, he felt completely relaxed. That little cat sure knew how to deal with his moods and anxieties. Oh, she was good. She was very, very good.
A few blocks from his home, he was met with an unfamiliar sight. His beautiful picket-fenced, Victorian house was blazing with fire. Inside, you could hear from a mile away, the agonized screams of a woman. The mortified neighbours were gathered around his house, the wailing sirens of police cars and fire engines could be heard. No-one saw, as he quickly backed his car, and drove away from the ghastly scene. He needed to get away. As far away as possible.