Cucked by a Cop

4

A janitor at the venue found her purse. Good thing he was there. Good thing she was able to wait at the door while he grabbed it from the lost and found and brought it to her. She didn't want him to see the wet stain on the butt of her dress. She didn't want to see it herself.

Richard slept most of the way home, grunting whenever Veronica hit a bump in the road or slowed to take a turn. She helped him inside and pushed him onto the bed.

"Hey," he mumbled. "I'm not trashed."

"No, of course not. You're ready for a round of golf."

"I dunno about that," he said. He stood on watery legs and unbuckled his pants. "But I'm ready for something else."

"Jesus. No. I have to call that cop."

"What? What for?"

"Oh my God!" Veronica shouted. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

He stared at her.

She took a deep breath. "I need to call him to give him my driver's license number."

"So call him. He stripped to his whitey tighties, removed a black sock, fell onto the bed, gave up, and grabbed the remote from the nightstand. "Then we'll fuck."

Veronica left in disgust. She headed out into the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. "Yeah," she mumbled, "cuz the first thing I want on a night like this is your shriveled, baby carrot."

She pulled her license from her purse and set it on the counter, took a sip of Chardonnay.

She was such a basic bitch. She told herself differently. She stuck up her nose at her husband, at the bubble-headed neighbor's wives. But she wasn't any better. A wet cunt, some Trader Joe's wine, a drunk, jack-off husband, and vague yearnings for something better. The equation of her life. She drained the wine glass and poured out some more.

The number on Officer Jason Thompson's card rang through to an operator.

"Hi, um—Could I please speak to Officer Thompson? It's about a traffic stop he made."

"Hold please."

Veronica took another swig. He wasn't even there—could be all the way across town for all she knew—and she was sweating.

His powerful voice shook the cell phone in her hands. "Thompson."

Veronica swallowed hard. "Officer Thompson, this is Veronica Gallagher. You pulled me over earlier and—"

"Got your license?"

"Um." She stared at it on the countertop. "Yes."

"Read me the number."

She scooped up the card and read the numbers out slowly, careful to enunciate each one. She walked across the kitchen to her open bedroom door and looked at Richard, snoring, naked from the waist down. He was drooling a little, his tiny penis almost lost in the hair on his thigh. She shut the door.

"Ok," she heard the deep voice say. I'll run it through the system, say I gave you a warning, and that'll be it. Good?"

It was over. "Yep," she said and tried to smile. "Sounds good." She walked back to the kitchen and took another sip.

Shake it off, she thought. Have another glass of wine and watch something trashy on the living room flatscreen. Forget the whole fucking thing.

She was two steps from the couch when the phone rang.