Who's This?

When she got off of work at the First Commerce Credit Union, she came to his house. She cooked dinner for them at his house. She did not get mail at his house, she did not pay any bills at his house. But she had keys to his house, had a garage door remote.

And she was waiting for him when he got home after their little tiff.

The make-up sex was great; Myra did give a great blow job. She did apologize as well, somewhat half-heartedly, but a half-hearted apology was better than none at all.

Then he came into his house to hear her say, "He's coming back in; I'll talk to you later."

She served waffles and scrambled eggs and bacon, a breakfast for dinner.

Then, as they sat on the couch, him looking over his quarterly tax form and her watching an insipid drama on television, she came out with, "I'm thinking I might go visit my sister next weekend."

"Uh huh," Donny thought. "'He's coming back in; I'll talk to you later' is not your sister."

He put down the papers he was looking at and looked at her. Myra was staring intently at the television.

"You know what?" he said. "That's the Saturday I got off; I think I'll come with you."

"What?" she squeaked, looking at him in shock. "But you hate..."

"It's been two years," Donny said, smiling at her obvious alarm. Two years since I saw their house. "Don't you think it's time we buried the hatchet?"

"Well, uh, yeah, but uh, now? Why now?" Myra asked, distressed.

"I told you; I got that Saturday off," Donny said.

"Uh, well, uh, I mean, we already got plans and..." Myra stammered.

"And there's this steak house? One of the truckers was telling me about it," Donny went on, enjoying Myra's panic. "Said you can see Soldier Field from the window, and the steaks? They grill them, right there, in the middle of the dining room. Right in front of you."

"But, but..." Myra sputtered.

"Yeah, I think I'll ask Jimbo if I can get out of there early on Friday," Donny said, again picking up his tax forms. "Pick you up at the Credit Union then we'll drive there, be there in time for dinner at that steak house; what you say?"

"Sure, sounds great," Myra said, with no enthusiasm.

A few moments later, she got to her feet and went into the hall bathroom. Donny smirked as he heard her talking to someone. He couldn't make out the words, but he could make out the urgency in her voice.

That night, they made love, but Donny could tell Myra wasn't in the room with him. She did not orgasm, a bit of a rarity for her.

And Donny did not care that she had not had an orgasm, a bit of a rarity for him.

The next day, when he got home, she had made a rich beef stew, again, putting way too much pepper and not enough salt, but he ate it and thanked her for making dinner.

"Sure; got to make sure my man's fat and happy," Myra smiled.

Then she said, "My dad's renting a pressure washer next Saturday."

"That's nice," Donny said. "Does he even know how to use one?"

"No, not really," Myra said, clearing the table. "And since you got next Saturday off, maybe you could go help him?"

"No, and fuck no," Donny said, drinking the weak iced tea.

"What?" Myra asked, genuinely shocked at his blunt refusal.

"Last October," Donny said, sliding the glass away. "Last October, I went over there on my Saturday off and helped them winterize their cars."

"And they really appreciated it," Myra said.

"Did they, Myra? Did they really?" Donny asked. "Because I didn't hear a single 'thank you' out of either one of them. But I did get to hear all about the wonderful Michael Townsend."

"I'm sure you're mistaken," Myra said. "You probably just didn't hear them say 'thank you.'"

Donny looked at her for a moment, then sighed.

"Did you know Mickey borrowed three hundred and eighty thousand dollars from your parents?" Donny asked. "I was up under your mother's car, doing the oil pan when she came in and told your dad about it. And I thought, 'wow, that's how you win them over; borrow a shit load of money and never pay it back.'"

"He hates being called 'Mickey' or Mike' or..." Myra said.

"Didn't even get a cup of coffee from them, no 'Thank you' no 'do we owe you anything for this' or anything. What I did get was 'why's it take so long to do all that?' out of your mother. So, no, Myra, I will not be helping your father with his pressure washing project. Tell you what; have Mike come over and help him," Donny said and got up from the table.

He was using his laptop computer when Myra came into the living room. She flopped down on the couch and picked up the remote control. He ignored her.

Myra turned up the volume on the television. He just kept working, kept ignoring her.

So she raised the volume again. Still Donny just typed away, then tabbed over to a different program and continued his work.

She raised the volume again.

"Turn it down or turn it off; I am busy here," he calmly said.

Myra was livid; his calm demeanor, usually a source of strength to her was a source of irritation right now.

Again she flounced into the bathroom. Again, he could hear her talking to someone, couldn't make out the words, but could make out the urgency.

They did not make love that night; which was fine with Donny.

The next evening, Myra said she was just too tired to cook and they ordered a pizza. They talked about their day at work; Donny laughed as Myra described the latest exploits of her branch manager. The man was beyond incompetent; he had been in the institution for twenty eight years and still had no idea how to authorize a wire transfer.

Donny told her about a rig that had caught on fire, but he'd been able to strip it down and now had it running again.

"Well, I hope Jimbo knows how lucky he is to have you," Myra praised.

"Yeah, he said he doesn't know..." Donny started to say, then stopped.

"I uh, I talked with my mother today," Myra said as she closed the lid on the now empty pizza box.

"Oh?" Donny said.

"She said she's sorry; she could have sworn they said thank you," Myra said, smiling proudly.

"That's nice," Donny said.

"Why you say it like that?" Myra snapped.

"Nice they could tell you 'thank you' but not me; I'm the dumb ass gave up his Saturday to do the work," Donny said.

"Anyway," Myra said, no longer smiling. "They said when we get married, they'll give us a honeymoon in Barbados as their way of making it up to you."

"That's nice," Donny said.

He got to his feet, grabbed the empty pizza box and took it to the garage. He dumped it into the large garbage can, then dragged the can down to the curb.

"Oh, and don't worry about me coming with you to Chicago next Saturday," Donny said, coming back into the house. "I'm going to be pretty busy then."

"Oh? You will be helping my dad?" Myra asked hopefully.

"Told you, 'No and Fuck No,' I'm not helping him," Donny said.

"Then what will you be busy doing?" Myra asked.

"Don't worry about it; have fun in Chicago," Donny said. "Tell Mikey and Belle I said 'Hi.'"

The Thursday before she left for Chicago, Myra and Donny made love. Donny ate her now hairless pussy to two screaming orgasms, then slid himself into her and slowly, tenderly made love to her until she was almost crying.

Then she sucked him until he came down her throat and they cuddled in the afterglow.

"I'll miss you," he said.

"Huh? What? What you mean?" Myra asked.

"I'll miss you when you go to Chicago," Donny said. "But, drive careful; all kind of idiots out there on the road."

"Yeah, I told you about that semi almost ran me off the road last time," Myra said.

She then traced a hand up and down his muscled chest.

"Might be doing a little dress shopping while I'm there," she hinted.

Donny did not answer.

On Friday, as soon as Myra could get out of the credit union, which was well after four thirty, their normal closing time, thanks to the bungling of her manager, she drove east to Chicago. Traffic was its usual nightmare and it was just after nine o'clock when Myra remembered to call Donny to tell him she had arrived at the Townsend home safe and sound.

Her call went immediately to voice mail and Myra left a playful message, accusing him of being at the Rooster Pull.

"Really, that horrid little place?" Linda sniffed.

"Yeah; he's a card carrying member," Myra laughed. "Pays his dues for the whole year on New Year's Day."

"Figures," Michael said scornfully.

Myra called Donny again when her father called at nearly midnight to ask why there were so many boxes of her stuff blocking the way into the garage.

Again her call went to voice mail. This time, she did not leave a message.

"I got to go," she said.

"You sure?" Michael asked, holding his erect cock with one hand.

"Yeah, I got to go," Myra insisted as she got dressed.

Two years, three weeks and one day later.

"Here you go, Donovan," Kirsten smiled as she put the cup of coffee in front of him. "Melinda said, soon as this last guy leaves y'all can go."

"Thanks; man, there is just nothing like fresh ground coffee," Donovan smiled and nodded his head in the mirror behind the bar.

Melinda looked up and smiled.

"Last time I was here, y'all had this caramel pie; y'all still got that?" the customer asked, not taking his eyes off the dancer on the stage.

"Sure do," Melinda said pleasantly, even though she wanted to tell the man to hurry up so she could leave. "You want a piece of that?"

Donovan shrugged and smiled, letting Melinda know he was in no hurry. Suddenly, he saw long carrot orange hair appear next to his reflection in the mirror.

"Hi Donny, surprise, surprise," Myra said. "I got to go tinkle; get me a drink, all right?"

She dropped her purse on the stool next to him and scampered off to the bathroom.

Melinda ground some coffee beans for the customer and, while the coffee brewed, cut a piece of the caramel pie.

"Uh, where's my drink?" Myra asked as she returned, flopping down on the stool next to him.

"Well, thing of it is," Donovan said flatly. "I don't know what you want to drink, and I don't feel like buying you a drink."

"Vodka and tonic," Myra reminded him.

She frowned as he shrugged in indifference.

"Donovan, who's this, Sweetie?" Melinda asked, leaning possessively against Donovan, staring at the red head.

"Don't ask me," Donovan shrugged. "She's just somebody I used to know."

"Just some..." Myra sputtered, outraged.

"We almost got married, you ass hole!" she screamed at Donovan.

"Oh, no ma'am, we did not," Donovan said, laughing without mirth. "We did not almost get married."

"Yes we did," Myra insisted. "We even had our honeymoon picked out!"

"Wrong again," Donovan said, swiveling to face Myra for the first time.

"No, my parents were going to buy us tickets for Barbados, remember?" Myra stated.

Melinda laughed, pinched Donovan's buttock and walked back to where her customer was sitting.

"What's so funny?" Myra challenged the attractive blonde woman.

It was not lost on Myra that the woman had long blonde hair, flawless lightly tanned skin, and larger breasts and nicer ass than she.

"He hates the beach," Melinda called out over the music.

"And I absolutely refuse to fly," Donovan said.

"Did she, did she call you 'Donovan'?" Myra asked, pointing at Melinda.

"My name," Donovan agreed.

"No it's not; it's 'Donald,' right?" Myra asked.

For the past two years, she and Belle had been searching for Donald Andrew Owens.

"Wow, Myra, quit while you're behind, huh?" Donovan said as Melinda ground some more coffee for her customer.

"Oh, and I really appreciated you having me arrested," Myra spat.

"I didn't have you arrested," Donovan said. "You got yourself arrested. You're the one broke into my house."

"My key didn't work," Myra said. "And the garage door..."

"Changed both that morning you left for Chicago," Donovan smiled. "But I brought everything that was yours over to your parents' house."

He finished his cup of coffee and shook his head when Kirsten indicated the coffee maker.

"What you have?" Kirsten asked the red head.

"Vodka and tonic," Myra said.

"Got it," Kirsten said and quickly made the drink.

Six please," Kirsten said when she saw that neither Donovan nor Myra were reaching for their wallet.

"Damn, six bucks?" Myra grumbled.

"What are you bitching about, Myra? Mommy and Daddy got plenty of money," Donovan taunted.

"Uh, yeah, and I guess you had nothing do with that either, huh?" Myra snarled.

"Do with what?" Donovan asked.

"Oh don't play so fucking innocent with me," Myra snarled. "We know it was you sent them pictures to Daddy."

"Pictures? Pictures of what? Myra, hard as this might be for you to believe, I lost all interest in you and your family minute you made those plans to fuck around behind my back," Donovan stated and smiled when Elinda pointed toward the rear of the building.

"Yeah, right, so you didn't send those pictures of Momma and Michael, huh?" Myra accused.

"Nope, but that makes sense," Donovan agreed. "Three hundred and eighty thousand? Must have had one hell of a cock."

"He did," Myra taunted Donovan bitterly. "Mother fucker was almost ten inches long and as big around as my arm."

"Yep, it was a 'Mother Fucker' all right," Donovan said, smirking. "So what happened when dear old Tommy found out he was married to a self-righteous, narcissistic slut?"

"He hates being called..." Myra shot.

"I'm sure the sanctimonious ass hole does. But I'd have to give a shit to care and I don't," Donovan said, picking up the motorcycle helmet from the stool next to him.

"And I suppose you're not the one called the IRS on Michael either, huh?" Myra accused.

"No. Again, Myra, I quit caring about you and your family minute I found out you were fucking around behind my back," Donovan said.

He prepared to put the helmet on his head.

He paused.

"Actually, that's not true," he said. "I quit caring that time we went to visit them. Treated me like shit, including you, and continued treating me like shit whole time we were there."

"What? When? Huh? When did we treat you like..." Myra shrilled.

"Made me sleep on the couch; there were two other bedrooms upstairs I could have used. Made sure to make as much fucking noise as possible the next morning, knowing I'm sleeping ten feet away. Ate all the breakfast when I was in the shower," he said.

Then he put the helmet on his head.

"And my girlfriend, woman that says she loves me? Does she say to her family, 'Hey guys, let's wait for Donovan,' huh? No, she does not. She just sits down with them and stuffs her face with them," Donovan said and walked away.

Myra grabbed her drink and drank deeply.

"Anything else, Hon?" Kirsten politely asked.

"Another one," Myra said.

Two years, three weeks and two days later.

"How you feeling, Hon?" Kirsten asked as Myra came to.

Myra was laying on a couch, covered in a thin blanket. As she sat up, she realized she was nude.

She glared at the blonde woman.

"God, where are my clothes? Fucking can't believe this; I'm drunk and you decide you can..." Myra snapped.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa sister," Kirsten said, holding up a hand.

She pointed to the cheap recliner.

"Clothes are right there; I washed them after you puked all over them," Kirsten said. "And before you accuse me of doing anything with you, let me tell you, thought of doing anything like that makes me want to gargle with acid."

Myra pulled on her jeans, bra and tee shirt.

"Sorry, I just..." Myra mumbled.

"Uh huh, know what happens when you assume, huh?" Kirsten said. "Now, want some coffee?"

"Please, and thank you," Myra said, joining Kirsten at the small kitchen table.

The sound her bare feet made as she walked across the cheap linoleum told Myra that this was a trailer. She bit her tongue before she shared her opinion of trailers and trailer parks.

"Cups are in third cabinet, coffee pot's right there, spoons are in the drawer underneath the coffee pot," Kirsten said easily. "I'm on my feet all day serving others. My house? You get it yourself."

"So, what am I, how did I wind up here?" Myra asked as she put one teaspoon of powdered cream into the sludge Kirsten called coffee.

"Had five vodka and tonics, told me you didn't have anywhere to go, was too drunk drive yourself, so I just brought you here," Kirsten said. "By the way, love that car; that's a BMW, right?"

"Uh, it's an Audi," Myra said, sneering slightly before she could stop herself.

"Oh, excuse me," Kirsten said, not offended.

They sat in silence and drank their coffee.

"That, uh, that blonde," Myra finally said.

"Melinda?" Kirsten said.

"Well, I didn't exactly get her name," Myra said.

"Told you her name last night," Kirsten reminded her.

"Oh," Myra said. "She uh, she and Donny are..."

"Been married, oh, just celebrated their one year anniversary a couple of months back," Kirsten said and raised an eyebrow at Myra's sharp intake of breath.

"I ask you something?" Kirsten asked.

"Yeah, sure," Myra mumbled.

"Why now?" Kirsten asked.

"What? Why now what?" Myra asked, her hangover making it quite difficult to think.

Myra was still struggling with the fact that her Donny had so easily discarded her, and not only had Donny thrown her away, he had married someone else.

They were supposed to be married. Myra and Linda had even started looking at wedding gowns while in Chicago. She remembered telling Donny about their honeymoon plans, about looking at dresses.

She had told him about that the night before he just left.

"Why now? Why all of a sudden is it so all important that you find Donovan?" Kirsten clarified.

"It's not 'all of a sudden,'" Myra snapped. "I've been looking for him ever since he just jumped up and left me."

"From what I understand, you left him long before," Kirsten said and smiled as they heard a door open.

"What you mean by that?" Myra demanded.

"And don't you dare tell me they was all sold out," she called out, making Myra wince.

"Damndest thing," a man's voice called back. "They was not only all sold out, they was closed down, big old sign saying they was out of business," the man said. "See she's awake, huh?"

"Aw your ass, Bear, go get them doughnuts," Kirsten laughed.

Myra's eyes widened at the sight of the man. Bear was an appropriate name; he was at least six feet, six inches tall, and had to weigh at least three hundred pounds.

"Okay, they wasn't closed, but I ate them all," Bear smiled, easily plucking Kirsten out of her chair and kissing her.

"Bear, I'm whip your ass," Kirsten laughed, hugging the man's neck. "I want doughnuts."

"I want what I want when I want it and I want it now, huh?" Bear smiled and put Kirsten back on the ground.

The man returned a moment later with two large boxes of warm doughnuts.

"Better have saved me some coffee," Bear playfully threatened.

"Damndest thing," Kirsten said. "Uh, hey, ate five of these already?"

"Damndest thing," Bear agreed as Kirsten pushed a box toward Myra.

He grabbed two of the doughnuts before Myra could even reach for one.

"Well, don't matter; I'm about five minutes late anyhow," Bear said, kissed Kirsten and left, stuffing an entire doughnut into his mouth.

"Thank you, love you, be careful," Kirsten called out.

"Welcome, love you too and you be careful too," the man called back and they heard the door slam.

"That your husband?" Myra asked, not seeing any rings on Kirsten's fingers.

"No, well, yeah, I guess," Kirsten shrugged, opening the second box. "Aw that man, I swear!"

Myra looked and saw that the second box held chocolate covered doughnuts. And there were already four missing.

"We been together, about six months, no, no, seven months," Kirsten said. "But his ex-wife's keeps fighting the divorce."