Wife 22. Melanie Gideon

Kelly, which, come to think of it, was the real moment I crossed the line—when I started acting like William’s mother instead of his wife. If my heart knew Morse code and could tap out a message, it would be saying Alice, you spying nosy parker, delete this file right now!, but I don’t know Morse code, so I just tuck those thoughts away and click Play.

      The camera pans in on a table at which two men and two women are seated.

      “One sec,” says Kelly Cho. The table becomes blurry, then snaps into focus again. “Ready.”

      “Cialis,” says William. “Elliot Ritter, fifty-six; Avi Schine, twenty-four; Melinda Carver, twenty-three; Sonja Popovich, forty-seven. Thank you all for coming. So you screened the commercial, right? What did you think?”

      “I don’t get it. Why are they sitting in separate bathtubs if the dude has a four-hour erection?” asks Avi.

      “He doesn’t have a four-hour erection. If he had a four-hour erection he’d be in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. The precautions have to be clearly stated in the commercial,” says William.

      Melinda and Avi exchange a lusty look. Under the table, her hand seeks out his thigh and squeezes it.

      “Are you a couple?” asks William. “Are they a couple?” he whispers under his breath.

      “They didn’t say they were a couple,” says Kelly.

      William must be wearing an earpiece and Kelly must be in the room with the one-way mirror, watching and listening.

      “Yeah, well, how did the tubs get on the mountain?” asks Avi. “And who carried them up there? That’s what I want to know.”

      “It’s called willing suspension of disbelief. I like the tubs,” says Elliot. “My wife likes the tubs.”

      “Can you tell me why, Elliot?” asks William.

      “Some of those other ads are so crude,” says Elliot.

      “It’s better than the one of the man throwing the football or the one with the train. Please. It’s insulting. A vagina is not a tire swing. Or a tunnel. Well, maybe a tunnel,” says Melinda.

      “So your wife prefers the Cialis commercials, Elliot?” asks William.

      “She would prefer I didn’t have ED,” says Elliot, “but since I’m challenged in that department, yes, she finds the bathtub commercials more palatable than the others.”

      “Sonja, we haven’t heard from you yet. What do you think about the commercial?” asks William.

      Sonja shrugs.

      “Okay, that’s all right. I’ll circle back to you,” says William. “So, Cialis, Avi. You’re twenty-four and you’re a user. Why?”

      “May I suggest you don’t refer to him as a ‘user’?” says Kelly.

      Avi looks at Melinda and she smiles shyly. “Why not?” he says.

      “Do you have problems with ED?”

      “You mean down there.” Avi points at his crotch.

      “Yes,” sighs William.

      “Dude. Do I look like I have problems? It just makes it better.”

      “Dude. Care to elaborate?” says William.

      Avi shrugs, clearly unwilling to share the details.

      “Okay, well, how many times a week do you have sex?”

      “How many times a day,” corrects Melinda. “Two. Sometimes three if it’s the weekend. But definitely two.”

      William can’t keep the skepticism out of his voice. “Really,” he says. “Three times a day?”

      Elliot looks flabbergasted. Sonja looks dead. I feel slightly nauseous.

      “Draw him out, don’t challenge him,” suggests Kelly. “We need details.”

      This doesn’t sound crazy to me. When we were in our twenties, William and I sometimes had sex three times a day. On President’s Day. And Yom Kippur.

      “Yeah, man, three times a day,” says Avi, looking irritated. “Why would we lie? You’re paying us to tell you the truth.”

      “Fine. So how many times a week do you take Cialis?”

      “Once a week. Usually on Friday afternoons.”

      “Why Cialis and not Viagra?”

      “Four hours. Thirty-six hours. You do the math.”

      “How did you get the prescription?” asks William.

      “Told my doctor I was having problems. Down there.”

      “And he believed you?”

      Avi rocks back in his chair. “Dude, what is wrong with you?”

      William pauses and falls back on a stock question. “If Melinda were a car, what kind of a car would she be?”

      Something is really off with William. His voice doesn’t even sound like him.

      Avi says nothing, just stares at the camera confrontationally.

      “Back off,” says Kelly. “You’re losing him.”

      “Come on. Let me guess,” says William. “A Prius. But a fully loaded Prius. Fifty-one miles to the gallon. A smart key system. Bluetooth and seats that fold flat.”

      “William,” warns Kelly.

      “So you can fuck Melinda three times a day.”

      Everybody is shocked into silence. Kelly bursts into the room.

      “O-kay. Let’s take a break!” she shouts. “Complimentary sodas and cookies out in the hallway.” The camera abruptly shuts off, and then a second later pans in on the now empty table.

      “I can’t believe you said ‘fuck,’?” says Kelly.

      “He’s a fuck,” says William.

      “It doesn’t matter. He’s the customer.”

      “Yes, and we’re paying him to be the customer. Besides, twenty-something males are not our target demographic.”

      “Wrong. Males twenty to thirty-five account for thirty-six percent of all new users. Maybe I should moderate.”

      “No, I’ll do it. Bring them back in.”

      The men and women file back into the room, Cokes and Diet Cokes in hand.

      “Elliot, how many times a month do you have sex?” asks William.

      “With or without Cialis?”

      “Take your pick.”

      “Without, none. With, once a week.”

      “So would it be fair to say Cialis has improved your sex life?”

      “Yes.”

      “And would you have tried it if you didn’t have ED?”

      Elliot looks bewildered. “Why would I do that?”

      “Well, like Avi here. Would you use it recreationally?”

      “Croquet is recreation. Mini-golf is recreation. Making love is not recreation. Love isn’t some bottomless Slurpee that magically fills itself up. You have to do the filling up yourself. That’s the secret to marriage.”

      “Yeah man, drive through your wife’s 7-Eleven. Get your Slurpee on,” says Avi.

      Elliot shoots Avi a dirty look. “It’s called making love for a reason.”

      Avi rolls his eyes.

      “I think that’s cute,”