by Piper Denna
“I have to work here!”
“Yes, that’s why this punishment is going to be so fitting, don’t you think?” I tipped the drink back and drained it. “Be a good husband and fetch me another cocktail.”
“What do you want?” he asked, as I handed off the empty glass.
“Double rum and coke.”
“Not the drink. What—double? You never drink that much! Never mind. I mean us. What do you want? Counseling, separation, divorce?”
“I haven’t decided. I’m thirsty, darling. Run along,” I said with an offhanded flick of my wrist.
After all the years of behaving decorously while the club folks got tipsy, it felt pretty fantastic to cut loose and party. Knowing it was embarrassing Bill made it even better, the way having sex with Cam had been better for knowing how much it would hurt Bill to find out.
Depending on how drunk I got, maybe I’d tell Bill about that, too. Or not. I didn’t want him to use it against me if we decided to divorce. And Cam might get in trouble for being with a customer. I was grinning, remembering that day with Cam, when Bill brought me my second drink at the hors d’oeuvres table. I plucked a tiny quiche straight off the plate and popped it into my mouth before accepting the glass.
Cheater’s mouth dropped open and then he cringed, horrified at my lack of etiquette.
“Mmm. Thanks, baby.” I took a long swig from the drink. Finding it to be strong, I smiled and raised my glass in salute to the on-looking bartender. “Good one, Ted! Keep ‘em coming!” I called across the room to him. The snack bar girls giggled and Bill went from red to crimson. “God, have you tried this ranch dip? It’s great!” I dipped a stick of celery in the huge bowl and crunched. “Don’t worry baby, I promise the celery won’t make me fat. We always work it off later, anyway, now don’t we?”
My second drink was nearly gone, and the first was in full effect. A badly aimed kiss put my lips in the neighborhood of Bill’s chin, where I left a smear of ranch dip. Brianna was watching, so I made a point to kiss the spot again, flicking my tongue out to lap off the dip. “Mmm. See if you can bring home the leftovers, will ya?”
Inside, I cringed at the notion of sticking my lips where Brianna’s had already been that day. It didn’t look like hers would be there later, though.
Lunch itself was served in courses, a meal management always strove to keep elegant, but it was invariably disrupted by drunken teenagers at one end of the table. I tugged Bill toward their end for a seat this time, cajoling that he should be associating more with the up-and-coming talents of tomorrow. This mixed up the entire seating arrangement. The owners liked to sit by Bill, so they followed him like puppies to the middle of the table. Everyone else milled around, trying to settle.
Bill squeezed my arm as I raised two fingers to the bartender to order two more drinks.
Brianna landed across the table from me, earning herself another glower from her lover.
The young crowd was doubly pleased to have us sit near them, in part because they could shmooze Bill, but mainly due to my growing infamy. The two caddies Bill had sent inside earlier must have told everyone about our disagreement.
I was a shoe-in for the woman of the hour, since Brianna’s snippy attitude toward the younger crowd made them pleased to see her discomfort.
Bill squirmed next to me, but had little to say when I let the more cocky caddies flirt with me. Lots of golf-inspired innuendos were tossed around involving the terms “driver”, “threesome”, “foursome” and, of course, “wood.”
Under the influence of my multiple, double drinks, I giggled hysterically at the sophomoric jokes and tried to ignore Brianna. Bill was attempting to ignore both of us, but failing miserably judging by his perpetually red neck.
Brianna leaned toward the assistant pro’s wife, Julie, a long-time friend of mine, and made some rude comment about older women not handling their alcohol.
I quit trying to ignore her. “Maybe you’d like to see if you can keep up with me, Bri,” I challenged. “I think I’m several drinks ahead of you, but I’ll take you. Come on, or are you afraid of an ‘older woman’?”
A low “oooh” went over the younger end of the table.
“Alison,” Bill muttered, embarrassed beyond belief. “Brianna, please ignore that. My wife is having a reaction.”
“It’s called ‘drunk,’ Bill,” Brianna sneered. She started to get up from the table and the caddies laughed, then quieted when she took her seat. “Okay, Ali. You’re on. Just remember, a hangover’s gonna hurt at your age.”
“Pick your poison, Babycakes,” I answered, choosing to poke fun at her insults.
Brianna ordered shots of peach schnapps.
“Pussy drink,” I remarked, then gulped mine down. One older lady kept asking what she’d heard me say, so I finally said loudly, “She’s pushy, I think.”
Julie snickered across the table.
After dabbing a napkin neatly at my mouth, I said, “My choice this time, Baby Bri. Two shots of Patron, Ted! Two shots each!”
Brianna whined and complained, but couldn’t get out of drinking the tequila without losing. “Sore loser,” she spat at me, after downing her first shot and nearly gagging it back up.
“Julie,” I said casually, “did you know studies show relationships that start out as cheating only have forty percent chance of making it to the altar, and out of those marriages, only one in five last for five years?”
Julie chuckled, and Brianna glared and pointed at my shot.
I swallowed it, wiped my mouth with my hand, and thought for a moment while my competition drank. “May-December relationships have an even lower chance of lasting, due to the rising incidence of erectile dysfunction in men over forty.” I swallowed back a threatening burp and grinned meaningfully at my husband.
Bill’s ears were so red they nearly glowed when Brianna choked on her drink. The reference to erections had our end of the table bubbling with infantile laughter.
Julie chimed in, “The incidence of birth defects in children whose fathers are over thirty-five are just as high as for mothers of the same age.”
I clicked my tongue at the horror of the statistics, then pointed my finger and said, “You know, Bri, technically, since you spit that last shot out, you’ll have to drink another.”
Two Briannas glared at me from across the table, called me a bitch, and left the table sobbing. A roar of laughter followed them, and the guys next to me guessed she probably wasn’t coming back, since she’d taken her purse. I heard reports that she was throwing up, which I suspect she did after most meals.
The rest of the afternoon is a dizzy blur. I do recall dancing with the younger crowd after sneaking into the kitchen and switching the radio from Muzak to an Eighties’ station.
Bill drove me home and I guess I went into my office to sleep because that’s where I woke up the next day.
*
My foot was stuck in the butt-crack of the futon. I knew it before I made my first painful attempt at opening an eye. I needed to pee, badly. And maybe throw up, but first I had to escape the clutches of the wicked wantabe sofa. Yelling for help was out of the question. My head would likely crack in two. I rolled to my side, facing out.
The sun was blazing, in an entirely too-cheerful fashion, through the filmy sunflower-embroidered curtains I’d bought just for this light-enabling quality.
Jesus, it hurt my head. All I could think was that I wouldn’t be hurting so, if it wasn’t for that ‘ho’ PA of my husband’s. With a couple of rough tugs, I got my foot free, losing more than a little skin in the process, then fell off the mattress onto the floor. I opted to stay there on my hands and knees ‘til I got the door open to the hallway.
The house was quiet. I moved as fast as I could to the master bath, emptied myself from both ends, then lay down, enjoying the coolness of the tiles for a bit. I wanted to call Brianna, repeatedly, and hang up. The ringing would kill her ears (insert wicked laugh here). Giggling to myself hurt my
head, and my abdomen too. Lord. I’m too old to be this stupid.
Bill was already gone, and I could see from my dis-advantage point on my back on the floor that he’d made the bed. That hadn’t happened since Andy was a newborn! I couldn’t hear the boys. Had Bill gotten them to school, too?
It took great effort to lift my wrist to my face and focus on my watch. Ten-thirty. Christ, how long had it been since I’d slept that late? Or that long? It had been late afternoon when Bill brought me home. I’d been out cold since six at least.
Happy mini-vacation to me .
*
I’d showered and wandered down to a clean kitchen for some toast when the sound of my cell phone nearly tore my eardrums open. I answered it fast in an effort to silence it.
“H’lo,” I said to it softly.
“Hi, this is CJ with the cable company, conducting a survey…”
“Cam. Cut the crap, it’s safe.” This was his routine way to make sure it was alright for him to call. “Not so loud, okay?”
“How ya feelin, sunshine?” he chuckled. “Got a little head goin’ on today?”
“Shut up. How’d you know that?”
“You called me last night.”
Shit. “I didn’t.”
“You did. About five-thirty.”
“Sorry. I drank a little. A lot.”
“I know. Still feel like you won the contest?”
“Ugg. What else did I tell you?”
“It took about an hour, but I think I got a play-by-play of the afternoon.”
“I’m sorry. Really.”
“Can I come by?”
“If you really want to.” I didn’t have the energy to refuse.
The doorbell rang, making my head throb again. “Somebody’s here. I’ll turn on the light if it’s okay.” I hung up and opened the door to Cam. He was holding a bouquet of small blue flowers.
He held them out to me and said, “Forget-Me-Nots. You look like shit, Babydoll.”
“Don’t you have a girlfriend to pick on now?” I grumbled, but buried my nose in the flowers.
He ruffled my wet hair while following me to the kitchen.
Cam watched me busy myself with snipping the ends of the flowers and arranging them in a vase. “So, you told me you finally listened to my message last night.”
I’d put it off since he left that day and read the poem. Why the hell did I listen to it when I was drunk? What did the message say? I had absolutely no recollection of listening to voice mail or talking to Cam. Maybe the message was why I’d called Cam. My eyes darted to the phone when I thought hopefully, maybe, I didn’t erase the message. Or maybe I tried but failed in my wasted state.
“You don’t remember,” he guessed.
I paused my floral arranging and rested my forehead against the cool granite counter top.
“You sure know how to fuck with a guy’s head, Ali.”
“Cam,” I said to the counter, “I’m very sorry for whatever I said. I swear I am. I am a drunken wastrel and a user of men besides a mean old lady to ambitious personal assistants. I accept that. I do. However,” I raised one index finger high to emphasize, “I can still perfectly replicate the Billie Jean routine and I think I can pole-dance now.”
“Not at the country club?” he laughed. “Pole dance?”
I pressed a cheek against a new, cooler spot on the counter, and nodded while looking at his kindly dimples. “And I distinctly remember being much taller than everyone else for the first time in my life. There’s no stage, so it had to be a table I was on…” Even I had to laugh, though it hurt my stomach. “Will you tell me what I said last night?”
“No.”
“I figured.”
“You won’t tell me when you’re sober, so why should I tell you when you’re sober?”
“Please don’t talk in circles, I’m dizzy enough.”
His hands rubbed my shoulders. “Thanks for the poem though.”
“Mmm-hmm. Thanks for the flowers. So do you have a girlfriend or what?”
“Yeah.”
“She as good as me?” I turned my face to cool the other cheek and avoid looking at him when he answered.
“No.”
“Good.”
He chuckled and rubbed my shoulders in silence for a minute. “There was phone sex last night.”
“Does she live far away?”
“With you, Ali!”
“Oh, hell! Why’d you have phone sex with me if you have a girlfriend who puts out?”
“You were very insistent. And very good,” he answered, making me giggle. “I really didn’t intend to. I tried not to.” His voice sounded tight.
“I’m sorry, Cam.”
“I’m not.” He patted my back and stepped away. “You need to drink lots of water. Your eyes are sunken. Call me tonight and let me know you’re okay?”
I sighed, “Alright. I’ll add it to my busy schedule.”
He pinched my butt for being cheeky.
“You looking for a piece of phone-ass, or what?”
“NO! Fluids and sleep.” Then he gave me a peck on my forehead and left me leaning there.
*
Bill kept away from the house as much as possible after that and, when he was home, he trod very carefully. I didn’t expect he’d be inviting me to any more employee luncheons.
Hopefully, since all of her coworkers knew about her affair with Bill, Brianna’s life at work would be miserable. Maybe she’d get discouraged and quit. If she did, her chances of continuing a relationship with Bill were small. His life was ninety percent work, which would leave very little opportunity to sneak off for trysts with former lovers.
*
Cam stopped by to check in with me from time to time, and I was able to put on a game face and ask him all about his escapades with his girlfriend. He obliged me with pain-inducing details, and always managed to make physical contact in some way that passed for appropriate, but left me horny and missing him when he was gone.
Two days before school was out, Cam called to tell me he’d broken it off with his girlfriend and asked if he could come by at lunch time.
I was sunbathing on a pool float when he arrived, letting himself in the front door I’d left unlocked for him. At the sound of him opening the back door, I paddled a bit to turn toward him.
He stood and looked at me for a while before crossing the patio to the edge of the pool.
“So what happened with you and Miss Right?”
“Do you really wanta know?”
“No. Are you gonna find a new girlfriend?” I kicked a bit of water absently, splashing the concrete near him, hating that my stomach tightened when I asked.
“As soon as possible. Want me to come in?” His eyes were hungry, devouring me.
“Did you use condoms with her?” I could have asked while we were on the phone and saved him a trip if the answer was no, but I wanted to see him when he answered.
“Yes!” he answered impatiently, as if I should know he’d been planning to come back to me clean. He started peeling off his clothes, refreshing my memories of his glorious body. I hadn’t forgotten those shoulders, but seeing them again kick started my heart.
Without hesitation, he stripped nude and dove in, cutting smooth and fast to my float. His rise from the water brought cool droplets splashing my legs and his kiss dripped water from his hair all over my face. He managed, barely, to climb on the floating chaise lounge without toppling us, then covered my sun-warmed body with his chilly one. “Now to get rid of this bothersome bikini,” he muttered, pretending to chew it off.
“Cam. Wait.”
His head came up with wary eyes. My tone must have warned him.
“I’m, um, leaving town Saturday. The boys and I are going to Colorado.”
“Oh. For how long?”
His index finger was inside the bikini bottom, and it was hard to concentrate on words. “Um.” I closed my eyes when the finger slid over my clitoris. “Oh! God. Um, I don’t
know. I don’t know how long. A month or so.”
His finger stopped moving, and his eyes came back to mine, looking betrayed. “Month?”
“Even if I was here, the kids would be, too. The odds of catching me home alone in between your girlfriends would be small. Cam.”
He’d shaken his head, like he didn’t believe something, and removed my top. He tongued a nipple as if I hadn’t told him I was leaving.
“This is a bad idea. It’ll be like pulling off a scab. Don’t put yourself through this again.” Or me.
“I’m okay. I want you, Ali. I’ve wanted you for almost two weeks.”
“It’s only two weeks since we stopped—oh. I get it. Me too, but…” Flares of need were shooting from my breast, making me squirm against his hand. “…I don’t think we should do this.” It sure felt good, though. “Well, take off the bottoms then, too. We’ll both get indecent sunburns.”
His finger reached inside me and stroked right where I wanted it to.
“God. You’re so good at that.”
He slid off the float and stood in the water, burying his face in my pubic hair.
“Oh, it’s like Kong’s armpit down there, I’m sorry.” I’d done only enough maintenance to keep from scaring myself in my bikini since our last day together.
He laughed and his tongue vibrated against me. “Relax, Jane. Me Tarzan!”
“Oh man. You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you.”
He’d think I only meant physically, but that was just as well. No point in dumping salt in the wound. By the time I got back from Colorado, he’d probably have found a long-term girlfriend, and we’d be a thing of the past.
“You’re waayy better than a vibrator,” I moaned, burying my fingers in his hair. Sliding off the lounge into his arms, I let him pump inside me a few times, warming us both up. “My turn now.” I led him to the steps and indicated for him to sit at the top.
It was his turn to moan when I took him in my mouth. I tasted the chlorine and smelled just a little of myself still on him. When the first salty bead came from him, I savored it, and drew harder for more.
