"Isn't it beautiful here?" Terry flashed me a sly grin and started walking ahead of me toward the lake.
I followed with some difficulty. My ballet flats were not made to cover rocky paths in complete darkness. "Uh, hey, what are we doing here?" I caught up to him at the water's edge.
"I thought you wanted to stop." It seemed like a reasonable response. But what puzzled me was how he got "let's go to make-out point" from my simple shoulder tap. I wondered if I shouldn't look for hidden television cameras in the trees. Maybe Terry was wearing a wire.
"It's very nice here. But what I really meant was," Terry cut me off, bringing his right index finger to my lips to hush me. It worked.
"You know," he began, "it's been a long time since I've been in the company of a beautiful woman. I just wanted to savor it for a moment. That's all." I knew he and his fiancé had split up a couple of months ago. I also knew from our conversations on the phone that he was lonely. So why did I break out in goose bumps and wonder if he had turned into one of these Florida serial killers?
"Oh. Well, I can understand that." But I really couldn't. Surely he wasn't going to hit on me. Mike told me last year that when I slipped away for a few minutes, Terry had gone on and on about how amazing I looked. And when I hugged him goodbye, he wouldn't let me go, joking that it had been too long since he had held a woman. I remember joking that I would go home with him. We laughed about that then. I didn't feel like laughing now.
Terry looked at me for a long time. Just when I was trying to figure out where he hid the rope and butcher knife on the motorcycle, he gave me a warm hug. "I knew you'd understand." Carefully he helped me back to the bike. Without a word we rode back to the bar. He stopped at the door and turned off the bike.
"Laura, thank you. That was nice."
I was so relieved I hugged him, laughing almost hysterically. I was back at the bar. Alan was inside. A few steps and I would be safe!
My thoughts were stifled by the pressure of Terry's lips on mine. I was so stunned, I couldn't tell if it was passionate or affectionate. He pulled back and said, "Please don't tell Mike about this."
As he drove away I finally found my voice to respond, "Don't worry. I won't."
Alan was sitting in his chair at the bar, his eyes glued to the door. He seemed so relieved when he saw me that I resolved not to tell him what had just happened. Hell, I wasn't sure myself.
"Everything alright?" He had a strange look on his face, which must have meant I had a strange look on my face.
"Yes, of course," I lied, "everything's fine." For some reason, Terry's kiss still lingered on my lips, and I was afraid to dissect its meaning. I shrugged it off.
"What happened?" That was a fair question. How much should I answer?
I rubbed my forehead wearily. All this passion and intrigue was wearing me thin. "Nothing much. We just went for a ride, that's all." I explained who Terry was, and Alan listened without comment.
The bartender placed another Grey Goose in front of me. I smiled thankfully and then drained the glass instantly. Bad move. Alan looked alarmed.
"He made a pass at you, didn't he?" There was no judgment or condemnation in his words. Just concern.
"Yes," I sighed, "at least I think so." I related the details of the moonlight bike ride, and Alan listened carefully. If he had been a dog I believe I would've seen his hackles rise up.
"How could he do that?! Hit on the wife of his friend?!" Alan's voice went up an octave.
"Well, we aren't exactly pillars of morality ourselves." I was irritated. "Maybe it was an innocent kiss?"
"He asked you not to tell your husband. What do you think that means?" Color was rising in his face.
"I don't know. Hell, I don't know anything anymore, Alan." I sat down in the seat he had been saving for me and signaled the bartender for another drink.
Alan watched me for a moment, and then looked down at his wedding ring, twisting it painfully on his finger. "I guess we should talk about this sometime."
I looked at him, wondering if he was serious. He hedged on the subject every time it came up. Now another man was showing interest in his mistress, and he wanted to talk about it.
"Ok. How about right now?" The vodka and tonic arrived, and I threw it back like the other. I was getting very drunk.
"I don't know what to say," he replied.
I believed him, "I don't either. I don't know what to do about our…our situation."
He was quiet for a minute, "What is our situation?"
"Well," I tried to hold back the sarcasm, "we are married to other people, having sex with each other, and last night decided we were in love. How's that for a description?"
You know when you have one of those moments where just before you say something a little too loudly, it becomes quiet? I didn't have to look around to know that the people around us were staring. That's it. Cut me off. No more vodka.
Conversations slowly began to resume, and Alan put his arm around me. "I'm sorry."
I gave him a sideways glance. "Sorry?"
He shifted uneasily in his seat, removing his arm from my shoulders. "For all of this. I started…"
"Something I was just as willing to do. You can't take all the blame for this. It's my fault too." Alan looked down at his drink and then slid it aside.
"So," his eyes focused on mine, "what are we going to do?"
I wanted another drink. I really did. However, that wouldn't solve anything, and I would have a nasty hangover in the morning. Not that I didn't deserve it.
"I don't know. What are the options?" Perhaps it was unfair to throw the ball back into his court.
"Well," he began thoughtfully, "we could go home, and pretend this never happened." A sharp pain developed in my stomach at the sound of that.
"Or we could leave our spouses and move in together." The flip-flop in my heart outranked the aforementioned stomach cramp.
I licked my lips slowly. The bartender shot me a look. I shook my head, and he turned away.
"The first option is definitely the easiest. The second requires complete chaos."
Alan nodded, waiting for me to go on.
The problem was, I didn't really know what I wanted. Between the hectic days with the kids and the steamy nights with my lover, I hadn't really done much thinking. But here he was, waiting for me to say something brilliant. The problem was that I drank away any chances of being brilliant quite a while ago.
"Alan, did you mean it last night when you said you loved me?"
He looked again at his wedding ring, as if hoping for some kabbalistic wisdom to appear as an inscription. How very Lord of the Rings.
"Yes." His voice was very quiet. "I don't think I ever stopped loving you, even after all these years."
"Oh."
Alan glared at me, "Oh?! Is that all you have to say?"
I shook my head, "No. It's just that I haven't had any time to think about it. I've kind of been swept up in the romance and lust. We haven't talked about it, so I didn't think your feelings were that serious."
His eyes grew wide. "I suppose you're right. I turned down every opportunity to discuss this." Alan placed his hands on mine. "Do you love me Laura?"
This would have been a good time for that terrorist attack. Hell, I even wanted Terry to return! Maybe in a G-string with a dozen yellow roses and my name tattooed across his chest. That would be a lot easier to handle than this one, simple question.
"I do love you, Alan. But I also thought I loved Nick. I just don't know what to do." My fingers interlaced through his, and I thought I could sense relief.
"We should get back." Alan threw a couple of twenties on the bar and took me by the arm, leading me out to the street. As if by magic, a cab appeared, and we rode silently back to the hotel. Somewhere, in the boozy fog, I thought I heard a motorcycle engine. My drunken brain was adding paranoia to the evening's events.
Once again, the kids were asleep, and we sent Martha home. My buzz was wearing off, and I
was jittery. Alan ran down to the gift shop and returned with a six-pack of beer, and we set up the chairs in the darkness outside.
"I think I should be honest with you," he began unsteadily. "It might help."
"I wish you would." It wasn't a rebuke. This whole mess would be easier to sort out if we were absolutely truthful. Right?
He sighed heavily, weighing his words, "I've never really gotten over you. I love my wife, but I used to think of you. All the time at first, then less and less. But you were still a major fixture in my heart." Those eyes looked deeply into mine. "Does that make sense?"
"Of course it does. I've never forgotten you either. And I really love being with you here."
Alan took one of my hands in his and began stroking my palm with his thumb. "But you're wondering if this is real?"
"Yes, I am." My fingers moved slowly, caressing his skin. There definitely was an unmistakable chemistry between us. "I mean, this place isn't real. Would the same thing have happened to us somewhere else?"
For the first time this evening, he laughed. "Actually, if we met in the French Riviera and didn't have the kids, we probably would have wound up in bed a lot sooner."
I had to agree. "That's true, which begs the question, what if we weren't in such a romantic environment?"
"I don't think you can deny that we certainly have a lot of pent up passion for each other." He released my hands and reached for his beer. "What did you feel when Terry kissed you tonight?"
The question startled me. "Well, nothing, really."
"You weren't aroused?"
I thought about this. "No, I wasn't."
"But when I kissed you for the first time, you were?"
Drunk or not, I could see where he was going. "Yes. But I was turned on earlier in the evening. If you hadn't kissed me when you did, I probably would have kissed you."
"So, it was more of a seduction thing that began earlier in the evening." This was something I remembered hating about him when we were younger—his inane ability to dissect every emotion.
"I think we seduced each other. Look, before you overanalyze this, I'll admit that I have been lusting after you since the first day." A look of triumph crossed his face. I raised my hands, "But that could just have been a romanticizing of old memories."
"Or it could be that you found me completely irresistible."
"True. But my point is," and by God, I hoped I had one, "I don't know which it is. Do I want you because I'm nostalgic for memories, or do I want you because I can't bear one moment outside your arms?"
It was as if I'd struck him in the face. In the darkness, I could see his smile growing. Either way, I wanted him. That's what he must be thinking.
"I think that sums up the situation nicely." Was he doing a little end-zone dance in his head?
"But it doesn't solve anything. And very, very soon, we need to make some real decisions," I tried to rationalize, but already his Cheshire-Cat grin was causing my skin to tingle. Drinking my beer did nothing to ease the desire that was running up my spine. He probably knew that.
"Right. Tomorrow we'll decide." Alan stood, pulling me up to him. His lips were hot on mine, and I realized that I could do nothing but give in. We left the chairs and beer on the terrace. Our clothes were on the floor before the door clicked shut.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"What if we stayed longer?" Alan's suggestion was followed by a forkful of pancakes. Instantly, the kids burst into a chaotic chorus.
"Yay! Can we really, Daddy?"
"That would be awesome!"
"Please say yes, Mommy, PLEASE?"
It was impossible to tell who was saying what. As their voices got louder they leaped out of their chairs and paraded around the table chanting, "Stay longer!" Alan gave me a sheepish grin. Either he forgot the kids could hear him, or he realized he should have discussed it with me first. Or maybe this was part of his plan all along.
"Do you think this will solve anything," I whispered to him across the table. The children's chanting created a sound barrier around us. They couldn't hear us, and nobody else could either.
"Maybe." Alan reached for the syrup. "Maybe a few more days will help."
"Daddy is the best! We love Daddy!" All four had abandoned their earlier chant and were praising Alan to the whole room. While it was fun to see all the amused glances from other people, I realized with a start that my kids were also referring to him as "Daddy."
"Alright, alright!" I stood among the Lilliputians to make myself heard. "Daddy and Mommy will make a few phone calls during your nap, and we'll see what we can do." The children swarmed me, not noticing my implication that Alan and I were the parents of all four of them. After a few minutes we managed to quiet them down and wrestle them into their seats to finish breakfast.
"Mommy and Daddy, eh?" Alan grinned.
"Well, technically speaking I was just referring to the generic terms, 'mommy' and 'daddy.' You are in fact, a daddy, and I am…"
Alan laughed. "Ok, ok! Before we have to search for a dictionary, I concede your point."
He was right. But little knots were forming in my muscles along my shoulders, and that wasn't a desirable sensation at the beginning of the day. With a deep intake of air, my shoulders relaxed. No point in worrying about it. We wouldn't be calling our spouses until this afternoon.
"What are we going to say to them?" I handed Alan a tray full of garbage as the kids danced in place, waiting to leave.
"Who? Oh, them." He frowned as he dumped the garbage into the receptacle. "I don't know."
Ever since we started sleeping together, Mike and Susan became them. Maybe we were trying to dehumanize them by making our spouses sound like flesh-eating aliens. Maybe we didn't want to confuse anyone around us by saying "my husband" or "your wife." Neither one of us brought it up, and I couldn't remember who started it, but the other picked up on it, and we've used them ever since.
Clara and Alice held hands and skipped toward the door as Alan and I took hold of the boys' hands. "Well, we are creative people. We should be able to come up with something in the next four hours." I smiled reassuringly but wasn't at all sure I believed it. Whatever we told them would be a lie, or have some element of lying in it at the very least. Forget that we were engaged in full-blown adultery. Of course, that never came up in our phone calls home, so technically we weren't lying about that.
The bus was waiting for us, and we managed to get everyone in and seated before it took off. The humming engine and the children's idle chatter became white noise in my head. Alan was watching the kids, and for a moment I had my thoughts to myself. The bus was not very crowded; it was only us and three other families. In each case, I noticed, the parents looked tired. There wasn't one adult smiling. Why was that? A calendar of the past few days flipped through my head, and I couldn't find a single time when I wasn't happy. When Mike and I took our kids on vacation, did we look like these other couples?
A warm hand slipped into mine, squeezing the fingers for a moment then sliding free. I looked to see if the kids had noticed. Alan was getting fearless. I was becoming more paranoid.
* * *
"How about this?" Alan leaned his head toward mine forty-five minutes later, "We say we won a discount to stay longer, and it is too good a deal to pass up?"
In the row ahead of us, four little heads faced forward, giving the princess matinee their rapt attention.
"And when they see the receipts when we get back and realize it didn't cost any less?" I whispered.
Alan looked thoughtful, and I couldn't tell if he was interested in the stage show or considering my comment.
* * *
"What if we just tell them we are having such a great time and we aren't ready to come back yet?" I barely heard him over the explosions from the Epic Stunt Show below us. The boys squealed with delight at the noise while both girls covered their ears in mock horror.
"And if they just say 'no?' Then what? Are you willing to risk an argument over it?" I
was an expert on avoiding difficult conversations with my spouse.
I smiled at him. He was trying, and I wasn't offering any suggestions. But this had to be a good enough excuse that they would agree and not good enough that they would drop everything to fly down and join us.
* * *
"You know," I shouted to Alan from the back seat of the roller coaster, "we could use my story about meeting up with another single mother—or in your case—father." Alan looked at me questioningly. "The story I told Terry at House of Blues."
He nodded slowly. "That might work."
"Of course, it means that we're complete liars." I offered.
"Well sure, as long as we aren't lying to each other." Alan smiled at me, and once again my heart bounced around my rib cage. What was it with him? Or maybe it was the roller coaster lurching to a stop.
"Did you notice that the kids haven't sat with us on anything today?" I pointed at them. "Are we embarrassing them?"
Alan slipped his hand between my thighs. "Who cares? It gives us time to use our evil genius to come up with a convincing argument." His fingers lightly danced between my legs, then withdrew. The tease.
Back at the hotel for lunch, the kids snored like lumberjacks as we picked through what they hadn't eaten. The heat kept us from lounging outside the rooms, so we closed the door between the two rooms and sat at the table, eating our lunch.
"So, what should we tell them?" Alan asked between potato chips.
"I have absolutely no fucking clue." I really didn't. We had exactly two hours to place these calls and perform them convincingly, and no idea how to do it.
"Hmmm…now there's an idea…" Alan turned his charm on, all the way up to eleven.
"Well, that is something we know how to do, no doubt about it, but no." My body told another story, but I was resolute. At least, I hoped I was.
He leaned back in the chair. His skin had taken on a golden sheen from the exposure to the Florida sun. I wanted to touch him, but he interrupted my thoughts.
Sex, Lies, & Family Vacations Page 8
