by C. C. Morian
“He did well. He must know something about stones, or had a good jeweler.”
Melissa laughed. “Knowing my husband, neither. He probably spent a month studying up on diamonds and then went to find the best possible one he could for his money.”
“That’s a good husband,” said the woman, smiling.
Melissa thought about Richard, his love, their life, their conversation that morning still hanging over her. “Yes. Yes he is.” She smiled, a little sadly.
The jeweler woman was looking back at the stone and didn’t notice. “Large stones are just ostentatious flashiness if they don’t have a good cut. This stone would really sparkle if it were cleaned up. When was the last time you had it polished?”
“I’ve never had it cleaned. Is that bad?”
The woman made a tsk-tsk sound. “Young people. They just don’t take care of the nice things they have.” But her voice was teasing. She reached under the counter and took out a diamond ring. “This is the same size stone as yours, with a similar cut.” She handed it to Melissa. “Hold it up and turn it.”
Melissa did, and was surprised to see it dazzle. “I don’t think mine ever looked that good.”
The woman shook her head and sighed theatrically. “How soon they forget.” She handed Melissa back her own ring. “Hold them side by side.”
“I don’t have to, I can see it. You aren’t trying to sell me a new ring, are you?” Melissa said jokingly.
“No, just a cleaning. And it would be no charge.”
“Really?”
“It’s a service, we do it for customers, and potential customers. And it isn’t as hard to do a cleaning as some jewelers would have you believe.” The woman looked at her watch. “I have a rep due in a few minutes, so I can’t do it right now, but if you leave it I’ll have it done by the end of the day.” She reached for Melissa’s hand. “But if we clean the diamond, you should have me polish the wedding ring too. It’s dull, and it will look even worse next to a clean diamond. I won’t charge you for that either.”
Melissa looked at her band, something else she rarely did. It was dull, with a few scratches. It needed a little work.
Like my marriage, she thought wistfully. If only she could spruce up her love life as easily as a ring.
But what did she have to lose? Free was free.
But when she went to take it off she hesitated. She had never taken off her band either.
The jeweler smiled. “Don’t worry dear. A ring doesn’t a marriage make.”
Melissa slowly took off the ring. Exactly what did make a marriage? She was starting to wonder.
Melissa walked out of the store, feeling naked. She knew it was foolish, it was just a ring. She rubbed her finger self consciously.
At the printer, Melissa had to wait while a messenger picked up a job. She hadn’t been in this shop before, she had emailed the print job in. The print shop, a small independent company, had been recommended by someone at the office, and it was on the way from her house.
A handsome middle aged man was behind the counter, and both he and the messenger looked up at Melissa as she came in, an old fashioned bell announcing her arrival. “I’ll be right with you,” the man said.
Melissa nodded and glanced around the room. On the side wall was a display of different signs and presentations, examples of the printer’s work. She idly flipped through a large binder of letterheads, wedding invitations, and photographs. Behind her, the man and the messenger spoke in a whisper, and then she heard some laughter. She turned, and thought she caught both men looking at her before they went back to their conversation.
“You can pick up the rest of the job tomorrow,” said the man behind the counter, handing a box to the messenger, who zipped it up in his backpack.
“Okay,” said the messenger. He had that lean wiry look of a long distance race biker, which reminded Melissa of the other biker, Vern. This one had blond hair, longish, but not shaggy. He was clean shaven, and his arms showed no tattoos. Yet with all those differences he still reminded her of the dark Vern. It was the body, she thought. Long and lean. His rear was tight in his biking shorts, hugging against his slim hips and thighs.
What am I doing? Melissa thought. Thinking about bikers? I’m a married woman! She realized she was again rubbing her finger, the ghost of her missing rings.
The messenger turned, shamelessly giving Melissa a long look. He broke into a cocky smile, sure of himself, knowing he looked good. Instead of heading directly to the door he took a few steps out of the way, bringing him closer to Melissa than he needed to. As he passed her he handed her a card and said, “Let me know if you need any packages delivered.”
And then he was gone, out the door, Melissa a bit dumbfounded, but not so much that she didn’t notice his butt as he walked, the cheeks clearly outlined in the tight spandex.
Behind her, the man cleared his throat. Melissa turned, still not sure what had happened. Had that guy just hit on her?
“Sorry about that,” said the man, but he didn’t sound too sorry. He seemed amused. “He’s a little sure of himself. Youth will do that.”
So the messenger had been hitting on her. The second biker in a week that she had caught checking her out.
“I’ve come to pick up a print job,” she stammered. “For the Simpson Corporation.”
“It’s ready,” said the man. “Just a sec.”
He went into the stockroom and returned with two large boxes. They made a dull thud as he set them on the counter. “These are pretty heavy, can I put them in your car?”
“No, I’ll manage,” said Melissa. “Do I pay you now?”
“Simpson has an account with us. Just sign here.” He spun a clipboard toward her on the counter.
As Melissa bent over to sign the ledger she felt the man watching her. She scratched her name and handed him the clipboard.
“I haven’t seen you before,” he said, his dark eyes curious.
“I’ve been with Simpson a while, but I’m pretty new to the neighborhood,” she replied. “I was doing my print jobs on the other side of town.”
“Not many single women in this neighborhood,” the man said.
“What? I’m married.”
“Oh, sorry. I noticed you weren’t wearing a ring.”
“I’m getting it cleaned.” Melissa felt a little angry, why was she having to explain herself to this stranger? “Do all men check whether a woman is wearing a ring?”
The man looked at her levelly. “Not all women. Just the attractive ones.”
Melissa eyed him coldly. “That’s not a way to treat customers.” But she was having a hard time getting really mad, the man had paid her a compliment.
He gave her a nice grin, friendly, a little cocky himself. “Facts are facts.” He gave her an appraising look. “I hope I’ll be seeing more of you.” There was a hint of something in his voice, an invitation.
Melissa blushed. She was looking pretty good, she knew, especially pulled together for her presentation later that day, but she was surprised at how forward the man had been. He was good looking, and he did seem to be interested in her. She looked at his left hand, and noticed that he wasn’t wearing a ring either. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done that, checked to see if a guy was married. Available.
That made two men, totally different, both checking her out at the same time. She hadn’t had that happen since. . .she couldn’t remember.
She thought back to what Richard had said, that guys checked her out all the time. Could she really have been that oblivious?
“Thanks,” she mumbled, not even sure herself whether she was thanking him for the work or for the unspoken compliment. She grabbed the boxes and as she began to slide them off the counter immediately realized she couldn’t lift them.
The man laughed, but not at her. “Told you they were heavy. Sometimes you really do just need a man.” He picked up the boxes effortlessly, and Melissa couldn’t help but notice his arms, powerful,
defined.
“Now just lead me to your car,” he ordered, casually holding the boxes, veritably dwarfing her with his strength.
She obeyed, going ahead of him out the door, fully aware of the view he was getting of her ass and legs as he followed. Maybe Richard was right, maybe this went on all the time, and she didn’t notice.
Maybe she should have been upset. But for some reason she didn’t mind, actually hoping that she had not misread things, that the strong workman was checking her out, that he was staring at her.
In the parking lot, she unlocked the trunk and as her boxes were being loaded she realized she still had the messenger’s card in her hand.
Without quite understanding why, she slipped it in her purse.
Chapter 9
A week went by. Richard was putting in even longer hours at the office, making Melissa wonder if he was purposely avoiding her. No matter what he had claimed, if he thought she was having fantasies about other men, if he had concluded that she was really unhappy with their sex life, that had to be threatening, even to a man as strong as Richard. Or at least upsetting. Had her inability to lie to him shattered a belief he had, that she was fully happy?
She had been wrong. She had thought all she needed was more sex with Richard, that the only missing piece in her marriage puzzle was having a more physical connection. But it was obviously something more that was absent. For her, a relationship needed not only sex, and a lot of it, but an overwhelming desire, a hunger.
She and Richard had had more sex last week than they had in months, and yet still she felt something was missing. And she had to admit, if she was being totally honest with herself, that she had been aware of this for years. She had just accepted it as the price for marrying a good man, one who was healthy for her, someone who would never hurt her, who would always support her.
Melissa couldn’t deny that she had been excited by Richard’s recent rediscovery of sex, his excitement clearly not feigned. And she had to admit she had been excited too. But for what reason? Was she reacting to Richard, or what he was suggesting, what she was fantasizing about?
It dogged her all week, constantly on her mind. She had trouble focusing on work. Her interactions with Richard seemed forced, as if they were dancing around each other verbally, carefully avoiding the subject.
Her mood shifted daily, sometimes hourly, from sadness to confusion to resignation, to anger. Did Richard really think he would get excited about her flirting for real? Maybe she’d do some flirting right in front of him, take him to some bar, lead some stranger on. What would Richard think then? That would fix him.
Other times Melissa was just resigned to letting it go. What was the big deal? A little fantasy on Richard’s part was a small price to pay. It wasn’t like he was going to some hooker. Or cheating. She had fully dropped that idea. She knew women who had to deal with both, and what she had was far better.
So what if her life was missing a little extra spark, a little kink? In the great scheme of life, what did it matter?
But at other times, she wondered why she couldn’t have it all. Certainly some women must have achieved it, finding that perfect mix of excitement and energy and love and continued newness in one man? With all the millions of possible men in the world, there must actually be dozens, hundreds, even thousands who could fit the bill.
Maybe, she thought, it’s the luck of the draw. It just depends on who you meet. And who you’ve been with. If she had never been with Marcus, maybe she wouldn’t even be aware of what she didn’t have now.
On Friday, distracted, she almost drove the car into the garage without opening the door. That’s it, she thought. This can’t go on. I could deal with Richard having an affair better than this.
She vowed to stay up that night until he came up to bed, and if he didn’t, she go get him wherever he was hiding.
Richard was actually home early from work, coming in just as she was getting dinner. They ate together, making small talk, still avoiding the subject, but more relaxed than they had been together in days.
After dinner Richard helped her clean up, and, almost automatically she asked, “Are you going to be working tonight?”
“Just for a bit. I’ll be up soon. I—we should talk. If you want, that is.”
“That would be good,” she said, knowing this was hard for him too, thankful for his kindness.
“Okay. Just give me an hour.” He kissed her on the forehead, almost like a friend instead of her husband, clearly not realizing he was demonstrating exactly what she was thinking, what was really worrying her. That he was more a friend than a lover. That when she was feeling insecure about their sex life he thought she would want a sweet kiss on the forehead.
Instead of what she really craved, which was for him to push her down on the table and fuck her senseless.
Richard was true to his word. Within an hour he was lying next to her in bed, freshly showered and shaved. They didn’t say anything for a long moment, Melissa aware of his breathing, his body tense, expectant.
Finally he said, “I’ve been thinking about it all week.”
He didn’t have to say what it was. “So have I,” she said. She reached for his hand, wanting a physical connection.
“I know you think there is something missing,” he began, and she squeezed his hand, ready to jump in. “Wait,” he said, reading her mood. “Please don’t deny it. At some point we should maybe try to figure out exactly what it is, or if you already know, you can try to explain it to me, see if it will get through my male brain. But in the meantime, let’s just admit there is a problem, okay? It will make everything easier.”
Melissa nodded. Damn it, he was right. Damn him, too, even though it wasn’t his fault. She knew that was unfair, but it was how she felt. The problem was in her, not in him, or not in a way he could control. But part of her was still angry at him, and she couldn’t explain why. Maybe she was feeling, deep down inside, that if he just tried harder. . .
Richard read her silence, as he knew how to do. “At the risk of being a guy, and trying to solve everything? Can I make a suggestion?”
Melissa smiled halfheartedly. His approach was so thoughtful, so measured, so Richard. He certainly wasn’t even considering that he could solve this problem by just flipping her over and fucking her.
And that, she realized, was what the real problem was.
“Sure. Solve away,” she said.
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to—fix this. Even if I can’t always please you in some ways, I want us to work together to come up with ideas to make things better. I know a lot of it has to do with the sex. But you admitted it is more than that, you feel you are in a rut. I bet a lot of other couples deal with this. We’re pretty smart, we can think of ways to get through it.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Trying to come up with something.” And just like that, she admitted it to him, that there was a problem.
“Yes, I’m sure you have. And please, don’t take this as a criticism. But have you been open to even your own ideas?”
The anger crept back in. This wasn’t going in the direction Melissa expected. Was he going to blame her? “What do you mean? I’ve suggested lots of things.”
“I’m sorry, I told you it wasn’t a criticism.” Richard’s voice was gentle. “Just one example. I suggested you go to your reunion. You didn’t seem to give it serious consideration.”
The reunion? Is that all Richard could come up with after thinking about their problem all week?
She sighed. “I told you, it wouldn’t be fun without you.”
“How do you know? You’ve done other things without me. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“It’s not the same as going to the gym or something.” Melissa felt his gaze on her.
“You don’t mean you are embarrassed to go to a reunion without a man? That’s not like you.”
“No, I don’t care about that.” She let out a little laugh. “Okay, maybe just
a bit. And I want to show you off. Let some of my college girlfriends see how good I made out.”
“Thanks. I think.” But she heard the smile in his voice.
They lay there for a while. Melissa was trying to be open minded, considering what a reunion trip would be like. She could talk Julie into going. And there were a few classmates she hadn’t seen that would be fun to catch up with. . .
“Maybe Marcus will be there.” Richard’s voice, casual, coming out of the darkness.
“What? What makes you ask that?” Melissa was stunned, why of all people would he bring up Marcus?
“Oh, I don’t know. You always talked about him in a special way.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve hardly mentioned him, and it was only when you were probing me about my past boyfriends.” Melissa was frantically trying to remember what she had told Richard about Marcus. They had never even met.
“You know that always interested me. Not just the boyfriends, but, well, your experiences.”
“I don’t like to talk about that. Just as I don’t want to know about your experiences, as you put it. That was before. Before us.”
“I know. But—you’ve said it yourself, different things for different people, especially when it comes to what is—exciting.”
“I was talking about us trying new things, together.”
“I know, I do listen. I’m just saying that I find it exciting, that’s all.”
Melissa bit her lip. He was back to that again. She found it incomprehensible that Richard didn’t get excited when she had him in her mouth, but would be excited by her talking about her past sexual experiences. He had asked her about them more than once, but she never thought it was arousing for him, she thought he was just teasing, asking for details, what she had done, how often.
She wanted to say, “I don’t think about Marcus anymore,” but she was afraid if she did her voice would crack, and Richard would know the truth for sure. “You know I dated a few guys in college. Why did you pick Marcus to ask about?”
