by C. C. Morian
But like the unending traffic, nothing had changed.
Miraculously, the traffic suddenly cleared, Janet hoping it was an omen for the evening, maybe she’d snag a new account. Investment banking was all about relationships, the more industry people she met, the more chance she had of getting a deal sent her way. It was like real estate, if you happened to meet someone just as they were about to sell a house, you could get the listing. But in banking the money was bigger, the competition much more intense.
Janet slipped into her blazer as she got out of the car. She really didn’t like the construction of jackets but it was a necessary uniform. There was no formal dress code, but she wasn’t stupid, she looked good in a skirt and heels, and while she’d never use her sexuality as a way of getting ahead, there was also no reason to hide that she was a woman. The fact that she was attractive made her more memorable, and was certainly an asset, just as it would be to a newscaster or an actress. But at the end of the day, no one would hire you to work on their deal if you didn’t have the brains, there was too much money at stake.
Inside, she glanced around quickly and was relieved to see that none of the Managing Directors had arrived, and neither had Martin, the head of the firm. Not that any of them would get there early. They’d be putting in an appearance for show, letting the junior people like Janet be on hand; the senior people got a cut of the deals even if they no longer brought them in directly. But it wouldn’t have looked good if Janet had arrived after they had.
She nodded to a few people she recognized but didn’t know, some from her company, some outsiders. Her company sponsored this opening, the money going to charity; events like these replacing the long outdated three martini lunches and golf. Janet went to the bar and ordered a tonic water, it looked enough like a mixed drink so the clients wouldn’t think they were drinking alone, but she’d be able to keep her head straight. She’d have a real drink at the end of the event, and if things went especially well would have a glass or two of wine at home, maybe even convince Mason to join her.
She was glad to see that Mason wasn’t there yet. He wouldn’t be happy hanging out waiting for her, especially since he had obviously left some intense project to do this for her.
“Janet!”
She turned and smiled, her best friend Linda from the office. They didn’t spend a lot of time together outside of work, now and then a dinner when on the road, and Janet always enjoyed their time together. Though they were after the same thing, it never felt like a competition with Linda.
“See anything good?” asked Janet.
“Art? Or clients? Or men?”
Janet laughed. “I don’t appreciate modern art, I’m married, so that leaves only one option for me.”
Linda frowned playfully. “You can always look. And not at the art. No need to look at ugly art when you can look at hot men.”
“You’re so full of shit,” said Janet, giving her friend a hard time. “If you had the choice between taking the best looking man home tonight or snagging the Meltari deal, I know which one you’d take.”
“Ahh,” said Linda. “But what if the guy who was running the Meltari deal was really handsome?”
“Be like winning the lottery,” said Janet. At one out of town dinner, after a few drinks, Linda had shared her approach to men with Janet. “Work hard, party hard,” was Linda’s motto. She looked at men like she looked at her challenges at work, something to conquer; set your sights, achieve your goal, get what you wanted, and move on. And if what Linda wanted was a quick relationship or even a one night stand, that’s what she took. Not at all the way Janet approached life these days, but Linda seemed happy, balanced, at ease, so who could say that Linda’s approach was all wrong?
“No, the lottery would be that he’d not only be handsome, but,” Linda looked around to make sure no one was listening, “also have a really big dick and knew how to use it. You know, the kind that just fills you up?”
Janet laughed again, a little nervously, but not because of the talk about sex. They lived in a hard world of men; sexual banter was the norm, modern political correctness and respect for women only slowly making its way into banking. Instead, Janet was thinking about how long it had been since she had such lusty thoughts about a man, how long it had been since she had felt so into sex.
And how long it had been since she had been truly filled up.
Janet took a sip of her tonic to hide her embarrassment, but Linda caught her look.
“What’s the matter girl? Not getting enough nookie?”
Janet almost spit out her drink, Linda immediately managing to clear her funk. “Shit, Linda, no one says nookie anymore. You sound like a grandmother.”
Linda pretended she didn’t understand. “I meant a big enough nookie, as opposed to frequent nookie.” She made a show of looking around the room. “Take a look at him. I bet he has a big enough nookie for both of us.”
Janet glanced over at where Linda was looking. A muscular black man was looking at one of the huge art pieces, yet his shoulders were so wide he practically covered it from view. His head was shaven, and he was wearing a tight silk shirt that showed off his physique. Almost all of the other men were in suits, yet the black man didn’t look at all out of place, instead giving off an aura of being comfortable wherever he was.
Linda was right, he was hot.
“You aren’t going to tell me you believe what they say about all black men, are you?” asked Janet.
Linda gave her a look. “Tell me, have you ever been with a black man?”
Janet looked around. There weren’t a lot of guests yet. She and Linda were alone together, no one could hear. Plus this was a little fun, a break from work talk. “Yes. Before Mason, of course.”
“Of course,” said Linda. “And was he—or they—shall we say, well endowed?”
“Maybe I just got lucky,” said Janet.
“Aha! And I have my own set of data points. I think we can draw the appropriate conclusion, can’t we?”
“There’s more to a man than being well endowed,” said Janet. She was having a hard time taking her eyes off the black man.
“That’s the other part, the getting enough part. Hello, Janet, you still with me?”
Janet pulled her eyes back to Linda. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal him from you. Go over there!”
“I will. But. . .anything you want to tell me? I saw that look. You missing something at home?”
Janet turned away. She liked Linda, but that wasn’t a conversation to have with her, and even if it was, this wasn’t the time and place. Besides, what would she say? That her life was great, except for the sex? To a woman who might live by the motto that great sex is what made a great life?
A crowd had just come into the gallery, giving her an excuse not to answer, there were too many people. Janet changed the subject. “You better go chat him up before it gets too crowded or Martin gets here.”
Linda peered through the crowd toward the black man. “Shit, he’s with another guy.”
“Maybe he’s gay.”
“Not a chance,” said Linda. “And if he were thinking of it, I’ll change his mind. Come on, be my wingman.” She grabbed Janet’s arm.
“Linda, no!” but Janet was laughing, letting herself be led through the crowd. It was harmless. And seeing the black man up close would be interesting.
They bumped their way through the thickening throng. Janet was looking over her shoulder, nodding a polite hello to an industry executive, she’d have to circle back to him. When she turned around she stopped so suddenly she splattered some of her drink.
Not at the black man, but at his companion. And she immediately knew that there was no way the black man could be gay.
I had to wait in a line to get into the gallery, everyone arriving at the same time, squeezing through the narrow doorway. Through the display window I could see how packed the place was. I was glad I had worn the blazer, most of the men were in suits and ties, prob
ably coming directly from their offices. The din of conversation drifted outside, obviously most of these people knew each other or were just good at parties and mingling.
This wasn’t my crowd, the corporate types; most of my customers were in their twenties, tech hotshots, doing their thing. One of the reasons I had chosen to work from home was that to a lot of those guys, I was old, even though I was only in my early forties. Many of my clients had never even seen me, we did everything in the cloud, and as long as the apps worked, they were happy. But I knew that if they saw me in a meeting they’d wonder if I was too old to understand the gaming crowd.
I finally made it through the door and squeezed past the people who invariably cluttered up the entrance. I didn’t see Janet anywhere, she was probably already working hard on a lead. As long as she saw me at some point and could introduce me to a couple of bigshots, she’d be happy. I’d been to enough of these to know that the big bosses would arrive later anyway.
I headed for the bar, along the way being ignored by everyone once they realized they didn’t know who I was, which was fine with me. Armed with a gin and tonic, I forced myself to look at the art. It looked like someone had spilled buckets of random paint colors on huge canvasses, which probably meant it cost a fortune. I thanked the stars not only for having Janet, but that she didn’t like this kind of shit on our walls.
The place was much bigger than it looked from the outside. It appeared to be a converted factory or some such, really high ceilings, the room going back so far I could barely see the back wall under an overhanging loft. Janet’s company was known for big shindigs, and they’d gone all out here, they must have invited half the city.
Sometimes at events like this I played a little game: I’d look for a small crowd surrounding one person, trying to guess which one would have Janet in it. Like the picture on my phone, it would normally be the one with mostly men. From where I stood it was hard to do this, the room was simply too crowded. I needed a better vantage point.
I made my way toward the stairs to the loft, my eye out for Janet. There were more women than I expected, nicely dressed, most younger to middle aged. A good looking crowd, both the men and the women, relaxed in their money and good looks.
Even the loft was packed, but I managed to find a spot along the rail, overlooking the vast room below. I was above the level of the hanging lights, and from this vantage point I knew I’d be a little hard to spot from below; I was the equivalent of three floors up. I sipped my drink, playing my game.
There were quite a few small clusters of people around the room below me, the conversations now resonating into a dissonant cacophony, totally drowning out a small group of string musicians I hadn’t even noticed on the way in. I scanned each cluster, but after my first pass hadn’t spotted Janet. Maybe she wasn’t here yet, although that wasn’t like her.
I peered at the crowd again, the angle odd, almost looking down at the people below me. Still, I’d have no problem spotting Janet, not only did she have distinctive auburn hair, but I knew her body language. Unfortunately, there were quite a few reddish haired women there, not all of them natural.
After two passes through the groups I gave up, a little disappointed. I’d hoped to experience another one of those thrilling moments when I’d see a bunch of horny met lusting after my wife. Thinking she might be in conversation with a few clients, I started looking for smaller groups of three or four. Still nothing.
Finally I turned my attention to the side walls, where the art was. In the farthest corner, a large sculpture stood on a pedestal about ten feet from the wall, leaving enough space so someone could circle around back to see it from all sides. There was no art hung on the wall behind it. A very broad shouldered black man stood there, his back to the wall. He didn’t have a jacket on, and I wondered if he was part of a security detail; his shaven head and obvious physique, even from this distance, hinted at strength. He was talking to a well dressed woman who looked vaguely familiar, then I recognized her as Linda, one of Janet’s co-workers.
Linda put her hand on the guy’s arm, guiding him away, deeper behind the sculpture. I smiled; Janet had told me a little about Linda, and it seemed like she was putting the moves on the black man. He was so large that until he moved I hadn’t immediately noticed there was someone else in the small private space. Another man was back there, a white guy, just as well built as the black man, also not in a jacket. More security?
He moved to the side, revealing a woman, backed against the wall, in animated conversation, the guy smiling, leaning forward, clearly in her space, the woman twisting her hair. Barely out of sight of the crowded room, yet both of them seemingly oblivious to their surroundings, intent only on each other. A very personal conversation in a sea of chitchat.
The woman briefly touched the man’s arm, and now they switched positions, like a little dance, the man now against the wall, pinned there by the woman’s intensity.
A woman that looked just like Linda had, working to capture the man in front of her.
Except that this woman was my wife.
Janet slipped her heels off as soon as she got in the door. She had a little buzz going, she never should have had three drinks without eating anything. But the night had gotten a little out of control, and she had gulped the alcohol down to calm her nerves.
And not just her nerves needed calming.
She slipped into the hall bath to pee, she hadn’t even had time to do that. Actually, she hadn’t wanted to break away from the party to go to the bathroom, she hadn’t wanted to do anything except. . .
In the mirror she took a long look at herself. She looked better than she expected after such a long day, her eyes bright, animated, her face a little flushed. Not just from the booze, either.
She padded through the kitchen, surprised that only the night light was on in the back hall. Mason’s office door was open, the computer screen casting eerie shadows, but he wasn’t there. Janet hadn’t seen him at the party, assuming he got too tied up, or just didn’t want to come, she knew it wasn’t his thing anyway. And maybe it was for the best, given what had happened.
The upstairs hall was also dark, just the nightlights. In the bedroom she could see Mason’s motionless form in the bed, he was sleeping. That was odd, he usually worked really late, she hoped he wasn’t sick. That would also explain why he hadn’t shown up. He should have called, she would have come home.
Or maybe not.
She undressed quietly in the walk in closet. As she was about to toss her blouse in the hamper her senses responded to a hint of—phonemes? She buried her nose in the silk, the sensation making her dizzy. Brad. He had brushed against her, leaving his scent on her, some combination of his sweat and his cologne, bringing back so many memories, and not only of tonight. She wondered if she would have recognized that scent if she had not seen him this evening, if she had not touched him.
Probably.
Janet gently put the blouse in the hamper. Then, remembering where she was, she felt compelled to push it down in the pile of clothing, burying it like the past, not to see the light of day until cleansed away.
She hadn’t even done anything, not really, what did she have to be guilty about?
Still, she considered taking a shower. Standing there in the dark closet, in just her underwear. Feeling. . .sexy, even though she was only wearing her comfortable work bra and panties. Wondering if she would have felt ashamed of her choice of undergarments if the night had ended differently.
She shuddered. She couldn’t let her mind go there, it was stupid, what was she thinking, that she’d put on lacy underwear if she thought she might run into an old flame? What for? She was a happily married woman.
And it wouldn’t be fair to Mason, even having these thoughts.
Mason. Why hadn’t he been at the party? If he had, none of this would have happened, she wouldn’t have even ended up talking to Brad, or if she had, the conversation would certainly never have been so personal.
&n
bsp; Torn between an annoyance with Mason that she knew was unreasonable, an anger at herself for having unbidden thoughts, and a tingle of excitement from seeing Brad, all Janet could do was stand there in the dark closet, swaying slightly, suddenly uncertain about more than just whether to take a shower.
The shower would be warm and would calm her down. Or maybe not; often at night she’d come upstairs to the empty bedroom, wishing Mason would be there, to reconnect, to cuddle, to talk about nothing and everything, and then to make love. Instead he’d be downstairs working, focused, wired in his own way, his mind on anything but a gentle runway to sex. Those nights she’d often get in the shower, using the hot water to take the place of verbal foreplay, warming her, enveloping her. When she was ready she’d direct the handheld sprayer over her breasts, between her legs, her surrogate lover, the water in no hurry, at least until she was. Her climaxes would bring relief from her bodily frustrations but not her psychological ones.
Not tonight. She feared what she’d be fantasizing about if she succumbed to those needs right now.
Back in the bedroom Janet stripped off her bra and put on a thin pair of pajamas. She slipped quietly into the bed, far on her side, curled away from Mason, who hadn’t moved.
The quiet did nothing to settle her down, the noise of the party in her head, her heart still thumping from her unexpected run in with Brad. He had looked so good, not only his body but his voice and his eyes bringing back so many memories. Janet knew that this was a trick of memory, she was in the mood to be thinking about only the good parts of her relationship with Brad, how he excited her, the sex. The rest of the relationship had been —not a disaster, but empty, all hot sex, no real love. She’d had quite a number of those, on and off, hot and heavy, wild at times, doing things she’d never do with a man she was really serious with, the kind of man she wanted in her life for the long haul. She hadn’t known enough when she had been married the first time, the sex so good she confused it for love.
