by Jason Starr
“Yes,” Deb said, “the coach said this practice is mandatory.”
“No, do I have to go to Andrew’s sleepover tonight?”
“Yes, and please get dressed.”
“Okay.” Justin left.
“What was I saying?” Deb asked Mark.
Adding milk to the cup of coffee, Mark said, “I don’t know.”
“Oh, last night,” Deb said. “I was a little drunk, and I’m not sure what happened, but I meant what I said about us going on a trip. I think it would be good for us to get away from all of this, escape. I really think we need this right now.”
Walking by her with the coffee in one hand, iPhone in the other, Mark said, “Can we talk about this later? I just woke up, I can’t focus on this now.”
“I don’t want to put this off,” Deb said.
Mark went into the den/office across from the kitchen, and Deb heard the door shut. Deb knew he was going to text Karen, maybe complain about how bitchy Deb had acted in the car and how now she wanted to go away on a trip to Italy. Deb felt angry, violated—what right did that woman have to know anything? She wanted to barge into the den/office, demand that he stop texting Karen, and to cut off all contact with her—that was what any wife who wasn’t cheating would do—but because of her own situation, she felt powerless.
Deb went to the liquor cabinet. She reached for the handle, then paused, deciding she was probably better off without a second drink of the day at nine in the morning, and returned to the kitchen. Loading the dishwasher, she was proud of herself for resisting the drink; it proved that she wasn’t a total victim—she had the ability to take control when she wanted to. Like she’d walked away from the liquor cabinet, she could walk away from Owen Harrison. All she had to do was be strong, focus on the things she couldn’t afford to lose, and she could do it.
On her way upstairs she saw that the door to Mark’s office was open, and he wasn’t there, and then she spotted him in the bedroom, sitting at the foot of the bed in gym shorts and a T-shirt, pulling his socks on. This was very new behavior. For years the only exercise he got was when he played golf, but lately he’d been going running almost every morning, and he’d even dusted off the weight bench in the basement and he’d been bench pressing.
“Going for a run?” Deb asked, opening her dresser to pick out clothes for the day.
“Yeah,” Mark said, not looking at her.
She took out a pair of jeans, and a gray scoop neck T.
With her back to him, she said, “You have to be careful, running along the road.”
“I am,” he said.
Instead of getting undressed in the bathroom before she showered, the way she did lately when Mark was in the room, she decided to get undressed in the bedroom. Why shouldn’t she get undressed in front of her husband?
She took off her T-shirt and sweats and was topless in panties. Mark, tying his running shoes, was still at the edge of the bed, not facing her, but there was a mirror ahead of him, above the other dresser, and if he looked at it he would see her part-naked.
“How far do you go?” Deb asked.
She wanted Mark to look at her, to notice how sexy she was. And she was sexy. She went to the gym four days a week—okay, two days—and swam at the country club. Okay, maybe she wasn’t as in shape as exercise-obsessed Karen, but she looked damn good for forty-four years old. She weighed 127, only seven pounds more than when she’d gotten married.
Mark finished tying his sneakers, and now he was standing, texting somebody, probably Karen. Deb felt pathetic, standing there topless, waiting for her aloof husband to finish texting his girlfriend so he could notice her, maybe give her a compliment.
Deb was about to give up, just go into the bathroom, when Mark, still looking at his phone, said, “Oh not too far. Just a few miles.”
“A few miles is great,” Deb said. “Maybe we should play tennis together sometime.”
“Tennis?”
Deb wasn’t sure he was paying attention.
“Yeah, tennis,” she said. “We used to play all the time. I want to get back into it.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He put the phone in his shorts’ pocket. “Have you seen my keys?”
He glanced around the room, looking right past her, then zeroed in on the dresser, to the immediate left of her.
“There they are,” he said, and he came up right next to her, not even noticing she was naked, and snatched the keys. Then, walking away toward the door he said, “Can you wake up Riley before you go? If you don’t she’ll sleep forever. I’ll drop her at dance and then I’ll text you later from golf. Text me if we need anything from Trader Joe’s. See ya later.”
Deb watched him leave the bedroom.
Showering, Deb knew time was running out. Yeah, she and Mark had been distant for a long time, but she’d never seen him so detached. Had she pushed him too far? Would it be impossible to get him back?
Deb got dressed quickly, eager to get to the school and have a talk with Owen. Usually, when she was going to see Owen, she put on one of her nicest lace bras and sexy panties, but today she put on her shabbiest underwear so she wouldn’t feel tempted.
Then she went to get Justin and saw he was still in his pajamas, playing a video game.
“What the hell’re you doing? You’re supposed to be getting dressed.”
She knew she wasn’t just blowing up at Justin, she was blowing up at everything, but she couldn’t help it.
“Sorry,” Justin said.
She grabbed the joystick.
“Hey, give it back,” he said.
“You have five minutes to get dressed, or I’ll throw it away.”
Deb went across the hallway into Riley’s room. She was curled in a ball, dead asleep, looking more like a twelve-year-old than a sixteen-year-old.
“Come on, time to get up,” Deb said.
Riley’s eyes opened. “What?” She seemed disoriented.
“Dad’s going to drive you to dance class,” Deb said. “I don’t know why you can’t get up on your own, why I have to be your alarm clock.”
Deb went downstairs, pulse pounding, and put Justin’s DS on a high shelf in the hallway closet. Fighting off an image of Karen and Mark, holding hands in the Lerners’ backyard last night, she shouted, “Four minutes, I’m warning you!” and then went into the dining room, right to the liquor cabinet, and took out the bottle of Stoli. She knew this wasn’t a good idea, she was being weak, but she needed a drink, one little drink, to steady herself. She poured a half a glass, then added a little more, just for a little extra boost, and gulped it down fast.
Okay, that was better, she felt more relaxed now, and that was the most important thing, right? She couldn’t put her mistakes behind her and get through this day with so much anxiety.
“Three minutes!” she yelled, then went to her purse and checked her phone. She saw a new message from Owen: I’m gonna give it to you so good today baby!!!!
Hating that she was turned on, she deleted the text and did a search for “Amalfi coast vacations.” She scanned the results and clicked on a site that offered a trip of six days, seven nights, including guided tours, at a spectacular-looking resort. Maybe they could do a week in Italy, then a week in Greece. Besides, going away wasn’t a luxury, it was a necessity. They were never going to get their marriage back on track here in Westchester. They had to get away from the routine, the distractions. She loved the kids, but the routine, the sameness of their lives, had ruined them more than anything.
“One more minute!” she called out.
She straightened up in the kitchen and made sure Casey was in the house. She was about to announce that time was up when Justin came down, fully dressed but carrying his sneakers.
“You’re lucky, you just made it,” Deb said.
They got in her car, Justin in the back seat, and she pulled out of the garage, feeling very buzzed, but it was okay—she could drive.
“I really, really, really don’t wanna go to the sle
epover,” Justin said.
Deb heard her phone vibrating in her purse, another text from Owen.
“You’re going,” Deb snapped, “and that’s final.”
She steered the car onto Savage Lane, thinking that she definitely didn’t want to get into a big discussion with Owen—the shorter, the better. Maybe she’d say, “I’m sorry, it’s over. We can’t see each other anymore.” No build up, just be direct. Or, better, “I’m sorry, it’s over, Owen. We can’t see each other anymore.” Yeah, saying his name would underline it, put her in control, but why say sorry? What was she apologizing for? Maybe just go, “It’s over, Owen.” The other times she’d tried to break up, she’d been wishy-washy, left wriggle room, but this time he’d hear the seriousness in her tone. Maybe she was wrong thinking that breaking up with him would be difficult and there would be drama. Maybe he’d be on the same page, understand that it couldn’t go on like this, and he’d agree to move on, and that would be the end of it.
Deb was jarred from her thoughts when, up ahead, she saw Mark and Karen near the road in front of Karen’s house. Karen was also dressed to go running in Lycra and a tank top, showing off her perfectly toned Pilates arms.
“Hey, there’s Daddy,” Justin said.
Karen was smiling, and Mark was talking in a very animated away—did he ever show so much enthusiasm when he was talking with anyone but Karen? It amazed and disgusted Deb how they were so open about their relationship, how they were flaunting it for everyone to see.
Deb was hoping she could drive by without them noticing, but there wasn’t much traffic on Savage Lane and a passing car always got attention. Sure enough as the car approached, Karen’s gaze shifted toward Deb and when they made eye contact Karen stopped smiling, just for a moment, and suddenly looked very serious, and then Mark looked over with a similar guilty expression. They were having an actual affair; Deb was certain of it.
As the car passed, Karen’s smile returned, but it was obviously a strained, fake smile, trying to cover up for her guilt, and then taking it even further, she waved at Deb. Meanwhile, Deb didn’t smile back, just glared at both of them until she had passed by, out of view.
A few minutes later, driving along Old Post Road, Deb still couldn’t believe that Karen had actually smiled at her. The bitch was flirting openly with her husband, an obvious home wrecker, and then she smiles?
Talk about balls.
PULLING INTO the lot of Barlow Mountain Elementary School, Deb saw Owen’s car—well, the Sentra he always borrowed from his mother—parked in a spot near the entrance. Deb had had sex with him in that car so many times, the latest just last Tuesday evening when she’d told Mark she was going to hang out for a while at a friend’s house, but she’d really met Owen at the parking lot behind a hardware store. Deb couldn’t help seeing a flash of Owen—his pale, hairless chest, him squeezing a fistful of her hair like he didn’t want to ever let go—but refocused quickly and rehearsed what she was going to say to him. It’s over, Owen. We can’t see each other anymore.
She hoped when she pulled out of the lot after swimming practice that would be it, he’d be out of her life for good, and she could work on rebuilding her marriage.
In the school, Justin went to the lockers to get changed, and Deb went to the pool. Most of her buzz had worn off which was annoying because she could’ve used a little more relaxation. She scanned the bleachers for Owen, but didn’t see him at his usual seat, second row, near the aisle, or anywhere else. There were about twenty other people scattered around—mostly moms and dads. Deb wasn’t really friends with any of them, but she said ‘hi’ or waved to the few moms she’d spoken to before and then sat alone a few rows behind Owen’s usual seat.
Practice had already started, the kids doing the breaststroke and the coach, Dave, shouting echoing instructions that were impossible to understand from where Deb was at the opposite end of the pool. Owen’s brother, Kyle, was swimming in lane four, so Owen had to be there somewhere. Deb looked again and, sure enough, Owen was heading toward the bleachers.
Deb felt the way she always did when Owen walked into a room—excited, horny, and very alive. It wasn’t just because she was so attracted to him. Yeah, he was a good-looking guy—six feet tall, dirty blond hair, bright blue eyes—but he was far from gorgeous. His ears stuck out a little too far and, at eighteen, his hairline was already receding, and he was lanky, a little awkward. Sometimes his arms seemed too long for his body, and he had a tick where he blinked too hard and too often when he was nervous or self-conscious. But there was just something about him that always sharpened Deb’s senses, mesmerized her. When he was nearby, even when she wasn’t looking at him, she was hyperaware of his presence. To Deb, Owen wasn’t a person; he was passion. He made her feel wanted, desired, sexy and, yes, younger.
Owen went to sit in his usual spot on the bleachers, not even looking at Deb. Though sometimes Owen wasn’t as careful as he should’ve been with his texting, the main reason the affair had lasted as long as it had was because they were always discreet in public. Was she imagining it or could she smell his Axe cologne? He was probably too far away to actually smell it, but being around him was so intoxicating and arousing in every way.
It’s over, Owen, we can’t see each other anymore. It’s over, Owen, we can’t see each other anymore.
After he watched about ten minutes of practice, Owen left the pool area. Deb knew exactly where he was going.
Deb waited about five minutes and then she got up and left as well. A five-minute lag was enough that no one could suspect that her exit had anything to do with Owen’s.
Deb went down the first floor hallway to the ladies’ room, where she went to the bathroom, washed her hands, and then spent a couple of minutes staring in the mirror, trying to get up the strength to do what she had to do. Then she left the bathroom, but instead of returning to the pool area, she made sure no one was around and went up to the third floor.
Walking along the third floor hallway, Deb’s heart rate accelerated. In front of room 314, she paused, gathering more strength, then entered.
Owen was where he always was—sitting at the desk.
“Good morning, Debbie,” he said.
She took a deep breath and tried to slow her heart rate.
“We need to talk,” she said.
That was good—taking control, or trying to. She shut the door, but remained near it.
“I know we do, Debbie, that’s why I’ve been waiting for you.”
She loved when he spoke to her in a commanding tone; it was so goddamn sexy.
“Seriously,” she said. “We have to.”
“I know, it’s very serious,” he said. “You got an F on your term paper, and you’re usually an A student. Was there some sort of problem?”
Ok, this was the time to do it. Right now.
“Yeah, actually there is a problem,” she said.
“Really?” he said. “Okay, what’s your excuse?”
She wanted to say the line she’d rehearsed, tell him it was over, but then she had a vision of Mark and Karen, on the road in front of Karen’s house, looking so together. What if Mark was planning to leave the marriage? Deb knew she couldn’t handle being alone. She’d go crazy.
“I…” she said. “I… I don’t know.”
Owen stood, facing her.
“I’m sure you have a good excuse, Debbie, and I’m sure we can work something out.”
Owen was deep in the fantasy, in his role, and Deb wanted to be in it with him, just one more time.
She approached the desk, swinging her hips back and forth. She stopped, biting down a little on her lower lip, looking like she wanted to devour him, and then, after she got on her knees in front of him, she looked up at his smooth face, and he seemed so tall, so commanding, and she heard a sad, desperate voice that sounded nothing like her own say, “Well, you know I’d do anything for an A, Mr. Harrison,” and she couldn’t stop it anymore.
The fantasy was back.
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KAREN DAILY dreaded making the phone call, but she had no choice. Steven was a good guy—funny, honest, sincere—but if she’d learned one thing from her divorce it was that life was too short to spend with the wrong person.
“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” Steven said. “How was the party?”
Karen had just gotten back from dinner at the Lerners’, but the Steven situation had been gnawing at her all evening, and she wanted to get it over with. She’d made the call while standing up, leaning against the wall in the foyer. She hadn’t even taken her coat off.
“Pretty good,” Karen said.
“Yeah,” Steven said, “was the house as fancy as you expected?”
“It was pretty spectacular actually,” Karen said.
“Wow, sounds awesome.”
“It was… Look, Steven, I hate to do this, I really do. I mean, I think you’re a really great guy. You’re smart, you’re funny, but this just isn’t working for me. I’m really sorry.”
Silence. Uh oh, he wasn’t going to get angry or start yelling, was he? She’d had to end several relationships since her divorce, and it was always a mystery how the guy would take it. Some were mature, but some begged, and others got angry and threatening.
“Oh okay, I understand.” Steven sounded relaxed, cool with it.
“Thank you.” Karen was relieved.
“No worries,” Steven said. “I think you’re great, and I was looking forward to getting to know you better, but you have to follow your heart in these situations. I get that.”
Relief hit Karen. “Thank you for being so understanding,” she said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“No problem, seriously,” Steven said. “I hope our paths cross again someday. And, hey, we’re still Facebook friends. Maybe we can play Words With Friends sometime.”
Karen laughed. “I’d like that,” she said.
Later, Karen was in her bedroom, getting out of the dress she’d worn to the party, still feeling good about how it had gone with Steven. Why couldn’t ending relationships always be so easy? If something was wrong, why couldn’t people accept that sometimes things don’t work out and happily move on?
