Available to Chat

by Sutton, Jacy

  Nancy turned to Olivia then. “It’s a lot to take in,” she said. “You’re my best friend. But I care about Mike, too. I can’t just sit by and watch someone hurt him. Even if it’s you,” she broke off. Then she added, “Especially if it’s you.”

  The girls’ team warmed up on the deck of the pool in front of them. Liza turned and gave a small wave. Nancy stood and gathered her coat and purse. “I need to think a bit,” she said. “I’m going to sit over there now.” Her eyes looked sad and she stared at Olivia for a long moment.

  “Nancy, wait a second.” Olivia reached toward her friend, but Nancy had already turned and begun walking away.

  Olivia laced her fingers together and set her hands in her lap. She glanced around the half-filled stands at all the familiar faces and at the spectators she didn’t know. Then she kicked her foot against the cement block below the seat, listening to the hollow clunk, once, then twice, then once more. The boys’ meet had finished now, so Olivia picked up her coat and purse and left without saying good-bye to anyone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  OLIVIA LOGGED ONTO FACEBOOK when she got home, hoping to improve her mood. Hoping to find Jake. His picture popped up, the Facebook algorithms pushing anything Jake-related to the top of her feed. In the photo he was younger, fifteen years younger, she saw by the caption. His hair was blonder, cut in a boxy, bowl style, and his skin looked so taut without those soft lines she knew near his eyes and the corners of his lips. His right arm wrapped tightly around his young bride’s waist.

  Olivia groaned audibly. She looked at Dana, radiant to be sure, but Olivia thought her eyes too wide-set. Her teeth too large.

  Dana had posted the picture and written, “Happy 15th Anniversary to the best husband EVER.”

  Olivia was about to log off, thinking an oversized glass of chardonnay should have been her first choice to improve her mood, when a chat ping startled her.

  “Whatcha wearing?” Jake asked without preamble.

  “It’s been a wild day,” she answered, avoiding his lewd question. “Just got home from a swim meet.”

  “How’d Daniel do?”

  Olivia recounted the events.

  “Not too shabby,” Jake wrote. “Boxers and a cut-off T-shirt, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

  She hated, but obviously also relished, how he could literally charm the pants off her. “I’m wearing baggy sweatpants and an oversized top with a large ketchup stain,” she lied, trying to dissuade his advances. “Right over the breast.” She added the last, unwilling or unable, to completely avoid flirtation.

  “I wouldn’t even see that old stain,” he wrote. “Not if you were sitting next to me.”

  “It’s pretty noticeable. Right there, over the swell of my firm, round….” As she typed, Olivia admitted to herself she was quite bad at not flirting.

  “How long do you think that shirt would actually stay on if I were around?”

  “Jake,” she began, and then noticed he’d switched his profile picture. It was the size of a stamp, but she could see it was the wedding day photo. Her profile picture, aligned below his in the chat window, was an old one of her and Daniel standing at a distance in front of the lake. As she tried to think of where this conversation should go next, Jake’s wedding picture moved back to the top of her news feed. He’d added a comment within the last few seconds. “Thanks Honey for the wonderful life we’ve created together.”

  “Hey,” he pinged her again. “We could just hop in the shower together. I’d help you get the shirt clean or at least soaking wet.”

  “Is it your anniversary?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Neither typed for a minute.

  “I can let you go if you need to.” She wrote the words feeling magnanimous. And angry. And hot. And confused. And hoping he’d say no to saying good night. And thinking he should probably say yes.

  “I’m fine. She went to sleep already.”

  A mean red streak shot through Olivia. Without you? The best husband EVER? Olivia clicked on her profile picture and changed it to one from last winter, where she wore a sexy, low-cut white lace top. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in thick, soft curls. Marti had taken the photo on a girls’ night out when they’d gone to see a play.

  Within a second, he wrote, “That’s the kind of picture that could make a guy forget what day it is.”

  “I lied before,” Olivia wrote.

  “About?”

  “The sweatpants. They’re not baggy. They’re tight and they hug me like…well like the shirt in that picture.”

  “So I’d pull you in the shower,” he wrote. “That shirt’s soaked through so it clings to your luscious, round breasts. I’d give you those kisses you want so much. The kind where my lips are all over yours but I can’t stop whispering how gorgeous you are. How badly I want you.”

  Olivia placed her hand on her chest, then gently moved it over her right breast, feeling the swell, the firmness. She felt that sweet twitch between her legs.

  “Let me pull that T-shirt over your head and unhook your bra.”

  Olivia moved her hand under her shirt so she could feel her own hot skin.

  “I want to bury my face in your lovely chest. Take that divine pink nipple between my teeth.”

  “There you are,” Mike said, standing much closer behind her than she would have thought possible without hearing him.

  She quickly put both hands on the keyboard and clicked the chat window shut.

  He sat down on the couch next to her, holding a rolled up magazine that he batted against his thigh at uneven intervals. “What’s on the schedule for tomorrow? I was thinking of making venison for dinner.”

  The chat window kept blaring in angry blue at her, reminding her she’d left Jake alone in the shower. And on his anniversary. “That would be great. I have an appointment with Dr. Jones after work.”

  “What do you talk about with her?”

  “Life,” she said obliquely, reluctantly shutting the laptop and laying it at her side.

  “Us?” Mike asked.

  “Well, yes. It’s either that or discuss that pony I always wanted.”

  He unrolled the magazine. On the cover posed a large turkey caught behind a blurry hen at the edge of a field.

  “You could come, you know,” Olivia said.

  “To your appointment?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would I talk about?”

  “Our marriage, I suppose.”

  Mike stood up. He went into the kitchen without responding and began rooting around in the pantry for a late-night snack. Olivia opened the laptop. Jake had sent a flurry of messages. The last few asking, “Are you there? Did you have to go?” She was going to tell Jake she could talk in a few minutes, but Mike came back into the room holding a Rice Krispies treat he’d found on the shelf with the other junk food Daniel begged for.

  “I don’t want to go,” he said simply.

  “You don’t have to. It was just an invitation.”

  “I know what those things are like.”

  “What things? Therapy appointments?”

  “Before my folks divorced, they dragged me and Terri to months of those. Nothing ever gets accomplished. It’s just a free-for-all to rip people apart.”

  Olivia thought of her sessions with Dr. Jones, the energy level in the room about like a hot, July Sunday afternoon.

  “No one would get ripped apart.”

  “Still,” Mike said. “I’m not going.”

  After he left the room, Olivia opened the laptop. Jake had messaged several more times, and finally wrote, “Damn, you must not be coming back on.” And even though he’d logged out, Olivia could feel his frustration. It matched her own.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “HAVE YOU AND YOUR HUSBAND had sex recently?”

  Olivia nodded, thinking of the fairly successful photo shoot.

  “Was that a good experience for you?”

  “Mediocre. He listened
to what I was asking for. But I didn’t climax.”

  “Can you think of a time recently when you have felt satisfied sexually?”

  “Yes,” Olivia answered, not pausing to think.

  Dr. Jones looked up from her pad. Even Olivia was startled by her own conviction.

  “Was this with Jake?”

  Olivia nodded.

  “Have you two met in person now?” Dr. Jones asked, in a voice as level as an Iowa wheat field.

  “No,” Olivia said.

  “But you’ve found some sexual satisfaction during your conversations?”

  “Yes.” The answer hung awkwardly between the two women.

  Olivia looked directly at Dr. Jones and suddenly realized she had no idea how old this woman was. Her face was unlined, which could have made her thirty, or fifty with Botox. Did she have a family? Husband? Partner? Children? Her office was decorated in dulled beige and subdued cream. The pictures on the wall were all empty vistas in black and white. A lonely lighthouse on a beach. A solitary tree in a meadow. A single daisy growing forlornly at the forefront of a grassy hill. Were they all metaphors for the woman’s life? Or did she go home to a house in the suburbs filled with kids and a refrigerator covered in handprint artwork and sports photo magnets?

  “Please elaborate,” Dr. Jones said, her pen poised above her notebook.

  Olivia began thinking of a recent conversation. She forgot to respond as she became lost in the memory.

  “Olivia,” Dr. Jones prompted, after a long moment.

  Olivia waited a beat. “Last week he described what it would be like if we were together. He imagined us taking a walk. He wrote he’d put his arm around my waist.” She looked up at the doctor, who scribbled furiously.

  “You know, he’s much taller than I am. I’d fit snugly next to him. The way he wrote it, I could actually feel him touching me.”

  Dr. Jones paused her note-taking, and the women’s eyes met. Olivia tried to gauge her reaction, but the therapist’s eyes remained as enigmatic as the pictures on the wall.

  “Go on.”

  “Then he wrote he’d kiss me. First he typed, ‘Slowly.’ Then, ‘Passionately.’ Then, ‘Madly.’”

  “And this satisfied you sexually?”

  “Oh, no. There was more.” Olivia lifted a small, perfect, polished black stone from the coffee table beside her and rubbed its smooth edge with her thumb. “I needled him a little. I told him I shouldn’t be kissing anyone at work. When he realized where I was, it gave him a rush. He wanted me to touch myself as I sat at my desk.”

  “And did you?” Dr. Jones asked, tucking one leg underneath her.

  “Of course not. I just sat there.” After a moment Olivia added, “Just like you are.”

  The therapist quickly unlaced her legs so both feet rested firmly on the floor.

  “He teased me. He wrote if I didn’t, he’d drive up to the cities. He asked what I’d do if I found him waiting outside my office building.” Olivia set the stone back down on the table beside her. Then she looked directly at the doctor and said, “I told him, ‘I’d climb in the backseat and have you fuck me right there.’”

  Dr. Jones lifted the pen to her lips and bit down gently. She waited for Olivia to pick up the narrative again.

  Olivia remained stock-still, except for her hands, which kept searching for something to touch. “He suggested we’d go for a ride. He’d slip in the passenger seat next to me and have me drive to a motel a few miles away. He described stroking his hand slowly along my thigh. How he’d kiss the sweet spot just behind my ear. Caress me.”

  Dr. Jones’ left hand rested on her lap, and Olivia noticed the slightest movement as her fingers stretched, rubbing nearly imperceptibly against her thigh.

  “Suddenly, he wrote, ‘Call me.’ He’s never done that before. He typed his number. I checked around my work area, but everyone was busy, so I slipped out and went to the car. I climbed in and dialed. I actually forgot for a minute my car has speakerphone, but when he answered, I was surrounded by him. His voice is absolutely perfect. Sexy and deep. You could vanish into it.”

  Dr. Jones leaned forward now. Her eyes clear, focused.

  “Then he said, ‘I’d make it so damn hard for you to drive, Olivia. I’d whisper right in your ear how badly I want you. I’d rub my hand on top of your skirt. And then, when I’d hear you beg, I’d slip it underneath.’” Olivia’s hands found the tweedy, textured couch and rubbed at the nap. “I started to drive then, up to the top level of the ramp. It was nearly empty. I parked in the far back corner, listening to Jake the entire time. He said, ‘I’d find that sweet, soft skin. So warm. So ready for me. Brush my hand against those silky little panties. What color?’ he asked suddenly.

  “I told him white. All lace. And I could hear his voice catch. And then he said, ‘Liv, I’d slide one finger into your hot, wet pussy.’”

  There was an audible gasp and Olivia wasn’t quite sure if it had been her or Dr. Jones.

  “And you touched yourself then?” the doctor asked.

  “Yes. I slid my hand beneath my skirt, just as Jake said he would. He asked if I was touching. It turns him on to know. He told me we’d be at the hotel by then. He said he’d already have a room for us. He described coming to my side of the car, opening the door for me, helping me to get out, and then he’d pull me into him. ‘No gentle sweet kisses,’ he warned. ‘I’d wrap you up so tightly you could hardly breathe, Liv.’

  “By now, I’d slid two fingers in. My eyes were closed and I prayed no one would walk past my car. But honestly, at that point, I really didn’t care.

  “Then he said, ‘Once I got you in that hotel room I’d push you up against the wall. We wouldn’t even make it to the bed. I’d pull your skirt down, but you could leave those high heels on.’

  “And I told him I’d reach down and feel him. I described how eagerly I’d unbutton his jeans, unzip the fly and take his rock-hard cock in my hands. And when we’re talking to each other like that—so explicitly—it’s so hot and descriptive, and I want him so desperately. I just rubbed myself harder and harder right there in the car.”

  Olivia met Dr. Jones’s eyes and she nodded slightly, encouraging Olivia to continue.

  “It’s such a fantasy for me. The idea of him taking me, right there, against the wall, five feet from a bed. But both of us so hot we can’t even make it those couple steps. We both need it so badly. And then Jake said, ‘Imagine me thrusting deep, deep inside you, ramming your ass up against the hard wall with each push. You’d love it, wouldn’t you?’ I told him, yes. And he said, ‘Your sweet breasts—they need it too. My hand clenching you, rubbing, pushing, fondling, flicking that hard little nipple.’

  “And I reached one hand under my shirt, so I could feel that sensation too.

  “‘What else do you need, Liv?’ he asked. And I told him. I begged him, ‘I need you deep, deep inside me. Thrusting so hard. No mercy.’

  “‘I would, Liv,’ he said. ‘I’d fill you. Make you take me in. Thrust inside you deeper than you’ve ever had until I’d command you—come now.’ And just as he said it, I did.” Olivia closed her eyes and bit down hard on her lip. “I came for him, right there in the parking ramp, with one hand on the door handle for support.”

  Olivia paused a long moment before opening her eyes. Dr. Jones sat across from her, one manicured hand pressed between her breasts, her leg unconsciously tucked up, once again under her bottom.

  Their eyes met and held. Finally, Dr. Jones, sounding as though she had just run up a flight of stairs, said, “Let’s continue this next session. Have Stacey fit you in.”

  Olivia glanced at the clock, shocked to find the hour over. Feeling shooed out of the doctor’s presence, she ineffectually pushed at a stray hair on her forehead, then grabbed her purse. At the door, she turned back to Dr. Jones. The woman sat stock-still, expressionless, staring at the notepad beside her. Her eyeglasses rested oddly low on her nose.

  Without another word Olivia sh
ut the door behind her. She delayed in the hallway outside the office to have one more moment with Jake. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and thought of lying next to him after they’d made love. How familiar his body would feel to her then. She imagined the ease of a gentle kiss, after all the heat and passion had run their course. She brought her hand up to her cheek, wishing it was his. She pretended she could hear his voice whispering soft, amorous declarations. She murmured his name and gave an incandescent smile.

  As satisfied as she could hope to be standing alone in a lonely hallway, nearly a hundred miles from him, Olivia headed to the receptionist’s desk. Stacey saw her and held up one finger, nodding emphatically into the phone.

  “Yes, Dr. Jones, I’ll cancel your next appointment. I understand. I’ll explain you can’t see anyone right now.” Then she set the phone back down in its cradle and smiled pleasantly at Olivia. “Shall we schedule your next visit, then?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  OLIVIA CHECKED THE TIME on her phone, surveyed the grocery store checkout lines, and calculated she could spare a few minutes to run back to the deli for the Waldorf salad Mike liked. She turned her cart around and nearly ran into Nancy, who had paused between the produce bins and was intently studying apples.

  “Hi, Nancy,” she said tentatively. The two hadn’t spoken since the swim meet.

  Nancy looked up expectantly. When she saw it was Olivia, her lips curled down. “Hello.”

  Olivia tapped her fingers on her thigh. “I was just going to get some more salad for dinner tonight.”

  Nancy nodded at her. “Sounds good.”

  They stared at each other, not speaking. Finally, Olivia moved to turn away.

  “Are you still talking with him? Jake, was it?”