The Infidelity Diaries

by AnonYMous

  I promised.

  For the next couple of hours Ben and I surfed through some interesting BDSM sites. As we made our way through the sites, I giggled and said, ‘Can you imagine how many Google robots are working overtime to send your information to the relevant authorities as we do this? They might come knocking at your door, Ben.’

  He laughed and said, ‘I know. It has crossed my mind many a time. Ah well, we aren’t committing a crime. Yet.’

  Ben landed on a site which he was already a member of. It had categories for every kind of BDSM. He clicked on the ‘DS for Heterosexuals’ tab and we scrolled down the page, looking at various links to videos and stories which members had posted.

  Then he got bored and left me to it, saying, as he walked out the door, ‘Remember, Papi, you’ll have to sign up if you want to make contact with anyone. And, please, make sure you get to know your next contact.’

  ‘Yes, Ben, got it!’

  Despite my unpleasant experience and new-found caution, I had to admit it was a great distraction reading some of the posts members had written about themselves. Wow—some people could be very explicit as to what turned them on.

  I decided to join up but to not use the name and password I had created for Alex’s site. As I wondered what to call myself, I thought, ‘What the hell, why not just use Eve as my user name?’

  I then set the password as ‘Ezra’ and posted the same picture of the butterfly in the profile. It then requested an email address, which I initially baulked at. Then I thought: too easy. And I logged onto gmail to create my new address, evetomas@gmail.com.

  Now I was a member. Scrolling up and down through the list, I always returned to the same spot but didn’t really concentrate on why. Obviously something had caught my eye, but I was distracted by the ache in my neck. I stretched my arms above my head; my body felt very heavy. I wondered if the effects of whatever Alex had drugged me with were still wearing off.

  I left myself signed in to the site and walked through to Ben, who was talking to someone on the phone. I put my palms together, pointing to the sky and along one side of my face; then I tilted my face onto this ‘pillow’ and momentarily closed my eyes, letting him know that I was going to go to sleep for a little while. He nodded and gave me a little wave.

  I stretched out on top of my bed. I felt exhausted.

  Tomas

  I went travelling four weeks after we had seen each other in Rushcutters Bay. I needed to get away. My final destination was on the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico, but this was in an era before it had become overrun by tourists.

  It was autumn, and I slept in a cheap hotel in Cancun on a single bed on a linoleum floor surrounded by dirty walls. I didn’t care, because I spent my days either walking on the long deserted beach in front of the hotel, or letting my mind lose its way while I swam in the turquoise water of the Caribbean Sea.

  I rented an old battered red Volkswagen car and drove south to the Toltec site of Chichen Itza, one of the Mayan ruins in the area.

  This site was you, to me.

  In earlier times the Mayans had played a form of football on the pitch in front, which always ended in a ritual sacrifice. Historians could never agree as to whether it was the winners who were beheaded as an honour, or the losers.

  As I sat there in the ruin I thought of us, Tomas, and what we’d sacrificed.

  And I wondered if there was any honour left between us.

  When I woke there was complete silence, so I went to find Ben because I suddenly felt lonely. He had left a note to say he was out for the night and to have a look at the iMac. I found a note stuck to the screen.

  ‘Check out Member 32 in the list, Fox—interesting user name. By the way, I know you’ll be taken by his eyes—or what you can see of them.’

  I scrolled through the site and stopped. This was exactly the place I had kept returning to earlier, without knowing why. Member 32, or Fox, was wearing a mask, yet the image couldn’t hide the deep green of his eyes. Ben was right—those eyes captured me.

  What is it that attracts us to some people, and not to others? Instinctively we might react to a physicality: hair, eyes, neck, smile, ankle bone, ear lobe. And the list goes on. Equally our intrinsic natures are threaded with sensory stimuli, knowledge and experience—good or bad. And these are the pieces we place together in our jigsaw of desire—for someone.

  I knew that what I desired in someone at this moment was not what I needed, but looking on the surface, and not beneath, was easier for me to cope with at this stage. Nor was I ready to inspect the damage caused by the sledgehammer Henry had slammed into our relationship, but I was aware the cracks were growing deeper and wider every day.

  And so I wondered what it was about this masked man, apart from his eyes, that had caught my attention. Even stranger was that, while I was looking at his image on the screen, he pinged a message to me.

  ‘Hello there.’

  ‘Hello. Curiosity kills the cat and not sure if I want to be taken by a fox, yet. Why “Fox”?’

  His reply was immediate. ‘Speed and agility. And you, why “Eve”—first woman?’

  ‘It’s my name.’

  ‘I see you’ve just signed up to this site. What is it that you’re after?’

  ‘Some fun. Nothing specific, just an escape, really. To be honest, I’m not really sure how this whole thing works.’

  ‘It works the way you want it to. If you want to be in control, then take control. Otherwise be controlled. It’s your choice—entirely up to you.’

  And there they were again, those words: ‘your choice—entirely up to you’.

  I brought my hands together in front of my mouth, almost as if in prayer, and stared at the screen. They were Tomas’s words from years ago, and now a complete stranger had brought them back to life. I looked down at the white circle around the fourth finger of my left hand, which showed clearly where the sun had not been able to reach for all of time.

  But I had chosen to marry Henry. I had chosen to stay with him and remain faithful to him till death do us part. He had chosen to remain faithless to me instead. And now it was entirely up to me to have faith in myself and the choices I was to make from here on in.

  I replied to Fox. ‘Not sure I have the energy to be in control right now. Maybe I’ll leave it up to you for now.’

  ‘Sounds like we could get along well. Does the butterfly have any significance?’

  ‘Just something that I love as I don’t really want a photo of me on the site. Not something that I really want to advertise that I’m doing.’ Not that I was doing anything anyway.

  ‘Fair enough, but there are lots of ways to disguise yourself. I like my mask because it gives an idea of what I look like, but stops me from being identified. Have you got a mask?’

  Thinking about Ben’s wardrobe, I replied, ‘I do.’

  ‘I’d like to see you in a mask. Would you like to take a photo of yourself in a mask for me?’

  ‘Hang on.’ I ran through to Ben’s walk-in robe. There were a number of masks on the lower shelf and I took them all through into his bedroom. I chose the red one, because I had that exact colour in a lipstick. I pulled my hair up into a high ponytail, secured the mask around my head and put my red lipstick on.

  I sat in front of the camera lens on the iMac screen and kept on taking photos until I was happy that no one would be able to identify me from the shot. I retrieved my profile from the site and replaced the picture of the butterfly with the masked shot.

  Switching back to the text window I typed, ‘Do you like what you see?’ I knew I was being flirtatious, but I thought what harm could it do? After all, I wasn’t married anymore and was free to have some fun.

  ‘I do. Very much! Where do you live? I’m based in Hong Kong.’

  ‘I live in Shanghai. Do you travel to the mainland much?’

  ‘Mostly to Beijing. I’ve only been to Shanghai a couple of times. How do you find living there?’

  ‘I love it, but
have to admit it’s good to get out occasionally, away from the “eyes and ears”. I usually escape to Hong Kong, funnily enough.’

  ‘Well, we might just need to organise something. I’m going to have to sign off as I have some work to finish. Do you want to send me some more shots? I’d love to see more of you. Send them to e_fox@hotmail.com.’

  ‘OK, I’ll find some for you to enjoy. Let’s chat soon.’

  After writing down the email address, I signed out of the site, signed into my new email account and added his address to my contacts list. His was the only contact here, I noted.

  I felt strong, and good about myself. I liked the sound of Fox, and the fact that he was interested in getting to know me. Ben’s words echoed: ‘promise me that you’ll spend some time getting to know a guy.’ Well, I was, and I have to admit, it was thrilling.

  I woke up refreshed and felt great for the first time in weeks. I changed into my running gear and ran out of the apartment and all the way to Fuxing Park. After watching my favourite show on earth, I took off again and ran all the way to The Bund and across the Garden Bridge to the Old Town for a cup of tea.

  Exhausted from my run, I checked email while I poured my third cup of tea. Alice had sent me a whole lot of links to help my research for the art exhibition. ‘Oops—need to do some work, Eve, and better get started,’ I said to myself.

  There were things in the house I needed to get, and I knew that I had to call Henry’s personal assistant, Maxie, and organise a meeting. It was 7.30 a.m., but she was always at work by seven. She answered within three rings and was very cool when I said who it was.

  ‘Oh, hello, Eve,’ was all she said.

  ‘Hello, Maxie.’ I couldn’t be bothered with any niceties as I knew Henry would have poisoned her mind with lies so I just told her, equally coldly, that I hadn’t organised a removalist yet, because I was waiting for Henry’s lawyer to contact me regarding our divorce settlement. ‘In the meantime, I need to get some of my things. So can we organise to meet at the house today or tomorrow?’

  She replied, ‘I can’t tomorrow. It will have to be today. The only time that suits me will be 8.30 this morning.’

  I glanced at my watch—it was nearly 7.45. The traffic was already very heavy heading into the tunnel that ran underneath the river to Pudong, but if I caught a cab immediately I’d be able to make it.

  ‘Alright, that will have to do, I suppose.’

  I hung up and my phone buzzed with a missed call from Ben, followed by a brief text. ‘Where are you? I’m going to the gym, shall I meet you there?’

  I texted back and asked him to meet me at my old house, to lend me some moral support.

  The house felt like a cold stone as Maxie let us in. She guarded the place as if we were thieves. I felt like telling her that Henry had stolen something from me that was far greater than any object in his house. Instead, I just took my laptop charger and my tape recorder, as they were the only things I needed right now. I looked at Ben, and he knew the meaning behind my words when I said, ‘Let’s fly.’

  I spent most of the next three days concentrating on the links to websites that Alice had emailed me, reading about the exhibiting artists and reviews of their work—with Fox in the back of my mind. All the time.

  Finally, when I had exhausted any retention ability I had left, I linked back to the DS site, and saw a message from him.

  ‘Sex is the consolation you have, when you can’t have love.’

  The words were familiar to me, something I had read once. And then I understood. It was a test, and a good one at that. I liked the quote he used and replied with another to make sure I was on the right track.

  ‘There is always something left to love.’

  I waited for his reply, to see if I was correct.

  Henry would never have been drawn to the narrative brilliance of one of my favourite authors, Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Fox, however, was coaxing me on a level that I loved, and he was definitely luring me into his den.

  I was just about to sign out when the reply came. ‘I see we like the same author. Am beginning to like you, even though we haven’t met. By the way, where are the photos? I need to whet my appetite.’

  ‘I will, I promise.’

  As our conversations became more frequent, I found that we shared quite a lot in common; I was starting to like the sound of Fox. I mentioned my upcoming Beijing trip and we decided to meet there for a couple of days at the end of my stay.

  Neither of us had said anything more about sending photos of ourselves so we could recognise each other when we met. Instead, we had sent each other tokens for identity purposes. I sent mine to a private box in Hong Kong, and had given him Ben’s address so I could receive his token there.

  ‘I’ll email you the hotel details. By the way, what does the “e” stand for in your email address?’

  ‘Edward.’

  So he had a name.

  My leather boots were tight around the toes as I waited in the baggage collection area at Beijing Airport. I had bought the boots in Bangkok on one of my shopping trips with Ben, but I had never worn them, even in the winters of Shanghai, and was now desperate to take them off.

  Waiting for my suitcase was when I saw him for the first time. He was tall and casually dressed, in a dark brown leather jacket, white T-shirt, faded jeans and La Sportiva hiking boots. He let his dark blond wavy hair fall just above his shoulders and I noticed a white scar above his right eyebrow.

  But I was more absorbed in the way he tapped his mobile phone on his other wrist, because it revealed a rare Armani Chronograph wristwatch—my token to him.

  He glanced up, sensing my look, and raised his eyebrows questioningly before seeing me eyeing the watch. I smiled directly into his deep green eyes and opened my jacket just enough for him to see the diamond-encrusted leather choker clasped with a key, before dropping my hand back to my bag. He nodded with a knowing smile as I walked over to him.

  ‘You must be Eve. Hey, the watch is very unusual but stunning. And I see you are wearing my token on your neck.’

  I could feel the electricity between us and said, ‘I’ve booked the room for three days and have emailed all details to you. Did you receive it?’

  He nodded as he took my wrist and moved it to his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. He then dropped it to my side as he walked forward to retrieve his suitcase. I glimpsed the nametag on his hand luggage—‘E. Sutton’.

  Without turning back he disappeared into the crowd and I was left knowing I had to wait a little longer.

  Everyone talking on their mobile phones reminded me to text Amelia to let her know I had landed. Her reply was immediate. She told me her driver, Mr Kim, would be waiting with my name on a board in arrivals.

  I saw the board held by a very tall Chinese man with a worried look on his face, standing in a maze of black hair and placards at the back of the arrivals hall. When I headed towards him, his face clearly showed relief as he realised his quarry had arrived safely. He smiled and we exchanged ni hao’s before he scooped up the suitcase and we headed out into the bitter cold towards a black car.

  It was snowing as we drove through the Chaoyang district; I had forgotten how beautiful the capital was in winter. I remembered Beijing’s nickname, ‘City of Bicycles’—even in the snow a large number of people were riding bikes, wearing yellow rainproof ponchos. When we stopped at some lights, I watched a woman glide gracefully past on her bicycle; she had a chopstick holding her hair in a bun and wore a business suit underneath a see-through poncho, plus stockings and high-heeled shoes. Across the road two men were pushing a wooden wagon loaded with steel blocks up the right side of the road, in front of an alleyway full of people eating steam buns bought from a street vendor.

  We passed the Lido market and I looked at my handbag, remembering a bartering episode in the previous year. Henry had brought me along on this business trip; while I’m sure now he was having his ‘fun’ time, I had spent my days going back and forth b
etween Hongqiao and Lido markets, buying presents for the following Christmas.

  Mr Kim spoke in broken English and said he had to make a quick stop in the city before taking the fourth ring road out to Amelia’s place. The snow had stopped and the city lights were starting to glow.

  I stood in front of the fire and looked across at the photo of Amelia on her bookshelf. She was the star of a ballet and she was about sixteen years old. Her face hadn’t changed in the seventeen years since that photo and, apart from her now being pregnant, neither had the basic structure of her physique.

  She walked into the lounge room with a tray holding two cups of green tea, a bowl of hummus and thin bread sticks, placing it on a coffee table before lowering herself, in that pregnant way, onto the couch. I sat next to her and warmed my hands around the delicate teacup.

  ‘It’s so lovely to be here, darling. To finally see you after—how long?’

  ‘Nearly two long years, I think. Now, just what did happen between you and Henry? I can’t think why he would do something so revolting, especially with that friend of yours—what’s her name again?’

  ‘Ex-friend. Her name is Chrystal, and I don’t think anything just happened. It’s been happening probably since the day we started. He couldn’t keep his grubby hands to himself, or rather just for me.’ I told her about having to be tested for herpes.

  ‘Oh my lord, how disgusting. What a worry for you, you never said a word to me.’

  ‘I know. Sorry, Amelia. What could I say? “Hello darling, just in the hospital getting tested for an STD. Want one? Because they’re going for nothing so you don’t need a loyalty card.” It doesn’t matter now—it’s all in the past.’ There was no point in talking any further about Henry and I didn’t want to dampen the mood, so I switched topics.