by Theresa Alan
When I told Rette what we’d done, she responded predictably. She pretended to be outraged, but being called a beauty, even by a lying cheating scumbag, was flattering. Eventually, I broke her down, and she agreed to do it.
Wednesday night, Avery and I helped get her ready for her “date.” Avery brought a small microphone that we taped in Rette’s bra so we could listen and record their conversation.
“It itches. It’s poking me,” she complained.
“Sorry. But isn’t this exciting?” I asked.
“A little,” Rette said.
Avery had been the technical adviser for the spying part of the plan, but when it came to the beauty consulting, I was entirely in charge. I did Rette’s makeup and hair and dressed her in a low-cut crushed-velvet blouse and black jeans.
“Don’t you think this is a little too revealing?” she asked. I stood behind her, brushing her hair, watching her looking worriedly at her image in the mirror. “I’ve never had so much cleavage exposed in my life,” she griped.
“You’ve got it; we’re flaunting it.” I watched her give her reflection the slightest smile. Good. We needed her to feel like a gorgeous temptress to make our plan work.
Avery had given Rette copies of all her and Dan’s e-mail so Rette would know everything Avery knew about Dan, at least according to what he had written.
We told Rette that her goal was to get him to reveal if he routinely cheated on his wife, in which case we were telling Lydia about this for sure. The other possibilities were less clear cut. If he wanted just a one-night stand, our action was uncertain. “Just be as trampy as you can be, and we’ll decide what to do later,” I said. Rette looked queasy.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Avery asked.
“No. This is never going to work. I’m going to say something that’ll give me away or the microphone will fall out or . . .” Rette said.
“Could you ever try to consider the bright side of things?” I asked.
“No,” she said. She sat in the chair in front of the mirror awkwardly, her hand covering her chest.
“Stop hiding your cleavage. This is no time to be shy!” I said.
Avery and I borrowed Avery’s mother’s SUV and got to the restaurant early. Rette was driving her own car to make things look legit. Avery and I parked the truck and got into the back, hiding on the floor so no one could see us through the windows.
Avery turned on the volume to the receiver that was connected to Rette’s microphone. All we heard was a sound like wind through a tunnel.
“Is it working?” I asked. “This is great. Probably all we’ll hear is the sound of Rette’s tits sweating.”
“We tested it at home. It’s going to work.”
Just then, we heard a high-pitched noise that sounded like a mouse hiccupping. Then we heard Rette whisper, “He’s here! He’s parking his car. Shit!”
“Hi,” we heard Dan say a minute or so later. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Hi. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“Wow. You know, you look familiar. You look like someone I know.”
Avery and I both stopped breathing for a moment. Rette and I did have the same shaped eyes and the same unusual shade of hair. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?
“Really?” she squeaked.
“We’ve never met?”
“No, I’m sure we haven’t.”
“Huh. Well, anyway, ever been here before? It’s good, I think you’ll like it.” We heard the door swing open.
Dan requested a table for two. There was some shuffling, some mumbling I couldn’t make out.
“Do you like wine?” Dan asked.
“I love it.”
“How does a bottle of Merlot sound?”
“Perfect.”
“The duck here is quite good. And so is the filet mignon,” he said.
“Filet mignon!” I said. I hadn’t eaten all day and I was famished. I wanted to be the one in there getting wined and dined.
“Shhh!” Avery whispered, as if we had any reason to be quiet.
I made a face at Avery, but she didn’t see me. She was listening too intently to notice me.
We listened to them order. After the waiter left, Dan babbled on and on about how much he’d enjoyed her e-mail and how intelligent she was. I was squashed uncomfortably on the floor of the SUV between the seats, my legs crumpled beneath me as they talked. Rette tried to keep him talking, asking him all about himself. When he asked her what she’d do if she weren’t working in marketing, she stuttered, “Well, I . . . love dancing and romance novels. I do crafty kinds of stuff.” She was sighing deeply as if her life depended on her response. She was way too hyper. Always had been. Fortunately for her, Dan was also into artsy-craftsy things, and he launched into some story about this desk he’d made and all the challenges that went along with making it.
“The wine is so wonderful,” Rette said as she poured herself more. “Should we get another bottle?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m starving!” I complained. “I want the autumn harvest salad with jicama and pine nuts and a flavorful sauce. I want the duck a l’orange. She’s not getting him to admit anything, she’s just scamming a free dinner!”
“Would you be quiet! Listen,” Avery said, more huffily than was necessary.
For about a million years, all we heard was Rette eating a very loud, crunchy salad and them discussing how good the bread was and how delicious the wine tasted.
By the time their dinner arrived, I was salivating over the thought of getting home to a bottle of wine myself. They chatted endlessly about nothing, and soon I was spacing out, not hearing anything much amid the clinking of silverware and the hum of conversation. Suddenly, Dan said something interesting enough to catch my attention.
“I’ve really enjoyed writing you these last couple of months. You are even more beautiful then I’d imagined,” Dan was saying. “You really are gorgeous. It’s amazing that someone like you hasn’t landed a husband by now.”
“Funny you should mention that. I sort of, listen Dan, I sort of have a confession to make. I’m engaged.”
Avery and I looked at each other, horrified. What the hell was she doing?
“Engaged?” Dan asked.
“I’m not looking for anything serious. I love my fiancé. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him. I guess I just wanted one last fling. You know, when you’re with someone for a while, they stop taking you to fancy dinners. They stop calling you beautiful and gorgeous. I guess I kind of missed that. Do you think I’m horrible?”
Neither of them said anything for a moment. Then Dan said, “No, I know what you mean.” There was a long stretch of silence. Shuffling. Breathing.
“What? What’s going on?” I asked. “She’s blowing it. That’s it. It’s over.”
“Rette, I’m married myself,” he said.
“Really?” she said.
“I hadn’t intended on cheating on my wife, in fact, I still . . . I guess my wife has been a little preoccupied with her work and some other things . . . I just sort of put that ad up there, not as a joke exactly, out of boredom really. Only one other woman responded, but her e-mails just weren’t interesting at all, so I told her I’d started dating someone. But you, I don’t know, I really enjoyed e-mailing you. You are smart and funny and insightful. You’re really something. I hadn’t intended to meet you in real life, but then . . .”
I looked over at Avery. She was crying. I reached over and took her hand.
“Do you ever miss kissing anyone else?” Rette whispered. “Do you ever wonder what it’s like to sleep with someone else?”
He laughed. “Yes. Definitely. But I don’t regret marrying my wife. Not for a second.”
“Do you want to go somewhere tonight? Just the two of us?”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I was dying to hear what happened next, but the next thing we heard was the waiter
asking if they wanted coffee or dessert.
“Rette? No dessert? You’re sure? I guess just the bill then,” Dan said. About a century and a half later, he finally spoke again. “Your offer is tempting. Very tempting. But I can’t. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve been wracked with guilt ever since we started e-mailing each other.”
“You’ve never cheated on your wife?”
“No. Not once in seven years. I’ll get this.”
“You don’t have to . . .”
“I insist.”
After a couple minutes of silence, Avery and I listened to the heels of Rette’s shoes clicking against the floor, then the pavement.
“Rette, I really want to thank you for tonight. You’re not disappointed, are you?” Dan asked.
“No. In fact, I think this evening couldn’t have turned out better.”
“Would it be okay if I e-mailed you every now and then? I’d love to know how the wedding goes.”
“I uh, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. We’ll see, okay?”
We heard a car door open, then close. After a minute or so, Rette said into the microphone, “Meet me at my apartment.” The engine turned and we heard her tearing out of her parking spot.
Avery and I waited a full five minutes before moving from our spots below the truck’s windows and heading over to Rette’s place.
I charged up the stairs to Rette’s apartment, threw open the door, and yelled, “You blew it!”
Rette was sitting on the couch; she’d already changed from her sexy clothes and was wearing a T-shirt and shorts.
“I did not. I thought if he thought I had something to lose by sleeping with him, he’d know I’d have to keep our affair secret and he’d be safe in sleeping with me.” She got up and went into the bathroom. I followed close behind. Avery stood against the wall, her arms crossed, her eyes on the floor. “He’d know it wouldn’t turn into a fatal attraction thing and that I wouldn’t expect him to leave his wife,” Rette said. “I don’t know, playing it that way just came to me. I didn’t have a script to work from, you know.”
“You did fine,” Avery said quietly.
Rette pulled her hair up in a ponytail, turned on the faucet, and began scrubbing all the makeup off her face.
“No, no,” I said, exasperated. “You were supposed to get him drunk and then lure him to some out-of-the-way place and then run your hand up his leg while kissing him lightly on his neck. My god, doesn’t anyone know how to seduce a man anymore? Avery, you read romance novels, you know how it goes. You’re not supposed to be honest and admit you’re getting married, for god’s sake.”
Rette rinsed her face, then patted her face dry and walked into the living room.
“Are you okay, Avery?”
“You did fine. Look, it’s over, he didn’t cheat on his wife. Let’s just drop it, okay? I’m going to bed.” Avery stood and made her way toward the door.
“Bed? It’s like only nine o’clock,” I said.
“I’ll see you guys later. Thanks for the help tonight,” Avery said. The screen door swung shut behind her.
The Midday Romp
Why do relationships have to be so complicated? Poor Avery was taking the Art/Dan thing really hard. My own love life was as confused as ever. Things were strange between me and Tom. At work he acted nothing more than distantly polite to me. He didn’t always call me when he said he’d call, and when he did want to get together, it was always at the last minute. In a way, I was glad I had Mike in my life. It kept me busy and not always just waiting around for Tom. But when Tom and I did get together, we always had fun.
The whole situation was tricky. I didn’t know who to fantasize about before I fell asleep at night. I tried to give them each a 50/50 split of my fantasy time, but memories of Dave usually crowded them both out of my mind.
One morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about sex with Dave, and I got so crazy horny, I e-mailed Tom suggesting we take his Excursion, find a secluded spot, and have a little lunchtime nookie. A few minutes later he arrived at my office door, grinning.
“Ready for lunch?” he asked.
“Am I ever,” I said, smiling.
“It’s not even eleven,” Avery said.
“We want to beat the crowds,” I replied.
Tom and I drove to the farthest end of a Wal-Mart parking lot and parked next to a field near the Dumpsters in the back of the Wal-Mart. We climbed in the backseat and I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them and his boxers down to his ankles. I took him in my mouth. Keeping him in my mouth, I pushed my skirt up and awkwardly worked out of my underwear—no easy feat in such a small space. I didn’t want him to come before I had a chance, so after a couple of minutes, I straddled him, putting him inside me.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said.
“Just pull out,” I said. I’d just had a period. I’d probably be fine.
I came after a few minutes. Tom guided me to change positions so I was sitting on the edge of the seat, reclined awkwardly, and he was kneeling on the floor. When he came, he pulled out and sprayed my stomach with his cum.
He sat next to me. “Here,” he said, giving me some Burger King napkins that had been lying on the floor. They looked clean enough, so I cleaned off as best I could. We dressed in silence.
I could have washed up better once we got to the office, but in an odd way, I liked having the sticky remnants of him on my stomach. The thought of our midday romp kept a smile on my face for the rest of the day.
After work, Mike took me out for a dinner that must have been at least $200, considering all the wine we had. Being taken to a nice meal always made me feel especially generous, and when we got home, I gave him a long, particularly delicious blow job, then snuggled up next to him to fall asleep. In the minutes it took to fall asleep, images of Dave kept popping into my mind. Dave laughing, Dave coming, Dave flashing me that smile of his.
How was it that I could be dating two guys and still feel so lonely?
RETTE
Pellets and Punishments
The fact that my mother was coming for a visit dramatically compounded my yuletide-and-work-induced stress. When Mom was around, I felt like a lab mouse trapped in an experiment I learned about in college. In the experiment, there were three different groups of mice. A lever was set up in the mice’s cages. When one group pressed the lever, they would be rewarded with a pellet of food every time. In another group, the mice would never be rewarded, and in the last group, the mice were rewarded sporadically. The first and second groups quickly grew bored with the game, but the mice that were in the third group just couldn’t stop themselves. They would do anything to get that periodic reward. They’d press the level until their paws bled. That’s how I felt with my mother: I alternately felt stung and loved by her, and I couldn’t always tell what I’d do to elicit one response or another. It was exhausting constantly being wary, trying to brace myself to keep from being wounded by one of her comments or disapproving looks. But every now and then I’d be rewarded with an unexpected compliment.
Part of it was that we were so different. Even as a little girl, when she tried to dress me in frilly pink dresses and hair ribbons, I considered it the gravest, cruelest punishment imaginable. She’d cajole, then she’d pull the I’m-your-mom-and-you’ll-do-what-I-say card. I’d kick and scream and tear the ribbons out of my hair at the first possible opportunity, causing my mother much frustration and gritted teeth. It was a battle that would continue in a slightly different form for the rest of my life.
When I was a teenager, as my curves developed without permission from me, I took to wearing enormously oversized clothes to hide my burgeoning figure. Mom hated my outfits and told me that if I didn’t wear such muumuu-ish clothes, I wouldn’t look so much like a circus tent. (She actually said that. Ouch.) But every now and then, I’d buy an article of clothing that Mom liked. She’d smile and tell me how nice I looked. Ka-ching! Pellet. You’d think I’d
keep trying for more pellets, and I did, to some extent, but there was also that teenage rebelliousness in me that said, Yeah, you want me to be skinny and starve myself like you do? Screw you!
Okay, this backfired on me much more than on Mom, I see that now, but doesn’t most teenage rebellion?
Part of me wanted to be into clothes and doing my nails and learning how to accessorize myself in a dazzling manner, but if something didn’t challenge my intellect, I just couldn’t bring myself to care. Jen did a much better job of garnering Mom’s approval. Jen got pellets up the ying-yang, but of course she couldn’t eat them because she was on a perpetual diet.
At least Mom paid attention, right? Unlike Dad. With Dad, Jen and I could have been doing cartwheels while on fire and he wouldn’t have noticed. But for some reason, Dad being in his own little world didn’t bother me nearly as much as Mom picking on me like a monkey mom at the zoo, picking straw and whatever the equivalent of lint is in primate circles off her monkey baby.
Jen and my relationship to food had a lot to do with what we learned from Mom’s relationship to it. She knew the fat content and calorie count of every food on the face of the earth. Any time she had the tiniest sliver of cake at the holidays, she would ruin it by talking the entire time about how bad she was and how fattening it was and how much more she’d have to work out the next day to burn it off. She could never just enjoy anything.
She thought of food as an insidious enemy, an unfortunate necessity of life. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she never prepared good food. Instead of fresh baked bread we had Wonderbread. Instead of brie, we had Cheesewhiz. Instead of filet mignon, we had Hamburger Helper. Instead of fresh pasta we had Mac ’n Cheese. You’d think someone as calorie conscious as our mom would have made things with fresh fruits and vegetables, but since food wasn’t a pleasure to my mother, she just wanted to get dinner on the table and over with as fast as possible.