Myra gritted her teeth. “I’m so angry at Michael I could scream, but I’m not going to let anything spoil our dinner,” she resolved. “You and I’ve worked too hard preparing it. No matter what Michael or Kimberly say to me, I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me lose my cool. But Michael’s attitude has accelerated the timing of my game plan. Tonight’s going to be the night, Morgan. Tonight’s going to be the night I tell Michael I want a divorce.”
Morgan’s eyes grew wide. “Are you sure, Myra? Are you really sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I’ll break the news right after dinner. Then, I’ll pack a few things and we’ll split.” She mustered up a crooked smile. “We cooked. I’ll leave the dishes for Michael and Kim.”
Thirty
MICHAEL LEANED BACK leisurely in his chair. He was sitting on the opposite side of the dining room table from Myra, with Kimberly at his right side. Morgan was seated to Myra’s left.
“Myra, you and Morgan prepared an outstanding dinner,” Michael complimented genuinely. “Everything was perfect, simply delicious. Kim and I will clear the table and bring out the dessert and coffee. We’ll do the dishes and clean the kitchen, too. You two won’t have to lift another finger tonight.” He and Kimberly each gathered a stack of plates and headed for the kitchen.
“No. Don’t go yet. There’s something I have to tell you,” Myra called after them excitedly. “I’ve fallen in love with Morgan and I’m going to leave you. Both of you. Tonight. Right after we have our coffee. Ha, ha, ha,” she cackled. “That’ll teach you to make fun of my new clothes!”
“Whaaat!” Michael yelled, dropping the dishes. They hit the floor with a loud clatter. Michael became livid with rage. He reached across the table and grabbed Morgan by the throat. “I’ll kill you, you lesbian bitch! I knew all along you were out to steal my wife!”
Kimberly ran around the table and broke a plate over Morgan’s head, then grabbed the bowl of mashed potatoes and dumped them on Morgan’s new outfit. “You’ve destroyed our family, you miserable home-wrecker! When I get through with you, no woman will ever want you!” She picked up the carving knife and aimed it at Morgan’s face threateningly.
MYRA SHOOK MORGAN’S ARM. “What is it, Morgan? What’s wrong? You’re trembling all over.”
Startled, Morgan looked around the room. She and Myra were the only ones there. “Where’s … where’s Michael? And Kimberly?” she asked sheepishly.
“They’re in the kitchen. They’ve cleared the table and they’re going to bring out dessert and coffee. Don’t you remember?”
Morgan breathed an immense sigh of relief. “Oh, girl, I guess I was having a daydream. A day nightmare, actually. Are you sure you want to tell them about us tonight? Maybe you should wait until after I go home.”
Myra was emphatic. “No, Morgan. I’m determined to get the ordeal over with tonight. And I do want—no, make that need—you here for moral support.”
“I just hope Michael and Kimberly don’t go crazy on us, girlfriend,” Morgan worried, assuming the worst.
MYRA PONDERED what would happen when she said, “Michael and Kim, I have an important announcement to make. Morgan and I have become lovers. I’m going to leave you and move in with her. Tonight.”
“Kim and I kinda thought that might be the case,” Michael said jovially, taking a generous sip of his coffee. “It’s been obvious all evening how much the two of you are infatuated with each other.”
“That’s so wonderful! You’re the perfect couple,” Kimberly prattled in a smarmy manner. She extended her hand to Morgan. “Let me be the first to offer my sincere congratulations. I hope we can continue to be close, Myra. Why don’t you and Morgan come over to the condo next Saturday night? Michael and I will throw a big party for the two of you. I’ll make gallons of margaritas. We’ll invite our friends over to help celebrate your lesbian relationship.”
MORGAN’S VOICE BROUGHT Myra back to reality. “They’ve sure been in the kitchen a long time, Myra. I wonder why?”
Myra lit two cigarettes and handed one to Morgan. She was extremely nervous, but tried desperately to hide her burgeoning apprehension. “They’re probably rinsing the dishes and loading the dishwasher while the coffee’s brewing. Please try to remain calm. I’m as anxious as you are about this, but I have to make Michael and Kim understand why I’m leaving. I can’t just walk out on them. Yet I don’t want to stay in this condo another night.”
While Myra and Morgan were impatiently waiting in the dining room, Michael and Kimberly had their heads together in the kitchen.
“Myra was right,” Kim said. “Morgan is incredibly beautiful. She seems like a really nice person, too. And she has a great sense of humor. I like her, Michael.”
“Something’s wrong,” Michael fretted. “I smell a rat.” He put two ladyfingers on each plate and covered them with applesauce.
Kimberly applied a large dollop of whipped cream to each serving and sprinkled it with cinnamon. “What do you mean, baby?” She took four dessert forks and four fresh napkins from a drawer.
Michael rinsed his hands and wiped them with a paper towel. “Didn’t you notice how nervous Myra is? Morgan, too. They both have guilt written all over their faces. I think I should come right out and ask them if they’re having an affair. Myra might not volunteer the information, but she wouldn’t lie to us if I questioned her. At least, I don’t think she would.”
“Don’t you dare say a word,” Kimberly instructed, waving her finger. “If Myra’s nervous, it’s probably because you offended her when we came home. You told her she looks like a ten-dollar whore.”
“I don’t recall including a price tag in my remark. Myra does look like a floozie in that sleazy outfit. Morgan, too. Why two beautiful women would deliberately make themselves look cheap and tawdry is beyond me.”
Kimberly laughed uncontrollably. “Oh, Michael, you’re so funny!”
“What do you mean?” he scowled. Michael didn’t think he was being funny at all.
“They’re both wearing Squitieri outfits.”
His brows wrinkled. “What the hell is a Squitieri outfit?”
“Enrico Squitieri,” Kimberly explained. “The famous Italian designer. He’s the latest rage in haute couture. His clothes don’t come cheap. Myra’s blouse and skirt cost at least a thousand dollars. Each.”
“Ohmygod. A thousand dollars apiece for those skimpy rags? The fabric can’t be worth more than a dollar or two—there’s so little of it.”
“And that perfume you complained about. It’s called Melange. I’ve priced it. The smallest bottle of Melange sells for two hundred dollars.”
“Ohmygod.”
“You’ve ridiculed Myra and insulted her friend. It’s no wonder they’re both tense.”
“Maybe I should go apologize—” He started for the kitchen door.
Kimberly held on to his arm. “No, Michael. Not now. You’ve already done enough damage for one evening. Don’t make things worse by shoving your other foot in your mouth, too. The evening will be over soon, Morgan will go home, and you can take Myra aside and plead insanity.
“Now, let’s take the dessert and coffee to the dining room. Whatever happens, don’t say another word that might upset Myra.”
They all enjoyed dessert immensely. It was, at the same time, both light and sinfully rich. When Kimberly refilled their coffee cups, Morgan lit two cigarettes and placed one between Myra’s waiting lips. The gesture of intimacy was immediately noticed by Michael and Kimberly. They exchanged furtive glances, but made no comment. A moment later, Michael’s eyes became saucers and his face turned red when he saw Myra reach for Morgan’s hand and clasp it tightly, but, again, he said nothing.
“This—this isn’t going to be easy for me,” Myra mumbled. “Please, I need all of you to help me out. I have something to say, something that’s vitally important to each of us. To me. To you, Michael. To you, Kimberly. And also to Morgan here. Please don’t interrupt me. You can say
whatever you want—and, I’m sure you’ll have more than a mouthful—after I’m finished.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette, inhaled, and blew out a huge cloud of smoke.
“All my life, I’ve been brainwashed into pretending to be something I’m not, deluded into wearing shoes that don’t fit. My life has been a sham. I’ve been a square peg in a round hole. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t fully realize what it was until this morning. This morning it was as if I had just awakened from a very long bad dream.”
Myra looked Michael straight in the eyes. She spoke with new-found confidence, the timbre in her voice restored. “Michael, dear Michael. I’ve been disingenuous with you. Not intentionally. I was deceiving myself at the same time. I thought I was in love with you. But—to paraphrase the lyrics of a song from the old Rodgers and Hart musical The Boys from Syracuse—I had fallen in love with love and that meant I was playing the fool. I married you because that’s what my parents expected me to do—find a nice Jewish boy and get married. I couldn’t understand why I never felt the lust, the physical desire for you that everyone told me I should have for my husband.
“I tried, Michael, I really did, to make our marriage work. I know you tried, too. You’ve been good to me, in every way possible. I wanted to be a perfect wife for you. But I was playacting. I’d given you my body but I was incapable of giving you my heart and soul.”
“Myra, that’s a bunch of—” Michael started.
Myra raised an arm to cut him off. Her voice was resolute. “No. Let me finish. Please. I was becoming more and more sexually frustrated, but I neither recognized the nature of my problem nor knew what to do about it. You complained, Michael, because I was working late so many nights. I wanted to work late, Michael. By working long hours, I could come home after you were in bed and sound asleep, and I wouldn’t have to submit to you. I enjoyed your company, but abhorred your touch.”
Michael’s jaw dropped wide open. Myra had never complained about their sex life. Not even once. Something had to be drastically wrong with her. First, the expensive splurge on trashy clothes. Her ridiculous hair style and color. And now, this tirade. Maybe she has a hormone imbalance. Worse yet, a brain tumor. Perhaps the ménage had placed so much stress on her that she’s snapped. He wished she’d stop. He didn’t want to hear another word. This was certainly not the time for Myra to air petty grievances. Didn’t she realize they had company? Morgan, Myra’s so-called friend, a woman he’d never met before tonight. Myra’s public admission of their sexual incompatibility, something she had never, ever mentioned to him privately, was embarrassing him. Badly.
Myra finished her cigarette, snuffed it out, lit two more, and handed one of them to Morgan. She again took Morgan’s hand in hers. Not surreptitiously, not under the table, but openly and proudly and defiantly.
“Kimberly, when we ran into each other after years of being apart, I felt lust for you I never felt for Michael. I began to suspect what my problem was. I had been repressing what I’d always been told were unnatural desires. But for me, they weren’t desires at all. They were needs. The emotional conflict—how I believed I should feel about Michael and you against how my body reacted—filled me with tremendous guilt.
“I wanted to make love with you, but didn’t know how to tell you. I was afraid how you might respond if I did confess my desire. Every day I regretted that we didn’t finish what we started years ago, that night when you and I were in bed together fooling around, experimenting with our adolescent bodies. If we had made love that night, my life—indeed, all of our lives—would be vastly different today. But we didn’t, and the sapphic longings hidden inside me grew and festered like a malignant tumor, until that day in Cancun when I could no longer conceal them, hang the consequences. I don’t know what I would have done if you had turned me down, Kim. I wanted to ravish your body even more than you wanted to give yours to Michael. But you didn’t reject my overtures. Instead, you agreed to make love with me, in exchange for my permission for you to screw my husband. We made a perfect bargain. Each of us got exactly what we wanted.
“The more I became aware of my true sexual orientation, the more I realized my marriage was a farce. Our ménage was a noble try, and we naively entered into it with the best of intentions. But it failed. It failed because I wanted you more than you wanted me, Kim. Yes, you had sex with me, and said you enjoyed it. I have no reason to doubt that you did. But it’s been crystal clear your real joy, your complete satisfaction, came from making love with Michael.
“You coveted Michael just for yourself, and that was fine with me. I wanted you to satisfy Michael so thoroughly he wouldn’t have enough energy left to bother me. Most of the time, you did. The problem was, Michael drained you of any desire you may have had for me. When he was finished making love to you, you didn’t have the inclination to satisfy my needs, and I was again left high and dry.”
Myra pointed an accusatory finger at her husband. “Michael, you were greedy. You wanted two women. In the same house, in the same bed, and at the same time. But you had to pay an incredible price. You had to watch me, your wife, have sex with Kim, your lover. Right in front of you. You said tonight that I look like a whore. But who is the real prostitute among us? And who is the pimp? You are, Michael. You didn’t have the gumption to decide between Kim and me. You sold Kim’s body to me—and mine to her—so you could have an extra piece of ass for yourself.”
Her voice softened slightly. “I do care about both of you, and I always will. But I’m not in love with either of you and never have been, despite what I myself believed and said up until now. Certainly, not in the way the two of you feel for each other. Full of passion and desire, Michael. Unconditionally and exclusively, Kim.
“You cannot possibly love me, either, because you don’t know me. The Myra you thought you knew doesn’t exist, and never has. I’m not the staid, submissive, conservative housewife and potential mother you had in mind when you married me, Michael. You married a caterpillar. Now, I’m a butterfly.
“I am in love, however. I’m in love with Morgan. Helplessly, completely, head-over-heels in love. Morgan fulfills me and complements me in ways neither of you can possibly imagine, let alone comprehend. Both in and out of bed.
“Michael, it isn’t your fault our marriage failed. Don’t ever harbor any guilt. I’ll take all the blame. I know now that no man would ever be able to satisfy me. I’m not bisexual, as I’d recently come to believe. I’m lesbian.
“Our marriage is over, Michael, and so is the ménage. I’m moving in with Morgan. Tonight. I’ll remove all my personal things from the condo in the next week or so. You can initiate the divorce, or I will. It doesn’t matter. I do want my maiden name back, however. If you arrange for the divorce, please tell that to your attorney.
“Michael, I know you and Kimberly are in love with each other. I’m happy for you both. You should get married as soon as possible. Kim, you’ll make a beautiful bride. I hope you’ll invite Morgan and me to your wedding. If you want, I’ll even stand up for you.
“I don’t know whether we’ll be able to remain close friends—I certainly hope so—but there’s no need for us to become bitter enemies.
“Please don’t think Morgan instigated any of this. She didn’t. I knew from the first moment she and I met we were soul mates. I love her with all my heart.”
“I love you too, baby,” Morgan said, draping an arm on Myra’s shoulder and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
Michael was in tears. Until that moment, Myra had never seen him cry. Kimberly put an arm around him in consolation. Her face expressed sadness, but her eyes were sparkling with anticipation and excitement. She was finally going to have Michael all to herself.
MICHAEL SAT SULLENLY in the living room and pretended to watch television. He was devastated. Kimberly was ecstatic, but concealed her glee. She helped Myra pack her suitcases, to speed her on her way. Kimberly was bubbly, but only when she was certain Michael could not hear her. “Thank you, M
yra. For everything. I’m so happy for you. For you too, Morgan,” she gushed. “Don’t worry about Michael. I’ll take good care of him from now on. I’m going to miss you, Myra. We’ve had a lot of fun together.”
“Yes, we have. A lot of fun. But now, it’s time for both of us to move on.
”Whether you realize it or not, Kim, you’re going to crave sex with another woman from time to time,” Myra predicted. “You may not think so now. You may think Michael will be all you’ll ever need. But he won’t be. You’ve tasted the narcotic sweetness of forbidden fruit and your appetite for the female body has been whetted. Please, when you have sex with another woman—as someday you will—be discreet. Never let Michael know. And above all, don’t attempt another ménage. Michael would not be able to handle it.”
The three of them loaded Myra’s car with as much as it would hold. Before Myra and Morgan drove off, Myra gave Kimberly a final passionate kiss. Morgan looked on approvingly. She realized it was the only way the two lifelong friends could part.
“Myra, you handled that like a real trouper,” Morgan told her, after they drove off. “You said what needed to be said and split. I’m very proud of you, baby.”
“It’s over. It’s over. It’s finally over,” Myra said repeatedly.
Morgan reached for Myra’s hand. “No, Myra, it’s only beginning.”
Thirty-One
“HI, MOM,” MORGAN SAID. Myra echoed the greeting, using the same tone of voice and same inflection.
Mrs. Penny looked up from the television and rotated her head in their direction, peering over the top of her bifocals. She’d been paying close attention to a newscaster who was warning about a psychopathic serial killer running amok in Las Vegas and she hadn’t noticed Morgan and Myra enter the apartment. She used the remote to mute the TV sound before replying. “Hi, girls. Did you have a good time together?”
Morgan leaned over and planted a juicy kiss on her mother’s forehead. “Oh, Mom, we had a fantastic time. I can’t wait to tell you all about it.”
A Time For Us (Michael Kaplan Mysteries) Page 22