The Scarlet Letter Scandal

by Mary T. McCarthy

  Kellie: It’s complete horseshit. Am I supposed to be worried about your fake stupid boys’ club shutting me down?

  Chaz: Of course not. I have it under control. I’m talking to the attorney today- our kids are on the same hockey team, no worries.

  Kellie: but you don’t have HER under control.

  Chaz: True.

  Kellie: And you never will. I’m done with this drama, Chaz.

  Kellie tossed her phone into her purse, annoyed. She didn’t feel like dealing with the bullshit of the newspaper story any more today. She was going to go upstairs to her treadmill and work off some anxious energy. She started undressing as she walked up the stairs. It never even crossed her mind to be modest in the house; no one was usually home in the houses around her.

  She rounded the top of her curved stairway and something through the arched two-story window caught her eye—movement in the house across the street. Was that a figure in the first-floor side window? She peered out from the stairway landing and didn’t bother to try and cover herself. She was never modest.

  She didn’t know the people across the street. They were almost obsessively private—she had seen a car with tinted windows go in and out of the garage, and nothing more. A lawn service did the lawn. No children or pets played in the yard. She knew nothing about them, which was strange in a place where normally people were out and about for one reason or another. She realized she didn’t know whether those people were home or not during the day—she didn’t pay attention to the timing of their comings and goings, which only involved the driveway door going up or down. She had never even seen them get their mail. So weird you could live practically right next to someone and not even be able to recognize them if they walked passed you.

  And yet now she was sure she saw a shadowy figure in the downstairs window. The heavier curtain was noticeably pulled aside and the gauzier liner curtain revealed a man. She walked into the bedroom and over to the window that faced the house across the street. She detected the slightest motion at one part of the curtain, and suddenly she realized what she was seeing. There was a man in that window, and he was jerking off. She gasped a little, but she felt a tingle move from the center of her breast, spreading through the middle of her abdomen to her inner thighs. She could barely see the action through the filmy material, just a silhouette. That silhouette… it was familiar.

  Could it be? There was no way in hell the Phantom of the Opera was her neighbor from across the street. Was there? Her body softened with the rush of desire she felt as she thought of him once again. She fought an instinct to rush out the front door, even half dressed, run across the street, and bang on his door. “Are you the Phantom?” she would ask hysterically, before throwing him down on the hardwood floor in his foyer and fucking him senseless.

  He saw that she was watching him, and he did not stop. She saw the rhythm of the curtain moving back and forth towards him. He took one small step forward, continuing to hold the heavier curtain behind him as his naked silhouette became more visible behind the sheer curtain.

  He wanted to put on a show? I’m in, she thought, her concerns about cops and newspapers lost for now, continuing her fantasy that this was in fact the mystery man from the party (could she be so lucky?) and not some weirdo creeper. She didn’t even care anymore; her body had taken over. She bravely raised the blinds, so there was nothing between her and the glass. She removed her yoga pants, already having tossed off her T-shirt and bra on the way to the room. The near floor-to-ceiling window now revealed everything from her calves up. She looked each way for moms with strollers, neighbors walking dogs, or, God forbid, delivery trucks, and saw no one.

  And then, oh God, for a second his heavier curtain fell and he disappeared. Going to call the cops? Throw an indecent exposure charge on the pile of charges I already have. She stepped back from the window for a moment, waiting, but then he returned to his slow but deliberate self-pleasure. Through the sheer fabric, she could see his fully hardened cock moving back and forth, back and forth. He ran a hand through his hair, quickening the pace a little, then slowing it, watching her. She returned the display, stepped toward the window, and allowed herself to fall into the fantasy that this was him, her Phantom. She stroked her nipples slowly, letting one hand trace down her abdomen and toward the place he had so expertly engaged on the night of the party. She closed her eyes, lost in the moment, and then when she looked back across the street, she saw the reason he’d left and come back. The slightest movement of the sheer curtain allowed her to see the pair of white gloves her mystery neighbor was wearing as he stroked himself.

  It was him. She savagely squeezed her own nipple with one hand while cupping herself with the other, fingers exploring for only a moment before she exploded in an orgasm. She pressed her nipples against the window for a moment, feeling the cool glass as she breathed heavily and tried to regain her composure. She had to get away from this window before someone (else) saw her. She looked across the street once more, and the curtains were returned to their normal position. He was gone.

  Eva walked into the Plaza Hotel, accepting a warm greeting from the uniformed bellman who welcomed her back. She received additional friendly greetings from the front desk supervisor, and when she walked into the penthouse suite, she was overwhelmed by the smell and colors of the gorgeous bouquets of roses.

  So much for sneaking back into town for a quick reacquaintance trip, she thought, kicking off her Jimmy Choo black heels. She was pleased at the kind, welcoming gestures, but it still felt odd to be back here. After spending more than four decades with her life’s focus on work, taking time off to mourn her mother’s death and her own divorce was the first time she’d ever had time to breathe long enough to evaluate her life. College, then law school and marriage, the twins; those years all seemed to flash by in a moment’s time. Now her sons would be (God willing) graduating from high school and (God willing) moving on to college, from which they’d eventually (God willing) graduate.

  Making decisions about what she wanted in her own life wasn’t something she ever really remembered doing. It was like she’d been on autopilot for the last quarter of a century. She had wanted to get far away from her father’s drunken, emotional abuse of her and her mother. So she’d excelled in everything during high school, gotten a full ride to college, then gone straight to law school, eventually paying back those exorbitant loans with nearly twenty years of hard work at a firm she helped build from scratch.

  But for some reason, spending time on Matthew’s Island over the summer had made a question sneak into her mind: what happens next? It was her own annoying new internal voice; it came, she guessed, out of the pure silence and darkness of the island, the lack of things to do and people to fix and work piled on the desk. “What happened next” had never been a question for her—one thing always happened next after another thing in an orderly fashion. What was supposed to happen next was that she was supposed to work for another twenty years and then retire.

  And twenty years seemed like a lifetime. She had a powerful, high-paying job, the things you are supposed to want, she reminded herself. Look at this hotel suite! It cost astounding amounts of money for her to have this place. She walked over and breathed in the scent of an enormous bouquet of blush-colored roses.

  Her phone pinged. A new message from Charles.

  Charles: Welcome back to The Plaza, Madame.

  Eva: The flowers. They’re amazing. Thank you so much.

  Charles: A small token of how much I’ve missed you.

  Eva: So sweet. I have missed you too.

  Charles: Drinks at the Rose Club at 7?

  Eva: Perfect. And maybe a nibble…

  Charles: I hope so.

  Eva smiled. Their affair had gone on for so many years now, she couldn’t even remember the number. She thought back to the night Charles had closed the Palm Court restaurant and turned it into their private dining suite. She still thought of it as “The Pop Rocks Night.” Who knew candy could
be so versatile? Every once in a while she’d see the candy in a store and grin at the cheery “Taste the Explosion!” slogan on the front of the package.

  But then, not long after that lovely evening, her world had fallen apart. Simultaneous divorce and parental death isn’t something anyone should have to bear. She had gotten through it, thanks to the solace of the island, but she had lost her connection to Charles. Theirs was a New York City affair, complete with horse-drawn carriage memories, and although he had taken the time to travel and visit her once, it had been strange to see him outside his element, as it would be to see Nathan here in the city.

  It would be good to see Charles again now, though, for old times’ sake if nothing else, she thought, shedding her travel clothes and heading toward her amazing antique golden bathtub. The office was so weird. She hated how everyone ran around treating her with kid gloves, like she’d fall apart at any moment. She had ruled courtrooms like a stern queen and would again, so she didn’t appreciate the overly sympathetic glances and comments. Christ, it’s not like I had a nervous breakdown. Though it sure as hell seemed so by the way people were acting.

  But today in the office had been unusual for another reason. She had pulled out files, spoken with junior partners and tried to get up to speed on a few of the more major ongoing corporate cases, and she’d felt oddly detached. For all the years she could remember, the law thrilled her—the chase, the fight, the adrenaline of the courtroom. Perhaps it was because she had been away from it for a while, but when she was listening to updates about cases she found her new annoyingly Zen inner voice whispering who cares?

  “Well, I care,” Eva said to herself, stepping into the piping hot tub. “I care,” she repeated more quietly, as if trying to convince herself. She sank deeper into the water and let it ease the tension from her travel-weary shoulders.

  An hour later, she walked into the Rose Club, about fifteen minutes early. She sat at the bar and ordered a Moët Imperial Gatsby, a signature drink offered at the Plaza Hotel to honor the fact that the setting was featured in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. She loved this place and its history, and this drink.

  She read the quote at the bottom of the menu: “Give your liver to Princeton and your heart to The Plaza,” something Ernest Hemingway once said to F. Scott Fitzgerald. And she knew at least part of her heart would always be here in this place where she’d felt loved at a time in her life when she needed it most.

  Charles walked into the room wearing a tuxedo, and a brief look of surprise crossed his face; she wasn’t usually early but really wanted to get that first drink underway. She felt underdressed in a casual J. Crew dress, but luckily had the Jimmy Choo heels and pretty silver jewelry to dress the outfit up a bit.

  He crossed the room, smiling at her. She returned the smile, genuinely happy to see him.

  “Greetings, madame,” he said in his typical formal French style as she stood, allowing his strong arms to envelop her petite frame and pull her in for a hug.

  “Bonjour, Charles,” she said in a purposefully bad French accent.

  “Bonne soirée, belle,” Charles responded in the genuine version.

  A warm feeling washed over her as she remembered how special he always made her feel.

  “You are dressed so formally,” she said. “I’m too casual.”

  “You’re perfect as always,” said Charles, sitting down. He motioned the number two for another around of Moët Imperial Gatsby cocktails to the bartender, who was somewhat startled to see the hotel’s head chef at the bar in a tux; he hustled about preparing the drinks.

  “How does it feel to be back in New York again?” he asked.

  “It’s a little jolting, to be honest,” said Eva. “I know it sounds funny to observe this after spending so much time here over the years, but the lights and the noise and the people—it’s really a lot.”

  “You have enjoyed the solace of the island,” said Charles.

  “More than I realized,” said Eva. “I felt so odd at the office, like a stranger at my own firm. I never thought I was irreplaceable, and of course they haven’t replaced me, but I maybe thought I was more necessary than I apparently am.”

  “Your partners were accommodating of your absence so that you didn’t have to feel burdened with work at a difficult time in your life,” said Charles. “It doesn’t mean you aren’t needed, simply that you’ve run the firm in such an excellent manner over the years that it could continue functioning in your absence. That is a testimony to your leadership.”

  “It’s very kind of you to say so,” said Eva, marveling once again at his ability to always have the perfect words at the perfect time. She wanted to change the subject.

  “How have things been here?” Eva asked.

  “Same as always, perhaps a bit busier after the modern Great Gatsby film came out, but generally not much different than always. I love my job. Food is my art form,” said Charles.

  “And you’re an amazing artist,” said Eva.

  “Let me make dinner for you,” said Charles. “At my place. Not the hotel.”

  Eva was speechless for a moment. She had never been to his home. Their affair had consisted almost exclusively, with the exception of a horse carriage ride in Central Park, within the walls of the hotel—usually in her suite, the one “Pop Rocks Night” in the main dining room, and once, quickly, in the walk-in freezer in his kitchen after she’d had too many drinks and he had applied honey to her nipples, removing it with his mouth.

  “It’s fine,” Charles said quickly, “if you would rather just dine here, of course.” He looked hurt at her lack of immediate response.

  “I’m sorry,” said Eva. “I was just thinking of how we hadn’t really been anywhere but inside the walls of this lovely hotel. Of course I’d love to see where you live and have dinner with you there.”

  “My brownstone in Brooklyn,” said Charles, “is modest, but quite lovely. I bought it after my wife died years ago—I couldn’t stay in the home we shared.”

  “That makes perfect sense,” said Eva. “My ex-husband Joe bought me out of our family home in the divorce and sold it recently because our boys are away at school anyway and he didn’t want so much space.”

  “How are the boys?” Charles asked.

  Eva sighed quietly. Her twin teen sons always weighed heavy on her heart. She loved them, but they caused her so much stress as she agonized over their future.

  “They’re all right,” said Eva. “The boarding school in Delaware seems to have been a good choice for them. They needed the structure and discipline in order to have a better chance at college opportunities.”

  “I am certain they will thrive,” said Charles.

  “Well, Joe and I have only gotten one call so far about them,” said Eva. “Apparently they were at a party where there was pot, but they weren’t caught with it, luckily. The kid who had the party was expelled, so I hope it was a good wake-up call for any potentially bad decisions.”

  “Since I was never a parent, I can’t imagine the responsibility that comes along with it,” said Charles, “but I know you and that you raised them well and I’m sure they will find their way.”

  Eva smiled at him. “That’s all I can hope.”

  A waiter arrived, carrying a tray with two lobster salads. Eva looked at Charles, surprised. He knew they were one of her favorites.

  “How did you know I was starving?” said Eva. “This is perfect.”

  “I take pleasure in knowing what you might enjoy,” he said.

  She looked into his loving eyes, crinkled at the edges with the wrinkles that always managed to look sexy exclusively on men, and remembered how much pleasure he had given her over the years. She put her hand on his arm.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “De rein,” said Charles. “It’s nothing.”

  “Let’s have dessert in my suite,” said Eva.

  “I would like nothing more,” said Charles.

  They finished eatin
g and retreated to Eva’s space. They had drinks on the balcony with its gorgeous view of the park, and they made love. Their reunion had a sweet, melancholic sense to it, unlike the rushed passion they’d been used to across the course of their affair. Afterwards, Charles returned home, and Eva felt like something had changed between them. She wasn’t sure what, and it didn’t feel like a bad thing. Time, Eva thought, as she drifted off to sleep. Time changes us.

  The next morning, Eva returned to her law firm, dressed more formally in an Armani Collezioni gray suit with pale pink silk blouse. Flawless makeup, hair pulled tightly into a small bun, she meant business.

  Her partners, Greg and Jake, were waiting for her in the conference room when she walked in, clacking decisively across the perfectly finished hardwood floors in her ash gray snake Tory Burch platform heels. They stood. Greg, the senior member of the group, was distinguished as always in a perfect black suit and teal silk tie. Jake was slightly disheveled as usual, his suit jacket already missing, top button undone, yellow tie (he hated ties) askew, pants wrinkled. Eva walked over and hugged them each briefly, thanking them for their understanding over the last few months. It took everything in her not to hold on to the hug with Jake for a beat too long—what was that scent? Clive something, from London, she recalled from so long ago.

  As they all sat down, Eva had a small moment of panic. She’d thought carefully about what she wanted to say, but now she seemed to have forgotten her entire rehearsed speech. She stood, walked over to the credenza, and poured herself a cup of coffee to kill time.

  Greg began, “Eva, we just want you to know how happy we are you’re back.”

  Jake finished the sentence: “And of course again express our condolences about…”

  Eva cleared her throat and carried her black coffee back to the table, sitting down. She interrupted their polite yammering. “Ah, guys, thanks so much. I know it’s an awkward moment. We have worked together for so many years and I know for me to have just disappeared off the face of the earth was probably odd, despite the life events that occurred.”