by C. C. Morian
She succumbed. She pulled out the condoms and counted them. Five. She had no idea whether one was missing, that was a thought too horrible to comprehend.
She slowly slid the drawer shut.
At the closet, deciding what to wear, she went back to the dresser, exchanging her plain white underwear for something a little nicer. She didn’t really have anything sexy.
Maybe she’d have to change that.
That night, when Dave came to bed, Lisa didn’t quite know what to expect, what to do. He had been home when she got back from work, they had dinner together, making small talk, neither of them mentioning the fight, the night before. She had tried to will herself to keep from sniffing for the lavender scent, to no avail, she found herself snuffling like a dog on the prowl.
Lisa promised herself she wouldn’t be upset if Dave didn’t want sex, but she also decided she wouldn’t initiate anything. Just see what he did.
Which was nothing. Again Dave lay on his side of the bed, his usual ritual discarded. Lisa squeezed her eyes shut against the tears.
The next morning, Saturday, as they were grabbing coffee in the kitchen, Dave said, “If we don’t have any plans this afternoon, I’m going to go over to Steve’s and watch the game.”
“Sure.” Lisa tried to read his body language, it wasn’t like he’d never done this before, watched Saturday sports with the guys. Still, something made her ask, “Who’s going to be there?”
Dave shrugged. “I’m not sure, the usual guys, probably.”
“Okay. I might do some shopping, anyway.”
“I’ll be home for dinner,” he said.
Later that afternoon, after Dave had left, Lisa changed out of her yoga pants in preparation for her shopping trip. In the bedroom, the dresser drawer called her like a siren. She opened it up, the box of condoms still right there.
She counted them, feeling guilty. Five.
She sighed, relieved, although it really told her nothing. If Dave was cheating on her, certainly he wouldn’t be using their condoms.
It might be almost better if he was, because then she’d know, one way or another.
Lisa was sure that every married person, man and woman, at one point or another wondered if their spouse was cheating. It was just one of those things. A word here, a dropped hint, a loss of interest, anything could set it off, the suspicion.
She’d never thought about it because it had never occurred to her to cheat. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t even imagine being with someone else but Dave, she was a realist, a practical woman. People got divorced all the time. She didn’t get married expecting to get divorced, she hoped her marriage would last forever. But if for some reason it didn’t, she certainly hoped she’d find someone else, just as she assumed Dave would.
But if Dave were cheating, then that would be the end of them. It would be over for her, with or without a divorce. No amount of explaining would change her mind. Sure, Dave could claim that it was ‘just sex’, that he had strayed because she wouldn’t have enough sex with him. She’d accept that as a reason, but not one that would make her forgive him. Cheating would be the same as announcing the marriage was over.
But of course she was jumping the gun. Lisa had no evidence at all that Dave was cheating. What she did know was that he wasn’t happy with their sex life, and she was contributing to that. She had to accept responsibility for at least some of his unhappiness. Maybe in the end it would be too much to overcome, this difference in their sex drive, but for now, she could try harder.
And no woman wanted to lose her husband’s interest. If she was going to meet Dave partway, he had to want her. In the past, she hadn’t had to do anything special to incite his desire, but maybe he had reached some kind of break point, maybe he had given up.
Lisa wasn’t ready to accept that.
At the mall, Lisa passed by her normal stores. If she was going to try something new with Dave, perhaps it could start with the way she dressed. What would he consider sexy?
Probably anything different. She’d been wearing a wet blouse and rubber gloves the other night, and he still wanted her. Maybe she should just do that again, wait for him in just her underwear, bent over the sink. . .
She glanced at her reflection in a shop window, not used to thinking this way, trying to dress sexy. Her hair was too straight, in that half way color between light brown and blonde. Maybe she should do something about that too. But first, some clothes.
She realized she was looking into a boutique, the mannequins in the window draped with chic outfits, not the kind of clothes she normally wore. Why not?
Inside, she browsed a few racks, feeling the fabrics, trying to imagine herself wearing the styles. It was no good, everything was just too different, just not her. She’d feel like she was wearing a costume.
She tried a few more stores, nothing clicking. Growing despondent, she drifted back to her usual shop, where she bought her work clothes. Practical, conservative.
Listlessly she perused the racks. A sales clerk, a woman about her age, asked, “Need any help?” sounding like she meant it.
“I don’t know,” said Lisa. “I usually buy my office clothes here, but I’m looking for something different, but not too different.”
The clerk laughed. “I know what you mean. It’s hard to change once you get used to something.”
“I never thought I’d be so stuck in my ways this early in life.”
“I don’t think that’s it. It’s more like you know who you are, and what you are comfortable with.”
“Maybe,” said Lisa.
“Are you looking for work outfits, for an office?” asked the clerk.
“Actually, no, something for going out.” Then she quickly added, “With my husband.”
“Hmm.”
Lisa blushed, the woman either not believing her, or reading her mind, suspecting she needed to make herself look better for her husband, knowing the truth, that Lisa was trying to dress sexier so Dave wouldn’t stray.
Before Lisa had a chance to respond the woman went on, “What do you normally wear when you go out?”
“If it’s something casual, just jeans, if we are having dinner somewhere nicer usually just my work clothes. A jacket and a skirt.”
“I’ve found,” said the woman, “that the way you think about your clothes affects how you feel about yourself when you are wearing them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you are wearing work clothes, conservative clothes, you think of yourself that way, you are in a work mood.”
“I get that,” said Lisa. “That’s why I was looking for something different to wear.”
“You don’t need to change your clothes too much, anything will work if it changes your attitude. How short do you wear your skirts to work?”
“Just above the knee.”
“Heels?”
“Low ones.”
The woman gave Lisa a very professional once over. “You have a nice figure. If you don’t mind me asking, how are your legs?”
“Okay, I guess. My husband seems to like them.”
“So, how about a few inches shorter on the skirt, a few inches taller on the heels? No jacket, a more fitted blouse. You could wear the same designers you do now, the clothes would still be you, but with a totally different feel.”
Lisa frowned. “Do you think that would work?”
The woman leaned in, her eyes bright, and whispered conspiratorially, “I can tell you for a fact it will.” From a rack she pulled out a simple skirt, no pleats, and held it against Lisa, the hem five inches above her knee. “Would you wear this to work?”
“No, it’s too short. But I do like it.”
“Perfect,” said the clerk. “Now go try it on. Wait, I’ll get you a blouse, and grab a pair of pumps too, at least three inches.”
The woman was so confident that Lisa went along. In the dressing room, she slipped into the skirt, showing more leg than she had in years. Her bra looked downr
ight dowdy along with the tighter, silky blouse. She pulled on the heels, tottering a little, it had been a long time since she wore heels this tall, almost stilettos. When she turned to look at herself in the mirror she was amazed, the few extra inches of thigh, combined with the heels setting off her calf muscles, made her legs look better than she could have hoped. She didn’t have huge boobs, but the blouse pulled her eyes to her chest, the curve of her breasts gracefully highlighted.
It was her, but it wasn’t. She felt comfortable, but different.
The sales clerk gave her a thumbs up. “Well?”
“You were right,” acknowledged Lisa. “I feel—good. The heels might be a little much, though, I’ll be so worried about tripping.”
“We don’t have a great shoe selection. Go to a regular shoe store, get something a little shorter. Half an inch makes a world of difference.”
“I’ll take it,” said Lisa, already thinking ahead to not only the shoes, but some new underwear.
She felt sexier already.
Lisa wore the outfit home, more excited than she ever expected she’d be. She hadn’t felt this way since she’d been out with her girlfriends in college, going to meet boys. The new lacy bra felt almost decadent under the blouse, the skirt hiking up along her legs in the car, the breeze from the air conditioner going right through her new tiny panties.
For the first time in her life Lisa got turned on in the car, driving, she couldn’t believe it. Just from the clothes.
She couldn’t wait to get home, to see the look on Dave’s face, imagining his reaction, wondering if he’d ask if she bought the outfit for him, her nodding, or teasing him, something she rarely did, at least about sex, saying, “Well, maybe.” Just standing there, waiting for him to make his move, see how long he could resist.
She might even let him fuck her in the living room.
Lisa didn’t even bother pulling in the garage, leaving the car in the drive and was almost running as she went up the walk, moving as fast as she could in the heels. The door was locked, Dave would have come in through the garage, she fumbled with her key, as excited as a schoolgirl.
But when she got inside the house was quiet, and she instantly knew Dave wasn’t home. Crestfallen, she went into the kitchen, the clock on the microwave telling her it was after six, she’d been out quite a while, Dave said he’d be home for dinner, six was when they usually ate.
Dinner. She hadn’t thought about dinner at all, she had been so focused on the clothing, on the sex. She munched on an apple while staring in the refrigerator, wondering whether to make something, would her well laid plans for sex get derailed by a different kind of hunger?
Not for her, it wouldn’t. And if Dave was too hungry to want to have sex with her, she had a much bigger problem than she thought.
To kill some time she tossed a salad and made a quick lasagna and stuck it in the oven. She was just finishing when she heard Dave drive up.
She quickly washed her hands, almost decided to be standing there, bent over the sink, when Dave walked in, but changed her mind, it would be too forced, posed. Instead she just leaned against the kitchen entry, waiting.
When Dave came in he said, “Hi, is it time for dinner?” He passed by her without much of a glance, heading for the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, and only after he had opened it and taken a pull did he turn to her. “You’re dressed up, shit, were we supposed to be going out? I forgot, did you say anything? I’ll get changed.”
Dave headed for the stairs without waiting for her to reply, over his shoulder calling out, “Sorry, I’ll only be a minute.”
He hadn’t noticed a thing.
Lisa was dumbfounded, she must have looked so different, she simply had to, how could he have not noticed?
Men.
She scurried up the stairs after him. In the bedroom, Dave had already pulled off his polo shirt, which she suddenly thought was odd, he rarely wore polo shirts, especially on weekends with the guys, he was a tee shirt and jeans type. She was about to say something, she didn’t know what, something alluring, or maybe just push him onto the bed, when he tossed his shirt into the hamper, and there it was again, the scent of lavender, stronger this time, she couldn’t be imagining it.
Again her knees grew weak, she took a step to steady herself against the wall, her heel catching in the carpet, and she tripped, falling into him, her arms going around him to hold herself up, her face up against his skin, and now the lavender was in her nostrils, suffocating, an arrow into her heart.
She pulled away, disgusted, but Dave held her, misreading her intent. “Steady there. You might want to wear some different shoes, I’m not sure you can walk in those.”
And with that he let her go and disappeared into the closet, and even though he was in the same room as her, it was as if he was completely gone.
Lisa had pretended that they had indeed planned on going out, surreptitiously turning off the oven on the way out the door. All during dinner she toyed with her food, lost, her mind numb. Dave wasn’t a big talker, unless it was about sports, the meal was pretty quiet, but he didn’t seem to notice her mood.
At home, she couldn’t get the new clothes off fast enough, tossing them in the back of the closet, everything, even the bra and panties, not bothering to hang anything up, putting her usual underwear back on in a daze, covering herself with a long nightshirt.
In bed, she curled up on her side, and was not at all surprised when Dave did the same.
She slept poorly, mostly awake, drifting off now and then, not dreaming, just wondering, thinking, alternating between shock and anger and worry and dread.
Lisa got up when it was still dark, unable to go back to sleep. She lay there for a while, trying not to fidget, she was in no mood to face Dave. Quietly she slipped out of the bed. She pulled on a pair of running shorts and a sports bra, then pounded down the stairs and out into the cool morning air, she hadn’t gone running in years, but she needed to be out, to be away from the house, from Dave.
When Lisa got back Dave still wasn’t downstairs. She showered in the guest bath, grabbed some jeans and a tee shirt from the hall closet, perfunctorily made coffee, couldn’t even think about food. When she heard the upstairs shower she grabbed her keys and headed out, then stopped, she couldn’t just disappear, even now. She left a brief note on the coffeemaker, Forgot to mention, I’m getting together with Lori for brunch, which was a complete lie, the first time she had lied to Dave.
In the car, breathing hard, she just drove, not sure where she was going. After an hour of that she thought it was late enough to call Lori, so she pulled into a parking lot.
“Hey, are you awake?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I—can I see you? I need to talk to someone, like right now.”
There was a some muffled noise, and then Lori’s voice came back. “Of course. Not here though, I’ve got company.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry,” said Lisa. “Forget it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You just sound like you need some privacy. Let’s meet at the same place, okay?”
Lisa was about to insist that Lori stay with whomever she was with, but she was feeling pretty desperate. She really did need to talk to someone. “Don’t hurry, whenever you can get there.”
At the Yellow Rose, Lisa sat in the same booth, crawling into the corner against the wall, the small familiarity of the seat and restaurant a lifeline. A waitress came over, Lisa just shook her head, and the woman walked away without a word, apparently used to Sunday morning sadness and loneliness.
When Lori arrived, Lisa smiled wanly, and instead of sitting on the opposite booth, Lori slid in next to her and put her arms around her and held her until Lisa relaxed.
“Thanks,” said Lisa, her voice weak, like she had been sick for a month.
Lori motioned for the waitress. “Two mimosas.”
“A little early to drink,” said Lisa. “I haven’t even eaten.”
“Never too early to
drink,” said Lori, “especially if you feel like you look. But okay.” To the waitress she added, “And some toast and mixed fruit.”
The waitress went off again, still not having spoken.
“I appreciate you coming,” said Lisa. “I didn’t mean to pull you away from something.”
“If she’s not there when I get back, it wasn’t going anywhere anyway,” said Lori. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Still. I need to tell you what I dragged you here for. I feel a little foolish.”
“When you’re ready.”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Lisa sat up straight, freeing herself from Lori’s hug, but clinging to her hand. “I think Dave is cheating on me.”
“I revise my earlier memory of him,” said Lori. “He’s an asshole.”
“I’m just so—I don’t know what I am. I’m so numb I can’t even be angry yet.”
“You said you think he is. You’re not sure?”
Lisa told her everything, the continued disinterest in sex, the perfume, her new outfit. The words came out faster and faster, an unburdening.
When she was finished, Lori said, “I think you are probably right, but who knows how guys think?” She squeezed Lisa’s hand.
“What should I do?”
“Let me ask you this first. If you were sure he was cheating, what would you do?”
“I’d divorce him.”
“Really? No, forget I said that. I know you would. Just because a lot of women wouldn’t, that isn’t the right thing for me to say.”
“I don’t know how they could stay in the marriage,” said Lisa.
“People put up with all sorts of things. That doesn’t mean you should.” Lori considered. “Okay, let me try again. How would you feel, if you found out for sure?”
“I don’t know. I still don’t want to believe it. I think I’d be really mad. I mean, I understand he’s been a little unhappy, maybe a lot unhappy, but he’s never come to me and said, unless things change, I’m out of here.”
“Maybe this was his way of dealing with it. Dave loves you, he just wants the sex. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not making excuses for him. Just trying to imagine what might be going through his head, how he might rationalize it.”