****
Ashley had to work the full day, so back in the apartment, I tested the audio on the recorder.
I turned on the kitchen faucet and recorded it from the living room. Then I turned on the shower and recorded it with the bathroom door shut. From the hallway I recorded our alarm clock.
I put on the headphones and listened to playback. The audio seemed pretty clear.
I put the recorder in the hallway where I’d sat two nights before, went into our bedroom and shut the door.
I knew what I was doing was crazy, fucked up.
I got on the bed and make it creak. I affected a girly falsetto: “Oh God, Mike, fuck me, fuck me, Mike, I love your cock, Mike.” Then I bounced on the bed and cried out, “Oh God, I’m cumming!”
I went back outside and listened to the playback. I could hear the creaking. And I heard all my “oh God Mike’s,” though that was a bit creepy and I made sure to erase the recording immediately.
****
Ashley didn’t get home until just before eight. “I’ve got to get my butt into the shower and pronto,” she said.
I always loved showering with her. Just before the Jim Murta incident, we had a rain forest shower in Florida. The shower was the size of a bedroom with tiled marble floor and multiple jets. I loved lathering up her body, rubbing soap on her breasts, all sudsy and slippery.
I was lying on the bed pretending to read the Journal when she came out. I snuck peeks as she searched through her lingerie drawer. I watched her put on a white thong and bra.
She looked over at me and I felt like I should give her space, so I went into the kitchen and had a Corona.
Sitting at that kitchen counter, I didn’t know what to think. I felt like I had no control over anything tonight.
When I went back in the bedroom, Ashley was wearing a sheer white mini tube dress. It wasn’t Tamara slutwear, but it was pushing the envelope for Ashley, for sure. From behind, I could see her thong shadowing through.
“You look really good—beautiful,” I said.
“Thanks, I still have to put makeup on. How much time do we have?’
“Well, it’s 8:30, but we’ll take a cab.”
Ashley was making an effort to look extra good. She had done it for me—going out on the town or for work events—but mostly to present the two of us in the most favorable light. But now her motivation seemed simply to look as fuckable as possible for Mike.
When I complimented her dress, did she think I was a fool? Like, “Don’t you know I’m wearing this for your friend?”
“We’ll take a cab,” I said when she came out. “Oh, I see you got a manicure.”
“Yeah and a pedi, today at lunch, but you can’t see that.”
“Well, it looks good.”
“Thanks, so ready to go?”
****
We arrived at the restaurant just before nine.
The place was dimly lit. Ashley spotted an empty booth by the bar, off from the main dining area. The hostess said they reserved those for parties of four or more, so Ashley explained that a third would be joining us shortly, and how, in addition to having food, we’d be ordering a few rounds of drinks. She followed that up with a few pleases.
“OK you sold me,” the hostess said, and led us to the booth. It was a loungey, leather-type semi-circle table facing the bar and TVs.
That’s when Mike arrived, again dressed in GQ-style.
Ashley and I both stood up to greet him. I watched the two of them hug.
“Damn, girl,” Mike said, “you looking radiant in that dress—it’s like it was made for you.”
Then he turned to give me a hug, saying, “Great to see you again, buddy.”
Ashley sat in the middle, with me to her left and Mike to her right.
“So,” Mike said, “what are we all drinking? Personally, I hear a martini calling.”
“I hear it calling as well,” Ashley replied.
I nodded that I’d have one, too.
“A consensus,” Mike said, “I like it. You guys ever have an Appletini? No? Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”
After he ordered, Mike said, “This is a nice place, and these are great seats, perfect for watching games. What is that, the Mets-Giants? Are they playing in San Fran?”
“No, it’s here at Citi,” I said
“You guys ever been to San Francisco?” Mike asked, before adding, “What am I saying—Dave’s like Mr. San Fran—I meant have you and Ashley been there?”
“Yeah, a few times,” I said.
“We got engaged there,” Ashley offered. “Well not San Francisco, but Napa Valley, on a trip there.”
“Oh yeah?” Mike said. “I think Dave mentioned something like that. So how did my boy do it? Propose I mean.”
“Well,” Ashley started, “we went to a few vineyards. We were dragging though, ’cause it was like a hundred degrees. Or felt like it anyway. But we were staying in this boutique hotel up in the foothills, overlooking the Valley—”
“Yeah?” Mike said, paying close attention.
“It was a place called Presidio,” I offered, just to contribute.
“Yeah,” Ashley said, “and they had this outdoor area where you could bring out your own wine and watch the sunset. Dave had arranged for us to be in a more secluded area, an outdoor loveseat kind of thing with this ornate, floral top to it. Plush.”
“Nice. So how did Dave actually propose?”
“Well,” she continued, “after our first glass of wine, Dave said he was going to look over the ledge for a minute. Well, I knew something was up, ’cause he had been talking right before in a grandiose, sweet way about what I meant to him—and then he came back and got on one knee, and I was thinking ‘Wow,’ like, ‘Take this moment in.’ ”
“Sounds really special,” Mike said. “Were you nervous, Dave?”
“No,” I said, “more like anxious.”
“Oh c’mon,” Ashley laughed, “you were nervous, I could tell.”
“I was nervous about saying it right, the way I had it in my head, and not screwing things up. OK, fine, I was a little nervous.”
“Who isn’t?” Mike offered. “That’s a monumental life moment.”
Why, I thought, is Ashley talking to the guy who fucked my wife two nights before about how I proposed?
“Well, we had talked about marriage,” Ashley continued. “I mean, you knew I was going to say yes, Dave?”
“Well, I guess, but you’re never fully sure. I wasn’t taking it for granted.”
“So what did you say?” Mike asked, and then to Ashley, “What did he say?”
“It’s kind of a blur,” Ashley replied, “as much as, at the time, I was telling myself to ‘remember this moment.’ He was saying how much I meant to him, how much he loved me, how he wanted to spend his life with me. That kind of thing.”
“He was getting deep there,” Mike said, laughing casually. “That’s the way to do it, my man. So then he showed you the ring?”
“Yeah,” Ashley replied, “I had talked earlier about what I wanted, but I admit, it was prettier than I expected.” She held her hand up to Mike, so he could examine it.
“Wow, that is beautiful indeed. And that’s a great diamond. What is that, two-and-a-half carat?”
“Just over two, but it’s a great cut.”
“It sure is. My man knows how to treat the woman he loves right.”
I was trying to keep from squirming.
“So, where was your wedding?” Mike asked.
“Castle on the Hudson,” she replied, “in Tarrytown.”
“Sure, I was at a wedding there myself—great views of the river up there.”
****
As dinner progressed, the same conversational pattern emerged—Mike and Ashley doing all the talking, with me having to fight to throw my two cents in.
There was also a physical dynamic going on. Ashley was at the center of this semicircle table, but she was tilted towards Mike. And he was now snu
g up against her. I hadn’t changed my position, but now there was a good nine inches between our legs.
I Imagined Ashley’s hand under the table—on his crotch.
After dinner Ashley asked, “So should we get another drink?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, “what are you thinking?”
“What do you think, Mike?” she said.
“Well,” he replied, “do you guys have any drinks back at your place?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Ashley replied.
“I don’t know if we do,” I said.
“I picked up more vodka tonight,” she answered. “We can get beer on the way back.”
I had anticipated this moment, but it still hit me hard.
“OK, yeah,” I said.
The waitress dropped off the check and Ashley stopped Mike as he went to reach for it.
“You got it last time,” Ashley said. “We’ll get this, right?”
“Uh yeah, sure,” I said, pulling out my wallet. I looked at the bill … $225 with tip.
What a schmuck I felt like, signing that tab. The guy fucks my wife and Ashley has me buy him dinner.
****
I felt like a spectator as we walked back to the apartment. Like Mike had the reins and I was just pulling the sleigh. I wanted to put my arm around Ashley. So finally I did, and she kind of leaned into me.
For the rest of that walk, it was Ashley and me as the couple. Mike was just with us, even if he was doing most of the talking.
We arrived at the deli and Ashley said, “So what do we think, Corona Lights?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Do you need money?” Ashley replied.
“What?” I said. “Oh no, um, yeah, I’ll go in and get them.”
“Oh hey, let me get those,” Mike said.
“No it’s OK,” Ashley said.
“I’ll run in,” I said.
“Oh and Dave?” Ashley said.
“Yeah?”
“We also need limes.”
I didn’t know what to think. I felt shell-shocked.
We walked back, the two of them talking as I lugged the twelve pack.
****
I could only imagine the sense of power Mike must have felt walking into our apartment. Unlike two nights ago, all three of us knew exactly where this was going, where the night was headed.
I was feeling second-class in my own home, as I put the beer away. Ashley cut a few limes and Mike was in our living room, looking at the photos on the mantle. “So, that’s Ashley’s mom and sister?” he said, as I handed him a Corona.
“Yeah,” I said, “at Cape Cod last summer.”
“Quite the attractive threesome,” he said. “How old’s Ashley’s mom?”
“Fifty four,” I replied.
“Damn, she’s a good looking woman. She looks ten years younger.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And these are your folks?” he continued, pointing to another photo. I nodded. “And that’s your brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Ashley, you were a beautiful bride,” Mike said, pointing to our wedding day photo, as she walked in.
“Oh, thanks,” she said.
“And an attractive groom,” he said, turning back to me.
I smiled awkwardly.
He was inside my home, in my living room, inspecting personal photos of my wife and me. Ashley didn’t seem to mind.
Maybe she naturally trusted him—being my “childhood friend” and all. She even pointed to the top of a bookshelf to show him more.
“That was in Napa,” she said, “the night after Dave proposed.”
“Yes, you’re displaying your two-carat ring,” he replied.
****
Mike was sitting on our sofa swigging his beer—the same sofa he would try to relegate me to again. I had to imagine he knew the irony or symbolism of sitting there, waiting for my wife to return from the bathroom. It was like he was doing a refined version of a victory lap.
“Should we put the Yankees game on?” he said. “We can mute the sound and get a score.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Looks like extra innings,” he said.
“Oh yeah, top of the tenth.”
Mike started talking about relief pitchers. So I mechanically rattled off a few.
“It can’t be overstated,” Mike said, “how critical it is to have a good reliever, y’know?”
Mike was probably just talking baseball, but I suspected that wasn’t all he meant.
“A friend of mine gave me this,” Ashley said, as she returned and sat beside Mike.
It was pot.
I was surprised, taken aback. Ashley and I had smoked pot with friends on occasion, but only when a friend offered.
Why now? I thought.
Had Mike suggested it to her in a communication I wasn’t privy too? And who was this friend she got it from? If I had fifty guesses, I’d choose Tamara every time. She probably gave it to Ashley after work today. Had Ashley told Tamara about Mike?
“It smells good,” he said. “Have you checked this out, Dave?”
“No, but yeah, it smells good,” I said.
“So shall I roll up a few joints?” Mike said. “Or would you like to do the honors, Dave?”
I’d never rolled a joint in my life.
“It’s been a long time,” I said, “go for it, Mike.”
And soon, there we were, sitting Indian style on the living room floor, the three of us getting high together.
I said, “I’m good,” after the third toke.
I was already feeling it hard. It wasn’t the laughing buzz I’ve sometimes experienced—maybe it was the alcohol. But I was nervous—on edge.
“Great timing, Mom,” Ashley said as she looked at her cell phone.
“What?” I asked.
“She was just asking if I was around to talk. Um, Mom, it’s eleven on a Friday night.”
“Your mom’s on Seattle time, right?” Mike asked.
I wondered how Mike knew that.
“Yeah,” Ashley said, “time zones are pretty stupid.”
“Stupid?” Mike said laughing. “Why, because they inconvenience you?”
“Look, no one even thought about time zones one thousand years ago.”
“Well,” Mike said laughing, “they didn’t have squat one thousand years ago. They were lucky to have candlelight.”
“That’s my point,” Ashley replied. “I don’t know who invented time zones, but he was no Thomas Edison, I’ll tell you that.”
“Well,” Mike said, “we need to get some scientists working on this. Anything else they should work at?”
“Well, while they’re at it,” Ashley replied, “they really need to make planes a lot faster, ’cause flights are way too long.”
“What do you think a caveman would think if they heard this is how their descendants talked in the twenty-first century?” Mike asked.
“That I’m a spoiled little brat who doesn’t even know how to make a simple fire with a pair of sticks.”
Suddenly Mike and Ashley were both cracking up, touching each other, and I felt alone and isolated.
I was too stoned and paranoid to contribute.
These were the kind of silly conversations Ashley and I would have.
Mike looked over at me, as if realizing I was still there. “Say Dave,” he said, “I scored some Giants tickets for October. They’re lower level thirty yard line. You up for going, my man?”
“Yeah, sure,” I replied.
Ashley gave a pouting expression.
“I’m sorry, Ashley,” Mike said, “but I just have the two, and you said you don’t like pro football.”
“I don’t,” she said, “I was just kidding.”
“But I just remembered,” he said, “my buddy bailed on me for the U.S. Open. You up for going Sunday night?”
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