Peter didn’t seem to notice my reticence. “She’s—.” He seemed at a loss for words, or maybe it dawned on him that I wasn’t that interested. He glanced over at me, and his eyes widened a bit, and he sat up straighter.
I realized he wasn’t responding to me, he was looking over my shoulder, toward the circular staircase. I heard someone coming down the stairs and turned to look.
Joanne was on the stairway, her legs looking even longer from my vantage point below her. As always she looked elegant, regal, a queen descending down to her adoring subjects. She was in a classic little black dress, maybe a little too much for this party, but as usual she pulled it off, her toned arms sexy in the sleeveless cut, a single jewel on a necklace drawing my eye to her breasts. Her hair was up, refined.
She stopped on the landing, looking down at us. I was staring, I knew it. Never before in my life had I stared so much at a woman I had already slept with. She was as alluring with clothing as she was without.
Joanne paused, not posing, that wasn’t her. A brief smile flittered across her lips; if I hadn’t been staring at her I would have missed it.
She came down the stairs, sure of herself, and walked toward the couch. Peter hadn’t said another word, I assumed he was staring at her too.
Above her, the stairway was suddenly filled with people returning to the reception area. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the couple who had been sitting on the other couch return, the woman angrily elbowing the guy, whose eyes were locked on Joanne.
Joanne’s heels clicked on the marble floor as she approached us. I turned my head to follow her, I was getting ready to say hello, certainly that would be appropriate given that we knew each other, although I was surprised she just didn’t turn the other way, there was no need for her to come over to the corner of the room, to take unnecessary risks in public.
Joanne stopped in front of the couch, her eyes briefly darting between us. Then she bent over, and for a harrowing second I thought she was going to kiss me, right in front of everyone. I froze, my usual confidence suddenly lost, she had that much power over me. Everything moved very quickly, yet I noticed every detail, her earrings, the thickness of the strap on her dress, the flair in her nostrils. Her perfume as she came closer.
I was squeezing my drink so tightly I was amazed the glass didn’t shatter. I was helpless, and knew it would be hard not to kiss her back if she met my lips.
When I looked up into her eyes they held a look I hadn’t seen before. There was the usual deep gleam, the intensity. And the sparkle she seemed to be able to turn on and off, but this time, it was combined with real warmth, a closeness that I didn’t think she’d allow herself to show in front of everyone. The kind of look that, if you saw a woman share it with a man, you’d know they had been intimate.
Her eyes flicked to me, but then turned away to Peter. Her head was now at our level as she gracefully leaned over the couch.
Joanne turned away from me and gave Peter a kiss. Not a peck, not a kiss of passion, but a kiss of someone close, a comfortable, loving kiss. As she did so, her fingers, out of sight of Peter and everyone else in the room, grazed my thigh, slipping up toward my crotch, and then away.
All that happened in a matter of a few heartbeats.
Joanne stood and took a half step back, her eyes on me. “Hello, Michael. I see that you’ve met Peter.” She paused, her eyes a dazzling sparkle of something, excitement, amusement, I couldn’t tell. “My husband.”
The room grew eerily silent. I imagined everyone had stopped to look at us, instantly realizing what was going on, a husband catching his cheating wife with her lover.
The blood rushed in my ears, deafening. I’m sure my mouth was open, but my senses were numb, I wasn’t sure at all what I looked like. Guilty, certainly.
Which was what I’d expect Joanne to look, guilty. Peter must be able to tell, just from the tone of her voice, about me, and about what his wife had been doing with me.
Yet Joanne looked anything but guilty, she was totally relaxed, standing tall, that subtle amused look now suffusing her entire face, a hint of a smile, her eyes moving from me to Peter and back.
My hands were sweaty, or so I thought, but it was only my drink, I had spilled it in shock. Slowly my senses returned, the buzz in the room resumed, it had never stopped.
I looked around, everything was as it was before, people milling around, what eyes that were turned our way were on Joanne only, not on me. On her because of her beauty, not because her nearness to me had screamed some hidden secret.
I was shaking, in surprise, and then, in anger. Joanne had lied to me. She was married.
I glanced over at Peter, who was frozen, staring at his wife, in anguish, and now I understood what he had been talking about, or so I thought, blessed yet cursed with this stunning woman. He didn’t have to look around the room to know that every man was leering at her, some trying to hide it as they sipped drinks, or looked over the shoulder of the person they were chatting with, others openly ogling her.
When Peter had told me about his wife, about how he felt about men staring at her, and likely fantasizing about her, I never for a minute thought about Joanne as I tried to picture who Peter was talking about, which married woman in the office might be Peter’s wife. Joanne wasn’t one of the married ones.
It seemed I was wrong.
Now Peter looked over at me, and his eyes widened. My first reaction was that he had seen me staring at his wife, I had done exactly what he said affected him so much. Even though I was separated from Joanne by the back of the couch I shifted a little, subconsciously putting a little more distance between us.
Peter’s eyes returned to Joanne, and instinctively I turned toward her. She was still a statue, not cold and frozen, but other than the tiny smile, gave no indication of what she was thinking. Peter’s eyes flicked back to me, and I met his gaze, trying to keep a poker face, but today, or maybe because of something I was giving off, his face flushed, his pupils dilated, his shoulders sagged.
He knew.
Nothing I could say or do would salvage this situation, not that it was even mine to salvage. This was Joanne’s problem now, hers and her husband’s. She had made her bed and now had to sleep in it.
Actually, she had made her bed and I had slept in it.
I picked up a cocktail napkin and dried my drink, washing my hands of everything that had happened, the conversation with Peter, learning the truth. Washing my hands of Joanne.
I felt like telling her to go fuck herself, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how much her deceit had affected me. Instead I turned a cold eye on her, making it clear how I felt.
Her reaction was not at all what I had expected. Defensiveness, evasion, shame, all those responses might have been expected. Instead, her normally cool demeanor dropped away, replaced by a sadness, something I’d never seen in her, but I was certain of it. Her eyes melted, she suddenly seemed lost, uncomprehending of the turn of events, not what she expected.
Not because of her husband’s witnessing of our affair, but because of my cold reaction.
Joanne shook her head slightly, not believing. From her, this small gesture was like a shout, a cry for me to forgive her, to stay.
My face was hard as I walked out the door, no longer giving a shit who was watching.
In the lobby I stopped at a kiosk and bought a package of cigarettes. I didn’t even smoke, but this certainly seemed like a good reason to start. I just needed to do something with my hands, otherwise I might have punched something, someone.
I pushed through the revolving door, bumping into people, fighting my urges to lash out at a stranger. I walked three blocks before I realized it was raining. I still had the cigarettes in my hand and tossed them into a trash bin.
The cold rain had washed away the usual city smells, bringing a cleanliness I didn’t feel and didn’t deserve. I was pissed. At Joanne, for lying to me. And thought it made no sense, I was angry at Peter, how
could a guy let his wife do what she had done?
Mostly I was angry at myself, at the trap I had let myself fall into.
I had never fucked around with a married woman. Sure, I’d fantasized about a lot of them, just because they were off limits didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate their beauty. Not married myself, I always thought that when I did tie the knot, I wouldn’t want any other guy to have my wife, and it never occurred to me that any woman I would marry would want to sleep with anyone but me.
I knew all about swinging, but that was a different lifestyle, husbands and wives making that decision together. But if it got to the point where my wife of the future was with another man, that would mean our marriage was over.
The closest I had come was a relationship with a woman who had been separated two full years; she told me she hadn’t seen her husband in over a year, and I believed her. Their divorce was in progress, it was just taking a while, the state she lived in required a full year of separation before marriage, and then they had both moved to other states, complicating everything. She seemed long over him, the marriage at that point a technicality. We had a normal relationship, our geographical differences ending it after six months. I didn’t even think of her as being married.
I had never even hit on a married woman either, and as a result, I had a lot of women friends who were married, I think they must have felt I was safe, or they were tired of other men always trying to get them in bed, even the men who were themselves married. So I had plenty of opportunities, but had not only never succumbed, I had make it a rule not to go that route. I just didn’t need the complications.
Now here I was, well past the point of fantasizing about a married woman, beyond flirtation, beyond even talking about it. Joanne and I had jumped right over the barriers which normally served to keep most marriages intact, we had skipped any discussion of whether we should become involved, we hadn’t talked about what was right. We had jumped right to fucking.
On a corner, the light changed to yellow, and I waited. Just something like that yellow light, a bit of a warning, might have avoided all this. I can’t say I know what would have happened if I had known Joanne was married when she came on to me; I wanted to think I could have resisted her charms, her beauty. I’d done it before with other women. Joanne might have been more of a challenge.
Maybe that would have been worse, if Joanne had seduced me, breaking down my barriers, going to that place I had vowed never to go. Not only with a woman at the office, but a married one.
I’d never know. By not telling me the truth, Joanne had taken away my chance to stay true to my rule.
My clothes were soaked, a ruination they didn’t deserve, much like my ego. I turned for my apartment. I felt miserable enough without destroying my suit; I wouldn’t need another reminder of what Joanne had driven me to.
Two blocks later my phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t look at it. I wouldn’t want to talk to Joanne, begging forgiveness. And I didn’t want to see what my reaction would be if it wasn’t her calling me.
I trudged through the puddles to my apartment building. I hesitated before going in, it was my place, but it would remind me of Joanne, of our trysts. I considered taking the train to the country, to my house, where she had never been.
I shook my head. Screw it. She wasn’t going to take this from me.
Once inside I stripped off my clothes and took a long hot shower, losing myself in the hiss of the water. When I was finished I dropped onto the bed. The missed message light on my phone flashed. I regained some of my dignity by ignoring it totally.
I hadn’t set the alarm so was surprised to wake up when it was still a little dark. I had finally drifted off after a few hours of restlessness, my mind whirling with thoughts of Joanne, of how I had fucked up. I even thought of Peter. In my dreams he had come at me like an angry bee, appearing far more of a threat than he had at the office, when he had seemed rather—I couldn’t describe it. Like he had discovered some secret, but it wasn’t the one he had expected to uncover.
Maybe Peter wasn’t surprised to learn that his wife had been cheating, only who she had been cheating with. The guy he was just talking to. Me.
I thought about skipping the office, I had to get my head on straight before a chance run in with Joanne. I didn’t trust myself to just ignore her as I had managed to do last night.
As I started to get up my apartment buzzer snapped my mind into the present, and I realized it was the angry bee of my dream. Who the fuck would be buzzing me at this hour?
Only one person.
I sat on the edge of the bed. If I ignored her, she’d go away.
No such luck. She leaned on the buzzer, a raucous obnoxious sound, so utterly incongruous an announcement of a woman so refined.
A lying refined woman.
I pulled on a shirt and shorts and went to the foyer, buttoning up along the way. Without thinking I leaned against the very part of the wall where Joanne and I had fucked. Would this be my fate, to be constantly reminded of her, even by a blank wall?
The buzzer had stopped, and I thought she’d given up.
“If you don’t open the door, I’m going to say something really nasty that your neighbors will hear.” Joanne’s voice was actually cool and collected, and not at all loud. She was assuming I was on the other side of the door.
How did this woman know me so well? Was there something in my semen that gave her an insight into my moods and thoughts?
I opened the damned door.
As she had the first time at my place, Joanne pushed past me. She was dressed for work, even though it was still almost dark out. “Going incommunicado is not you,” she admonished.
I shut the door and followed her into the living room. “You don’t know me. I keep telling you that.”
“Bullshit. You deal with problems. You think this is a problem. You aren’t the type to ignore it, you face it.”
“I don’t think we have a problem,” I said. “I don’t, anyway. Not anymore. You on the other hand, probably have one with your husband.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t know me. Peter and I don’t have a problem at all.”
Joanne sat down on the sofa without waiting for an invitation, crossing her elegant legs. I looked in spite of myself, and when I pulled my eyes back to her face she had that little smile, she had caught me.
“Your legs aren’t going to get you out of this one, with me or your husband. Actually, I don’t give a shit about your problem with your husband.”
“I told you we don’t have a problem.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me. I saw the look on his face, he knew something was going on with the two of us. And before you showed up, he had just been telling me how he didn’t like going to parties with you, because he sees everyone checking you out. I bet he’s always suspicious of you fucking around.”
Joanne’s face was composed, her lips tight, only the flare in her eyes a clue to her reaction. “I am not fucking around.”
“Oh no? What do you call what we were doing?”
“You are my lover. We were fucking, yes. But I wasn’t fucking around on my husband. That implies I was cheating, and I certainly wasn’t doing that.”
I shook my head. “You’re not making any sense.”
“You’re a smart guy, you figure it out.”
I don’t think I would have even if I had been thinking straight. “I’m too tired for games, I’m tired of you. If I let you explain it, will you just leave?”
“I’ll do better than that. After I explain it to you, I’ll accept your apology for treating me like shit, and I’ll give you the chance to stay as my lover.”
Only Joanne could have pulled that off. I laughed dismissively. “Okay, I’ll bite. I can’t wait to hear this.”
Joanne patted the sofa. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“A long story, is it?” I ignored the sofa and sat on the lounge chair. Resting my hands on my knees, I leaned forward, dra
matically pretending interest, although I had to admit, she had me wondering.
Joanne pulled her hair away from her face, maybe a gesture to suggest truth. “You’re drawing all kinds of wrong conclusions. You seem to think I was cheating on my husband.”
“What do you call having sex with another man while you are married? Married being the operative term, which you never told me about.”
“We’ll get to that. As for the cheating—it’s only cheating if he didn’t know.”
My mind had already gone down the path of what she might say about why she had lied to me, not telling me about her marriage, that I kind of lost focus. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Joanne was totally serious, intent.
“Are you saying your husband knows about us?”
“Not you specifically. But he knows I have a lover. Lovers, actually.”
I was already shaking my head. “I don’t believe it.”
Joanne gave a small shrug. “You can choose to believe what you want. Do you want me to call him? You can ask him yourself.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. In fact I’ve done it before. I didn’t think I’d have to do it for you.”
“So let me get this straight. Your husband knows you have sex with other men?”
“He’s always known. I didn’t just go out and start—fucking around—as you put it. Peter and I talked about it for a long time, even before we were married. I told him I loved him, but I couldn’t be satisfied by one man. I’d be willing to marry him, but he’d have to accept that I would always have a lover. Or more than one.”
I had to admit, she had me flummoxed. I leaned back in the seat. “I didn’t see that coming.” I thought about it for a while. “Wait a minute. He agreed to this? Before you were married?”
“Totally. And it’s now part of our marriage. I tell him everything. Everything, do you understand?”
Allure of the Vixen Page 7