Close to the end of the One Hundred Years project, when everything had been shot and they were in the final stages of editing, Kathy had accused him of having an affair with Stephanie. It had been a lazy Sunday afternoon, and he’d been standing at the barbecue in the back garden at peace with the world, content and unsuspecting when she’d made the accusation out of the blue. The hamburgers had burnt to carbon as he listened to Kathy’s wild allegations, and it was months before he’d been able to stand the odor of meat again without feeling sick to his stomach. He’d denied his wife’s accusations of course, because they weren’t true, but deep in his heart he felt guilty, because he knew how close he’d come.
He’d never told Stephanie, but he’d immediately terminated her contract with a little cash bonus as a thank-you. They’d kept in touch intermittently, and then she’d gotten a lucrative job down in Miami as an accounts manager for Saatchi & Saatchi. In the first few weeks after her departure, while Kathy had persisted in her suspicions, he’d thought of Stephanie often, and then, when everything calmed down at home, she had rarely crossed his mind again.
Two years ago, Robert had bumped into Stephanie at an awards dinner. She had returned to the Northeast as the accounts manager for Ogilvy & Mather, one of the biggest ad agencies on the East Coast. Within weeks, they had rekindled their earlier friendship, and this time it was different.
Stephanie had grown, matured. And his relationship with his wife had changed and altered over the years. Previously, he could not have had an affair. But now . . .
Kathy turned over in bed, breathing in short, sighing breaths. Robert turned to look at her. In sleep her features changed; the lines on her forehead and around her mouth disappeared altogether, and her mouth drooped open, elongating her face, turning it ugly.
In sleep, Stephanie’s face remained unchanged, keeping her beautiful.
The comparison came unbidden, and he turned away from his wife, glancing at the clock again: 1:20.
He remembered the first time he’d slept with Stephanie. They had been circling the event for weeks. Casual lunches had turned into regular events, their occasional dinners were becoming habit, and their conversations were becoming more and more suggestive.
Then Stephanie had gotten R&K a lucrative little contract to shoot an ad for bottled water. She had given Robert a list of locations and told him to scout the best one. He’d recommended Tiverton, Rhode Island, just on the water, and she had suggested they both visit it, check out the light in the evening and again in the morning. They had both known it was completely unnecessary, and they had both known where the evening was leading.
There had been absolutely no doubt in his mind as they drove out to the coast in his car that they were going to end up in bed together. But that was it; he hadn’t been thinking beyond that. They would have an enjoyable meal, and then . . . well, then the old adage beloved of television and film crews everywhere would apply: What happens on the road, stays on the road.
He could recall every detail of that night.
All his senses had been heightened. He remembered the meal, the intense flavors of the meat, the sharp bitterness of the wine, the hint of Stephanie’s perfume, the peaty odor from the fire. She had worn a white silk blouse over skinny jeans, a thin gold chain around her neck, gold hoops in her ears, no rings. Her nails were short and blunt and coated with an iridescent, clear lacquer, and she’d allowed her hair to tumble onto her shoulders.
They’d taken adjoining rooms in the little hotel.
When the meal was finished, they’d retired upstairs. They had stopped outside Stephanie’s room, and Robert had dipped his head to kiss her good night. She turned her head at the last moment and instead of brushing her cheek, he’d kissed her lips. And she had returned the kiss.
They had made love for hours that first night. Robert had been shocked by Stephanie’s enthusiasm, inventiveness, and obvious enjoyment of the act. He always had the impression that Kathy treated lovemaking as a duty, something to get finished as quickly as possible. Stephanie relished it.
And later, much later, as the first rays of wan morning sun were touching the window and he was lying naked in bed, with Stephanie wrapped into his body, he had realized that he felt alive. For the first time in years, he had felt energized, creative, and excited. He had felt young again.
It crossed his mind that he had betrayed his wife and their wedding vows. But he hadn’t felt the slightest bit guilty.
CHAPTER 21
Friday, 20th December
Eyes gritty, head pounding, Robert Walker pushed open the door of R&K Productions with his foot. He was carrying a triple latte in one hand and was juggling his laptop, briefcase, and keys in the other. The alarm started to blip warningly. He placed the coffee on Illona’s desk and returned to the box behind the door to punch in the alarm code #328. He kept promising to change it. Maybe if he really did pluck up the courage and let Maureen go, that would give him the impetus to change the code and locks.
There were two calls flashing on the answering machine. Robert hit the Play button and left the door to his office open so that he could listen to them as he carried his coffee and briefcase inside.
The mechanical female voice announced: “You have two new messages. New message left Thursday, December 19, at 6:59 p.m.”
“Hello, mate, it’s Jimmy. It’s about seven o’clock, Thursday evening. I’m phoning to confirm that dinner is still on tomorrow night. Really looking forward to it. If it gets too late, or there’s a little too much of the red stuff consumed, you can always stay over at my place. You know I’ve still got that apartment in the North End. My God, but it was the best investment I ever made. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“New message left today, Friday, December 20, at 7:55 a.m.”
“Good morning, Robert, Eddie Carson, DaBoyz Management here. I understand from Stephanie that you start early. Will you give me a call as soon as you get in? I need to reschedule our appointment.”
“End of new messages.”
Robert glanced at the clock. Ten past eight. The message had come in fifteen minutes ago. Most of the DaBoyz presentation was spread out on the conference table, and he had the latest updates on his laptop. The band and their manager were due to come in at ten, but it would only take him half an hour to get his act together, so he could see them at nine if they needed to pull the appointment forward.
Before he phoned DaBoyz however, he had one other call to make. It had become a habit: the first call of the day and the last call at night. He hit the speed dial on his cell. “Good morning, gorgeous.”
“My God, what time is it?” Stephanie’s voice was muffled and woolly with sleep.
“Ten past eight. Wake up, sleepyhead. I thought you’d be on the way into the office.”
“I’m going in later. I had a late call with Beijing; the thirteen-hour time difference is a killer.”
Robert moved around the office, opening the blinds. “Speaking of calls, there was a message from Carson on my answering machine this morning; he wants to rearrange the appointment. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
There was a rustle of bedclothes, and when Stephanie spoke again, her voice conveyed that she was awake and more alert. “Tell me what he said, exactly what he said.”
“Well, he just said . . . Actually, hang on a second and I’ll play you the message.” He carried his cell to the outer office and hit the Play button.
“You have no new messages. You have two old messages.”
Robert fast-forwarded through the first message, then he hit Play again and held his phone to the speaker.
When the message finished, he put the phone to his ear again. “That’s it,” he said brightly. “It’s not a problem. Obviously, I’ll clear my calendar to see them, you know that.”
“It is a problem,” Stephanie snapped. “This is just bullshit. I told Carson we were lucky to get you. Call him back and do not—do you hear me—do not allow him to rearrange the appointment. You’ve got to
show this little bastard who’s boss; otherwise he’ll walk all over you.”
“It really isn’t a problem—” Robert began.
“Just do as I say. Be tough with him. Tell him you can meet this morning or not at all, then shut up and say nothing. Wait for his response.”
“Okay,” Robert said dubiously.
“Trust me on this,” Stephanie said in a slightly gentler tone. “Do it now, and then phone me back.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Robert mimed a salute as he hung up. He went over to the conference table and rooted through the pages until he found Carson’s business card. Left to his own devices Robert would call Carson and arrange to see the band at their convenience. But he had to accept that Stephanie was very good at what she did, and she handled some of the biggest accounts in the show-business world.
“Eddie Carson.” The call was answered on the first ring.
“Morning, Eddie, Robert Walker, R&K Productions. I just missed you.”
“Yeah, Bob, thanks for calling back. Listen, I need to rearrange DaBoyz’s meeting for tomorrow or maybe Sunday. What’s good for you?”
Robert opened his briefcase and took out his laptop, settling it onto his desk. “None of those work for me, Eddie. Today works for me. I made time for you today.”
There was a long pause. Robert could hear traffic whizzing by and guessed that Eddie was still on the freeway. He fired up the laptop and rattled in his password. The screen cleared and opened to an almost empty desktop, with just a few icons lining the left-hand side of the screen. He clicked into My Documents, then My Pictures. He highlighted one picture and hit Enter. It opened immediately. He had taken the picture last Christmas. It showed Stephanie wearing only tinsel and Christmas balls, kneeling provocatively beside a tiny Christmas tree in her apartment. The tip of the tree was in line with her large pink areola. There was a sign on the carpet by her feet: Robert’s Christmas Present. Can be opened anytime. He zoomed in on her face. She was smiling impishly. She was always in control, always knew just what to do. He just hoped that she knew what she was doing now.
“That’s really not possible. DaBoyz are in great demand—”
“So am I, Mr. Carson,” Robert said coldly. “It’s this morning or not at all.”
There was a long pause. Robert opened his mouth several times to break the silence, but, mindful of Stephanie’s advice, closed it again.
“I might be able to fit you in later today,” Carson said smoothly, and in that moment, Robert knew he had won.
“I have you down for ten o’clock. Will you be here or not?”
There was another silence. “I’ll juggle some stuff. We’ll be there.” Then Carson hung up.
Robert’s fingers were trembling as he hit the speed dial. The call was picked up on the first ring. “You were right. What would I do without you?”
“Let’s hope you never have to find out.”
CHAPTER 22
“I told you.” Stephanie strode around the office. She was dressed in a pinstriped power suit whose severe lines were only softened by the cream silk blouse she wore beneath the jacket. She wore her hair pulled back off her face, looped and held in a sleek, tight ponytail with an ornate butterfly comb, which Robert had given her last Christmas.
Robert was sitting behind his desk, staring intently at his monitor. He was putting the finishing touches to the latest version of the DaBoyz presentation, which incorporated the changes he had agreed to with Carson and the band members earlier that morning. “Your advice was absolutely spot on,” he said without looking up from the screen. “They turned up at ten on the dot. The boys were as good as gold, a little overawed by everything and very much under Carson’s thumb. He made all the creative decisions.”
Stephanie stopped at the conference table and spread out the drawings of the band at the Haleakal Crater in Maui. “These look very good, very exciting. Different. Dark and just a little exotic. Just what the band needs at the moment—it’ll take them in a new direction.”
“Carson was complimentary. Apparently everyone else was suggesting something light and bright and fluffy with tween appeal. He wants to take the band up into an older age range.” Robert came out from behind the desk and joined Stephanie by the table. He arranged the images into a sequence, laying out the pop video. “You’d think I’d been doing this all my life,” he muttered. “Carson wanted a few changes.”
“Of course he did. It’s a power thing with him, like trying to change the time of the appointment this morning. I’ve seen him do that so often. He thinks he’s managing U2, not just another cookie-cutter boy band.”
Robert was abruptly conscious of Stephanie’s perfume, something sharp and citrus, and the heat from her body as she bent over the table alongside him. A stray curl of hair brushed his face; it felt like an electric shock.
“And if you hadn’t called him on it, then he would have given you the runaround for the next couple of weeks. Even if you had gotten the gig, he would have interfered every step of the way. Hawaii was a good location choice. Everyone loves Hawaii. . . .” Stephanie’s voice trailed away to a husky whisper. She turned to look at Robert. Her face was inches away from his. He could smell the coffee on her breath. As he watched, her pupils dilated, and she brushed the tip of her tongue across her lips. She smiled and raised her eyebrows a fraction, then glanced toward the open door.
Robert took a deep breath to settle his fluttering heartbeat and stepped away from Stephanie. He could feel himself straining against his jeans. He never wore jeans to pitches; he was an old-school suits kind of guy. However, Stephanie had instructed him on his wardrobe. They had even gone shopping together for it: Rock & Republic skinny jeans, an Ed Hardy tee shirt, and a gray wool Theory blazer. The outfit made him look young and hip. And now he was desperate to get out of it. Glancing at the clock, he strode out into the outer office to where Illona was systematically working her way through an office-supplies catalog. “Are you busy, Illona?”
The slim Eastern European girl looked up, eyes huge and dark in her pale face. She spoke English with a British clip that was now showing traces of a Boston accent, which Robert found incredibly disconcerting. “Not especially. The phones are quiet.”
“Look, it’s just after four. Why don’t you head out? Maybe get some shopping done, or beat the Friday evening traffic.”
“Well, if you are sure you do not need me . . . ?”
“Stephanie and I still have to go through the DaBoyz contract. We’ll be a while, and there are no other appointments this afternoon, are there?”
“None.”
“Okay. Switch the phones over to the answering machine, but leave your computer on; I’ll shut down the system before I leave.”
Illona gathered up her coat and bag and headed for the door. She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder, looking past Robert to where Stephanie was standing at the conference table, seemingly absorbed in the designs. She raised her voice slightly. “Good night, Miss Burroughs.”
“Good night,” Stephanie called, without looking up.
The receptionist looked back at Robert. “Try not to work too late.”
Robert just nodded. Was there something in Illona’s expression, something knowing, a smirk almost? Did she suspect? He knew for certain that Maureen suspected—she had revealed her dislike of Stephanie in a score of ways. It was one of the reasons he was seriously thinking about letting her go. But even that was no longer a clean decision; if he let Maureen go, then she might take her suspicions to Kathy.
Who would have thought that a simple affair would have such complications? There wasn’t a single aspect of his life left untouched and unaltered by the relationship.
He’d tried very carefully to keep his affair with Stephanie a closely guarded secret. When he’d finally become aware that what had started out as a fling was turning into something more serious, he’d consciously tried to ensure that they never ate in the same restaurant more than once and, when they stayed away overnig
ht, it was always outside of Boston where they stood less of a chance of being recognized. It was really no one’s business but his and Stephanie’s, but Boston was a city filled with prying eyes and big mouths, and the last thing he wanted was for the news to get back to Kathy. If anyone was going to tell her, he would.
When the time was right.
And the time was most certainly not right, not now.
Robert followed Illona to the door and held it open for her. “See you on Monday.”
“Good night, Robert.” Illona wrapped her coat tighter around her shoulders and disappeared into the fading light.
Robert waited until she had rounded the corner, then closed the door and locked it. “I think she suspects . . . ,” he began, walking back into the office.
“Who cares?” Stephanie had already undressed down to her lace bra and panties. “She’s a receptionist.” Then she caught Robert by his lapels and pulled him toward her, tilting her head and pressing her lips against his.
Her passion took him by surprise. His own response—immediate and hungry—shocked him. Every time with Stephanie was like the first time: exhilarating and exhausting. He backed her up against the conference table and pushed her back onto it, scattering pages in every direction. His fingers fumbled at the hooks on her bra.
Before he had met Stephanie, the only place Robert had ever made love was in bed. In the early years of their marriage, he and Kathy had been more spontaneous with their lovemaking. They often made love during the week, but as the years went by, that changed too, and they’d fallen into the routine of many married couples who had children: Saturday or Sunday morning, when the house was still quiet and the kids were either in bed or downstairs watching TV.
The Affair Page 14