As Kathy and Donna watched Billy, Bob studied them. Kathy seemed like the sensible one in the pair. She wore a gray wool business suit, albeit with a short skirt, low heels, and wire-frame glasses. She laughed in the appropriate places, and, if she was feeling her Merlot, hid it well. Sultry Donna was what men called an easy mark. She leaned into Billy, who had his arm around her, and looked up at him with large, hooded eyes. She wore a clingy top, accenting her breasts, and tight black pants that hugged her wide hips and soft thick thighs. Her wavy brown hair fell loosely to her shoulders, with bangs that stopped just above her amplified eyelashes. She wore raspberry-colored glossy lipstick on her full lips and had straight white teeth. Would Billy take her home?
Bob hadn’t ever taken a woman home. His home had been his parents’ home until he was engaged to Karen. He’d had several girlfriends before Karen, but all of them were much like Karen: responsible, intelligent, and attractive in a conservative way. Plus, most of them were high school girlfriends. And while Bob had thought a great deal about sex in high school, the possibility of actually having it with a girl was incredibly slim. First, most respectable girls in high school didn’t do it. They did other things, but they didn’t have intercourse. And second, the girls who were known to have intercourse were just that, the girls who had intercourse. Any guy who dated a girl like that was known as a guy who was dating a girl who would have intercourse. Those guys got a lot of high-fives in the boys’ locker room, but no one took the relationship seriously. Instead, it was a very public joke.
At the community college he attended before transferring to State, he had dated a couple of women, one six years his senior. Page had what Bob called a robust sexual appetite. They had sex on the backseat of his car. They had sex at the beach. They had sex on a blanket in the woods. He did not take her out to dinner; he did not introduce her to his parents. Six weeks into the relationship, she drove him home to her place, where he met her two-year-old son, Donaldson, a product of her failed marriage and a subject never before raised. While Page showered, Bob entertained Donaldson with Lego blocks, all the while acting like a father and wondering what it would be like to be Donaldson’s father, to do this all the time. Page emerged from the bathroom with a freshly washed body and an expectant look in her eyes. She put Donaldson in front of a Disney VHS movie and led Bob into her bedroom. But screwing Donaldson’s mother in the next room didn’t turn out to be all that appealing. Page cried out during sex, which didn’t arouse anyone’s attention in a parked car, but this time prompted Donaldson to call for her just as Bob was climaxing. Their relationship ended that evening, and put Bob off women for a while. He dated a couple of other fellow students, but felt no lasting attachment. And they, like Bob, lived with their parents, so having sex was a rarity.
Dating, sex in general, looked different now. At thirty, Bob could handle a sexual relationship. He lived in an adult world, in which everyone knew the rules. When a woman and a man who had been strangers until the night they met left a bar together, both of them knew what they were getting into. The plan was not to have coffee or get to know one another better. It was to have sex. If things went well and they were both single, they often spent the night together and shared breakfast in the morning. If things didn’t go well or if other commitments got in the way, the encounter was over as soon as one of them got dressed again. People who had sex quickly were often interested in having sex quickly with other people, too.
Bob wondered if he hadn’t married Karen and was standing in Rascals as a single man, what he would do. He looked at Donna’s chest and decided he would take her home if Billy didn’t. And being the kind of guy he was, Billy probably would have passed her off to Bob. And then Bob and Donna would give each other a long look before finishing their drinks and heading for the parking lot. Bob would take her back to his apartment, pour her another glass of wine, then sit next to her on the couch. Ever so slowly, he would lean in and kiss her. She would kiss him back, which would give him the green light to put his hands all over her flesh. She would moan and arch toward him, and the rest would be easy. They would have sex on the couch and, depending on how Bob was feeling afterward, share his bed for the night. “Bob?” Bob looked at Billy. “Where were you, friend?” Bob smiled as he reacclimated himself. Donna giggled. “You ready to eat?”
“Absolutely,” said Bob.
“Ladies,” Billy said, “thank you for your company. We’ve had a marvelous time chatting with you. Unfortunately, business calls, and we must leave you.” Billy kissed both women on their cheeks. “Have a great evening.” He put his arm around Bob and steered him through the bar crowd to the tables in the back. Sandi, the hostess, smiled when she saw Billy. “I’ve got a booth for you in five minutes, honey.”
Billy handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “You are an angel.”
As soon as they sat down in the booth, Billy announced that he felt like a burger and then leaned in to study Bob’s face. “You look a little shell-shocked there partner. What’s up?”
“Nothing, really,” said Bob, picking up his menu.
“I think you like my friend Donna.” Bob looked at Billy and smiled. “Am I right, or am I right?”
“She is attractive.”
“Yes, she is. And I think she thinks the same about you.”
Bob put the menu down. “Why do you say that?”
“Chemistry. I can always spot chemistry, and you two have it.”
“You had your arm around her. What about that chemistry?”
“That was nothing,” said Billy, flicking his hand. “I think she wants to be with you. And I further think I can make that happen for you.”
“Billy, I’m married.”
“So are most of the guys in here.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying being married and spending time with a willing woman are not necessarily mutually exclusive, my friend.”
“They are if you want to stay married.”
Billy shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
Bob studied the menu again and then put it back down. “So where do the married man and the single woman go to have this fun, back to the house with the wife and kids?”
Billy laughed. “To her apartment, Bob. Donna has a nice apartment on Elm Street.”
“How would you know that?”
Billy sipped his beer. “I’ve been told.”
Bob and Billy ordered cheeseburgers when their waiter arrived. Billy ordered two more beers. “She’s looking at you, Bob. Shall I wave her over?”
“Enough of this,” said Bob, shaking his head. “This kind of talk is unproductive.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Look. I’m married to Karen. I have two kids. I have a good life, and I want it to stay that way.”
“If your life is so good, what are you doing here?”
“Having dinner with a friend. And if you want to remain a friend, you’ll support me.”
“That’s just what I’m trying to do.”
Billy told Bob how much he liked and respected Karen, as a wife and as a mother. Billy then told Bob how having an affair can actually strengthen a marriage rather than destroy it. Since most husbands want sex more than their wives, he said, they needed to find another woman willing to have sex. Donna, for example, liked the attention men paid to her before and during sex. Bob wouldn’t need to do anything more than tell her how beautiful she was and bring a bouquet of flowers or a nice bottle of wine to her apartment, and he would get what he needed. Donna would get the attention and affection she needed. Everyone would be happy.
“I don’t buy it,” said Bob, waving off Billy’s analysis. “Women are emotional, and they want to be attached. You can’t tell me Donna wouldn’t put any pressures on me, and you can’t tell me she wouldn’t get ugly when I called it off.”
“You’re right. I’m not making any promises. But I sure know it would be fun along the way.” The cheeseburgers and beers arrived. Hungry, Bob took a big
bite and looked at his watch. It was almost eight. “Feeling a tug from the ball and chain?”
“Let’s leave this alone. Tell me about the Greyson account.”
They talked about business as they ate their dinners. Billy paid the bill and walked out the back door with Bob. They split in the middle of the parking lot. “Think about what I said,” Billy called on the way to his car.
“See you tomorrow,” Bob called back.
Bob got in his car and drove home. When he got there, Shelley, who was sweeping the kitchen floor for the second time, told him the kids were in bed, as was Karen. The evening had gone smoothly. Bob thanked her, got her coat out of the closet, and walked her to the front door. He then walked up the stairs to his and Karen’s bedroom, where he found Karen asleep. He checked on Robert and Rebecca, also asleep. He walked back to his bedroom and undressed. He got into bed beside Karen and snuggled in next to her. He put his hand on her breast. She rolled over and turned her back on him.
CHAPTER 9
SEPTEMBER 2002
The morning of Robert’s first day of first grade was hectic. Karen raced around the house multitasking, but finishing none of the jobs she started. The two vital jobs—loading backpacks with requested lunches and making pancakes with banana slice and chocolate chip faces—she accomplished by bus time. The three of them hustled out the door and stood at the corner; Bob, unfortunately, was out of town on business. Only as Karen looked down the street for the bus’s arrival, mimicking Robert, did she think about her son in someone else’s care until three thirty that afternoon. She bent down, put her hands on his cheeks and tilted his head. “Are you ready?”
Robert smiled up at her. “Of course, I’m ready, Mom.” She wanted to ask him so many things, but knew she could not. Will you miss me? Will you think about me? Will you make new friends? Will you have enough to eat? Will the teacher like you? Instead, she kissed him on the cheek. “I’m not a baby,” he said.
“Yes, you are,” said Rebecca. “All first graders are babies.”
Karen looked at her daughter. “Is that nice?”
Rebecca shrugged. “Sometimes, the truth hurts.”
“Especially on the first day of school.”
Rebecca put her hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s the kindergarteners who are babies.”
The bus came around the corner; Robert’s eyes grew large as it approached, and Karen gave him one last kiss. Still watching the bus, Robert lifted his hand to his face. “Don’t you dare wipe it off,” said Karen, with a smile on her face. “That’s got to last all day.” She watched them get on the bus and sit. Rebecca sat with her good friend, Emily, and Robert sat with Gerald, a boy he knew from his kindergarten class. Karen waved, and Robert waved back. Rebecca was busy talking to Emily. When the bus rolled down the hill and out of sight, Karen jogged back to the house. Instead of grabbing her grocery list, she changed her clothes. She decided to take her bike ride first. Then she could shower for the day and not have to worry about fitting that in before lunch with Sarah.
Michigan’s warm August weather had stretched into September, so Karen wore her biking shorts and a T-shirt. She rode her bike to the rail-trail by the river, and then rode west, passing the animal feed warehouse that had recently been converted to new condominiums, past Rascals, the Sleep Inn hotel, the new True Value, and a number of other downtown businesses before reaching the more secluded portion of the trail. In just three minutes, the commercial section of town yielded to the residential, and two minutes later, Karen was riding through marshy grasses and trees. She liked the rural section of the trail best, when she didn’t have to worry about traffic at the cross streets, when her brain could switch from analysis mode to casual observation. Six miles out of town was like being in another place, in someone else’s life.
On the way back, she thought about Robert; he had been at school for just over an hour. She wondered what he was doing. Math? Social studies? He was sitting in the front row (Bob’s request) so he would be more likely to listen and pay attention. He was smart enough, but needed every advantage possible, as he lost interest in everything but Nintendo games quickly, needing reminders and incentives to stay on task. Karen had discussed all of this with his teacher, Ellen O’Donnell, who assured her Robert would be well cared for, as would all the children. He was not like Rebecca, for whom academics came easily. Her teachers praised her intelligence, her work habits, her attitude in the classroom, and her ability to get along with her peers, including those less capable than herself. She was an exceptional girl—they told Karen marking period after marking period in parent-teacher conferences—a natural leader in the classroom who inherently set an excellent example for the other students. Rebecca’s attitude was less stellar at home than it was in the classroom, but the pediatrician told Karen that this was to be expected at Rebecca’s age. Girls went through puberty earlier, and parents had little choice but to suffer through it.
While Rebecca academically outshone just about everyone, Robert fell into the slow-learners group. And Bob was frustrated with his lack of progress, even though Robert was just six. His kindergarten teacher, Janet Goodwin, had been more focused on Robert’s problems than on his successes in parent-teacher conferences, leaving Bob with the impression that his son was an idiot, a loafer, or both. Over the previous Christmas vacation, Bob had worked with him, doing flash cards with simple addition problems and easy words, trying to make a game out of it. But as soon as Robert missed three cards consecutively, Bob quit. Often their sessions lasted just a few minutes. In fact, the tutoring sessions were more aimed at Karen than Robert; Bob wanted her to work with Robert, but Karen refused.
“I don’t understand how you can say no to that,” Bob said to Karen in bed one night.
“We’ve gone through this before.” She turned out her bedside table lamp.
“Apparently not to my satisfaction.”
Karen rolled over to face him, seeing just the shadow of his head by the moonlight coming in through the window. “He’s a little boy,” she said to the dark. “A lot of the boys in first grade are going through the same thing. They learn at a slower pace than the girls.”
“Not my boy. They’re not going to put him on the loser track.”
“He’s not on any track, Bob. He’s only six.”
“Almost seven. And it’s best to start when they’re young.”
“Start what?” asked Karen. “He’s got sixteen years of school ahead of him. We push him now, and we’ll have real problems later.”
“Or we push him now, and he’ll excel later.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I do.”
“Then you tutor him,” said Karen. “At this point, I think it’s ludicrous.”
Bob did sit down with Robert several more times, but it often ended badly. Robert would be close to tears, and Bob was angered by his son’s shortcomings. Karen insisted Bob stop, saying he was hurting much more than he was helping, and finally Bob acquiesced. It was not because he thought Karen was right. It was not because he didn’t think his hard-line approach was in some ways good for his son, still babied by his wife. It was because he got another promotion. He was traveling more and was even busier when he was in town and had no time for tutoring.
Karen rode back through the commercial section of town and through the neighborhood streets to her house. She showered, and then drove her new Grand Voyager minivan to the grocery store, making sure to pick up the ingredients for peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, her children’s favorite, for an after-school snack. She stopped at the dry cleaners and the post office on the way home. She hauled the bags into the house and put away the food. It was just after noon, which surprised her. She had purposefully set a later time for lunch because she wanted to accomplish all her errands in the morning. Had she forgotten something? Karen looked at her to-do list on the kitchen counter and saw nothing. She had an ongoing list of house projects, but nothing else scheduled for
the first day of school, except lunch with Sarah. Karen decided to make the cookie dough and then bake them just before the children got off the bus, so they would be warm from the oven. The restaurant was crowded, but there was no one in line. Karen, who arrived a few minutes early, stood at the deli counter and looked up at the menu. American Café, with its homemade soups, wraps, and hearty salads, was her favorite place for lunch. Sarah walked in just as Karen was deciding between a sandwich and a salad, her usual warm weather quandary. “How was your morning?” Sarah asked.
“Longer than I thought. I went for a bike ride. I got a ton of groceries. I did a couple of other errands. I showered. And I made cookie dough.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? Plus, we’ll have another hour or so to ourselves after we eat.”
“Should I feel guilty?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a stay-at-home mother and I’ve got no kids at home.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” said Sarah. “I feel great.”
“Good, because so do I.”
They both ordered sandwiches, then sat at a table next to the front window. “When was the last time you were this relaxed?” asked Sarah, momentarily closing her eyes.
“Before the kids were born.”
Sarah laughed. “I’ve been looking at my watch all morning. I keep thinking I have to pick Jeremy up at eleven thirty. Since it’s after one, and I’m sitting in a restaurant, that must not be true.”
“Sitting in a restaurant, and we’re not paying a sitter for the privilege of doing so.”
Their sandwiches arrived, and the women chatted as they ate. Sarah was considering taking an economics class at the community college in town and wanted to know if Karen was interested. Karen said she would consider a class second semester, but wanted nothing but freedom for a while.
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