CHAPTER 6
THE NEXT MORNING, I AWOKE to a faint early light coming through the windows. I closed my eyes and automatically slid from the edge to the middle of the bed. After a few moments, the light clicking of metal forced its way into my sleep. I eased myself up, feeling out of sorts. Once I had wiped the sleep from my eyes, I focused on Bill’s figure moving near the closet.
“Morning,” he whispered, leaning over for a kiss.
“New York,” I breathed. “Right.”
“Yeah babe, sorry. Stay in bed,” he commanded gently as he hoisted his brown leather bag over his shoulder. I got out of bed anyway and followed him through the apartment. “I’ll be back late Thursday,” he told me as we stood in the doorway, but I already knew that. With a quick kiss, he exited into the hallway and then unexpectedly turned back and surprised me with a substantial kiss. “You look sexy right now,” he said, slipping his hand into my silk robe.
“I doubt that.”
“Agree to disagree,” he said, pinching my chin. “Bye.”
~
A knot sat heavy in my stomach that day. In my unease, I couldn’t bring myself to eat a thing. A sweet text from Bill at the airport had me feeling especially troubled. I reminded myself that my impending meeting was an end rather than a beginning. I would tell him what he wanted to know and then reiterate that I was married. I tried to find comfort in this thought but could not. It was the ending part that was bothering me.
In an effort to keep busy, I ran routine errands all afternoon. Even though I was alone for the week, and the thought of preparing meals wasn’t exactly appealing, I picked up groceries. Dropped off Bill’s dry cleaning. Took old linens to the animal shelter. Anything to keep me out of the apartment.
After what felt like a never-ending day, I surveyed the contents of my closet. What did one wear to such a thing as this? To ‘a conversation,’ I recalled. I settled on a harmlessly beige silk blouse and tucked it into high-waisted black pants. My lipstick slid on darker than I expected, and I turned it over to check the name: Vamp. I yanked a tissue from the counter and held it to my lips but stopped short. The color was so vivid against my white skin that it almost looked theatrical. I let the tissue fall into the trashcan, deciding that maybe I’d be someone else tonight.
After clasping on a gold necklace and stepping into heels, I gave myself a once-over in the bathroom mirror. I drew my hair away from my face and instantly released it, feeling exposed. My wristwatch – a black leather Movado from Bill on our second anniversary – read eight o’clock. I bundled into my coat, hiked up the collar, and decided a walk would be a welcome way to soothe my nerves.
On the way, my emotions ping-ponged between excitement and fear. I wondered if I could actually go through with this, if I’d actually go in and sit down and wait for him. I rarely backed down from a dare, but this was a different type of risk. What harm can come from talking to him? Putting an end to things?
When I found the bar, I realized why he had chosen it. Stone steps at the entrance led underground; at night, a place where people could spend the late hours as someone else; in the day, a place to hide from the unrelenting sun. I looked down the stairwell that faded into black, and the low swollen notes of a saxophone drifted up, beckoning me inside. The jazz looped through my ears and into my head, creeping into the dark corners of my mind. Like a devil on my shoulder, it willed me to take a step.
My eyes welled with tears. I couldn’t do it. I’d come too far in life to throw it down this stairwell. My watch read ten ‘til nine. I’d been standing there for almost five minutes, entranced by the music. If I went back now it’d be as though I’d never left. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, I decided, turning to leave. And, as though he’d written it himself, he was there to catch me in his arms, his face so close to mine that I could feel the heat from his mouth on my forehead.
“You’re early,” he stated, the words resting against my skin. My insides twisted at his electric touch. His rough, tanned skin, dark with the shadow of fresh stubble was close enough to kiss . . . .
I jerked away suddenly, but he reached out like lightening and caught my wrist. I went to pull back when I realized why; I was teetering at the edge of the stairs, the darkness ready to break my fall. When I caught my balance and he let go, we descended into the shadows together.
~
I watched him signal toward me from across the room, and the bartender nodded. His stroll was cool and controlled as he traversed the space between us, as if he did this type of thing every night. I twisted my lips and ignored the thought.
Now alone, we were an anonymous couple in the small crowd, cloaked in nothing but candlelight. I looked down at my hands in my lap as I fingered my winking ring. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” I said to the table.
“You look beautiful.” When I didn’t respond, he joked, “The bartender said. He wanted me to tell you.”
I suppressed a smile and tugged on my right earlobe. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “To the bartender,” I added and looked imploringly at the waitress, who was unhurriedly making her way toward us. I caught her double take as she set my wine glass down and fixated on David. Appraising him slowly, she reached over his shoulder to place a tall glass of dark beer on the table. Something about the way she let her long hair graze his shoulder made me squirm. He thanked her, and she idled just a moment before slinking away. I immediately reached for my glass for a soothing gulp.
“Shiraz?” I asked, inhaling. He smiled gently and nodded, appearing to sense my discomfort.
“So, Olivia.” There it was again, my name, but not like I’d ever heard it in my twenty-seven years. It sounded as though it was made for his mouth. “Do you work?”
“Yes,” I said, dipping my head in an exaggerated nod. “I work for Chicago M.”
“Writer?” He leaned forward on his elbows.
I shook my head. “Editorial assistant. Editor-in-training. I do contribute sometimes, but it’s not ultimately what I want to do.” It was becoming hard to ignore the fact that he was staring at my mouth as I spoke. “I don’t really like writing,” I continued nervously. “Editing is very methodical - almost like a puzzle, which I like. Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” I asked finally.
“Oh uh, no, sorry. So no to writing. I’ve spoken with Diane at the magazine before. Do you work for her?”
“Well,” I hesitated. “I was her assistant actually, but not anymore. She was let go recently.”
“I see. So will you take her position?” His abrupt and somewhat intrusive tone reminded me of something my father would ask.
“I’m in the running, yes. I am taking over her key features, and if they go well, I may get promoted.”
He sat back and looked at me wistfully, as though he had just remembered something. I liked the way his molten brown eyes watched me, and the way they made me feel like I was the only person in the room. In this setting, between the jazz and the wine, I wondered how pure his intentions were in asking me to meet him. The dimly lit club was sensual and private, ideal for clandestine encounters.
“Two more,” he said suddenly, jarring me from my thoughts.
I glanced up to see the passing waitress nod.
“How long have you been married?” He looked genuinely curious. The way he focused his attention on me when he spoke was unnerving.
“Ah,” I took a moment to calculate. “It’ll be three years this summer,” I said decidedly.
“How did you meet your husband?”
“I worked in his building as a personal assistant until I was hired at my current job.”
“And he asked you out?”
“Not right away . . . After a while we became friends.” I fingered a button on my blouse, feeling suddenly warm. He sure asks a lot of questions. I was beginning to feel like I was in trouble.
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“Before he asked you out.”
“Um.” Weird question. “Not right away. Maybe six months?” He looked at me funny, and I looked back for what felt like minutes. “And you, are you, ah, single?”
His expression remained peculiar but he cocked his head. The waitress, it seemed on purpose, chose that moment to arrive with fresh drinks. She made a note on her pad while glancing up at him repeatedly, waiting, it seemed, for his answer.
“I am available, yes.” Of course – he was a bachelor in the utmost sense. Stupid question. What am I even doing here? Bolstered by a newfound strength, I decided to cut to the chase.
“Mr. ah, David.” It occurred to me then that I hadn’t gotten his last name. “Why did you want to see me tonight? What can I do for you?” I reached for my wine and took a sip, waiting for him to continue. Placing down the glass, my fingers fidgeted with the base of the stem as I tried to focus on anything but his unsettling gaze. He reached over and steadied my hand with his, so gently that I gasped. It was as if my nerves were exposed, his touch was that powerful.
“I think you know why I wanted to see you,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. I licked wine from the inside of my lips and had the sudden urge to see what he would taste like, to put my mouth on his. Removing my hand from underneath his, I dashed the thought away.
“Why do you do that?” he asked.
“I’m sorry?” I looked at him questioningly. He motioned toward my earlobe.
“Oh,” I acknowledged. “I don’t know, just a habit,” I said, placing my hands back in my lap. I didn’t want him to know that tugging on my earlobe was in fact a nervous habit. How many times had I done it in his presence? I never recalled Bill mentioning it.
He shifted forward in his chair and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and pinched his bottom lip. Finally, he spoke. “I am very,” he paused to clear his throat, “attracted to you.”
I stammered for a response to his bluntness. It made me wildly uneasy, but it also intensified my growing desire to taste him. “Listen,” I started. “I’m married. I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
“I understand.”
I waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, I said, “And I love Bill.” He sat back at the mention of Bill’s name.
“Of course you do. You’ve never had an extramarital affair?” he asked.
My jaw dropped. “No,” I said incredulously. “Not extramarital or otherwise,” I added with a slight hiss. “I’ve never so much as fantasized about another man since we met or even thought - I mean, I love my husband, and of course I never considered . . . Until,” I paused, realizing that I was rambling. “Until nothing,” I concluded, looking away. “And certainly not for a roll in the hay at some bachelor pad.”
“Where do you get that? Never in my life have I referred to my place as a ‘bachelor pad.’” He looked disgusted as he shifted into the back of his chair. An obvious change befell his demeanor. His eyes darkened as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, flashing a glint of his silver watch. From the look on his face, I wondered if anyone had ever turned him down at all.
“I feel this . . . I don’t know how to describe it. Don’t you . . . I think this is worth exploring. No,” he shook his head. “That came out wrong.”
But I’d already latched onto the word. “Exploring? And what exactly does ‘exploring’ entail? Don’t answer that - I can only imagine. And after you’ve finished your ‘exploration,’ I’m supposed to go home to my husband and pretend nothing happened?”
“What I meant - ”
“I’m not some notch in the bedpost, David. Marriage does not mean a challenge; it means I’m completely and totally unavailable.” I waited. “Sorry if that spoils your plans for the evening,” I continued when he didn’t respond. He glared at me from across the table, shook his head and looked away. My hands balled into fists in my lap and my temper began to flare, strengthened by the fact that he appeared to be losing interest in our conversation. He recognizes that this is a losing battle, I thought smugly. Time to move on – maybe to the waitress? He simply sat there unresponsive and his indifference provoked me.
“Also, I don’t appreciate what you’re suggesting. And if Bill knew, well,” I snorted softly. He’d do nothing, I thought before I could stop myself. A look of anger flickered across his face, and I wondered again if he’d ever been rejected. The thought propelled me and I continued, waving my hand emphatically. “This city is littered with available women – single and married – who’d happily go home with you tonight. You shouldn’t have any problem finding someone - ”
He slammed is fist on the table, causing me to jump. “I don’t want someone!” he bellowed, causing the other patrons in the bar to look over at us. Lowering his voice, he hissed, “I’m not what you think!”
My heart raced from his unexpected reaction, and I was overcome with alien emotions. What is he saying? Is this part of the act? I grasped for my purse, clumsily unlatching it with unsteady hands.
“Olivia, wait,” he pleaded, but I threw down a bill and was on my feet in an instant. I headed for the door, picking up my pace when his chair screeched against the floor. In my heels, or otherwise, I suspected, I was no match for his long gait, and he was upon me in seconds. As I reached the base of the stairs, he, not gently, grasped my upper arm and whirled me toward him. “Please,” he said under his breath. “Don’t go.”
I could have melted then and there at the intensity of his glare. I could see the emotions battling on his face; anger, lust, fear, longing. I recognized them as my own. I knew if I didn’t escape immediately, I never would, and so, with everything I had, I yanked my arm from his grasp and ran up the stairs, leaving him there to watch me flee.