To the readers who liked my first story: this one's a similar premise...cheating wife scenario. However it's much different than "On a dare." There's a lot more back story and setup. You're not meant to like the main character, Veronica, at least at first. She's pretty much a snobby bitch. But to be fair, she is HOT snobby bitch!
*
"Oh Christ!"
Veronica's eyes scanned the kitchen. The countertop looked like a landslide of leftover mess from her husband's Monday Night Football party. Pizza boxes, filthy plates, empty bags of chips, beer cans, bottles and ashtrays. Before the game, Nicholas had made his famous meatball subs. He was supposed to have loaded the dishwasher before he went to work this morning, but dry red sauce was still caked on everything. The room reeked of garlic and stale beer.
Veronica fumed. Nick didn't have to be at work until 10 in the morning, while she was on her way to the office by 7am every day. Still, he hadn't even bothered to empty his friend's beer bottles for recycling. She could barely spot her precious black granite countertop below all the mess. The room looked more like a demolition site then a kitchen.
She checked her watch. "Ugh." She really needed a soak in the whirlpool before she left for her business trip tomorrow. Still, nothing got under her skin like a mess left in the house--especially a mess in her kitchen. Yes, her kitchen. Trip or no trip, there was no way she could relax upstairs knowing how things had been left down here.
She carefully rolled up the sleeves of her new Tahari blouse and lifted the first, biggest thing she saw. The saucepan. The lid was still on top, and she noticed just a moment too late that the pan was full of water. An oily red sludge sloshed out from under the lid and onto her slacks...
...The same mint clam diggers that she was planning on wearing out for dinner with her boss and his wife tomorrow night.
"Shit, noo!!"
She dropped the pot into the sink and spun around. Quickly, she kicked off her heels, and stripped out of her pants. She sprinted barefoot into the laundry and grabbed a stain stick. She rubbed the goo all over the stain and breathed a sigh of relief--it wasn't as big as she feared. Then, as she threw the pants into the washer, she remembered...
"Oh no! Oh no, no, no....Goddamnit Nicholas!!!"
Last week, the washer had gone on the fritz, and leaked soapy drain water all over the laundry floor. The had spread quickly, and was discovered only a foot or so from the pricey maple floor that she'd insisted on having installed in the kitchen when they bought the house. Nick was supposed to have gotten a plumber in to fix the drain line, but clearly, he had spaced on that too. A pair of disconnected drain hoses were still draped into the wash tub, where he'd left them. Score two for Nicholas.
Veronica checked her watch again and looked at the entrance to the kitchen. The light maple shone with perfect luster. Weighing the option of re-connecting the washer against the odds that it might leak again, Veronica quickly made up her mind. She grabbed the soiled pants and a few odds and ends and stuffed it all into a laundry bag. She dug in the hamper to find something else to wear and came up with a plaid skirt she'd worn to a party two weeks ago. It looked a bit "hot" with her white work blouse, but hey, she was in a hurry. She was going to the Laundromat, she was going to get her slacks clean, and then, she was going to get that whirlpool.
******
Veronica eased her silver Audi into the parking lot of a little Laundromat on the edge of town. It was a small, dingy, kind of forgotten-looking place. A relic from the 70's, she guessed. Every morning, as she headed out of her upscale new development and up to the expressway, Veronica clicked her tongue as she passed it. Shaking her head, she'd fantasize that somehow, overnight, someone--some developer--had just flattened the damn thing. She'd close her eyes and imagine that when she opened them back up, there'd be a Starbucks or Panera there. Or maybe a little organic grocer.
Oh well. Tonight, at least, she was thankful it was still just a trusty old Laundromat.
Veronica pushed open the door to the laundry and stepped inside. God, it really was tiny, she thought: just two rows of washers, then a dingy lounge area and a bank of big dryers on the far wall.
Down one row of washers, she saw a skinny welfare-mom type. The woman deposited her quarters in the last machine in the row and shut the lid. She cast Veronica an ironic little smile of victory meant to express that she'd claimed the aisle for herself and slid her basket onto the middle washer to mark her territory. Veronica squeezed around to the other side and let out a labored sigh. Down on the floor, sprawled across half of the aisle, was a young man with a crescent wrench. He appeared to be fixing the plumbing of one of the washers.
Looking up from the floor, the kid pointed towards the machines with his wrench.
"These four are out of commission for tonight. The two on the end though, they still work. Just give me a minute, I'll clear you a path."
Veronica leaned her back against the window as the young kid continue to wrench underneath the washer. In a snobbish, exasperated voice, she spoke:
"...Ok, because I've got like an hour and a half to get this wash done and dried. You have no idea what kind of shit I've had to deal with today."
Nonplussed, the kid checked his watch.
"Well, we're open 'till ten. You can either leave it or come back later on. If you want, I could transfer the clothes."
Veronica smiled a fake smile that seemed to say, "you are so on my shit list, little man" and again, checked her watch. Mentally repeating one of her mother's mantras about catching bees with honey she tried to tone down her attitude. She looked around,
"You don't have a cigarette machine here do you?"
The kid grimaced as he tightened something under the washer, then reached in his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled pack of Camels and offered them.
"No. But you can have one of these."
Veronica wrinkled her nose at the offered pack.
"...Or, there's a 7-11 downtown. Your choice..."
Veronica stepped forward to retrieve the crumpled pack. For a brief moment, she stood directly over the boy. As she leaned down to take the cigarette, she offered him a strained smile. He was nice looking, she observed. Young, maybe 19 or 20.
"Thank you."
She took her cigarette outside to the car, lit it from the lighter and called Nicholas on her cell. It went to voicemail immediately--his way of avoiding her--so she laid into him electronically:
"YOU ARE ON MY SHITLIST NICHOLAS!! What is up with the kitchen??!! Next paycheck you owe me a new outfit for the one I ruined trying to clean up your mess!! Do you hear me??!!"
She snapped the phone shut and slinked back in her seat. Inhaling the rich smoke from her cigarette, she pondered her marriage for a few moments. My husband is a child she thought to herself. He is never going to grow up and I am going to have to take care of him for the rest of our lives together. His only passion in life is football, and I am an accessory--worse, I'm turning into a substitute mother for him.
Veronica let out a deep sigh and tweaked the rear-view mirror around to confront herself. She checked her makeup, eyes, and lips. Really, she'd only come into her own in the last few years since she'd been promoted at work. She was now a regional sales manager and had a team of fifteen salesman beneath her. As she'd been promoted, her confidence had also risen. Lately, she realized that she was changing, becoming more of a boss and less of a subordinate. The change in job title also brought about an unexpected change in her physical confidence. She'd always known she was attractive, but now, having so many men underneath her at work, it seemed to have opened up her mind a bit about her sexuality. She had begun to feel much more confident and aggressive towards men at work and in her life. She knew that it was getting her a reputation as a "bitch," but secretly, she kind of liked the label. It made her feel capable, even a bit dangerous.
Of course, feeling her oats for the first time in her life had also caused her to re-examine her choice in a husband. Nicholas had been her first boyfriend in college and they seemed to have slipped right into marriage as a foregone conclusion. After a few years working at the university athletic department, he had hit a plateau in his career. And he seemed perfectly happy with it. He was an assistant athletic trainer for the football team--one of four trainers whose job it was to see the team fit for training and games. Really, he was the ultimate guys guy. He was on a team of trainers, whose task it was to cater to the kids on the team, watching them lift weights, logging their training stats, massaging them after practice. When he wasn't at work, he and his buddies were planning their fantasy football league. How had it escaped her, she now wondered, that her husband's entire life was about football. I could give a shit about football she thought quietly to herself. The most important thing in my husband's life, and I could give a shit about it.
Veronica swung her long legs out of her car and slowly walked over to the window of the Laundromat. As she finished the cigarette, she gazed through the glass at the at the young man sprawled out beneath the washers. As she watched him work, he smiled at her. Funny, she thought to herself, there's something familiar about him.
The kid's name was Carter, and, as he finished tightening down a compression valve he snuck a peak or two outside at the lady. She looked pretty well put-together he thought. Tall for a woman, and thin. Hot, in a business-y sort of way. He imagined she was probably 25, maybe 26. Kind of young to be so bossy, he thought, but then again, she looked like the kind of woman who came from some money and was used to getting her way. She'd made it obvious that she was put off by him being there--in her way--and for this, he was rewarding her by taking a few unnecessary minutes to finish the repair. As he noodled with the supply line, he snuck another glance or two up at her. She had her back turned now, and from behind, he admired her well-toned legs and fine womanly ass. She looked thin under that expensive blouse. He didn't remember much of a chest, but then again, he wasn't a tit man.
