Kara Johnson was so distraught over what had just happened between herself, Amy Marshall and Derek Strong that she had no recollection at all of traversing the two blocks that separated her house from Amy's, nor did she remember running the stop sign and nearly hitting a pedestrian. Once home, she pulled her car into the garage, immediately shut the door and hurried into the house, making sure all the lights were off and the doors locked. Then she went to the liquor cabinet, poured herself a stiff drink and sat in the family room in total darkness, praying that Amy wouldn't come over that evening.
It wasn't that Kara didn't like Amy, or even that she was angry with her. In fact, the person Kara was angry with was herself. How could she have let that happen? After all, Amy was one of her closest friends, and had been since Kara had moved into the neighborhood seven years ago fresh off a failed marriage. Amy was the one who'd stopped by that first day and spent hours helping her, a perfect stranger, unpack and get situated in her new digs. And then she'd insisted on her coming over for dinner and meeting her husband, Brad, refusing to take no for an answer.
And how did she repay her friend's kindness? By spying on her as she was having a torrid sexual encounter with a neighborhood boy half her age and then allowing the young man to bring her into the scene and fuck her while she ate Amy's pussy like a mad woman. How could she have let that happen? And how could she ever face her friend again?
* * *
When the doorbell rang at 12:30 the next afternoon, Kara had no doubt who it was. She so wanted to sit there and pretend not to be home. But that, she knew, would only put off the inevitable, and the longer it was put off, the harder it would be to face. So reluctantly, she rose to her feet and moved to the front door.
She pulled the door open slowly, half hiding behind it. "Hi, Amy," she said nervously.
"Hi," her friend answered. And then, after several awkward, silent seconds, she smiled. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"I'm sorry," Kara stammered, stepping back and pulling the door open. "Please, come in."
Once her friend was in the foyer Kara eased the door closed and turned around. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"I'd rather have a glass of wine," came the response.
"Now?" Kara responded instinctively. "It's only 12:30."
Amy stepped towards Kara, reaching out to stroke her arm. "I think a glass of wine might make this a little easier, don't you?"
Kara stepped back nervously, nodding her head. "Of course. Is Chardonnay okay?"
"Perfect," Amy replied.
Kara led her friend into her large country kitchen and pulled two glasses from the cupboard and a bottle of wine from the fridge. A moment later she was placing the filled glasses on the table and sliding into the chair across from Amy.
"Amy, I'm so sorry . . ." Kara started to blurt out, before Amy cut her off, reaching across the table and grabbing her arm.
"No," she said in a soft, but somehow strong voice. "You've nothing to be sorry for. You had no way of knowing our vacation was cut short. I should have called you the moment Brad's office called him in to work." She paused, then released her arm and picked up the wine glass.
"To friends," she toasted.
A few seconds passed before Kara took a deep breath and raised her glass.
"To friends," she echoed, if somewhat weakly.
The women each took a sip from their glasses and set them down. And then Amy spoke.
"I owe you an explanation," she said.
"No," Kara responded, shaking her head.
"Yes," Amy insisted. "And we're going to sit here until you hear it. Okay?"
"Okay," Kara responded with a reluctant sigh.
"It started about a month ago. I was having an affair with Warren, someone I met at the gym. As usual, Brad was out of town for the week on business. And also as usual, I couldn't wait to let Warren get into my pants." She paused here, noticing the increasingly pale face of her friend.
"Come now, Kara. You not telling me you're surprised by that, are you?"
"No," she answered honestly. "I've always wondered if you didn't have something going on the side. I'm just surprised to hear you talking about it so cavalierly."
Amy hesitated, as if pondering what to say next. Finally she gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head and continued. "Okay, truth time. First of all, Brad's gay. Oh, he plays at being straight, even performs his husbandly duties every couple of months, but that doesn't change the facts that, primarily, he's gay. It's something we've never, ever talked about, but I have no doubt that he knows I know.
"As for my part, I started fooling around behind his back a bit after I found out his secret. And again, although we've never talked about it, there's no doubt in my mind that Brad knows about most, if not all, of my indiscretions."
Kara looked stunned. "But you seem so happy together. Is it all just a ruse?"
"No," Amy replied emphatically. "I love my husband very much. He's the most loving, caring and supporting man I've ever known, and I've no doubt that he has similar feelings about me. I guess the bottom line is that neither one us is about to let the fact that we both love being with other men screw up an otherwise perfectly good marriage."
She reached across the table and put her hand on Kara's. "Make sense?"
"Maybe," Kara manage to reply, a small smile curling at the corner of her mouth. "In a strange kind of way."
Amy withdrew her hand and shrugged her shoulders. "I never said we were normal." Then she took another small sip from her wine and started back in on the story.
"Anyway, I was feeling particularly slutty that afternoon and wanted to make certain Warren got the message. I wore a black, lacy bra that was more than a bit visible through the sheer black button up blouse I'd picked out. The blouse was cropped straight at the waist and just barely reached the top of my grey and black pleated skirt. The skirt fell to just below mid-thigh and barely covered the tops of my black thigh high nylons. And just to make sure Warren didn't misunderstand, I topped it all off with my black high-heels. I tell you, Kara, if you didn't know better, you'd have sworn I was one of those hookers down on Bridge Street.
"Anyway, when I was finally satisfied that I was making the proper impression, I grabbed my purse and stepped into the garage, pressing the button to raise the door before getting into the car. But before I was able to start the car, the passenger door opened and Derek slid in, throwing a small backpack on the floor beneath his feet."
