"If I told you I was a happily married woman, would you believe me?" I watched Bernard's face as the light from the motel sign flickered through a crack in the curtain. Flashes of pink neon danced across paisley wallpaper.
He betrayed no emotion. "No. I don't believe I would."
"Why?"
"Isn't it obvious, my dear?"
If he knew me, he would know how much I dislike being called "dear."
"So you don't think I love my husband?"
"You may love him, but in a family sort of way--like the way one loves a favored pet."
"You barely know me. How can you be sure?"
"I'm fucking you. It's a pretty substantial clue." His thrust added an exclamation point that the timbre of his voice lacked. I let out a small gasp, surprised by his sudden burst of enthusiasm. It coincided with a spark of neon and the creak of an overused mattress.
Not exactly the lyrical sounds of passionate love. But it's what I wanted. Or so I had thought an hour ago when I'd agreed to follow him here. It just wasn't turning out to be the romantic tryst I'd imagined.
* * * *
We met at the half-price bookstore. I was perusing the romance novels, reading the back covers and trying to decide what historical era I would like to escape to. Ethan and I had argued. Again. We argued constantly about finances. Lately it seemed to be the only conversation we ever had. Our sex life had completely fizzled. I tried everything I could think of to get Ethan to look at me again with lustful eyes. When I'd found a set of satin sheets at a modest price, I'd bought them, thinking that red satin might spice things up.
I spent the entire morning preparing. I dug out the shimmery negligee that I'd worn on our wedding night. I turned on light jazz, spritzed the room with Ethan's favorite perfume, and anxiously positioned myself in the middle of the red satin sheets.
Ethan came home, ignored my negligee, took one look at the new sheets, and flipped.
"What the hell is this about, Lori?"
"I was hoping you'd find it exciting."
"I told you we can't afford extras this month." His face reddened, and the vein in his forehead bulged. "Damn it, Lori! I wish you would *think*."
I ripped off the negligee, shivering in the coolness of the room, and stood nude, totally exposed, waiting and hoping he'd see past the sales slip to the possibility of romance. Instead he called me irresponsible and stormed from the bedroom. "And sometimes it's hard to see what's right in front of your face!" I whispered in the empty room.
I left the house in a huff, set on making Ethan regret being so callous. The bookstore was one of my favorite places to go and get lost for a while. I could pick out a book, sit in the outside café, sip on a strawberry lemonade, and lose myself in romance. My intent was to stay away for a time. Let Ethan stew. Recover from my hurt. I didn't intend on something as drastic as adultery.
Bernard bumped me on his way to the philosophy section. Just the idea of the philosophy section gave him the aura of a professor, or maybe it was his neatly trimmed goatee. He smelled faintly of cigar smoke and Old Spice. I idealized him immediately. He was the dreamy hero in one of my romance novels: a duke with a passion for reading, or a scholar with hidden machismo.
In our mutual attempt to retrieve my dropped book, our heads collided. He offered to buy me a cup of coffee as way of apology. I accepted.
We sat at one of the small tables outside the bookstore. Bernard ordered an espresso. I settled on something topped in whipped cream.
"I don't usually drink coffee." I spoke hesitantly, as if my words held the weight of a courtroom confession.
He leered at me over his cup with chocolate brown eyes, the same color as his coffee. His short, dark hair with touches of gray around his ears added to his professor mystique.
"What do you do for fun, my dear?" He ran his finger along my bottom lip, catching some whipped cream I had missed.
Excitement wriggled in my stomach. I tried to think of some deep secret I could share with him that would make me appear provocative. Unfortunately, I led a disgustingly tame life. "I'm afraid I don't smoke, rarely drink, and only say, 'fuck' when I'm actually doing it."
He raised his eyebrows appreciatively when I said the word, 'fuck,' and then he grinned. I felt a tiny bit exotic.
We sat in silence, drinking our coffee. Bernard stared unblinkingly at me while anticipation dipped its toe in my belly like a child testing the temperature of pool water--wanting to dive in, but still a little fearful. I would like to be able to say he hypnotized me in those quiet moments--that his rich, dark eyes reached into my soul and tugged. Then I could be free from guilt. But I wasn't hypnotized, and his eyes were beginning to look ordinary.
"How would you like to explore your verbal usage of the word 'fuck'?" He asked it casually, as if asking for directions.
I teetered at the edge of refusing. After all, he hadn't dazzled me with witty repartee or schmoozed me with florid compliments. But he had shown an interest in me. A physical interest.
I succumbed to the allure of doing something totally out of character. My face flushed when I answered, "I think I'd like that."
He took my hand, like a familiar lover and pulled me from my chair. Dry heat from holding a hot coffee mug seeped into my fingers like a caffeine aphrodisiac. I found it easy to follow him.
"I've never done this sort of thing before," I whispered.
"You can still say no." He squeezed my hand for reassurance. My wedding band pinched my finger and I wished I'd taken it off. I glanced at my ring, but continued to glide along beside him. Maybe I was a little hypnotized-- not by him, but by the thrill of being found attractive by someone.
He led me across the street, past a blinking "Vacancy" sign. When he asked me to wait outside, I considered it gallant.
"No reason for you to suffer embarrassment at the signing in."
