Scott Payton hummed a happy tune as he walked down the brownstone lined block in the Park Slope Section of Brooklyn. It had been a good day for the architectural photographer, having spent the better part of it on a shoot at an old pre-war building up on Riverside Drive in Manhattan, and the night promised to be even better. The work week was behind him and the weekend beckoned, a weekend that would see his thirtieth birthday.
Tomorrow night, on his actual birthday, there would be a grand party at a nearby hall where his friends and family would celebrate. Tonight, however, belonged to Scott and his wife of three years, Jillian. Too often of late their mutually busy schedules left them with little time to share a meal together, much less engage in the more intimate aspects of marriage. They planned to make up for that tonight.
Reaching the third house from the corner, Scott opened the low metal gate and walked around the staircase that led to the upper floors, heading instead to the large wrought iron gate that led to the garden apartment below. As he reached into his carry bag for his keys, Scott again wondered what deviltry his wife might be planning for the evening.
Ever since they'd been married, Jillian had managed to come up with a sexually outrageous surprise on his birthday. On the first, only a few months after the wedding, she'd shown up at his work studio wearing nothing but a raincoat and a smile, and then proceeded to screw him every which way to Sunday right on his desk. Last year she had taken him on a picnic lunch in a semi-secluded section of Prospect Park where she'd given him a rather public midday blow job. He could only wonder what she was going to do this year.
He'd been trying to get a hint of what might be in the offing all week, but Jillian had stood firm. All she would say was that if, as he often did when photographing an interesting building, he lost track of time and came home late, he'd be deeply disappointed later. Knowing how often he'd done just that in the past, Scott set multiple alarms on both his phone and watch to remind him of the time.
"Oh, come on, give me just a little hint," he'd said while getting his goodbye kiss at the apartment door.
"I told you, you'll just have to wait and see," Jillian had replied with a mischievous smile, "but I can honestly say that it's going to be a night you'll never forget."
Then, not giving him a chance to ask more, she'd ushered him out the door and on his way.
Stepping into the small vestibule between the gate and the inner doors, Scott reached into his carry bag for his keys, careful not to drop the two bottles of wine he'd picked up at the Wine Emporium near the train station. Highly overpriced in his opinion, the wine was Jillian's favorite vintage and he knew from past experience that it always put her in an appreciative mood - at least, that had been the case earlier in the year when he'd brought home two bottles for her twenty-fifth birthday.
Putting the bag with the wine on the small table by the door, and then his camera bag on the floor next to it, Scott surveyed the apartment but saw no sign of his wife. Built around a large common area that served as both living and dining room, the apartment had three other smaller room, a kitchenette, bathroom and bedroom. The latter two were closed off for privacy by old style doors, whereas the kitchen area simply had an open archway. It was from that direction that the noise of the oven door opening told him where Jillian could be found.
Certain that she'd be out shortly, Scott picked up the wine and, carrying it over to the buffet, placed both bottles in the small wine chiller. Since he'd called ahead and had the wine already chilled, another added cost, he just had to keep the proper temperature until dinner.
Not for the first time today, Scott reflected on how lucky he was to be married to Jillian. If anyone were to ask him to describe himself, Scott would be quick to say that he was no more than fairly average as far as looks went. Five nine with a lean swimmer's build; he had dark brown hair which he kept cut short, and an equally trim matching beard and mustache.
Ask him the same question about his wife and the first word that always came to him was gorgeous - an appellation she would emphatically dispute. True, she had done some modeling back in college, having the girl next door look that many agencies sought, but Jillian never considered herself anything out of the ordinary. In fact, she'd turned down a contract with one of the smaller agencies after graduation, preferring to succeed based on what she could do, and not what she looked like.
When Scott had first met her, Jillian had been working at the same communications company as his sister Laurie. Inviting both of them to a housewarming party for her new condo, the younger Payton had wasted no time in pairing them off, reasoning that since he was a photographer and she had been a model, the two of them would have a lot to talk about.
Once they'd been left alone, Scott had been quick to explain that he photographed buildings and apartments, not people, adding that he would understand if Jillian wanted to look for a more compatible companion.
To his surprise, she'd replied that what he did sounded fascinating and she'd like to hear more about it. Despite the fact that he had been sure she'd change her mind after listening to him for a few minutes, Jillian did seem genuinely interested, asking a number of questions over the next twenty minutes. During which, Scott learned that the attractive blonde was nothing like his first impression of her. Funny as well as beautiful, articulate and graceful, she shattered his misconceptions about models. They soon began to see each other regularly and, in a relatively short time, romance blossomed, followed by marriage.
"Honey, I'm home," he finally announced.
"I'll be out in a minute," Jillian answered. "I left you a drink on the table."
Having a drink ready for your husband when he got home was an old-fashioned gesture, one more suited to his grandfather's time than now, but Jillian delighted in defying convention.
Sure enough, there was a glass of what he knew would be his favorite scotch sitting there, one even more expensive than the wine now in the cooler, and only poured on the most special of occasions. Picking up the tumbler, Scott took a healthy swallow, closing his eyes as he savored the taste.
When he reopened his eyes and brought the glass down, Scott noticed something that hadn't initially registered when he'd first glanced at the carefully set table. There was an extra setting; the table was set for three, not two.
"Jillian?" he called out, his voice carrying the length of the apartment.
No immediate reply came from the kitchen, and rather than call out again, Scott until Jillian appeared in the doorway. When she did, he almost forgot the question he wanted to ask.
Even now, after four years together, just the sight of her was enough to sometimes take his breath away. Wearing a sleeveless white button down top, opened just enough to highlight her cleavage, and a short blue skirt that accented her long legs, this was one of those times. Five seven with a perfectly balanced body, she had the most striking blue eyes that Scott had ever seen.
Not saying a word, Jillian crossing the distance between them and pulled Scott close, kissing him with a passion rarely demonstrated by lovers who'd only been parted half a day. When she finally let him go, it took him a long moment to catch his breath and remember why he had called her.
"Jillian?" he finally repeated, tilting his head in the direction of the table and the third-place setting.
"Promise me that you won't be mad," Jillian said, concern in her voice, "but I just couldn't say no."
"Couldn't say no to who?" Scott asked, apprehension in both his tone and expression, a combination that grew as he thought the worst. "Oh God, don't tell me that your mother's coming again, not tonight of all nights."
Lillian Cabot was the only thing that Scott really disliked about his marriage. Given any opportunity, the widowed fifty-two-year-old never hesitated to express her opinion that her daughter could've done better in her choice of husband - much better. A visit from the Wicked Witch of the West Side was all he needed to totally ruin his birthday.
"No, it's not that bad," Jillian said, a small smile now appearing on the corner of her mouth, "but I am afraid that we're going to have to postpone the plans that I had for tonight."
In the space of a heartbeat, Scott's expression abruptly went from relief to disappointment.
"I don't understand," he said.
"Do you remember my telling you about Heeja Park, my college roommate?" Jillian asked.
