Swirling in front of the full-length mirror, admiring myself, I checked out the "little black dress" that all well-dressed women must have in order to complete a well-rounded wardrobe. A slight flared hem stopping just north of my knees, matching heels and a single strand around my slender neck completed the picture.
I'd had my hair piled-up earlier at the hairdresser's and she'd left a few stylish tendrils flying around my face. I thought I looked sexy. Apparently, so did my husband. Mark came up behind me, looking handsome in his tux. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my butt against his groin. He nuzzled my neck, biting my ear playfully.
"You look hot," he said.
I rolled my ass against him suggestively. "You want to be late?"
He backed away, laughing. "It took me fifteen minutes to tie the damned bowtie and get into this tux. I don't dare take anything off. How 'bout a rain-check until after the party?"
It'd been two months since my trip to Manhattan - my one and only extramarital affair with a total stranger. The whole thing had been unexpected, unplanned, and must've amounted to something like all the planets being lined up in some strange and mysterious manner that caused such abnormal behavior in an otherwise devoted and faithful wife. That's the only way I can explain it. I agree, it doesn't make sense to me either but despite that awful chapter in my life I had somehow managed to put it behind me and guiltily continue my married life relatively unscathed.
Ever since straying from the narrow path however, I have gone overboard to please Mark in any way I could. If he wanted sex right now I'd simply slip out of my little black dress and mess up my expensive hair-do. After my disgraceful conduct during that trip I owed him that much.
"The partners will be there, plus a couple new clients. Mr. Scott will also be coming. He can be an insufferable bore, but just ignore him staring at your cleavage every time he gets a chance. If we get the little toad's account we'll increase our bottom line by thirty percent."
I didn't care for Mark's parties. They were almost always large stuffy affairs, but if he wanted me to go and look pretty I owed him that much. We showed up fashionably late, was handed a wine glass by a pretty girl in a short maid's outfit, and I took the opportunity to glance around the mansion's large ball-room.
The usual people were there, Mark's two business partners, Thomas and Barry. Barry was senior partner and owned the expansive mansion their partnership held all these type parties. It was just a big ugly place with nice lawn manicuring, as far as I was concerned. I much preferred our house in the gated community to this.
I saw Barry's trophy wife and her younger tramp sister, both in low-cut gowns with a cluster of men around them as usual. There were some company senior staff members, our attorney and his wife, and a few close friends of the three partners. The ones I didn't know were probably the new clients Mark mentioned, or some of the other staff I hadn't met. Men wore either black tux or white dinner jackets. The women were in gowns or little black dresses like mine. Shit, we were all so predictable.
Mark led me straight to a group of three men; I recognized Barry and our attorney, but not a short, overweight man with thick wet lips. I already knew this must be Mr. Scott because his eyes never left my bosom as Mark introduced us. His hand felt damp and limp. Everything about him looked damp and limp. After a few too long minutes of making small talk and never making eye contact with Mr. Scott, my husband took my elbow and led my away to meet other people.
"What a despicable little troll," I whispered.
Mark laughed. "That despicable little troll is worth about a billion dollars, and if we get his account tonight I won't have to work so hard."
A different girl with a tray of drinks took our half-filled glasses and gave us fresh ones in return as Mark led me toward another group. It was the one with Barry's wife and her sister. Ugh. There were four men in the group, all I imagined, trying to smell the sister's panties and be the lucky one to get into them this evening. It was the worst kept secret in the crowd that Barry's friends were getting more from his bride and her sister, than he was.
The sisters weren't too coy about it either. That's what made being in their company so uncomfortable, I guess. All but one of the men had their backs toward us and I recognized the firm's accountant, a young Hispanic from Cuba, who looked like he could be a professional dancer.
One of the others was very tall and muscular, mocha-skinned, with short buzz-cut. As the other two turned to greet us, I saw they also worked for the firm. I wasn't prepared for the third guy, the tall one, nearly dropping my wine glass as Mark said, "Julie, I want you to meet Paul, our newest client. He wised up and came over to us about a month ago from Manhattan. Paul, my wife Julie."
Through the loud ringing inside my head as my small hand was swallowed in his large warm one, I heard Paul's deep voice, "Well you said she was a beauty, Mark, but I can see now that your assessment was grossly understated."
I could barely breathe as I tried calming my runaway heartbeat. My hands trembled slightly as I took a sip of wine to collect my thoughts and gain strength in my shaky legs. I must have said all the right things but don't remember much of our "introduction." After getting through the denial phase of Paul's actually being here, I found that along with my acceptance of it, was a growing anger.
As I collected my thoughts I saw Tammy the Vamp, move closer to Paul and her sister take Mark's arm stating he should "Help her find another drink somewhere."
Upon their departure, the group went back to small talk, and I intentionally did not meet Paul's eyes. I did see Tammy's long leg brushing against Paul's leg repeatedly in invitation, and for some reason I wanted to scratch her eyes out. Suddenly Paul reached out and grasped my elbow firmly.
"Speaking of drinks, my Lady, it looks like we both need a refill. Come on, I'll help you find a waiter," he said leading me away from the group. Tammy had already moved closer to the young Cuban.
Paul snagged two wineglasses as the maid walked past, maneuvered us into a corner and waited. "You bastard," I hissed. "You fucking bastard."
"Good to see you, too. You look beautiful."
I wasn't going to be placated by his smooth voice. "What are you doing here, Paul? What were you thinking?"
After that last evening I'd spent being fucked half to death by Paul in my hotel room, I arose the following morning and flushed the business card he'd left. I intentionally did not memorize his phone number or his last name. I did not want to remember it after I'd returned home because I knew the temptation to call him would be far too great for me after what I'd experienced with him those two nights in Manhattan.
As it was, I'd nearly climbed the walls dreaming about him, fantasizing about what we'd done, wanting him so much it was difficult to function. Somehow I had gotten past the hard part, put it behind me and worked even harder to make my marriage work. Now, here he was.
"You stalked me, didn't you?"
"Yes. But let me explain please. You got under my skin. I couldn't think about being with anyone else after you left, so I got a copy of the conference schedule and tracked you down. I didn't intend to do anything about it. I just wanted to know you were alright. I found your husband's firm on the NET and saw they were looking for companies like mine for clients. I called Barry and things just developed."
