As luck would have it, Sammie did not have plans this weekend. Or if she did, I made a better offer. Brunch at a local café that served the most amazing crepes. A spa day, with a ninety-minute massage. Finally, the girl's night at my place. All my treat.
I awoke too early in the day for brunch. I passed the time by updating my journal and remembering to text Dwayne to thank him for the ride and make sure he had my number. Then I went with a hot soak in my own tub. The goal was to sweat out as much of the rolling three-day hangover as possible and sooth my aching body. I snapped a picture of myself in the tub, surrounded by bubbles. It was pretty tame by recent standards, but it was an excuse to start the day off right for my husband. I made sure there was a healthy amount of cleavage above the waterline, inspected it carefully, then texted to Tom with the caption, "Just for you, baby."
Tom never slept well in hotels and the tournament started early. So, his response was swift and positive. It lifted my mood that I made him feel special.
My first instinct was to dress frumpy and comfy, for a day that included spa towels and hanging out with a girlfriend all evening. However, after I got out of the tub, I marveled at how well Sammie's braiding held up. Scarcely a hair was out of place. I did not think my hair was capable of such a feat. I ended up trying to do the hair justice and went with a pair of yoga pants, cute Converse, and a t-shirt that said "HOTWIFE" in bold letters across the chest. Kidding. Kidding. It was a basic t-shirt, but the zip hoodie was new and cute.
I popped a few Advil before I took an Uber to collect my car. Once at the café, my first and only mimosa with brunch was enough to chase away the remainder of the hangover. I was feeling pretty human by the time the crepes came to the table. The conversation with Sammie was casual, fun, and we laughed together about everyday things.
The spa I booked us at was in THE hotel. I know. I know. It felt a bit like returning to the scene of the crime. However, you cannot argue with going to the best place in town. I booked a couple's massage, so Sammie and I could chat while we laid and had our muscles worked out. A professional masseuse stays away from all the body parts which were still too sensitive to the touch, so it was perfect. I felt pretty great by the time our mani-pedis were done and we worked through the sauna, steam room, then lounged in the relaxation room, wrapped in fluffy robes.
My hangover was a distant memory by the time we were ready to head to my place. In fact, I was feeling really good. Sammie and I had a blast and we were looking forward to hanging out, ordering takeout, and getting to the 'good stuff.' It's not as though, we completely avoided the topic I promised we would cover during our first girls' night. Small explanations throughout the day were unavoidable. Explanations as to why I occasionally winced when I sat down, or why I occasionally looked distant and guilty when the topic of my husband taking the kids for the weekend so I could enjoy myself, were unavoidable. I provided context and a little color for each of these things. It served to build the anticipation for the unfiltered conversation later. Even as close as I felt to Sammie now, the notion of showing her any of the contents of my phone seemed like horrific oversharing. I would need a little courage to even consider it. So, I made sure Sammie had my home address and I stopped at the wine store on the way home, grabbed four bottles of good vino, and raced the rest of the way home so she would not be waiting long. Not that I think we needed four bottles of wine tonight. However, I did not know just how much alcohol I would need to loosen up about the full details of my escapades. So, I chose to err on the safe side.
When I got home, I poured us both a glass of wine and agreed to give Sammie a tour of the house. We sipped a bit more while she played with my dog, who was delighted to meet a new friend. By the time the Indian takeout was delivered, we were on our second bottle of wine.
"Thanks again for an amazing day," she offered as we raised our glasses and toasted a wonderful day together.
"You're very welcome. I had a great time," I returned as we took our sips.
My expression must have twisted slightly.
"See! There it is again. Finish helping me understand why you feel guilty about your husband giving you a free weekend to hang out with your new best friend," she said.
Ok. Here we go.
"Normally, getting a pass on a weekend tournament would have been a gift. I mean, I love watching my sons play and I know we only have a couple of years left before they start going to college. But there are just sooo many games," I explained. "If circumstances had been a bit different, I would have felt a little guilty but delighted. As it was though, by the time Dwayne dropped me off..."
Sammie cut in, "Wait! Dwayne?! What?!" Her face was alight.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was surprised too, and nervous when I first saw him" I started.
Sammie's face was now thoroughly perplexed at the casual comment.
"Greg ordered a car to take me home from the hotel and when I went outside, Dwayne was standing there holding the door for me," I explained.
Sammie sat back in her seat and laughed, "Ahhh! The car business. Oh my god, Nanc."
"Wait you thought..." I started and stopped.
"I mean, yeah," she jumped in. "Dwayne has such a crush on you! And I've seen the way you look at him sometimes. A week ago 'you and Dwayne' would have surprised me less than you and Greg hooking up. He's great and all, and I'm glad you're having fun, but Greg seems like he has some issues."
Sammie brushed her nose and took another sip of wine.
"Dwayne? A crush on me?" I blushed. "No. He's always so formal, calling me, 'Doctor N'."
"Oh, that's just his way of crushing on you, even if he doesn't realize it. He doesn't have nicknames, nice ones anyway, for anyone else in the office. Him calling you 'doctor' all the time is probably him trying to hide how much he likes you. You treat him like a real person and a friend. A guy like Dwayne doesn't get a lot of that being from our old neighborhood and being a mail guy in a fancy office."
I suddenly felt guilty that I might not have acknowledged how kind Dwayne has always been to me.
"He did make me feel safe that my little secret would not become public knowledge. He also helped me feel like this 'lifestyle' wasn't so strange after all," I acknowledged.
"Oh, don't worry about Dwayne keeping your secrets. He wouldn't even have even said anything to me if you hadn't. He's had some challenges and learned to keep his mouth shut. And for you? Anything. A friendship like yours is rare, especially among women who participate in your 'lifestyle'," she assured.
"I don't get it," I genuinely did not.
"Oh, please," she chided, but still good natured. "Women stepping out on their husbands, particularly white women, tend to seek out young black men in pursuit of their storied...endowment."
The video Tom tried to show me all those years ago rushed back to my memory.
Sammie continued, "I'm sure Dwayne has his fun. And sex is sex. But being pursued solely for another couple's sex games probably feels marginalizing. At least sometimes, I think," she shrugged. "Like I said, he keeps his secrets to himself. So, who knows..."
We both sipped more wine.
"Oh! I almost forgot," Sammie, pivoted.
She got up from the couch and retrieved a small-ish bottle from her bag. She presented it to me. There was a slightly yellow clear liquid in the bottle. No label.
"I brought it back from Italy. It's basically Italian moonshine. It burns a bit but they soak it with lemon peels or something and it balances it out. Special occasion stuff and this is a special occasion," she explained.
I went to the kitchen and dug a couple of nice cordial glasses out of the back of a cabinet. Special glasses for a special occasion. Sammie poured a couple of shots. We toasted again. We sipped. It burned but it was good. The lemon tasted fresh and cut through the intensity of the alcohol.
"Ok," Sammie reset. "Fill in the blanks. What's really going on?"
From there we settled in and had the full talk. Talking with Sammie is so amazing. She is supportive and funny. It all went a long way to normalizing this craziness for me. I would tell her a bit. She would ask occasional questions. Some saucy, some insightful. Occasionally, she asked about a detail I honestly could not remember, even though we were just discussing the last few days. The alcohol was making things fuzzy. I pulled out my laptop and we consulted my journal. Such is the value of journaling every day. We were able to fill in blanks where my memory was already thin. Eventually, we caught up to my latest update from earlier the same morning.
"So just so I'm clear, this is all unprotected sex with Greg?" she asked, as we reached the end of the story.
"Well, like I said. With Tom's vasectomy, I haven't thought about protection in years. It just didn't occur to me in the moment. This was all so out of the blue, sort of," I explained.
