Umberto's was a better than average restaurant in a rather upscale mall which was why Twyla and Christine met there to celebrate Twyla's promotion. After really splendid seafood salads they checked their smart phones, cancelled all afternoon appointments and ordered two more glasses of Chardonnay.
Christine raised her glass in a toast. "Here's to future success and higher advancement. You go, girl, you earned it!"
Twyla clinked her glass with a smile. "More challenges, more money and, hopefully, more respect. The only drawback is more travel. I really don't know how the rest of you manage that part. Aren't any of you afraid of leaving your husbands home alone so much?"
Christine swirled the golden liquid around in her mouth, sucking in a bit of air to bubble up the bouquet and swallowed. Then she put the glass on the table. "There was a while when we sure did, and with good reason. There were some ugly fights and a couple of divorces because the guys would get 'lonely'. And I have to admit they had a point. Most of them make as much as we do, help with the housework and kids just like a properly evolved American man is supposed to do these days and what were they getting in return? A good night phone call before bed. That's when we got together and formed the Borrowers' Club."
"The Borrowers' Club? I don't understand."
"Well, let's say you and I partner up. I head off to Shanghai and am gone for a month on some huge deal. Naturally, I call home every morning to catch Vic just before he goes to bed to chat a little, exchange kisses and remind each other that we are still a couple. But after a couple of weeks he starts sounding really pathetic when he says he misses me. That's a danger sign, that is, so I tell him to give Dale a call. Dale understands and feels sorry for him so right after Vic puts the kids to bed, you knock on the door. He invites you in, pours a couple of drinks to help you both relax, you talk a little, snuggle on the couch for a while and then head upstairs. You have sex, he rolls over and goes to sleep and you go home. Of course, if Dale is anything like most of the men, the thought of his buddy borrowing his wife is incredibly arousing so it's when you get home that the really
hot
sex happens."
"What? That's mad. You keep your husband from straying by encouraging him to cheat? With his best friend's wife?"
"Actually, the way the rest of the girls see it, it's more cheating prevention. Look at it like this. If you're gone a long time, your husband might decide that a drink or two at the local bar will help dull the pain. If he goes to a bar, he might meet a woman and after a few drinks go home and have sex with her, someone you don't know. She, in turn, might decide she likes him. She might like him enough for a second, a third, a who-knows-how many nights. Then, after you get back, he starts sneaking around to see her some more, you get suspicious and that's when all Hell breaks loose. Our way, everybody is up front and open. The guy isn't really having an affair, he just wants some company, some skin-to-skin contact and, of course, his ashes hauled a time or two until you get home and life returns to normal—until your next trip. But everything is kept under control because none of us are out to steal each other's husbands."
Twyla snorted. "Right. And if Vic is traveling you can call me and 'borrow' Dale? Why do I find that hard to swallow?"
Christine took another sip and looked out the window at the play yard where a costumed clown babysat toddlers while their mothers shopped. "You know, that issue has never come up. I guess it's just luck that all the husbands have jobs in town and don't need to travel. Blame it on Ogilvycorp, I guess, since they're the one most of us work for. But the pay and benefits are super so we do it and make whatever arrangements we think we have to."
Twyla waved for the check and reached into her Gucci bag for her company credit card. Since they had been talking about business, she considered it a legitimate expenditure. Handing the folder to the waiter she turned back to Christine. "No. No way. Just—just no! That has to be wrong. I'm not sure why right at this minute but it has to be. Maybe I'll just get lucky and not be gone for such a long time but I am not signing up for the Borrowers' Club. Nothing personal, Chris, but—no."
Christine laughed lightly, gathered her things and stood up. "No problem, Twy, and no hard feelings. But if for any reason you change your mind, just have Dale give Vic a call. He'll know what it means."
Life continued as before, at least for the next few months. Twyla was, indeed, lucky at first and her trips rarely lasted a week. The happy set of circumstances ended in late June when a short trip to Lucerne ran into negotiations that went nowhere. A week stretched into two with no end in sight. But with a quarter of a billion dollars on the line, Twyla was in no mood to quit. Ogilvycorp needed that order and she was bound and determined to deliver it.
Unfortunately by the third Monday Dale's voice on the phone was getting wistful and Twyla remembered Christine's warning. A pathetic-sounding husband was a husband in danger. Worse, the next day Dale tried to stay cheerful and tell her about his day.
"Hey, you wouldn't believe who showed up at the bank today—Melissa Hargrove."
An Arctic owl suddenly formed in Twyla's stomach and sank its talons into the walls. "Really? And what did she have to say?" Her words were boreal. Melissa had been her arch-rival for Dale's affections from high school to their wedding day. Having her around a lonely husband was trouble with a capital T.
"Oh, she's divorced again and moved back in town. She came in looking for a new place. With her down payment and income the best I could do was aim her over to the Pinedale townhouses."
"So she won't be a neighbor?"
"Cripes, no. There's no way in Hell she could afford a place in Morvington. She did promise to stop by now and again, though. Anyway, I've got to get up early tomorrow. Miss you something terrible, baby." And he kissed the phone and hung up.
Twyla had a hard time concentrating on business that day. Melissa's catty voice seemed to ring in her ears, promising revenge for getting Dale.
She's going to take my little boys' daddy away. She'll make him miserable and then shed him like a worn out pair of shoes. I should go home right now and straighten this out. I can't leave. This means too much to the company, to my career. I wish I were home. Besides, I can feel a breakthrough coming; I know I can. What am I going to do? Who can I call?
Call! That was the magic word. "Just have Dale call Vic. He'll know what it means," and hard as it was to accept, Twyla was forced to agree. Better Dale sleep with Christine, open and aboveboard, than get tempted into Melissa's sticky web with the nasty chance she'd turn out to be a black widow!
The next night, Dale sounded worse than ever. Twyla tried to buck him up with her belief that the Europeans were about to crack and that the deal would be made 'soon', whenever 'soon' was. Finally, just before she hung up, Twyla took a deep breath and said, as warmly as she could, "Honey, I know how hard it is for you. Tell you what, call Vic and tell him I've changed my mind and have decided to join the club. Do it right now. I Love you." She kissed the mouthpiece and hung up.
Later that night, Dale put the twins to bed. He'd listened to their bedtime prayers and when they got to, "And bless Daddy and Mommy—and make her come home" he almost broke down.
He did the dishes, straightened up a little, and sat down in front of the desktop in his study. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything that needed doing. His work from the bank was all done and the bills were all paid so with a sigh he turned it off and slouched out into the living room. He picked up the TV section. Nothing, nothing at all was worth watching. None of his favorite teams were playing. He hated sitcoms and cop shows so he sat on the couch and felt sorry for himself.
By chance, his glance scanned the business card Melissa had handed him. It had "call me anytime" written in peacock blue ink. He knew Twyla wouldn't like it but if they just talked about old times on the phone, how could it hurt? He picked up the card and opened his phone and was just about to start dialing when there came a quiet knock on the front door. Puzzled, Dale lay down the phone and the card and went to answer it.
