"It looks like those folks who bought the Simpson place are finally moving in," said my wife Kathy. We were sitting at our breakfast table on Saturday morning, having coffee. "The moving van is pulling in there right now."
"That took a while," I replied.
"Yeah," she said. "I think there have been contractors working over there full time since they bought the place last year.
"I bet that big old place took a lot of work," I said. "Those old houses have plenty of charm, but once they've been let go, it takes a lot of time and money to get them back into shape."
The old Simpson place was what we had called that house ever since we had moved into the neighborhood twenty years ago, though no Simpsons had lived there for years. It was a big Victorian, set back a long ways from the street, behind lots of big oaks and maples. It had been built in the 1890's, long before the rest of the neighborhood was even here. And it was quite a spectacular thing in its day, I guess. Though it had been left to go down hill quite a bit in recent years. The previous owners suffered from the twin problems of being old, and not having a lot of money to spend on improvements, or even upkeep.
"It'll be great for the neighborhood for that place to be fixed up again," Kathy said.
"Do you know anything about the people who are moving in?" I asked.
"Not really," she said. "I've seen them a couple times when I was out walking. They introduced themselves, seemed nice enough. They're about our age. Patterson is the name. Vince and Xenia Patterson."
"They have any kids?" I asked.
"No."
"Well, that's a huge house for just two people. Did you say 'Xenia'? That's an odd name."
"Yes. She has an exotic look about her," said my wife. "Like a gypsy or something."
Later that day, as I was taking my usual run, I went past the old Simpson place, or Patterson place, I guess we should start calling it. A man and woman were down by the sidewalk as I slowed down.
"Morning," I said.
"Morning," said the guy. He was tall, about 6'2, with grey hair and a goatee that made him look, well, devilish.
"I'm Sam Adams," I said. "We live just down the block."
"Like the beer," said the woman. "I'm Xenia Patterson, and this is my husband Vince." She was tall, too, about 5'10", with long jet black hair, pulled straight back into a pony tail. Quite the figure too, I couldn't help notice.
"Yeah, like the beer," I said. I heard that about ten times a day. "I think you met my wife Kathy the other day."
I thought I saw them glance quickly at each other. Vince said, "I think so. Blonde with the perky nose and light blue eyes?"
"That's right," I said. "You know anyone else in the neighborhood?"
"No," said Vince. "We've been pretty busy with the house and all."
"People around here are pretty nice for the most part, once you get to know them. I think you'll like it here," I said.
After glancing at Vince, Xenia said, "Sam, if you and Kathy aren't busy, would you like to stop over for drinks tonight? It would give us a chance to get acquainted."
I knew all we had planned for the evening was our usual tv watching. "Sure, that would be great," I said. "What time?"
"How about 10?"
"OK. We'll bring some wine," I replied. Once again I thought I spotted Vince and Xenia glancing at each other, each with a faint smile.
"Looking forward to seeing you," said Vince. "And your lovely wife."
My lovely wife. I reflected on those words as I headed home. It was true. Everyone remarked about Kathy's girl next door good looks. But in some ways her attractiveness had been a problem for me, in our marriage. Ever since we became a couple, I had to struggle with being jealous of the attention she always attracted from other men. I was sure she had always been faithful. Well, as sure as you can be about that sort of thing. But we had more than our share of arguments along the way. I tried to battle it, but the truth is that whenever I saw my beautiful wife talking to another man in even the most innocent way, I couldn't help wonder if maybe things weren't quite so innocent after all.
She had never given me any reason to doubt her, but there had been many times after social gatherings of one sort or another when I would ask her why she was spending her time talking to this jerk or that jerk. I would tell her that I didn't like the attention they were paying to her. And she would fly off the handle telling me to back off, that there was nothing to it but innocent conversation, and I should stop being such a jealous prick. You know the routine. I knew it was my fault, thinking the worst when there was no reason for it. I tried to work on it, with mixed success.
Kathy was delighted when I told her of the Patterson's invitation. "Great. That will give me a chance to wear my new sun dress," she said. She had just bought a new frothy yellow thing that showed off her tan to its best advantage. Then she looked directly at me and said, "I hope we're not going to have any jealousy issues, Sam."
"Why do you always have to bring that up?" I asked.
"Well, you remember that big fight we had after that party at the Desmonds last month," she said.
I did remember, it ended with her exiling me to the living room couch that night after I interrogated her about the time she had spent at the party talking to her colleague from work, that idiot Pete Cameron.
"Yeah. Don't worry about it. I'm heading out to get some wine," I said, as the front door slammed behind me. I mean, I was working on it, but it didn't help to be reminded of the history all the time.
We walked up the Patterson's long driveway later that evening, about 10. After we rang the front door bell, Xenia appeared at the door.
"Hi Sam, Kathy," she said. "Glad you could make it."
I struggled to respond, because my jaw had dropped down to my knees. Xenia was a vision of sultriness, wearing a tight silky red dress, low cut in the front to reveal an enticing cleavage, also cut up one side to mid thigh.
Vince stepped forward. "Wow, Kathy, you look good enough to eat. A tasty lemon treat! Come on in, both of you."
"Hi Vince, Xenia," Kathy said. "Welcome to the neighborhood."
Vince's arm circled Kathy's waist as he escorted her inside. And Xenia took my arm at the same time.
"Why don't we open up some of that wine you've brought?" I heard Vince ask.
Soon we were all relaxing in a large sitting room located toward the rear of the house, sipping on a 10 year old Merlot. We're kind of wine junkies, I guess, and everyone really seemed to be enjoying this selection.
Pretty soon, we were working on the third, then the fourth bottle, and I wasn't feeling much pain. We had run the conversational gamut. Vince had talked about his job -- he was a retired music producer who had made most of his career promoting various Caribbean artists. They had lived in St. Lucia and the Grenadines for about fifteen years before moving here. Xenia had gotten a position here in town about six months ago as the CEO of a local public relations firm, and that was why they moved here.
Against that exotic background, it seemed a little bit vanilla for me to say that I was a partner in a local law firm, specializing in medical products litigation, and that Kathy taught 11th grade at the local high school.
Between glasses of wine, Vince had introduced us to some special liqueurs he had brought from the islands, with a "special kick," he said. A few of those, and another bottle of wine, and as the evening wore on, it seemed to me that Kathy's eyes had begun to shine, and she was hanging more closely on Vince's conversation.
I couldn't remember exactly how it happened, but during the course of the evening, after moving casually back and forth, looking at the excellent art works on the walls, and retrieving more wine from the kitchen, we had ended up paired, with Vince and Kathy sitting on a long sofa at the far end of the room with their backs to us, facing out a broad bay window at the dark night beyond. And Xenia and I at this end.
When, as we were discussing the local political scene, or something, Xenia leaned close to me and whispered, "Sam, come with me for a minute."
My brain was a little big foggy, and I answered, "What? What do you mean?"
"Shhhhh," she said. "I want to show you something." She was already standing and extended her hand.
"Sure. OK. I'm game," I said, as I arose and followed her out the door on our side of the room. Kathy and Vince, engaged in their own conversation, seemed oblivious to us leaving.
Xenia took my hand and we turned down a long hallway. Finally we approached a door on the left, and she gestured. I went through the door and she followed. Behind us I heard the door close with a loud couple of clicks.
"What is this?" as I looked around the room, which was set up with several sofas arranged in a row facing a blank thirty foot wall at one end of the room, covered with a large abstract painting. The lighting was a subdued red, and I could hear some soft jazz coming from hidden speakers.
"It's our theater room." She pointed at the painting. "That painting is retractable, for when we want to have our viewings."
That seemed like an odd way to say it. I asked, "You watch movies in here, then?"
"Not exactly," she said. "Here, have a seat, and I'll show you." She produced two more liqueurs for us. "Sit down."
I relaxed on the comfortable sofa and watched as she pushed a button on the table next to us. Slowly the picture receded into the ceiling, revealing a large window, through which we were viewing the room we had just left.
"I don't...." I began.
"It's a special glass. We can see them, but they can't see us," she said, sipping her amber liqueur.
Even though the lighting was low in the other room, strategically placed lights allowed us to clearly see Vince and Kathy sitting on the coach. And somehow, their images were magnified, so that it seemed we could reach out and touch them.
"We have microphones and speakers, too," she said. "I'll turn them up in a minute so we can hear."
"Hear?" I asked. "Hear what?"
She looked directly at me with a slight smile on her red lips. "I brought you in here Sam, so that you and I can watch Vince fuck your wife."
The room seemed to spin a little. "What!?" I said, shakily. "What the hell are you talking about?"
