As one rather well known writer put it, "If you write biography you get to make things up. If you write fiction, you have to tell the truth." Well, this is fiction. The incidents and facts have been altered a bit to make a good story but the essential truth is, like that famous orange juice, "un-fooled around with."
I had to grin in self-satisfaction one night, about a year ago, as my wife Alessandra and I watched Tom Ewell and Marilyn Monroe wind their way through THE SEVEN-YEAR ITCH. We had been married almost eight years and I had never even been tempted to roam. We had enjoyed a relatively quiet life after marriage. I had had a wildly irresponsible single life before I met Alex, as she prefers to be called, and she had hinted at some fairly interesting episodes in her early life as well. I never pressed her about them, knowing that she would tell me if and when she wanted me to know.
About a month after watching that movie, some people who had been friends of Alex before we were married invited us to a house-warming party. A committee meeting to plan the tenth anniversary of Alex's college graduating class was to precede the meeting. Alex would attend both. I agreed to meet her there after the committee meeting but was kept in the office at the last minute to deal with a crisis. I called Alex's cell and told her that I would get there as quickly as I could. At nine o'clock, the meeting seemed bogged down with the client as obstinate as any I had dealt with. There were more than a hundred thousand dollars at stake and in this economy it simply could not be surrendered.
When the client got up to go to the john I called Alex's cell again. She answered on the second ring.
"Babe, I'm really tied up here. I doubt if I'll make it at all. Please give Robert and Lisa my regrets."
"Oh, damn!" she replied, "I was hoping we could have a night out."
"Sorry, Alex. Really! I'll see you at home, sweetheart. Have fun! I mean it."
"Okay. Love you! Bye." And she was gone.
But, as sometimes happens in these business stalemates, the client came back to the table all sweetness and light and accepted our terms without further demure. I was astonished but grateful. I thought that he must have used his time away from the negotiations to make a call to his boss and received orders to complete the deal; after all, we were offering a terrific rate. The paperwork was quickly completed, dotted lines signed, hands shaken, and the client departed for the airport.
I called Alex back as soon as I cleared the office and got her voicemail. I left a message that I would meet her at the party around ten-thirty or so. I retrieved my car from the parking garage and made my way through light downtown traffic to the outskirts of town and ramped up to the Interstate that would take me to the small, exclusive suburban settlement where her friends had just built a house. On my way, I tried to remember all I could about the hosts, Robert and Lisa. One of them --- I couldn't remember which --- had been at college with Alex. They owned a pretty successful business and had become very affluent. I had mixed feelings about going; I didn't really know any of these people. But, like a good husband, I agreed for Alex's sake.
I got to the party just after ten-thirty and saw that it was at its peak. The house was huge, three stories set into the woods at the back and about as private as you could want. Money can do that, I thought as I approached the front. The door was open so I walked in unannounced. Not knowing any of them I walked straight in and set about finding my wife. I bumped into Robert and shook his hand.
"Is Alex still here?" I asked
"I last saw her dancing," Robert smiled as he said it, "but I don't know which room she's in now. Why don't you get a drink and she'll show up pretty soon."
The house still looked huge even with masses of people everywhere. The living room had a huge arch that led into the dining room. A den was off one side. The furniture had been cleared away to accommodate dancing and all rooms were packed as well as the hallways. The lighting was dimmed down and I couldn't see Alex anywhere so I headed to the bar for a drink. When I turned back to the crowd, bourbon in hand, I spotted my wife dancing with a guy among the gyrating couples. He looked familiar somehow but I couldn't place him. They danced and laughed and I decided not to disturb their good time. I've never been the jealous sort so I sipped bourbon and waited for her to finish before going over.
I watched her dancing with some degree of pride. Her shoulder-length, wavy auburn hair and very clear blue eyes were stunning the first time you saw them. Tall and slender and healthy, her waist so narrow I could encircle it with my hands, two firm, high breasts big enough that her clothes couldn't successfully mask them caused a lot of guys to notice her and come on to her even when I was present. If I were the jealous type I would have been in for a long, worrisome life.
That night, she was wearing a short emerald green dress with very thin shoulder straps. The skirt stopped four inches above her knees revealing smooth legs that swelled into round, voluptuous thighs. Her bottom is a little fuller than fashionable and was a constant worry to her; but it was delightfully, provocatively sexy and enhanced that evening by four-inch black heels. The dress was low-cut in front allowing a tantalizing glimpse into her cleavage. She was, I thought as I watched her dance, one of the hottest women in the room.
Suddenly, the music changed to a sensuous hip-hop number. The guy dancing with my wife quickly took her in his arms and whirled her away again. Clifford! That was his name, Clifford. Alex had introduced me to him at a picnic a couple of years ago. He was one of her college boyfriends. This didn't really bother me. I trusted Alex. She had had multiple opportunities to accept the invitations of other men but had never, so far as I knew, accepted even one. She had often danced with other men and had lunch with old boyfriends before, but she was scrupulously careful to turn aside any advance that seemed too familiar. But as I watched her dance with Clifford, something clutched my stomach. I saw him put both hands on her waist and draw her close. I watched my wife throw her head back, laughing, as she placed her arms on his shoulders and stroked the back of his neck and head.
Still, I pushed aside the flare of concern that rose in me. It was a party; they were old friends. I put it down to the sensuous music and had the bartender refill my drink. When I returned a few seconds later Clifford was behind Alex grinding his groin into her pert bottom. She bent forward slightly and pushed back encouraging him; my blood pressure rose again. Then my brain went blank as he cupped both her breasts and squeezed lightly. I fully expected my wife to move away or to at least remove his hands, but I was amazed to see her place her hands over his and smile at him over her shoulder.
If you asked me before that night how I would react if I ever found myself in this situation, like most men I'd say I would put a stop to it --- violently if necessary. But I didn't. Alex obviously enjoyed what he was doing to her and I was seized by a desire to see how much she would allow. It was a unique opportunity to see how far my wife would go with another man and most men, I think, never get that chance. So I stood back in the shadows and observed.
