A major thank you to blackrandl1958 for her thoughts and editing prowess. Another thank you to the crew at Specialized Iterations for its help.
It had been a weird day at the end of a weird week. When Ervin "Dusty" Dustman left for work that morning, he felt a tension in the air he couldn't quite explain. It had been building from a vague nibbling at the back of his mind since a week ago when his wife told him about the party. He couldn't have explained it if someone had asked him, didn't even consciously put his mind to it and it wasn't even a coherent thought, but he felt unsettled, disquieted, almost as if he was subtly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It was just a feeling, and it made him nervous and jittery all day at work. He tried to concentrate... He didn't want to go to the party, truth be told. He never liked going to any of his wife's office parties.
"Fucking smug-ass lawyers... they all think their shit doesn't stink," he thought to himself.
"You can't skip an office Christmas party, Dusty. It just wouldn't be right," he remembered his wife insisting when he tried to beg off.
Of course he would do what his wife wanted. He
always
did what his wife wanted.
As he shut his computer down to end his week, Dusty looked over at the photo of his two sons taken during a fishing trip last year. He smiled brightly. It seemed his relationship with his boys was the only bright light in his home life in the last few months.
Halfway through the drive home, traffic was slowed around an accident in the right-hand lane of the highway. Dusty realized that he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he wasn't even aware of exactly where he was on his drive.
Due to the accident, Dusty arrived home about 15 minutes later than usual. Instead of what was once a hello kiss when he walked in the door, Dusty knew the only thing he was going to get from his wife was a snide comment. She didn't disappoint.
"It's not like you couldn't get home on time for once," Traci griped. "Now get changed into your gray pinstripe suit. That's my favorite."
Dusty silently shook his head. He was planning to wear his dark blue suit, which he felt was more commanding. The gray suit was nice, but he tended to blend into the background more. He most certainly didn't want to blend into the background around
these
people.
James Fielding, the newest partner in Chicago's highest profile criminal law firm, was hosting the firm's annual holiday party in his large north-side home. As they entered, Dusty could feel Traci becoming more and more tense. She was talking rapidly, and her eyes blinked nervously, always a sign that she was feeling stress. As they reached the door to what appeared to be a large entertaining area, Traci's grip on his arm tightened and she pulled him to the side, pressing him back against the wall and wrapping him in her arms.
"Traci... What's going on? Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No, I just wanted to say..."
"What?" he asked.
"Listen, Dusty. You know I love you. I always have, and I just want you to remember that. Whatever happens tonight, it doesn't matter between us. Nothing is ever going to change. I just want you to remember that. We're fine. I know you don't like these people, and it may be... shocking, but as long as you remember that nothing is going to change between us, you're going to be okay."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dusty said. "You're right, I don't fit in with all these lawyers and high-powered jerks, but what's different? These events have never been fun for me, but I'll just put up with it like I always have."
"Just remember, we're okay," she said. She stepped back away from him and let him lead her into the room.
Fielding was holding court in front of a large bar, which featured a painting of a naked woman lying on a bed. Dusty moved off to the side of the bar to get a white wine for Traci and a scotch for himself, nodding to Fielding when the two locked eyes for a second. Fielding nodded back and gave Dusty an evil leer. Dusty hated that look; in fact, he wasn't sure he didn't hate Fielding, as well.
Dusty got the two glasses and moved to intercept Traci, who was heading for Fielding and his group. Traci had maneuvered Dusty so his back was to the bar. He stood on the outside of the group. Traci worked her way over to Fielding, who gave her a polite peck on the cheek before going back to pontificating about something.
Standing on the periphery, Dusty really wasn't paying attention to the conversation. He glanced around a bit, catching another quick look at the nude painting, and thought to himself that it was fitting for Fielding to have a nude painting so prominent in the room.
When Dusty zoned back into the room, he thought he saw several people looking in his direction. Instinctively, he looked down at his suit to see if he had spilled something on himself, or, God forbid, his fly was open. He didn't see any spills, and a subtle check on his fly revealed it was up. Still, the looks continued.
Feeling uncomfortable, Dusty turned toward the bar, again glancing at the painting.
The painting was incredibly erotic, Dusty thought. The raven-haired beauty was laying nude and glassy-eyed on a bed, obviously just having had what appeared to be very satisfying sex. It was a look he knew all too well... on a face he knew all too well. The woman in the painting was standing right next to him.
Dusty stopped thinking. For that matter, he stopped breathing, too. He stood open-mouthed staring at the painting. He didn't notice Fielding and his wife exchange smirks. Gradually, others in the room turned toward Dusty, some smirking, others with pity showing on their faces.
After what felt like forever but was probably only 10 seconds, Dusty gathered himself and whispered to his wife, "That's you!"
The room had gone completely silent when Dusty stared at the painting, and his whispered exclamation might as well have been a scream for the volume it carried.
"No..." Traci said quietly. "That woman has black hair, and I have auburn, silly."
She giggled softly, which only seemed to make her disclaimer even more false. Several people looked from Traci to the painting and back again, and several more were laughing quietly. Fielding gave Traci a quick wink.
Dusty looked over at his wife, then shifted his gaze back to the painting. In an almost catatonic voice he said, "Black hair, but auburn pubic hair. Your pubic hair."
Traci looked hard at the painting. Although she had seen the painting before, she hadn't noticed that the painter had left her pubic hair the actual color, not making the change to black like he had with her hair. She quickly wondered if that had been intentional or was a mistake.
Not that it really mattered. Traci had surmised Dusty would eventually figure out that the painting was of her, but she and Fielding had figured it would be later on in the evening, after he had been softened up by a few drinks. Neither had planned on such a quick reveal.
Dusty felt two sets of strong hands grab him by the arms and shoulders. He was hustled out of the main room into a smaller one to the side. Fielding and Traci followed a second later.
Fielding practically sneered at the smaller man.
