Acts of Desperation(3)

He worked for a big ad agency and was under his own lot of pressure. He called it a rat race, and said if he let his guard down for even one second, someone would gladly be nipping at his heels waiting to take his place when he fell. So, I kept Sarah’s divorce mostly to myself. We both could have used some relief.

He shut the lights off in the bathroom and walked around the bed. He stripped down to his boxers and got under the covers. I assumed my position on his bare chest and waited for him to notice my absence of clothing. He put his arm around my shoulder then leaned over for the remote. Somehow he hadn’t noticed. Sometimes he could be dense and practically needed to be beaten over the head. So, I slid my hand over the soft curves of his stomach and underneath the waistband of his boxers.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” he said with a laugh.

“Nothing. It’s just been awhile, and I’ve had a tough day. Sarah’s been—”

He sighed. “I thought you were tired?”

“I am, but not that tired. We’ve both been under a lot of pressure, and I miss you.” I scratched my nails up his side and nibbled on his ear lobe.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.”

I exhaled. “Really?” I said and rolled off him. “That’s not the reaction I was hoping for.”

“Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it like that.” He turned on his side and patted my stomach. “I just need to watch this game. We have an account we’re trying to land, and their current agency’s spots are on during this game. I need to know what we’re up against. He gave me a raise of his brows and a sly grin. “Can I have a rain check?”

I smiled to hide my irritation. “Fine.”

“You’re the best. Love you,” he said and pecked my cheek.

“Love you too.” I got out of bed and slipped on a t-shirt, and shortly after, I nodded off while John finished watching his game. And that was that.

When Friday came around, I looked forward to getting a head start on my weekend. Bernie Alexander, my boss, had given me the okay to go home early. I wanted to surprise John with the passionate evening I’d imagined earlier in the morning. He rushed out early only giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek. With everything we had going on, we desperately needed to spend some quality time together.

As I drove along the highway singing one of my favorite tunes, I went through my plans. I was going to take a hot shower, put on some sexy lingerie, and slip into my highest heels to heighten my five foot five frame. Then I would lightly perfume my body with my newest Jo Malone perfume that John had given me for Christmas. I’d loosely curl my hair like it was the night we met; he always said he loved it like that. I was going to add subtle hints of cream eye shadow to enhance my light brown eyes. And, there would be no rain checks tonight.

After stopping by our local wine shop to pick up a six pack of John’s favorite beer and a bottle of my favorite red, I opened the door to our condo. When I walked in, I heard movement off to my left in the family room. It was too early in the day for John to be home, so immediately, I assumed we were being robbed. I bravely inched my way in and looked for something I could use as a weapon. But, when I turned the corner, I was shocked when I saw the back of John’s head. His sandy brown hair, that was usually so perfectly coiffed, was ruffled and the muscles on his soft, naked body were tensed as he pounded into a woman from behind.

It felt like someone had let all the air out of my lungs. In a flash, I assessed this home wrecker and tried to see what could make him choose her over me. Her long, bleached blond hair had at least one inch of black roots, and her shellacked, hot pink fingernails clung to the edge of our brown leather couch as she braced herself against his abuse. The folds of her stomach hanged loose, and her tits swayed while she moaned his name. I was stunned. There was—and could not be—a valid explanation.

Then, he uttered words too vulgar to repeat, and it yanked me out of my stupor—he never spoke to me like that. This wasn’t my John. I continued watching in horror as he thrust himself into her. The burn of my bile itched at my throat, staring at the ripples forming on her toneless white thighs.

Briefly, I thought maybe I could walk out— pretend I didn’t just see it—but it wasn’t a possibility. My cheeks flushed with rage, and I threw my keys on the table next to the door to get their attention.

“Sorry to interrupt John, catch you at a bad time?” I asked. My hands began to shake as I struggled to restrain myself from launching at his throat.

Their heads snapped up, and John instantly disengaged.

“Sember,” he said, grabbing his shirt to cover his glistening penis. Then he stepped in front of her naked body—a gesture to preserve her dignity—and I choked back a laugh. The woman quickly ducked behind the couch and grabbed for her clothes. She dressed quickly, throwing her wrinkled sweater over her head and zipped into her snug casual black slacks. Her bra dangled from her wrist as she grabbed her shoes.

“I thought you said she wouldn’t be home,” she whispered to John. But, he only gave her a confused look. So, she grabbed the rest of her things and edged her way past me then scurried out the door. I listened as her bare feet slapped the pavement outside.

John stood with his mouth open; I assumed trying to come up with the right words. Finally, he said, “It’s not what it looks like.”

I actually laughed. Truly. His career was built on coming up with tag lines on the spot, and that was the best he could produce. I always assumed he was successful and great at advertising, but maybe the stress he’d been experiencing at work was justified.