Lustly(9)

It was a card with her name and a contact number. I found it odd that the woman who was so dry was leaving me a number to call her. “Wow. That was very generous of her.”

“She’s done it before. Sadly, the last two girls never came back in for their appointments. I guess she scared them away,” Stacia explained.

“I’ll be back, I promise. My hair looks great, and I feel better. Thank you so much.”

I made my next appointment and walked outside feeling like a million bucks. As I pulled my keys out of my purse and hit the unlock button, a Jaguar pulled up next to me. The tinted window rolled down mechanically.

“Did you get my card?” Ms. Cybil wore leather gloves and held onto the steering wheel as she spoke.

“Yes. I need to repay you for my hair. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I won’t take your money, even if you had it to give.” She was so frank and it pissed me off.

“Look, I get that you’re probably rich and money means nothing to you, but being a wife and mother is all I ever wanted to do.”

She looked in her mirror as if my words meant nothing. “Is it?” Then she faced me again. “Is it really all you ever wanted to be? Given the chance, would you not have wanted at least a chance at something else?”

“Lady, I don’t know you, obviously, and I sure as hell don’t owe you anything, especially an explanation as to why my life was fine before, and it will be fine now.”

“Your life is what you make it, darling. Trust me, I know.”

I wanted to drive away from this woman and never see her face again. “Thank you again for treating me.”

I started to put my vehicle in the drive position. “What if I can offer you a way out, per se, a way to make money of your own to help you through this tough time?”

“Are you looking for a maid?” Cleaning her toilets while she watched me wasn’t my idea of a good career choice. “I’m not a charity case. I’ve got a nice big house and a beautiful family.”

“I’ve been looking for someone for a different type of position for a while now.”

“What do you mean different? Gardener?” She obviously could afford a maid and a gardener based on her clothing and accessories.

“I don’t talk business in public, dear. My address is on the back of the card. Come by tonight at nine p.m. Don’t be late. I take offense to tardiness.”

She pulled away before I could decline. So I did the same, convinced I’d never see her again.

Around seven p.m., after I’d cleaned up dinner, and made sure the kids were done with their homework and chores, I got a phone call from my neighbor, Kate. Seeing her number on the caller I.D. made me cringe. Then worry rushed over me that something could have happened to my husband, and even though I hated him, I’d need to know.

“Hello?”

“Lily, it’s me, Kate. Listen, I’m out of town this week and I thought I’d be home by now, but I’m going to need a few more days to get the job done.” The whole time she spoke I saw her blowing my husband as if it was a full-time job. Then I imagined her laying on top of him, naked, while she spoke to me. Silent tears fell down my cheeks. “Anyway, could you go over and feed the cat for me? I left him an extra litter box and plenty of food, but I just want to be sure he’s got enough for two more days.”

“Sure,” I whispered.

“Great. I need to run. See you in two days.”

I tossed my phone on the bed and fell beside it. The nerve they both had calling me while they were together. I felt sick to my stomach every second of every day and now I was supposed to feed her f*cking cat.

I looked over at Samson lying on the floor and wondered if I could feed the cat to him. Would he eat it without leaving a trace? “Ever tasted cooked cat, boy?”

He turned his head and then put it back down on the floor.

Instead of killing an innocent animal, I slipped on some shoes and took the spare key to open her back door. Upon entering I spotted the cat and the food bowls. In the past, he barely ate when she was out of town, or at a hotel f*cking my husband for all I knew.

After putting another bowl down for food, I looked around the kitchen that I’d been in a million times. I heard the saying curiosity killed the cat. At this point I didn’t give a shit about the cat’s life. I needed to get answers. I was burning to know how involved they were. Was it lust, was it a real relationship? How long had they been lovers?

The questions were killing me inside.

So, I did what every woman in my situation would have done. I walked myself up the stairs to her bedroom and started going through her things. Located in her top dresser drawer, exactly where I’d kept mine were all kinds of sexy outfits. Some still had the tags on them. I held them up to my body and began to bawl. She’d bought these for him, for my husband. I shoved them back in the drawer and closed it up then turned to face the bed. Unlike our king size, she had a queen. It was made perfectly without a single crease. I leaned down and ran my hand across the white goose down comforter and wondered how many times they f*cked there. Did he prefer this blanket over ours? Did he ever consider having a queen size bed with me?

More tears came, and I didn’t even care. How could he have been doing this to me; having a relationship with someone that I considered a friend? It takes two, but neither of them had stopped it. How could they do this and not worry about being caught, or what would happen if they were?