Nine Women, One Dress(26)

It would probably be quite difficult for me to get another job at my age, and anyway, I didn’t really want to. I loved it here for reasons that went far beyond seeing Arthur every day. Even if he were to become my boyfriend and I were to see him every night, I’d still want to keep it a secret until I knew it was worth what I would need to give up. Oh god. I was really getting ahead of myself. What if Arthur were to walk in, call me into his office, and say, Felicia, I’m sure we can both agree that yesterday was a one-time thing and we should just put it behind us? I had to prepare myself for that. How could I think it was anything more than lust? I tried to plan ahead to avoid being blindsided. I would go along with it: Of course, Arthur. I was going to say the same thing. I’m so glad you said it first.

I looked at the clock. He was late. He was never late. Oh my god. He wasn’t coming in because he couldn’t face me. How could I have let myself go like that? I was mortified. Why hadn’t I controlled myself? I should’ve been smarter, I should never have let any of this happen. When he’d asked if I still wanted to cross the bridge, I should have said, Yes, Arthur, I was looking forward to it. He must think I’m easy. Me—easy.

The elevator dinged, and in walked Arthur Winters. It was a sight I had seen five mornings a week for nearly eighteen years. And I’m embarrassed to say that for most of that time it was a sight that caused my stomach to flutter and my knees to wobble ever so slightly as I stood to follow him into his office to go over his schedule. Today my stomach fluttered and my knees wobbled, but it wasn’t just from love, it was from fear as well. Before we’d consummated this fantasy of mine, the notion of Felicia and Arthur kind of kept me going, in the romance department at least. It was what I dreamed about when falling asleep at night. Now that very notion might be dead.

As I followed him into his office I braced myself for what might come out of his mouth. I closed the door behind me and steadied myself against it. I knew I wouldn’t make it without physical support. He didn’t even bother to hang up his coat. He just came right out with it. “Felicia,” he said. I pushed my hands against the door and held on. I wasn’t sure if I was capable of speech, but the word yes somehow came out of my mouth. He came closer and said my name again, this time as if he had something important to say. He stood right in front of me. “Felicia—I…” And then he kissed me. He pinned me against the door and kissed me with as much passion as he had yesterday. Maybe more. By the time he reached his hand under my skirt my anticipation was evident. Today I was embarrassed by it until I saw his reaction. As he touched me there he smiled the slowest, warmest smile of satisfaction I had ever seen on his beautiful worn face. I couldn’t believe that smile was all for me. We slid down and in purposeful silence made love on the floor of his office. It was different from yesterday. It was slow, in the way that you sometimes take your time with each bite of a decadent dessert. Our eyes were locked on each other’s the entire time. When it was over a tear ran down my cheek. He kissed it but didn’t ask why I was crying. He knew. He knew that even though we’d had sex twice before, and even though we were lying on his office floor, we had just made love for the first time. And it was beautiful. We sat up and he looked at me, his eyes sparkling with the first happiness I had seen there in a long time. We smiled at each other for what seemed like hours. But the growing bustle of the office outside as it got closer to ten brought us back to reality.

“What else is on the schedule for today?” he asked, barely stifling a laugh.

I laughed too, stood up, adjusted my skirt, and started to read him his schedule. It was a busy day.





CHAPTER 15


Misadventures of the Ostrich Detective Agency


By Andie Rand, Private Detective





It had been one week since Caroline Westmont had visited my office and I had not one shred of evidence against her husband. He was the most artfully deceptive cheater I had yet to come across. I went through my entire arsenal of weapons, from mobile trackers to encryption software, and got nothing in return. He was almost too clean. It only made me more suspicious.

The practicalities of his infidelity were as untraceable as they come. There were no clandestine meetings, or e-mails or texts back and forth confirming where these clandestine meetings would occur. He had a regular session with his masseuse every Tuesday at eleven o’clock, at her office; he was cheating by appointment, which was the perfect cover. No chance photos of his naked body through a hotel window. No fake out-of-town conferences to expose. Other than the cheater, there was only one person who had the evidence I needed, so I made an appointment to see this masseuse myself.

I was confident that given an hour alone with Anna I’d be able to get something useful out of her. Getting stuff out of people was kind of my specialty. Ever since I was a kid people liked to confess to me. At sleep-away camp my friends would call me the Catskill Confessional because of the long, drawn-out letters I received from my home friends chronicling their summertime sins. It’s like they forgot that come September I would see them in person and be able to hold them accountable. Not that I ever did; I was never very judgmental.

I arrived for my scheduled massage a few minutes early. It was in a partially converted apartment, not a proper office, though all the necessary framed documentation was on the walls. On the one hand it was legit, on the other the perfect place to cheat. The scenario that Caroline had presented, an affair conveniently divided into weekly seventy-five-minute sessions, was completely plausible. She said that John had first come here under the direction of his physician for back problems. I wondered how many affairs to date had been covered by Obamacare.