Dead to Her(3)

“No work tonight.” William slapped Jason hard—maybe a little too hard—on the arm. “Now come on, let’s go eat. I want Keisha to see what she’s been missing out on over there in London.” He leaned into Jason. “And I should thank you. If you hadn’t told me all the best places to go on my trip, I’d never have found her.”

As they walked away, friends following in their wake, Marcie noticed that this time it was William who Jason was watching. A dark, thoughtful expression. Maybe Keisha was upsetting the apple cart for both of them.



Once the champagne and cocktails had washed away their polite shock and the band had struck up on the terrace, the party turned out to be less of a bore than Marcie had been expecting. The guests kicked off their shoes and danced in the night air, care for expensive dresses forgotten, and even Iris and Noah took a turn on the grass. As they swayed, Marcie thought she caught a glimpse of ghosts of the teenage sweethearts they’d once been.

Marcie watched as Jason chatted loudly to some of the other guests. She couldn’t get the look he’d given Keisha out of her head. He’d been pulling away for a few months, but she’d put it down to work—the responsibility of running the partnership while William was away, gearing up to take the next step of buying him out.

Their sex life had dwindled down to occasional drunken screws and she wondered if those were only to fulfill his need for a child, an heir, a social accessory they could send to County Day and expand their affluent network.

Looking at him now, the same questions swirled in her head as they had for weeks. Had he grown bored with her? Was she a challenge completed? Now, here, in that look that whispered thoughts of betrayal, there had been the first clear fracture in the structure of their marriage. She’d never seen him look at another woman that way. Never.

Keisha had come to join them once or twice, increasingly unsteady on her feet but still trying to twirl and shimmy to the music, head thrown back, laughing that raucous, fascinating sound. She lingered too close to where Jason and Marcie were sharing a lounger later in the evening, and although Jason did snatch the occasional glance her way, if Keisha was looking for further flirtation she was disappointed. But still, that look. William, following constantly in his young wife’s shadow, finally led her away and they didn’t see her again. Given her state, he probably had Zelda, his housekeeper, put her to bed.

Virginia was all raised eyebrows, even though she wasn’t beyond having one or two drinks too many when the mood took her, church or no church, but Iris pointed out that it must be hard to move across the world and be expected to live up to someone like Eleanor when you were so completely different. Completely different. What she meant was young, crude, and, the most unspoken word of all, black. Anyway, Keisha hadn’t seemed awkward, just a drunk girl who didn’t care what people thought of her because she’d just won the jackpot. A rich old man. Still, it wasn’t a prize Marcie would want to win. The thought of William heaving away on top of her . . . God, no wonder Keisha had been draining the champagne and flirting with her husband.





3.

She and Jason finally got home around one, and before they’d even turned on the lights he was kissing her, catching her by surprise.

“You wanna have another go at making a baby?” He grinned, his mouth all lopsided charm, made somehow more attractive by the beer haze in his eyes, and before Marcie could answer he was pulling her up the stairs and tugging at her clothes. She couldn’t help laughing. Yes, he was drunk, but she wasn’t exactly sober herself and it was good to feel him wanting her again. To be close to him. To be something like they were before. Maybe she was wrong to worry earlier. Keisha was beautiful, but he loved her, his wife.

They fell on the bed, only half-naked, a mess of panting urgency. She sought out his eyes in the gloom as he pushed her arms over her head, holding her wrists down with one hand. She tried to nuzzle at his face to get him to look at her, to kiss her. With Marcie’s legs gripping his waist, he thrust himself inside her. She gasped—she always did, there had never been a man who could come close to Jason at turning her on—but his face stayed pressed into her shoulder, his breath dampening her skin as it quickened. He’s not with me. The thought was a cold shower between her thighs. He’s not thinking of me.

He finished fast and when he flopped over to his side of the bed, Marcie stayed breathless. It was one thing that they rarely fucked anymore, but until now, when they had, she’d always felt he was present. Not this time. Had he been thinking of her? It was nothing. It meant nothing. People fantasized all the time. She was overreacting. What was it about Keisha that unsettled her so?

“I love you,” Jason said, perfunctorily, his hand reaching across and resting on her thigh.

“I know,” she answered, and let out a chuckle she didn’t feel. She couldn’t make a thing of it. She wouldn’t.

“Oh so funny, Mrs. Maddox.” He let out a long, contented sigh. Marcie’s heart was still racing.

“I think she likes you,” she said, the words blurting out. At least she sounded mildly amused, not jealous or insecure. His eyes were no longer shut. He was staring at the ceiling.

“Who?”

“You know who!” Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? She felt stupid. Obvious. “Keisha.”

“Ah, that she.” He stared at the ceiling a moment longer, expression unreadable in the dark, and then he rolled back on top of her, and smiled. “Your old man’s still got it. You’d better work harder to keep me.” He kissed her, slow and soft, and she kissed him back but she felt hollow. She’d worked hard enough to get him; she didn’t want the rest of her life spent working hard to keep him. Was he even worth it?