Other People's Houses(35)

“Hey, babe,” she said, sliding into the chair across from him. “Did you order?” She looked around at the beautiful room, the cream walls, the open fireplace, the open French windows into the garden. L.A. was so beautiful, now that her conscience was clear.

He shook his head. “I just ran into Sara whatshername from up the road.”

“Iris’s wife? Frances’s cousin?”

He frowned. “Is she?”

“Is she what?”

“Frances’s cousin?”

Anne smiled at him. “She’s not. Sara’s not. But Iris is, her wife. Iris is Frances’s cousin on her mother’s side.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie was always surprised at how much information about other people women knew. He didn’t think he was being sexist, it was just not something he ever heard from his guy friends: Hey, did you know that Arthur, who is Danny’s cousin by marriage, and the one who did that thing at Christmas, do you remember? Anyway, did you know that Arthur has diabetes, which is not all that surprising seeing as his grandmother died of it. Nope, that was not a typical guy conversation, although maybe he was just hanging out with the wrong guys.

“Yes. Frances and Iris basically grew up together. Her brother died, you know.”

“Iris’s?” He was getting hungry, and this was now edging into boring.

“No, Frances’s.” She could see he was losing interest, and to be fair, it wasn’t all that interesting. She wasn’t one of those women who was fascinated by other people; she just maintained the most basic database. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded, and opened the menu. “What appeals to you?”

“Apart from you?”

He looked up in surprise. She was smiling at him in a way she hadn’t for a while, that slow smile that said she wanted him. He raised his eyebrows. “Have you been drinking?”

Her grin deepened. “No. You just look sexy today, is that a problem? You are my husband, after all, aren’t I allowed to find you attractive?”

He felt himself stirring, and reached across the table. “Of course, it’s just been a while.”

“Maybe it’s been too long?” He heard a soft thud, and then her bare foot started moving up his leg, pressing.

Charlie was taken aback. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but still. Anne was flirting with him in a way she hadn’t in a long time. A very long time. There wasn’t so much need for foreplay and seduction when you were sure of someone, when you knew their body so well, the order of their lovemaking, the process that worked. When couples complained that the romance was gone from their marriage this was what they were missing. The insecurity, the tension, the subtle but powerful question and answer of seduction. Maybe this time I won’t get her into bed . . . But after buying that bed, washing the sheets, maybe having a case or two of flu in it, it was pretty much a given.

He crossed his legs, trapping her foot. Then he reached down and started tickling her arch, watching the color mount in her face as she tried not to laugh. His fingers moved higher, and she stopped laughing.

He looked for the waitress, and called for the check.



* * *



? ? ?

Later that afternoon, after Charlie had left her half asleep in bed and had gone back to the office, Anne decided to purge her clothing. If Richard had ever seen it, it was going in the trash. Clothes he’d seen her in, underwear he’d taken in his mouth and tugged down her thighs, all of it was going. Then she showered, dressed, went to the store, and bought six new sets of bras and panties, all of it in a size smaller than she’d purchased last time. She hadn’t been this slim since her twenties; the affair had given her back her body. And now that body was just for her husband, and everything was going to be fine.

She thought about his face earlier, when she’d slowly undressed for him the way she had when they’d first been together. He’d looked younger, too, hot eyed with desire, and it had been very, very good. She was still pleasingly aware of herself, a slight soreness in her muscles and skin. She was filled with triumph as she handed over her credit card, smiling at the assistant. She’d pulled it off, and Charlie would never know. She’d successfully rebooted her marriage and everything was OK. She looked at her watch. Time to go home and get ready for the kids.





Sixteen.


It was nearly four, and Frances was herding Theo and Kate down toward Anne’s house just as Richard pulled up in front of it. He got out and started toward Anne’s door, not seeing the kids until he was nearly on top of them. His arrival at the end of Anne’s path coincided to an almost comical degree with theirs, and both parties came to a polite halt. The front door opened and Anne called to the kids, not seeing Richard until the words were out of her mouth. To add to the general Marx Brothers–ness of the moment, Charlie’s car pulled up in front of the house and parked behind Richard’s, and his kids started bouncing up and down and calling, “Daddy!” in amazed tones, as if he’d just returned from several years in exile, rather than eight hours at the office. Anne went pale and turned to see if Frances was there. She was, and she was moving. She was pretty sure the guy on Anne’s path was her boyfriend, and she was one hundred percent confident Charlie was about to run into him. But don’t worry, sister, said her swift, sneakered footfall, the cavalry was on the way.