The Affair (37 page)

The envelope was as light as air; I considered the possibility that it might be empty. I could feel my heart pulsing in my
throat as I slipped a fingernail beneath the flap and loosened the adhesive.

The first thing I glimpsed was a bit of fabric, deep magenta, satin, elasticized. Something told me this wasn’t an early Christmas
gift from Roger. I held my
breath, tugged gingerly. I pulled it out. It was a pair of panties. A thong, to be precise, Victoria’s Secret, size small.
I let out an involuntary shriek; in retrospect, a bizarre reaction—it’s not as if I’d pulled out a severed finger. On closer
inspection (and breathing through my mouth), I discovered that these panties weren’t new and in fact were definitely not laundered.
Ugh!
I shook the mailer out, hoping for a note. Nothing. This time I decided not to tell Roger.

At least not yet.

’Til next time,

Well, I guess I won’t be talking to Shannon Herring-shaw again, all because of a stupid Pokémon pencil box. We were at the
annual silent auction at the church today. I didn’t see anything worth bidding on and was getting ready to leave, when Petey
drags me over to the kids’ table. He wants this little plastic pencil box in the shape of one of those bland little Pokémon
characters. I put down a bid of $2.

Next thing I know, Shannon’s there with her nine-year-old daughter Talisha. She doubled my bid! So I doubled her bid while
Shannon and her daughter looked on in horror. This went on until the frigging box was up to sixteen bucks and Chrissy Miller
announced that all bidding on the kids’ table had officially ended; my bid had been the last one, so I won. I felt triumphant,
but also totally crappy. As I walked into
the parking lot, Shannon pulled up beside me and lowered the window of her sparkling silver Lexus. “Was that really necessary?”
she asked me. Her eyes were rimmed in red. Her daughter was sitting in the back seat scowling. I wanted to say, “Get used
to it, kid.” I didn’t know how to respond to Shannon’s question, so I just shrugged and said, “What can I say? Your daughter
wanted it, so did my son. At least we made money for the church, huh?”

She shook her head sadly and drove on. Petey tugged my hand. “You could have let Talisha have it, Mom,” he said. “I didn’t
want it that much anyway.”

Got a phone call from Reverend Lee. He said he was hoping to continue our prayer sessions, but I told him I wasn’t in the
mood to make contact with my higher power these days.

“That’s exactly the time to do it,” he urged.

“Why don’t you stop by this week?” I said I’d think about it. I wonder if everything’s right between the Reverend and his
wife. He seemed awfully insistent. I really don’t feel like praying with him, especially not this week. I think I must be
getting ready to ovulate, because even my fat old dentist looked good to me this afternoon when I went for a cleaning. Who
knows what I might do to a really attractive man like the good pastor.

I took the bag with the tampon and the panties from the Halloween attack on our house to the police station. I asked to speak
with one of the detectives, female, preferably, but she was out sick so I got stuck with Mike Lundgren, who happens to be
my father’s best friend from high school. I’d totally forgotten he was
a detective. As I watched Mike saunter toward me, I panicked. I hadn’t told my parents any of this. I didn’t want to worry
my father, who hasn’t been feeling especially well lately.

“What have you got there?” Mike asked me, tugging the bag from my hands. He grimaced when he saw the tampon. I knew I’d made
a huge mistake. This was the kind of guy who calls female anatomy “plumbing.” I wasn’t about to show him the panties. “Oh,
I think it’s probably just a Halloween prank,” I told him, quickly shifting gears. “I just wanted to show it to you, you know,
in case you had other complaints and needed, I don’t know, some sort of evidence.”

Mike rubbed his bald head furiously, as if enough rubbing might produce some information. “Beats me,” he said finally. “Tell
your pop I said hey, okay?”

I volunteered in Pete’s class today. It was fun but draining. The big news is that Alyssa no longer teaches there. All I could
get out of Nancy, the normally talkative office administrator, was that there was an “incident” involving Alyssa and the janitor,
the vaguely sinister Mr. Reilly. I tried to get Pete’s teacher to fill me in on the details, but didn’t push it. She’s nice
enough, but I didn’t want to do or say anything that could affect the way she treats Pete.

On my way out, the principal asked if I’d be interested in subbing. I was surprised that he knew I was available. “Word has
it you may have some extra time on your hands,” he said, smiling solicitously. Damn these small towns! God only knows what
else people know about my untimely departure from the center.

But I was intrigued by the offer. I wouldn’t mind
working at the school while trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. I told him I’d think about it.

Later…

I guess I never really noticed how awful this neighborhood was until I stopped working. All these big fancy facades and no
signs of life! People drive straight into their garages, close the automatic doors behind them, and that’s it for neighborly
conversation. One block over, all the neighbors arrange activities. One year when the creek flooded, they had a bullfrog race.
They have a little parade on the Fourth of July, block parties on Labor Day, and caroling on Christmas. But they’re all so
damn precious that I can’t stand them either.

It’s 1:00
A.M.
and Roger still hasn’t come back from auditions. Naturally, tonight was the final audition for the two female parts. Knowing
Roger, he’s probably doing just that: auditioning female parts.

I’ve got to stop thinking like this. I have no reason to believe Roger is still cheating on me, other than the fact that he
has a history of cheating, which certainly traumatized the marriage but in itself does not support any suspicions I might
have. There haven’t been any of the telltale signs (I don’t think leering at the pizza girl’s chest counts), and the tampon/panty
incident proves nothing—so far.

Roger ended up stumbling in at 2:00
AM.
, reeking of gin. I woke up but kept my eyes closed. I didn’t want to talk to him. I could hear him stripping off his clothes,
throwing them on the rocker, peeing, gargling. He banged his foot on the NordicTrack, suppressed a profanity, then flopped
into bed. Two minutes later his arms were wrapped around my waist and he was pulling me against him. He was completely hard.

“Where were you?” I mumbled, trying to sound more asleep than I really was.

“Mmmmm,” he said back. “Quiet. Just let me do this.” He started working himself into me from behind. I wanted to be angry,
but the truth was, I was wildly aroused. So I pressed back toward him, and it felt incredible. But when I woke up in the morning
and saw him lying there naked and hung over (in more ways than one), I wanted to kill him. I threw my towel on his face and
demanded to know why he was so late. He insisted that the auditions ran late.

Afterwards, one of the
male
actors insisted on buying him a drink. He wanted to discuss his role. That was at 10. Before they knew it, three hours had
gone by. He would have been home a bit earlier, but he ran into traffic on the road. “A big accident,” he said. “Tied up the
highway in both directions for miles.” Roger raised a hand to his heart. “I swear.”

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I just got into my Jeep. Right there on the driver’s seat was a small tin. I’ve got it in
my hand right now. It says Kama Sutra Edible Body Powder. It’s tied with a black velvet ribbon, and slipped between the ribbon
and the tin is a black feather. At first I thought it was a gift from Roger—a sexy follow-up to last night—but when I thanked
him he honestly had no idea what I was thanking him for! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. What is going on?

As I reached for the tin, my car phone rang. When I picked it up, I heard a long silence, faint breathing, then a quiet click.
Whoever left that in my Jeep must have known I’d find it at precisely that moment. Or maybe they were actually watching me.
I ran in the house and quickly pulled all the drapes closed. Roger was gone. It’s just me now, and I’m scared shitless.

’Til next time,

No more gifts from Tampon Queen. At first I thought they were meant for Roger, but after I found the Kama Sutra powder in
my
Jeep, and after the call came in on
my
cell phone, I’m not so sure. But who could possibly want to torment me like this? Alyssa is absolutely twisted enough to
pull a stunt like this, just to make me crazy. Among my former patients, the only possibility is Maria, the volleyball player,
who once confessed to having vivid erotic dreams about me and gave me a box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Unless it’s
Eddie, and those panties were mine, from my pre-blubber days. They did look familiar—could I have left them somewhere?

The truth is, I find it more than a little arousing that these gifts might be meant for me. I’m the object of someone’s horny
fantasy! If I thought it was a stranger, I’d be terrified. But I’m certain it’s someone I already know.
But who?

’Til next time,

Still trying to adjust to being home. I’m lonely. I thought it would be hard being home with Roger here all day, but it turns
out he’s rarely home. They’re starting rehearsals now. I’ve hinted that I might like to stop by the theater to watch, but
he’s distinctly unenthusiastic. That hurts. I know he thinks I cramp his style. It would be like having his mother there.
I might just stop by anyway.

I wish I could stop thinking about Cadence. She had spurned me since the day she started at the Center, and I had to know
why. I finally decided to deploy my only true ally, Dale Miller. I called him this morning and suggested he engage the Amazon
in casual conversation about my sudden departure. He agreed without hesitation.

He called me during his lunch hour from the pay phone in the lobby.

“Well, I got her to talk,” he whispered into the phone, “and it wasn’t pretty.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

Dale sighed. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Just tell me,” I told him, bracing myself. “I can handle it.”

“Fine.” He took a deep breath. “She said you had some good ideas, but your image was all wrong. She thought you dressed inappropriately.
In other words, too sexy. She hated those black spandex pants, by the way, as if she could fit her amazonian ass into a pair
of spandex pants. And she said she knew you were out with Eddie the day your client tried to kill herself.”

“Wonderful,” I said.

“I’m not done. Should I go on?”

“Yes.”

“She saw you dancing in a Greek restaurant. Like a wild woman, she said. With Eddie. That’s before she took the job here,
before she even knew your name. Then when she started at the Center, she recognized you. And hated you right away.” Dale paused,
then added: “Jealous bitch.”