The Marriage Pact (1) (3 page)

They
would talk about Marci’s dreams of being a writer and Doug would give her
ideas. He helped her put together a portfolio to send out to agencies and
freelance jobs. Writing, however, had never been his passion. Ever since T, D,
L & S had been founded in the back of a bar nearly fifteen years earlier,
Doug had been the gregarious salesman with relationship skills and an eye for
the big picture. Jack Lane and Scott Teague drove the creative production,
while Frank Dodgen had the sharp business acumen.  Still, Doug knew far
more than the typical person about making money by writing and encouraged Marci
to the point that she sometimes felt he was almost pushy. Even though he had
read her writing and based his opinion on that, she always felt sure that their
affair fueled his good opinion.

Occasionally
he shared his agonizing feelings about his marriage, how he’d been with Cathy
since middle school and genuinely loved her. He told Marci he’d never thought
it possible to feel so deeply for two people, and so differently. Cathy was
everything he had ever wanted. Their families were close. She knew and loved
things about him that even he himself had forgotten. But their relationship had
changed over the years and he now described her as distant, even businesslike.
Marci thought of the conversation she’d overheard and the impressions she’d had
of Cathy in the office, so perfectly put together, but missing something. Doug
never mentioned a desire for children or whether Cathy was resistant to the
idea.

But
one thing was clear from very early on: he was totally unprepared to leave his
wife.

He
often talked with sadness about the day that Marci would end things for real,
the day she would realize, fully and finally, that he was wasting her time. He
joked with a touch of pain in his voice about the guy she would ultimately end
up with: “He’ll be funny, obviously,” he would say, tapping her nose lightly
with affection, “like you. And he’ll be good-looking, I’m sure, and probably an
all-around great guy. Better than me.”

She
would squirm uncomfortably, rejecting his self-deprecation. “Doug, stop, let’s
not talk about it.”

But
he never wanted to stop. He needed to suffer. “You know it’s true. You deserve
better than me. But in my eyes, no one will ever deserve you.”

No
matter how often he said them, these words were a knife to her heart. She was
the other woman; she was putting someone’s marriage in danger. Who was to say
what she deserved?

At
the end of these woeful conversations, she always felt as though she’d had to
experience all the theoretical pain of breaking up with Doug without the actual
relief of moving on. The ball was in her court. Doug clearly cared for her and
seemed willing to continue their relationship indefinitely. It would be her
responsibility to someday choose the high road and make a better life for
herself.

She
sometimes wondered whether she would ever find the strength to do that. Her
relationship with Doug was the only one she’d had in two years, and more
intense on every level than anything before it. How could she walk away from
that for some tepid date with Jeremy, or being fixed up with someone’s single
friend?

She
had recently started exploring internet dating, but it was difficult to be
fully present in the small talk and getting-to-know-you, when she knew Doug had
arranged to be at her place for several hours the next weekend. It was unfair
that Doug expected her to be the one to cut the strings, especially when she
couldn’t help but notice that he made an extra effort to be present in her life
when she mentioned having a date.

So
they limped along in a relationship netherworld—not together, not apart, each
day full of the twin possibilities of limitless passion or goodbye forever. With
stacks of invoices and mindless tasks in front of her each day, Marci had
entirely too much time to contemplate both ends of the spectrum.

Today
was no different, except for the fact that she was officially no longer wasting
her late twenties in a hopeless relationship. Thirty had arrived, and a new
decade was waiting. And there was an e-mail from Jake.

At
5:15, she was dawdling nervously at her desk when an e-mail popped up from the
internal server. “Go to the happy hour. I’ll meet you there in forty-five
minutes.”

An
hour and a half later, she was sucking down the last of her second margarita,
which had been surprisingly strong. She sat on the cool patio of Maudie’s
Mexican restaurant with Jeremy, of course; Cristina, the new receptionist who
clearly had a big crush on him; Elena, Candice, and a couple of guys from the
design department. Several others, especially those with kids, had come and
gone already. The liquor was now flowing and the talk was turning to office
gossip. When Doug appeared, Elena and Candice both expressed surprise.

The
executive team members were all married and usually exhausted, so while they
liked to pretend they were just typical workers like everyone else, it was rare
for them to actually attend social functions with the staff. By way of
explanation, Doug kissed Candice and Elena both lightly on the cheek and said,
“Cathy’s in Beaumont with some girlfriends tonight, so I thought I’d come see
whether you two were plotting to take over the company.” They both blushed
noticeably.

“Hi,
Marci,” he said directly to her and let his gaze linger momentarily. She felt
her cheeks burn a bit, too.

“You
remembered my name,” she said. Everyone had been drinking and no one seemed to
notice.

He
grinned and turned to the rest of the table. “What’s up, Jeremy, Dave, Chuck?
And, hi there, you must be Cristina. I’m Doug. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance
to introduce myself. Welcome to the team.” He grasped the new receptionist’s
hand, a friendly gesture with just a touch of flirtation. Cristina turned pink,
too, like the other women.

At
one point, this type of flirty behavior had bothered Marci, and made her wonder
whether Doug was really telling the truth about never having strayed from his
marriage before her. But over time she had concluded that this kind of thing
was what made him a great salesman, and probably kept the company in business.
When you were with Doug, he made you feel like the world revolved around you,
and that’s exactly what clients want to feel.

It
also provided a nice cover for them. It meant he could get away with winking or
teasing her in public, and if anyone noticed, most people would readily dismiss
it. She had to admit, too, looking at three beautiful professional women around
her turned to jelly beneath his smiling gaze, she was pretty proud that Doug
would be in
her
arms a few hours later. And no one knew. She shivered,
but not from the cold drink or the chilly evening.

By
7:30, Elena, Candice, Dave, and Chuck had all excused themselves and headed
home. Marci slurped down the last of one more margarita, buzzing with alcohol
and excitement. She couldn’t wait to get away from the restaurant. If Cathy was
in Beaumont for the evening, it meant Doug could spend the night. It had only
happened twice before because it was so risky and hard to arrange, but waking
cradled in his bare arms had been an unforgettable sensation, sustaining her
for weeks of contrived situations and covert messages.

Jeremy,
however, seemed in no hurry to leave. He had ordered another beer moments
before, and seemed to be trying to steer the conversation toward topics that
could take all night to discuss. She could see that he was lingering to spend
time with her. Meanwhile, Cristina was hanging on his every word and clearly
hoping to get him alone, but by all appearances she would’ve had better luck
with the waiter, who had finally just brought them a check in exasperation.
With Doug and Marci unable to leave at the same time and hoping the other two
would go first, they were stuck with forced conversation and tortilla chip
crumbs. In her drunken state, Marci snickered as she realized it was literally
a Mexican Restaurant Standoff.

“This
could go on for years,” Doug muttered in Marci’s ear while Jeremy asked the
waiter whether he could split the check among the four of them. “Don’t bother;
I’ll get it,” he said louder to Jeremy, handing a credit card to the waiter.

“Doug,
there’s no need,” Jeremy started. Was it Marci’s imagination, or did he seem
resentful? Could he sense that something was going on with her and Doug?
Silly,
paranoid...
she thought. Hoped.

“No,
really,” Doug interrupted, “it’s my pleasure. Not often I get to spring for
drinks for some of our best support staff.”

“Oh,
thanks! That is so sweet,” Christina purred. Marci giggled. She wasn’t sure
why.

“It
really is sweet, actually. You guys are a bunch of lushes,” Doug commented as
he looked at the lengthy bill. He stood abruptly. “Now, does everyone have a
ride home? You guys have been drinking all afternoon, at least according to my
credit card.”

“I’m
fine to drive,” Jeremy said matter-of-factly, “and Marci, you’re on my way
home. I’ll drop you off.” Marci cringed.
He had to be kidding
.

“Great,”
Doug said, and Marci was slightly wounded by his enthusiasm. “Cristina?”

Cristina
seemed to hesitate between the reality of her situation and disappointment that
Jeremy wanted to take Marci home. “I can actually walk from here,” she finally
relented. “I just live two blocks down.”

“Oh,
Jeremy, you should walk her home!” Marci threw in, perhaps too quickly.

Before
anyone could debate further, Doug took charge again. “Well, as long as no one’s
driving drunk...I have to get going, but thanks for inviting me. It’s nice to
find out what’s really going on in my own company once in a while. Cristina, if
you don’t want to walk I’ll be happy to drop you. Jeremy, do NOT let her
drive.” He pointed at Marci and she frowned at him.

The
new receptionist seemed to have sobered up enough to realize that she could
only hurt her chances with Jeremy by hanging around, so she grabbed her purse
and followed Doug out the patio gate toward the darkening parking lot. Marci
fumed in her chair as Jeremy swallowed the last of his beer.
Why was Doug
walking out on her? And taking Cristina home? On her birthday!

She
stood without speaking and stumbled to Jeremy’s red pickup. The truck was
familiar enough from the times they had been out to lunch together, and once
when he’d taken her to a movie. As he opened the door for her now, she saw these
moments in a new light. The slight inkling about Jeremy’s feelings for her that
she’d chosen to ignore was beginning to tighten around her.

Ugh.
The last thing she needed
tonight was to have to let a friend down easy, while her boyfriend—if you could
call him that—was driving the hot new receptionist around in his BMW. She
stared out the window, hoping to avoid Jeremy’s eye.

They
were at her building in less than ten minutes. To her surprise, when he pulled
up, Jeremy made no move to take off his seat belt or shut off the car. “You
okay? Got your keys?” he asked sincerely. She nodded. “Don’t need me to come
in, do you?” She couldn’t tell whether he was hopeful, resigned, or just worn
out.

“No,
thanks,” she said curtly, and then added quickly, “I really do appreciate the
ride, Jeremy.”  He smiled wanly and she swiveled to get out of the truck.
As she did, he grabbed her hand. She tried not to appear annoyed.
Why
couldn’t some guys take a hint?

“Jeremy...”

“Marci,
be careful, okay?”

“What?
I’m fine; it’s just up those stairs.”

“That’s
not what I mean, Marci. Just, please, be careful. I... I don’t want to see you
get hurt.” He was looking at her uncritically, with genuine concern in his
eyes.

The
realization of what Jeremy meant, what he knew or had guessed, stopped her
cold. No one knew about her and Doug. She had barely, and only recently,
summoned the courage to tell Suzanne, who had been her best friend since sixth
grade. For six months she had been holding on to a secret so precious and so
well-guarded, she was even hiding it from parts of herself. And now this guy,
who she knew only casually, had figured it out. And he didn’t hate her. He
didn’t call her a slut or a home wrecker. He was just concerned about her.

For
a moment, it was all she could do to hold it together.

She
took a breath and patted his hand. “Thanks, sweetie. I’m fine. I’ll see you
tomorrow, okay?” Her voice sounded far more casual than she felt, but it seemed
that she had managed the nonchalance she’d hoped. Jeremy nodded and put the
truck in gear.

She
was in her apartment for less than five minutes before the knock at the door.

“I
thought he would never leave,” Doug said, and held Marci’s head in both hands,
kissing her hard. His smile faded as he pulled back to look at her. “Have you
been crying?”

“No.”
She hesitated. “Well, a little. Nothing serious; just weepy from the
margaritas, I guess.”

Anger
swept over Doug’s handsome features. “Did that little twerp try something with
you in the truck? I will
so
fire him.”

The
reference to everyone’s working relationship pulled her back to the
precariousness of the situation; she felt protective of both Doug and Jeremy.
She had to fix this. “No, nothing like that. I guess I am just...homesick. And
a little drunk.”

“You
said you got an e-mail from home?” Doug seemed to remember it suddenly.

“Yeah,
from my college friend Jake. It’s a long story.”

“I
like long stories,” he intoned softly. He had taken her hands in his and was
leading her to the tiny couch. For a split second she imagined trying to
explain Jake to Doug, their college friendship—with benefits—and the e-mail
she’d received earlier that was surely,
surely
, a joke. An affectionate
memento of many shared drunken nights and one silly promise...

She
tried to focus instead on the man in front of her. It had taken them hours to
get away from work and colleagues; their meeting in the elevator with Candice
seemed like far more than just twelve hours ago. She would not let herself be
distracted from him, not now. She gently kissed the fingers interlaced with
hers, and looked into his ice-blue eyes. “Can you really stay?”

“Did
I say I could stay?” he said, and her heart sank. A smile crept to the corners
of his mouth, and he cradled her jaw with his palm. “Oh, I guess so. It
is
your birthday. How old are you, anyway?  Twenty-seven?”

“You
know I’m thirty.”

“Wow.
A milestone. At least we get to be in the same decade for a few months. And no
big party?”

“Nope.
This is it.”

“Wow,
that’s pathetic. Spending the big three-oh with some old guy from your office.”

“Shut
up,” she pleaded. Even though he was teasing, she didn’t like being reminded of
their age difference or their work situation.
Too much reality
.

He
shook his head. “Rude, rude. Young people today have no manners.”

She
hit him in the head with one of the couch cushions. His blue eyes were
sparkling and playful. “Oh, that’s it. Guess your birthday present is staying
in the car.”

She
brandished the cushion at him again, but it tumbled to the floor as he grabbed
both wrists and brought them down by her sides. Keeping her hands pinned, he
leaned forward and kissed her hard, the same as he’d done hours earlier in the
stolen moment in her cubicle. He sat back for a moment, looked at her intently,
and made a soft growling noise—like a puppy with a rawhide bone—as he moved
forward to kiss her again.

The
next kiss was far softer, lingering. She wanted to reach for him but her arms
were still immobilized in his surprisingly strong grip. He kissed her chin
next, nudging it up with his nose and lips as he turned his attention to her
exposed throat. He remained there for what felt like a long time, and between
the margaritas, the inability to move her arms, and his stubbly chin rubbing against
her throat as he kissed her mercilessly, she began to lose herself. The ceiling
above her shimmered and she yielded to gravity until her head came to rest on
the rough fabric of the worn couch.

She
was not sure when precisely her arms had been freed; only that she was able to
shimmy out of her knit blouse. She hungrily reached beneath his shirt to feel
the soft, white undershirt she had longed to touch hours ago—and the heat of
him beneath it. He did not allow her to enjoy this tactile luxury for long,
though, for soon he had pulled away from her and sunk to his knees on the dingy
white carpet. She felt his firm grip on her thighs, his warm breath against her
skin, her fingers clutching his thick blonde curls. Soon all thought left her,
and she melted into bliss and oblivion beneath his touch.

An
hour or so later, they lay in silence on a pallet of cushions and throws,
listening to the cicadas swelling outside and the screech of the band rehearsal
next door. Being able to lie here curled in his bare arms was positively
heavenly. She was almost afraid to break the spell with words. “You’re really
not leaving?” she whispered.

“Well,
maybe for a minute,” he whispered back. “Got to get stuff from the car.”