The Scarlet Letter Society (4 page)

BOOK: The Scarlet Letter Society
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“Well in that case, madame, I’m here to serve.”

Eva laughed again. She honestly believed that half the reason she was having this insane, delicious affair in the first place was Charles’s sense of humor. He could always make her laugh. Not just laugh, but laugh from the belly, when you can’t stop yourself no matter how hard you try. Such laughter was so rare in her life.

He was the head chef at The Plaza Hotel, where she stayed a few times a month on business at the firm. Her DC office was where she normally worked, but these visits to New York were her favorite part of the month.

Charles sat up in the bed, leaned down, cupped her face into his capable hands, and kissed her slowly, gently, passionately.

She kissed him back, the tingle in her spine working its way to every part of her being. Though she had already had an earth-shaking orgasm, her body was hungry for more. She wanted him inside her.

Eva felt Charles’ growing erection as it grazed her silk chemise. Her panties were already gone, apparently removed while she slept. She smiled at the thought. His hunger for her was insatiable.

She grabbed his strong shoulders, pulling him into her embrace, returning his eager kisses, a soft moan parting her lips as she anticipated what would follow.

She reached down to stroke him as he made a motion to climb on top of her. His fingers gently but decisively found their mark between her legs.

“Not this time,” Eva whispered, rising up from the bed and in a single motion circling herself up and over onto all fours, straddling him. They both smiled. It was her turn to be in control.

May 2012

“I’m your hell, I’m your dream. I’m nothing in between. You know you wouldn’t want it any other way.” —
Bitch
, Meredith Brooks

Monthly meeting of the Scarlet Letter Society.

Zoomdweebies Café

Friday, May 4, 2012

5:30 a.m.

“The scarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared not tread.”

-
The Scarlet Letter
, Nathaniel Hawthorne

from:
Maggie
[email protected]

to:
[email protected]
,
[email protected]

date:
Tuesday, May 1, 2012 at 10:26 AM

subject:
Happy May Day, SLS!

Greetings, SLutS!

It’s that time again. Attached is your invitation to this month’s meeting of the Scarlet Letter Society. Don’t forget, next month will be our first book club discussion of
The
Scarlet Letter
by Nathaniel Hawthorne. So don’t forget to pick up your copy from Zarina if you haven’t already. See you Friday!

Scarlet Letter Society meetings were held monthly when the combination coffee shop/bookstore was closed, always at the same time: first Friday of the month, 5:30 am.

Comfy in her standard attire--a vintage t-shirt (today: Smurfs) and worn jeans--Maggie flopped into the orange 70s vinyl recliner. Maggie smiled, remembering the day she crammed the chair into the back of her ’09 Toyota Prius II without any rope; the chair dangling precariously the three blocks over to her building.

Wes, the director of the city’s largest theatre, lived a few blocks over. He’d arrived with wine, cheese and a movie.

“Burlesque, so we can talk about what a fucking delicious train wreck Cher is,” he declared. “So what’s new with your man, hussy?” Wes asked, opening the wine bottle.

Maggie narrowed her eyes at her best friend, Wes, who lounged across from her on a teal deco sofa. He was fifty, gorgeous, and delightfully, flamboyantly gay. The day she had started volunteering at the theatre, Maggie immediately fell in non-sexual love with Wes, and the feeling was mutual.

“He’s fine,” smiled Maggie.

“What do you mean ‘fine’? Someone’s not bringing home the hot beef injections the way they used to, or what?” Wes sipped, rolling his eyes dramatically. He served them each a glass of wine.

“Ted is, um, bringing home the bacon the very best same way he has for some time, Wes,” laughed Maggie. “How many details do you want about that?”

Wes seemed to ponder for a moment.

“Hmmmm, well, he’s a total hottie, but even though he’s a musician, he’s not vibing ANY gay, so I guess I might as well not torture myself by having to hear about his package and its delivery.”

Maggie laughed again. “Well I’ll spare you all the gory details, then!”

Wes thought to himself:
Maggie looks great in this light. In her natural setting
. Her apartment over the shop was the perfect size, with its huge bay window, and stained glass panes. Her orange chair and a small painted wooden side table formed her sitting area inside the window. Large plants were everywhere. He glanced at her old MacBook, the adorable small vintage lamp, and a framed photo of her girls when they were younger, watching a town parade from the sidewalk and grinning from ear to ear.

“So are there more wedding bells in your future? You’ve been dating him for
ever
!”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve already put one husband into a divorce court and another one’s on the way in there, Wes,” replied Maggie. “Why on earth would I want to put the
Marry Mag
curse on poor Ted? He hasn’t done anything to deserve it.”

“God, that’s true,” said Wes. “But I gotta say it cracks me up that you’re acting like a goddamn teenager about the whole thing.” He made a fake gagging motion, adding, “It’s
so
cliché. I mean, seriously, when do you think he’ll ask you to the prom?”

They laughed.

“I’m already shopping for my prom gown,” said Maggie. “Now hand me that cheese tray.”

“So how’s your little whore club coming along?” asked Wes.

“We don’t call it a whore club,” said Maggie, raising an eyebrow. “That’s an offensive term and besides, we’re not getting paid. Our Scarlet Letter
Society
is simply for women who are- well, to put it in some kind of bizarre politically correct term, I guess, who are
fidelity challenged
.”

“Mmhmm,
whores
. Well at least they aren’t still stoning you or burning your asses at the stake anymore,” said Wes, passing the havarti and rice crackers. “The
funny part is, you’re in a club you technically can’t even be a member of because you’re not even cheating on your pretty little boyfriend! Unless you count the fact that your divorce isn’t even final, which hardly counts.”

“So technically, I’m still married,” responded Maggie, “and thus a practicing adulteress, if you ask the Catholic Church.” Making the sign of the cross while rolling her eyes, Maggie added, “And since I’m cheating on both of my husbands with Ted, I’d say I’m not just the founder of the Scarlet Letter Society, but also a quite active member.”

“Well, Sister Margaret Katherine. ‘Veteran Vixen Vaginas’ would be a great name for your website,” said Wes. “You should totally lock down a Twitter handle for that.”

“We’re starting to read a book each month for the Scarlet Letter Society meetings,” said Maggie. “Historical or modern fiction about women who cheat on their husbands. I mean, the novels are usually written by men and end up with dead women, but it will be interesting to get the perspective on how things have changed. Or haven’t. We’re beginning by reading
The Scarlet Letter
.”

“Ooooh! It will be like the
HO
-prah Book Club!” squealed Wes, clapping his hands.

“Let’s watch the movie, goofball,” Maggie said warmly.

Subdivision streetlights cast the only light through the bedroom curtains as Lisa snuck out of bed to check her email. As the floorboards creaked in a house that was only built three years before in this McNeighborhood she loathed beyond words, she knew Jim would hear her.

“Where are you going?” slurred Jim gruffly. “Don’t you remember I’m going to be going away for a few days to the conference?” he asked, pulling her back into bed.

Lisa grimaced slightly.

“I was just going to get some shop paperwork done before I go into town.”

So much for Jim leaving for his trip before she woke up. And here came the scene she had been hoping to avoid.

“I guess there’s no time for a foot rub then,” said Jim in the whiny voice that made Lisa want to drive icepicks through her own skull. She looked over at him in the bed, and then she saw it. A bright red Christian Louboutin stiletto peeked out from under his pillow.

“Jim! Those are $6000 shoes!” said Lisa, exasperated. “Why are you crushing one of them under your pillow?”

“I bought them for you, Lisa,” responded Jim, sulking. “You know I got them online for way less than that, and it’s not my fault you continually refuse to indulge my fantasy.”

Lisa shuddered. A foot fetish, of all things. How had she managed to marry someone with such an annoying addiction? She would never wear those stupid shoes. They weren’t even new.
Gah!
Who knew where they’d been, or what she’d have to clean off them.

She thought to herself,
I have already honestly tried to go along with the whole “fantasy” thing
, as he called it.
Remember when I wore the thigh high black leather boots (and nothing else) to bed
?
Or how about the time I let you masturbate into a gold pair of stripper heels bought especially for the purpose
? But she was sick of him being more interested in her feet and her footwear than her preferred parts.

“Honey,” she said, “I need to get to the bakery. Maybe you could just pack the shoes in your suitcase for the trip.”

“Don’t be mad that I spent the money. They’re beautiful! Like you,” said Jim.

“You damn well know we need that money for the fertility treatments,” said Lisa. “I don’t even want to look at them!”

She went downstairs, grabbed her laptop, and headed to the downtown bakery.
Beautiful, my ass
, she thought.

“Welcome to Keytown!” the town’s sign cheerily welcomed her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Bakery therapy. She arrived at her shop, prepared batter, popped the first batch of cinnamon buns into the oven, and washed her hands,
absentmindedly wiping them to dry on her apron. She sat down at the counter stool, opened her laptop and hit “compose.”

from:
Lisa
[email protected]

to:
Ben
[email protected]

date:
Tuesday, May 2, 2012 at 8:10 AM

subject:
My logo

Ben,

It’s hard to believe we have met three times and I still don’t have a mockup of my new logo. I demand customer service.

Sincerely,

Lisa Swain

She smiled as she hit ‘send.’ And her friends thought she was licking cherry juice off this guy? Geez, wouldn’t that be amazing. So far in real life versus Scarlet Letter Club fantasy league, she’d simply had two “brainstorming” lunches and a shop visit to “gather information.” And of course the email fluttering back and forth like middle school notes passed from classmate to classmate.
Is Ben taking a long time to produce my business materials so he can prolong this?
Lisa thought, doubting herself.
Or am I just being silly? He’s probably just busy
.

Ping
, came the sound of a new email, and her heart rate quickened.

from:
Ben
[email protected]

to:
Lisa
[email protected]

date:
Tuesday, May 2, 2012, 8:13 AM

subject:
Your pie

You know that I feel strongly about the image that is presented for your business, and that I feel I’m trying to get a feel for the message you want to send to your customers. Don’t try to rush the creative process.

Are you free for lunch? We can discuss this further, as customer satisfaction is my goal.

Ben

The blush crept up from her neckline to her face as Lisa nervously wiped her hands off again on her apron before hitting “reply.”

from:
Lisa
[email protected]

to:
Ben
[email protected]

BOOK: The Scarlet Letter Society
7.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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