The Secret Lives of Housewives (4 page)

M
onica settled into her Lexus and turned the radio on. Contemporary soft rock flowed from the speakers. She pulled out her PDA and opened a “notes” page. She quickly listed the other three women's names and a quick bit about them so she'd remember everything next weekend. Remembering names and facts about people was one of the keys to her success in business. She closed the electronic organizer and heaved another deep sigh. She had to admit that she felt more relaxed than she'd felt in months. Except for that brief period after a particularly good orgasm, and that certainly didn't last.

The heat and humidity in the air promised that the temperature would hit ninety before the day was through, but she flipped off the air conditioner and opened all the windows. She closed her eyes and breathed in the damp, post-rain air. Wonderful. How long had it been since she had last just smelled the air? As her eyes opened, she watched cars pull out of the parking lot and hoped the three other women she'd just met would find time to get together after next week's class. “These women might be just what I need,” she said aloud. “A little down time with no strings or stress.”

Her first stop after class was her weekly appointment to have her nails done. Hemorrhage red, or at least that was what it looked like, and not too long. Practical, yet classically sexy. She liked that. She picked up two business suits and a light jacket at the cleaners and drove to the local 7-Eleven to do her shopping. She used to go to the supermarket but in recent months she was home so little that she needed very few things. Bread, a box of tissues, instant coffee, and dog food. Lots of dog food. As she passed the sandwich area, she grabbed a turkey and tomato wrap and munched it as she paid for her purchases.

She thought back to the previous week and realized she'd only been home twice; the other evenings she'd had late meetings or dates and had used the corporate apartment. As senior account executive at Conroy & Bates, one of the largest advertising agencies in the country, she was entitled to lots of perks and took advantage of them all.
Why the hell not
? she thought.
After all, I probably bring in more business than any two other account execs.

At what cost? Okay, she had to pander to the needs of corporate advertising bigwigs who had nothing better to do than dangle a multimillion-dollar media account so she'd jump through any of the hoops they held. Whatever. Her face graced the business pages of newspapers and magazines and when she spoke, those who mattered listened. She thought she might be able to crack the glass ceiling at C & B and that energized her. She might eventually make partner, but for now she was happy being a force in the industry.

She put her groceries into the trunk, then headed home. To get to her town house, she drove down Sheraton and gazed at the expensive houses with their mile-long driveways and carefully manicured lawns. From time to time she'd considered buying one of them, but why? For show? She had no need for six bedrooms and a three-car garage. Oh, an in-the-ground pool would be nice, and maybe a sauna, but really. Why? Her town house was more than enough for her: three large bedrooms, living room, dining room, den, and spacious kitchen. What more did she need?

As she pulled into her cul-de-sac in Evergreen Estates, the super high-end condo development she'd bought into three years before, she glanced at her watch. Almost two. She'd take a few minutes to do the few things that Hillary, her cleaning woman, hadn't done, then attack the pile of work she'd brought home. How little time she got to relax wasn't important.
Coronary.
She'd work at a bit more leisurely pace, but she had to get this stuff done for a meeting Monday morning.

Sam, her forty-five-pound Dalmatian, greeted her at the door with his exuberant barking. As she leaned down to rub his chin she marveled at the fact that he got just as excited when she'd been gone two hours as when she was gone all day. The dog quickly rolled onto his back and Monica spent several minutes scratching his belly, causing Sam to spasm in delight.

“Okay, love, get your leash. We can manage a quick walk.” Wagging most of his body and almost grinning, Sam skidded across the off-white Spanish tile on her kitchen floor, ricocheted around the refrigerator, grabbed his leash from its shelf, and bounded back to the front door. “Sam, sit,” she said, and the dog sat facing her with his bright blue leash in his mouth, wiggling with barely restrained glee. “Give,” she said as she reached out her hand. Sam put the leash gently into her hand and she hooked it to his collar.

“Good dog,” she said, marveling yet again at how well behaved he was.

Two years earlier she'd gone to the animal shelter with her younger sister Janet and her family to look for a dog for them. When Monica saw Sam's face behind the bars, however, she'd fallen in love immediately. “It's so impractical,” she'd said. “I'm gone all day and that's not a good thing to do to a dog.”

“You have a fenced yard out back,” Janet had answered with a twinkle, “and there's probably a neighbor who could take care of him when you're gone.”

“I know, but…” An hour later Sam had joined her household. She quickly discovered that he'd been well trained by his previous owner and was a pleasure to own. When she was out late or stayed in the city overnight, as she often did, Craig, her next door neighbor's fourteen-year-old son, was delighted to come over, play with Sam, then feed him and leave him in the house until he could let the dog out again in the morning. In return, Monica paid him twenty-five dollars a week, a small price to pay for good care for Sam.

Now she hooked Sam up, opened the front door, and followed him outside into the steamy midday sunshine. It was amazing that the streets were completely dry despite the downpour of a few hours earlier. “Let's have a nice calm walk,” she told the dog. She usually took him out for just a few minutes but as she strode through the visitors' parking lot she deliberately made herself slow down.
Coronary.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and pressed a speed dial number.

“Bonnie? Hi, babe.”

“Hello yourself,” her older sister said.

Now that she'd called, she felt a bit awkward. “It's been a while.”

“It sure has. How the hell are you?”

The two made small talk for several minutes while Sam sniffed at every bush and tree around her block of town houses. Finally, Monica said, “I was wondering whether you guys were free sometime soon. I've been thinking that I haven't seen you, Jake, and the kids in quite a while.”

“We're barbecuing tonight. Why don't you stop by for dinner? Come early. I know everyone will be tickled to see you.”

Just what she needed. Although she and her sisters had little in common, she genuinely liked both Bonnie and Janet, and they had so much history that they were seldom at a loss for conversation. “Are you sure I won't be putting you out?”

“Not at all. I've got plenty. I'm going to hang up now so you can't say no. Dinner's around six. Be here! 'Bye!” The line went dead.

Monica snapped the phone closed. She was making changes in her life. If she could only keep it up. “Hey, Sam, we're going to Bonnie's house later. You get to play with everyone.”

 

At four-thirty, having spent a couple of hours going over mounds of paperwork, Monica showered and dressed in a pair of lightweight summer jeans and a soft yellow blouse. She opened the car door and Sam bounded into the backseat, ready for an adventure. Not wanting to arrive empty-handed, Monica stopped at her favorite pie shop and picked up a crust full of blueberry calories and a quart of the shop's special vanilla-fruit-swirl ice cream, then drove the nine miles to her sister's quiet neighborhood. The raised ranch house was of moderate size and comfortable, with a huge oak tree in the front yard that caused Jake to lament that he couldn't get grass to grow beneath its branches. It wasn't at all like the ones on Sheraton, but more than sufficient for Bonnie and her family.

At thirty-six, her sister was three years older than Monica and had been happily married for almost thirteen years. “Auntie Em,” her niece Lissa yelled as she saw her aunt's car pull into the driveway. “Auntie Em.”

Auntie Em. She'd been called that since the first time Lissa, now aged eleven, had seen
The Wizard of Oz
. At first Lissa thought it was a big joke, having an aunt whose name began with M, but the nickname had stuck and now all of her nieces and nephews called her that. “Did you bring Sam?” Lissa said, skipping over to the car as it pulled to a stop.

To answer, Monica opened the car door so Sam could gallop toward the giggling girl. “Auntie Em's here, with Sam,” Lissa yelled, and answering boys' cries of, “Here, Sammie,” echoed from the backyard.

Monica spent the next hour sitting on her sister's deck, enjoying large glasses of sangria and large doses of family life, eventually watching Jake fiddle with the outdoor grill. Later, filled with hamburgers and hot dogs, she extricated herself and arrived back at her apartment at around eight, slightly sunburned and scratching three mountains that some hungry mosquito had built on her left ankle.

As she wandered into her bedroom, she realized that times like this left her with deeply conflicted feelings. She was envious of her sisters. Marriage, kids, the security of at least some steady person as the years passed, all sounded so comfortable and wonderful. But she was also contemptuous of them. They were both bright, college-educated women. How could they settle for suburbia, crab grass, and part-time jobs? Sure, Jake made more than enough money as an attorney, and Janet's husband Walt was a stockbroker, but what did Bonnie and Janet do all day? She remembered Eve's comment earlier that afternoon. What would she do if she didn't have her job, and what skills would her sisters have if something happened and they had to go back to work? Sure, Jake and Walt were all right, but men in general were unreliable and would skip out the minute things weren't going well. Her father was a prime example, leaving the family when Monica was in her early teens to do what he'd always “needed” to do, see the country with his new girlfriend, Doreen. Monica had listened to her mother in the years following, calling her father every name in the book, and a few she made up herself.

Tempted as she was to pick up the stack of work still undone, she stretched out on the bed and flipped on the TV. When her cell phone rang, she pressed the mute button. “Hello?”

“Hi, Monica.” She recognized Trent Lockhart's voice immediately. He was the assistant media director at the skin care division of a large cosmetics firm, and she'd been trying to convince him to let C & B pitch his account.

Lowering and softening her voice, she said, “Well, hello stranger. I haven't heard from you in weeks.”

“I've been busy. You know how it is.”

“I sure do. To what do I owe this call?” She'd given him her cell phone number “just in case.”

“I've got a free evening Wednesday and I thought we might get together and talk about”—he paused—“things.”

Things. She knew exactly what things he was referring to. She had been dangling sexual favors in front of him just as he'd been dangling the account in front of her. Another unfaithful married man. “I'd love to talk about”—another pause—“things. Over dinner?”

“Sure. How about Peter Luger's in Williamsburg?”

“Seven o'clock.”

“I'll bring my car. Why don't you come in a taxi and then I can drive you back to the city?”

“We'll see how it all works out,” she said, knowing her meaning was perfectly clear. No pitching the account, no fucking. It was that simple. Actually, Trent was a really sexy guy and she would have done him just for the hell of it, but that wasn't the way the business ran, at least for her. And God, was she hungry. She'd been celibate for almost a month, longer than she'd gone in years. She pictured Trent: soft, country-boy blue eyes, razor-cut sandy hair, and a nicely turned out body. She wondered what he'd be like in bed. Aggressive, she hoped, and she'd find out soon. It was only a matter of time.

Monica had no qualms about trading her body for whatever she needed at work. She'd had brief affairs with several of the senior partners. Everyone understood that they were just short, feel-good fucks but they accomplished what she wanted. She got noticed. She knew no one would really
do
anything extra for her and she never even hinted at a
quid pro quo
, but she got considered for new accounts and found out about opportunities before most others.

What was the problem with that? She wasn't hurting anyone. She enjoyed sex in all forms, and with a few exceptions, had as good a time as her partner.

For a moment the image of the guy from the yoga class flashed through her mind and she wondered what he was like in bed. Nah. Too complicated. It was so much simpler when everyone knew what was what.

As she undressed after her call from Trent, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Not bad, she thought, sucking in her stomach, lifting her ribs, and arching her back slightly. Not bad at all.
So I'm not a kid anymore,
she thought, lifting her breasts with her hands.
I'm experienced and damn good in bed. Every man I'm with gets the best I can give.