The Secret Lives of Housewives (7 page)

One afternoon while Logan was at work, she had logged on as usual and had been invited into a private room by a guy named JaketheSSSnake. When she lied and told him she'd never actually climaxed on-line before, they'd spent a delicious fifteen minutes driving each other higher and higher. She'd climaxed so violently that she'd been unable to type for several minutes. He'd laughed and signed off. Now she spent most of her at-home time on the computer. She'd researched ways to keep her activities secret by wiping any bits of data and cookies, whatever those were, from her hard drive, and she had purchased a program that did so each time she logged off. She was sure Logan was unaware of what she was doing, and she wasn't sure whether he'd care anyway.

Lost in thought, Cait pulled into the three-car garage and was surprised that she'd been so distracted that she had to touch the brakes. “Hi, honey,” Logan said, striding into the garage. He was tall, dark, and thick. That was the only way she'd ever described him. His body was well-developed but tended to be straight up and down, with wide hips and narrow shoulders. His dark hair was combed straight back and carefully razor-cut, his moustache and beard neatly trimmed every week by a barber. He wore tennis whites, and she had to admit, didn't look half bad.

“Hi, hon.” He grabbed her as she climbed out of her car and gave her a bear hug, then rubbed his bristly moustache over her cheek. “How's my girl?”

“I'm good, Logan,” she said, combing her fingers through her auburn hair. “Where are you off to?”

He released her quickly. “Tennis with Mark Petrie. How about meeting me at the club later for drinks?”

She tried not to sigh. “Sure. That sounds good.”

“Why don't you wear that new bikini I like so much?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe we can think of something to do later.” His leer left little to the imagination. Maybe they'd actually have sex later, unless Logan drank too much and fell asleep immediately, as he usually did. Nah. Probably not. He talked a good game, especially around his friends, but when they were alone in the bedroom he wasn't the least bit interested.

She wondered whether he really meant that he wanted to have sex, or was his sexual byplay just a sham? She'd be just as happy to pass and was sure he would as well. “I'll see you later,” Cait said as Logan kissed her on her cheek and climbed into his Mercedes convertible, leaving the seven-passenger van they seldom used in the third spot.

“See you,” she said, waving as he pulled out. She glanced at the license plate. LOGAN1. Hers was LOGAN2 and the van was LOGAN3. She'd love a CAIT1, but why fight it? As she walked into the house, she grinned. She had plenty of time to log on.

 

Angie drove home wondering how, in only two encounters, she'd become so comfortable with the other three women. Sure, she hadn't wanted to get into her relationship with Jordanna, but all in all, they were really friendly people and she hoped that their Saturday morning meetings would continue.

She thought about the three other women. While Eve seemed to be so soft and shy, Cait and Monica seemed so strong. Would they put up with Tony's weekly visits to his ex-wife the way Angie did? It made her so unhappy yet she didn't want to say anything. Don't make waves. Be a good sport. That was what she'd been raised on. She hated scenes and confrontations so much that, back when she'd been the secretary to two local insurance brokers, she'd never balked at doing whatever demeaning job they'd asked her to do. She'd picked up laundry, made coffee, even baby-sat for one partner's three rambunctious sons so he and his wife could look at a piece of property.

Jordanna.

Angie and Tony had gone to high school together, and although he hadn't known that she existed, she'd been half in love with him. When he went off to the state university, Angie started to work, first at the local office supply store, then for Danny and Tyler Shultz and their insurance business. When Tony returned to East Hudson with his wife Jordanna, Angie was devastated. “See. What did I tell you?” her mother had said. “He's not for you. He obviously wanted something more than a small-town girl with only a high school education. You've seen that college girl wife of his, putting on airs all over town. She's class.”

Thinking of her mother made her huff out her breath. What had she known? She'd stayed with her father through all his drinking. Angie had idly kept track of the couple for the next few years, watching Jordanna parade around town like the queen of the May while Tony got a teaching job in the city, then took a second job, moonlighting at the local convenience store two nights and one weekend day each week. Angie stopped in for gas occasionally and she and Tony reminisced about old times like two good buddies.

Tony and Jordanna had been married for three years when they split, amicably it was said. One afternoon almost a year later, Tony was pulling out of a parking space at the mall and backed into the rear bumper of Angie's car as she was backing out of the space behind. No real damage was done to either car, but, while examining the situation, they got to talking. One thing led to another and they were married just a year later.

Their relationship had been wonderful and the sex explosive. At first, much as Angie tried to discourage such talk, he lamented his lack of good sex with Jordanna. “She was such a cold fish,” he had said. “Not like you.” He kissed her deeply, hands roaming over her back, eventually finding their way beneath her top and unhooking her bra. He'd loved her body, spending long minutes stroking and kissing her skin. They'd get undressed and tenderly make long, leisurely love. It had been the best ever for her. Then she'd gotten pregnant.

They were ecstatic. A baby. They talked about names for hours and made plans to decorate one of the bedrooms in their new little over-mortgaged house as a nursery. They wandered through the mall admiring tiny clothes and being amazed at how much Pampers cost.

When they learned she was having twins, however, they were shocked, then dismayed. How would they stretch Tony's meager salary? He'd quit his hated job at the minimart and he enjoyed his leisure time, getting more and more involved in his first love, computer games. They both vowed he'd not go back to working so many hours. She'd work more time for as long as she could and he'd get some part-time work with his brothers in their construction business. It would bring in more money for fewer hours. Jordanna had objected to the mere mention of Tony's doing manual labor but Angie thought it was a great idea. They'd sock away as much as they could before the birth, which wasn't much.

The stresses of her advanced pregnancy totally destroyed their sex life. She couldn't get comfortable, and in her seventh month, when she had to give up her job, they'd also given up sex. As she thought back, she realized that it was about then that he'd started to spend time with Jordanna, who still lived in her small but luxurious condo about five miles away from the Cariri house.

At first it had been a plumbing problem. Since they'd shared the condo before their divorce, Jordanna thought Tony might be able to solve the problem without expensive repairs. The fact that the repairs should have been the condo association's problem hadn't occurred to Angie at the time. Two months later the air-conditioning unit began to leak and then the washer broke down.

Tony had seemed delighted by the birth of MaryLee and Brandon, and had been some help around the house while she juggled laundry, meals, cleaning, and nursing two rapidly growing babies. As the spring approached, however, it seemed that he was going over to Jordanna's more and more often. Her mother, whom Tony adored, was ill, and Tony said they'd been visiting her in the hospital.

Were they having an affair? At first Angie would have vehemently denied it. Now she wasn't so sure. She wanted to ask Tony to be with her more but she didn't want to make waves. A good relationship with one's ex was important, but God, how she hated it.

She pictured Monica or Cait in her situation. “Listen, buster, it's time you spent come quality time with me instead of her. Got it?” No, she couldn't do that. Not a chance. But she smiled at the thought.

A
fter her coffee with her new friends Monica had her nails done and grabbed a bite of lunch. She was glad they hadn't gotten any more deeply into what she did for a living; she didn't want her title and six-figure salary to intimidate the other three. Actually, Cait's bank account was probably as big as hers but she had married into it, not clawed and scratched her way to the top. Oh, yes, and fucked her way there, as well. Earlier in the week she'd looked Cait up in the phone book and had driven past her house. Sheraton and Willowbrook, the very highest rent district of East Hudson. A most impressive area, and from what Monica could see from the road, Cait's house was one of the most impressive. At least five acres of land, about half of it wooded, a brook in the back with a decorative bridge over it, a sprawling house with a three-car attached garage, a small dining porch off of what was probably a huge kitchen, and a large in-the-ground pool at the side with cabanas and carefully groomed landscaping around a small waterfall. Angie and Eve were lightweights, but Cait…

She had never actually met Cait's husband but she knew him from his reputation around town. Rich and successful, he probably made as much money as Monica did, but the other two were not in her league. She didn't want to come across as the high-powered, hundred—no, she vowed—eighty-hour-a-week executive she was, and she certainly didn't want to get into the myriad ways she lured and kept clients.

Monica pulled into her driveway, waved at one of her neighbors, and thought over the pile of work she had for the weekend, prioritizing and organizing. As she pressed the remote to close the garage door behind her she pulled out her PDA and made a few notes. When Angie said there was a lot of pressure in her job, she didn't know the half of it.

As she wandered from the garage to her front door she looked around at things she seldom noticed. While heat radiated off the streets, the well-tended grass and plantings didn't wilt, even in the midday sun, watered by the extensive sprinkler system that came on in the wee small hours. Tall maples, sycamores, and birch were planted at carefully calculated intervals to give shade and comfort to the residents while stands of pine and cedar dotted the area.

In the distance she could hear the sounds of balls being hit on one of the tennis courts and children playing in the pool. She sighed. The common charges were exorbitant, but she loved Evergreen Estates, the most expensive town houses along the river. You could see a section of the Palisades from the clubhouse that she'd only visited a few times for owners' meetings. If she had the time she could play bridge or chess there—if she played bridge or chess. She could learn and it might be relaxing. Her overly long workweeks were what allowed her to afford all this, however. If she slowed down just a bit, she wondered, would her income suffer much? She had to slow down.
Coronary.

Sam was waiting for her so she ruffled his fur, then snapped on his leash and headed for the edge of the complex where most of the residents walked their animals. Only one dog or two cats per residence, the house rules said, and she knew that notices went out, then fines were levied if anyone disobeyed. As Sam sniffed at much-used trees and bushes, she allowed her mind to focus on the media plan she was working up for a breakfast cereal.

“Well, hello,” a male voice called from about ten feet away, causing her head to snap around.

It was the hunky guy from the yoga class, walking a gorgeous golden retriever. The dog was tugging at his leash, giving Sam the once-over while the guy did the same to her. She had to admit that he was truly candy for the eyes, with a great body, now barely hidden in khaki shorts, a tight red T-shirt, and well-worn loafers. His ebony hair was long enough to be caught at the back of his neck with a leather thong and his piercing blue eyes had long dark lashes that any woman would envy.

She tried to post the “not interested” look on her face but he grinned anyway, his white teeth emphasizing his smooth, lightly tanned skin. God save her from men who thought that because they were gorgeous and they'd seen you occasionally from a distance, they could do the “get to know you better” bit. This dame wasn't buying it! “Hello,” she said, tugging, trying to get Sam to move on. He'd seen the golden, however, and wanted to get a closer look. “We have to get along, Sam.”

“They just want to get to know each other,” the guy said, and Monica didn't miss the double meaning.

Oh, what the hell,
she thought.
Let's do this and get it over with.
“Is letting them get together safe?” The golden was giving the guy a difficult time, despite the rippling muscles in his shoulders and arms. “Your dog looks like quite a handful.”

“It shouldn't be a problem. Sadie's fixed.”

“Well, that's good. So's Sam.” Monica allowed her Dalmatian to get close enough to give Sadie a thorough sniff. Once they'd become comfortable with each other, the dogs went back to investigating the nearby shrubbery.

“Sam and Sadie. Sounds like a comedy act,” the guy said with a smile. “I'm Dan. Dan Crosby. We met at the yoga class.”

“Oh, yeah.”
Like he doesn't expect everyone to notice him.
“Nice to meet you, but I've really got to be going,” Monica said with a bit of impatience, deliberately not giving him her name.

“I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I just wanted to say hi.”

Realizing she was being intensely rude, she softened. “I'm sorry. I guess my mind was elsewhere. Do you live up here?”

“No. This is my sister's dog. She and her family are out of town this week so I volunteered to take care of Sadie. You?”

“Yeah. I'm on the next block.”

“I'll be around quite a bit this week so maybe we'll see each other again.”

Torn between enjoying looking at the guy and wanting to keep her distance, she said, “Sure. Maybe we will.” Would it hurt to see him “around?” She liked the KISS system—keep it simple, stupid—and personal relations were always complicated. In her relationships with her clients, hot and sexy though they might be, everyone knew the rules. You rattled each other's chain, warmed the sheets when you wanted to, and each partner tried to give as little and get as much as he or she could. Keep the clients and potential clients happy—no more and no less. She didn't have the time or energy for extra-curricular activities. Monica pulled at Sam's leash and they started back toward her driveway.

Tuesday evening she actually made it home while it was still light. Dressed in her city duds, as she thought of them, a white linen business suit with a bright kelly green sleeveless blouse beneath, she took Sam out for his evening constitutional. Again, she encountered Dan, walking his sister's golden retriever. “Hi there,” he called from across the street. “I thought we'd probably run into each other again.”

The two dogs pulled toward each other so she had no choice but to approach. God, the man was beautiful, this evening wearing light tan slacks, a black polo shirt, and the same well-worn loafers he'd been wearing when she last saw him. His long hair was loose, ruffling in the warm summer evening breeze, and although she felt like a fool even thinking about it, she longed to learn whether it was as soft at it appeared.
With a body like that he's probably got an ego to match and the brains of a snail.
She used this as a mantra to keep herself from responding to him.

“Hi.” She was trying to think of something to say when she realized that she was tongue-tied. This never happened to her. “It was really hot today.”
Great line, Monica.

“Yeah, it really was. I never did get your name?” He extended his hand.

She took his hand, which was warm and dry, with a good firm grip. “Monica. Monica Beaumont.”

“You're right about the heat, so I'm going to wander over to the pool for a dip. Would you like to join me?”

“I'm afraid I have work to do.”

“Work? It's after seven. Surely you're off duty, whatever you do.”

“I work for an ad agency and I'm afraid I'm not often off duty.” Actually her dinner had been rescheduled so she'd taken advantage and hustled onto Metro North with a briefcase full of media rates she needed to look over.

“Ridiculous. Come on, Monica. Put on a bathing suit and join me. Actually, if you don't want to join me that's okay, too, but you really must take advantage of the pool once in a while and unwind.”

He was right. How long had it been since she'd enjoyed a swim in the pool she paid such exorbitant common charges to support? He sounded like her doctor had when he'd used the C word—
coronary
. This could be part of her new plan to relax more, not an effort to get to know Mr. Dan Gorgeous. What the hell. “You know, I hate to admit it, but you're right,” she said. “Maybe I will do just that.”

“Great. I'll be over in a few minutes. If you want to sit with me, great. If not, that's fine, too, I'll understand. I'll feel I've done my job just getting you out of your house.”

An early evening after a hot August day drew adults to the pool area. The children who usually monopolized the water and diving boards were already in bed and the teens were off doing their own thing, so the bulk of the people in the pool area were commuters trying to cool off after their trek home from the Big Apple. The area was well maintained, lounge chairs and tables kept scrupulously in tip-top condition, the oversized main pool clean and smelling lightly of chlorine. Steam rose from the hot tub and a small fountain played in the six-inch-deep kiddy pool. Several couples paddled around in the shallow end of the adult pool, while three men swam laps. Several lounge chairs were occupied with people pouring drinks from multicolored pitchers, the tables beside them covered with sandwiches and bags of chips. The smell of grilling burgers and steaks wafted over from the picnic area.

All the way home with Sam she'd debated with herself, then finally allowed as how she wanted to see what Dan was really like and dispel any fantasies she might be building. She had several bathing suits, and after worrying about the message she might send, she finally selected a one-piece, wriggled into it, and slipped on a pair of sandals and a light, lace cover-up. She stuffed a towel, her passcard, and keys into a small tote and walked the two short blocks to the pool area. Dan lay several feet from the gate, eyes closed, stretched out on a lounge chair. He really was something to look at, although she was surprised that he wasn't wearing a skimpy Speedo. Rather, his suit was dark brown and looked more like a pair of shorts. He did give the term six-pack abs new meaning, however, and she tried not to drool.

Why was she so fixated on his looks? she wondered. She snorted as she walked toward him. She never judged people on their outward appearance. She was attracted to him, however, and had decided to find out things about him that would end this fixation.
Beauty is as beauty does
, she thought yet again.

“Hi,” he said, looking up from beneath his baseball cap. “I wasn't sure you'd show up.”

“I wasn't either,” Monica said, putting down her canvas tote and settling into the seat beside him, “but you were right about my needing to relax so I decided to join you for a few minutes.”

“I'm glad. I like that suit.”

She felt uncharacteristically vain, proud that she'd picked a deep violet concoction that seemed to consist of two pieces laced together up the sides and cut high on the hips. “Thanks.”
It better get that look,
she thought. It had cost the earth. “So,” she said, “tell me a little about yourself.”
Like, are you married?
He wasn't wearing a ring but you never could tell. She'd been hit on by more married men than she could shake a white picket fence at.

“I'm not married, never was.”

A bit miffed that he seemed to be reading her mind, she said, “That's not the first question that came to my mind.”

“I'm sure it wasn't, but I thought I'd get it out of the way. You?”

“No. Like you, never was and maybe never will be. Why not?”

“Not what?”

“Married. I can't imagine it was from lack of opportunity.”
Oops. That says I've noticed how gorgeous you are. Now we'll hear some come-on stuff like “can't find the right woman.”

“It's just difficult for me to make time for the dating scene so I'm content to let it go for now.”

“You sound like a busy man. What do you do?”

“I maintain large networks and computer systems for a major Internet service provider. I've got a sizeable staff but if I'm not at some site around the country, I'm online.”

Well, stereotype number one down the drain. He's obviously got brains beneath that gorgeous gift wrap. Okay. Make conversation. Keep it light and distant.
“Sounds like it takes up most of your time. What brings you out here this evening?”

“I decided, like you did, to shut down my computer and chuck the whole thing for an hour. I need the space to clear my head. How about you? What do you do?”