The Adulterer's Unofficial Guide to Family Vacations, A Novel (7 page)

The rest of the day was spent running from one attraction to another.
Once again, the kids seemed to have limitless energy.
I, for one, was starting to run down.
As we watched the light show that night, Alan and I agreed that it would be an early bedtime.
By the time we got back to the hotel, the kids were out cold.
I didn’t even have the energy to undress Jenny and Ben so I put them under the covers fully clothed.
Clearly I wasn’t up for Mom of the Day.

Once again, Alan and I sat out on the terrace with beer from the bar.

“You know, I think we need a break.” He said finally.

“From what?” This was, after all, a vacation.

He waved his arms around, “From this!
From having to sit on a patio every night after chasing the kids around the parks all day.”

“You don’t like sitting here with me?”

“I love sitting here with you.
I just would like to do something a little more normal with better lighting.”

I laughed, “What do you suggest?”

“Why don’t we call one of those sitters they have here?”

I choked on my beer.
Why didn’t I think of that?
“Let’s do it.”

Alan slipped into his room, emerging a few minutes later, “It’s all set.
Tomorrow night at six, Martha arrives to save us.”

A nervous tingling began in my stomach, “So, what will we do?”

“Dinner, seeing the sights, all involving real food,” he smiled, triumphantly.

“You mean nothing cut up to look like a cartoon rat?”

He nodded, “and no one will give us a sticker for cleaning our plates.
It will be wonderful.”

“Sounds great.”

We both nursed our beers for a while in silence.
That would be fun.
Grown up stuff.
Just me and Alan, out on the town.
My insides bunched up at the thought of it.
What we were talking about was a date, right?

“Alan, about last night,” I began, not really knowing what to say next.

“We can pretend it never happened, if you like.”
I could see from the look in his eyes that he would never talk about it again if I asked him to.

“It’s not that.
I just wanted to thank you.”

His eyebrows arched, “Really?”

I nodded, “Yeah.
I know it sounds weird, but I obviously needed that.”

Alan looked from me to his bottle, “Can I ask you something about that night?”
I nodded again and he continued, “What happened after?”

I hesitated, wondering how much to tell him.
No sense in ruining a good adultery story with too much information.

“Mike never knew, and Nick and I never discussed it again.
We kind of agreed to keep it to ourselves - no deathbed confessions to our spouses and that was that.”

“And you were able to keep your hands off each other?”

My stomach twisted, but I ignored it.
“Well, it wasn’t easy.
We still had the knowing glances and suggestive conversations.
But a few months ago, he moved to Maryland with his family so that’s the end of that.”
I drained my bottle and reached for another one.

“Have you ever done anything else like it since?” Alan’s questioning seemed innocent, not condemning, so I answered.

“No.” Why was that? Well, besides the obvious lack of opportunity.
The affair didn’t make me feel any better about what Mike had done to me.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.
What I find more interesting, is how after that one fling, I started noticing men hitting on me more often.
I don’t know if I just didn’t notice it before or if after the affair, I started giving off adultery pheromones or what.”

“Did you ever ask them why they were attracted to you?” I noticed he drained another bottle.
We were starting our second six pack.
We were well on our way to the happy land of alcoholism.

“Actually, I did.
And they said, to a man, that it was obvious to them I liked sex.
Now how would they know something like that?”

“Laura, it’s in every movement you make.
You’ve always been like that.”

“You’re joking.”
Was he joking?

Alan shook his head, “No, I’m not.
Men are always sniffing around for someone like you.
The fact that they come on to you proves it.
You’re a sex kitten in need of a good stroke.”

“Shut Up!” I would have sprung out of my seat but I was dizzy and didn’t want to fall down.

Alan nodded, “It’s true.
Some women give off the frigid vibe, some women are teases and you, my dear, are the rare one who could give a man the ride of his life.”

The news sunk into my thoughts.
“Where do you guys come up with this stuff?”

“I don’t know, but it’s true.” Alan drank his beer.
“You just have to trust me on this.”

“Jesus,” was all I said.
If this was true, I was a veritable Pandora’s Box of sexuality.
“Wait, doesn’t that make me come off a bit like a tramp?”

He shook his head, “No, it makes everyone envy your husband.
Women like you are very rare.”

“Is Susan like me?” I regretted the words as soon as I said them.
It wasn’t fair to bring up his wife.

“No,” he said slowly, “she’s great and all, but more inhibited.”

“I see.” I felt bad about asking.
But didn’t he ask me all sorts of probing questions last night?
I changed tactics.
I didn’t want to compete with his wife.
“How do you know you aren’t just building me up more than I deserve?”

“Because,” his voice dropped an octave, “I’ve had you, and I remember it.
And I really did have to take a cold shower last night.”

That’s it.
Right then and there, I knew that I wanted to sleep with him – even though I knew it was wrong.
“You’re right.
Maybe we do need a break.” I replied weakly.

Chapter 7

The dress hung in front of me, calling me every name in the book, “Harlot!
Traitor!”
But I wrestled the bitch off of the hanger and stepped into it.
The dress really had no argument.
So far on this trip, I had not lived up to either of those words, but maybe it could read my thoughts.
Great.
A mind-reading dress.
Hester Prynne didn’t have that and she still got caught.

While it was true I had packed this dress for a romantic evening with Mike, I had no reason not to wear it.
Alan and I were just giving ourselves a well-deserved break, that’s all.
Besides, I didn’t have anything else appropriate to wear for a night out.

Studying myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but admit the dress was hot.
A sleek Betsy Johnson, it had seductive spaghetti straps and a snug, black velvet bodice emblazoned with bright, embroidered flowers.
The hemline had seven inches of fringe around the bottom and the sheer black matching wrap had the same.
A pair of black, strappy sandals finished it off.
I was definitely asking for it.

At seven o’clock he tapped at the door and I opened it.
The four children pooled together in the doorway, then flooded into his room.
Alan just stood there, smiling.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t savor every second.
It would also be lying to say I didn’t blush.

“Wow,” he spoke softly, “you look fantastic!”

“So do you!
You seem to have picked up a few style tips in New York.” Alan wore a French blue button-down shirt, open at the neck, tucked into a pair of chinos.
A dark jacket was folded over his shoulder and . . . were those Bruno Maglis?

“Come on!
I didn’t dress that badly back then!”
He protested.

“Listen, I conceded that your cheating on me wasn’t entirely your fault and that I never thought you were an ego maniac.
But you were a lousy dresser and I’m not going to back down on that one.”

A sharp knock at the door broke our trance.
The sitter was here.
Martha was a sweet lady in her sixties.
I liked her immediately.

“Right this way, please,” the aging hostess led us to a table in the back of Captain Steve’s.
The window by the table overlooked the lagoon and the dancing colored lights that played upon its surface.
Alan pulled out a chair for me and I could feel my body warming.
I gave silent thanks for dimly lit restaurants.
Within moments we had our menus and a bottle of wine.

A few butterflies flew through my stomach and I looked around surreptitiously.
The thought that Mike and Susan had hired a Mike Hammer-esque private eye skipped through my mind.
Nope.
Not a fedora or trench coat in the room.
Of course, there was no one there I knew and the atmosphere was such that conversations at the surrounding table merely sounded like unintelligible mumbles.

Alan poured the wine and raised his glass in a toast, melting me with his dazzling smile.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“To us.” The glasses clinked, “We have spent every moment on the kids and now, a night to do what we want.”

“You mean no riding every ride twenty times in a row?” Sarcasm?
From me?

Alan laughed, “That’s right.
And absolutely no pictures with seven-foot tall dogs or chipmunks.”

“I think I would strangle them with my bare hands if they came up to me right now.” I was surprised to discover that I actually meant it.
Wait, maybe I could do that if we get busted to throw Mike Hammer off the scent.

“It isn’t easy handling two kids alone, and four is tough for both of us.”
Alan sipped his wine, looking thoughtful, “I’m really glad you’re here, Laura.
I don’t think I could have pulled this trip off without you.”
Our eyes met and a shock passed through me, almost imperceptibly.

There was an unmistakable glimpse of recognition in those glowing green eyes that made me remember how much I used to love gazing into them.
For some reason, we could not look away from each other.
Something passed between us in code, something beyond the camaraderie of two single parents braving the Magic Kingdom together.
Something older and more primitive.

“May I take your order?”
The waitress interrupted us, pad in hand, pen poised in mid-air as if taking our order was the most brilliant thing she’d ever done.
I gave her the once over, wondering if she was a spy.

Okay, so I was feeling guilty.
Nothing had even happened and I was afraid I was being watched.
The weird part was that I wondered if Mike would even care that I was on a date with another man.

Alan spoke first and I realized I hadn’t looked at the menu yet.
Suddenly, I wasn’t even hungry.
“I’ll have the salmon, and the lady will have the petit filet mignon.” He snapped his menu shut and smiled at me, “You ordered that for my fraternity’s spring formal, remember?”
The waitress nodded as if she heard that every day and left.

“How could you remember that?
I barely remember that!”

“I guess I remember more than I knew.”
Again, the charming smile.
Damn him and his full lips . . . white teeth . . . succulent tongue . . . (succulent tongue???)

A tingling sensation began in my heart and I turned away.
Old emotions were having their way with me like the wenches on the Pirates ride.

Alan studied me for a moment then reached for my hand, “Laura,” he spoke so quietly, yet it resounded in my ears, “Let’s pretend, just for tonight, that there are no kids, no spouses, and no world outside this one.
Pretend we are having a reunion of sorts.”
Did I imagine it or did his thumb gently stroke my hand?

In college, he would stroke my hands, driving me into his bed effortlessly.
I knew my arousal was beginning to show.
Don’t look down, I cautioned myself.
The dress was thin and there was no doubt certain parts of me were on display.

I didn’t remove my hand, instead gripping his firmly, and took a deep breath, “That sounds like a good idea.”

The food was excellent, but the conversation was better.
Funny, I didn’t remember the things we had talked about all those years ago – he was not the sparkling conversationalist he now appeared to be.
We talked about ourselves, carefully avoiding the subjects of family.
To my surprise, it wasn’t that difficult to do.

“New York is alright,” Alan continued, “It’s just starting to wear a little thin.” He frowned as he looked out the window, a little distracted.

I was supposed to avoid mentioning the kids but I suspected they were part of the reason.
“Couldn’t you write your plays from anywhere?”

“Yes.
But there’s an energy in New York as far as the theatre goes.”
He returned to slice his salmon, “I would want to live in a city that at least had a professional theatrical company.”

I wondered at that.
Alan was never an actor or musician.
He disliked being on stage.
I didn’t even know if he could act or sing.
But he’d always been interested in the human condition.
He liked to throw two people in an arena and see where it would take them.
Of course he’d want to be somewhere he could make a living writing plays.

I watched him cut his fish, those long, slender fingers that half an hour ago stroked my hand.
Those same fingers that half a lifetime ago stroked my body . . .

“Laura?”
I looked up and realized he had asked me something.
He must have seen me staring at his hands.
How weird is that?

“I’m sorry, I . . . uh, was lost in thought.”
Not a good cover.
Damn.

Alan looked down at his hands in puzzlement.
I was sure he was thinking of a number of things.
His smile caught me off guard.
He knew!
He remembered!
My skin flooded with heat from head to toe.
I must have glowed like a red beacon.

“You know,” his voice was low and husky, “we did explore a lot together.”

There were two choices.
I could melt in a puddle of humiliation or rise to the challenge.
I chose the latter, “That is something I will never forget.
Two virgins fumbling through it all.”

Alan laughed, “Do you remember the first time?”

I choked on my wine, “How could I forget?
In that AMC Green Hornet you borrowed from someone.”

It was his turn to look impressed, “So it was.
I almost forgot about that car!”

Memories crashed around me like waves, “Remember in the winter we had to sneak blankets into it?”

“That didn’t last long.
When we hit that rock and split the oil pan, coasting back into town just as the engine blew out.”