candles too, and some wine.
When he didn't answer his office phone, she called the main line and asked for Dr. Becker, not identifying herself as his wife. Tracy very rarely called Kyle at work. He was usually with patients and didn't like to be disturbed.
After a moment and a rustle of paper, a nasal female voice informed her, 'Dr. Becker left at 3:00. Unless it's an emergency, you should leave a message for him, and he'll return your call on Monday.'
'But what about the staff meeting?' she asked, confused.
'Excuse me, ma'am?' the bored voice responded.
'Doesn't he have a staff meeting tonight?'
'Dr. Becker has left for the day; I already told you. The doctors' staff meeting is on Wednesdays at 4:00. Who is this?' The voice became sharper, no doubt assuming Tracy was just another crazy patient trying to track down her shrink.
'Oh, nobody,' Tracy mumbled, hanging up, her heart beginning a slow drill against her ribs. Gone at 3:00. No staff meeting. Where the fuck was he?
Tracy sat staring down at the piles of unattended paperwork on her desk, when a male voice startled her. 'Hi there, Tracy.' It was Guy Gray, the new loan officer the bank hired earlier in the week. Looking down at her, his smile flirted with insolence. His eyes were a pale blue, and he wore round, wire-framed glasses. His voice was mild, deep and flat, and he had a slow drawl.
A bit overweight, and balding, Tracy hadn't been impressed at first, but Guy went out of his way to let her know he appreciated how important the head teller was in keeping things running smoothly. Tracy knew he was probably full of crap, and just schmoozing her, she had liked the attention just the same.
'Say, Tracy. It's happy hour, tonight, my first one. I hope you're coming? First drink's on me. We're going to that little Mexican joint down the road. We don't even have to drive.'
'Yes, Tracy, do come, just this once!' Theresa, her best teller, was packing her rolled coins into their heavy metal boxes to be put away in the vault. You never come with us. Please?' The younger employees of the bank, all in their 20s and 30s, regularly went out on Friday night to 'get the weekend started properly' as Theresa said. Tracy never joined them.
Tonight, she looked at both of them, smiling eagerly at her, and thought, why not? Kyle wasn't coming home till 7:00 – and he could get his own fucking dinner, or let whoever he's with get it for him! She nodded at them and said, 'Let's go.'
Guy was true to his word, bringing Tracy a frozen peach marguerita and a Coors for himself. There were about 10 of them, ties loosened, high collars unbuttoned, leaning back. Most of them drank beer from frosted mugs, and munched on the chips and salsa placed in large brightly glazed bowls along the center of the long wooden table. Guy sat next to Tracy, who was still in her own world, thinking about Kyle, and the fact that he had lied to her, and was off somewhere unknown.
Distractedly she took the drink Guy offered, thanking him, and took a sip. It was delicious, and she sipped it again, enjoying the frozen sweetness of peach and the underlying tang of tequila. The pragmatist in her had to admit that whatever Kyle might be doing, wasn't she just as bad? Only this morning, she had pulled down her panties and touched herself for another man. Perhaps Kyle had sensed her emotional withdrawal, and was seeking his own solace.
Guy was speaking and she realized he must have asked her something because he said, 'Wow, you're off in some other world, aren't you, Tracy?'
'What? Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I am.'
She tried to tune in to the conversation and heard Theresa say, 'Yeah, we rented this really wild movie the other day, called Nine and a Half Weeks? Ya'll ever see it? He, like, spanks her and stuff, and makes her eat strawberries and whipped cream blindfolded. It's wild!'
Tracy perked up to this conversation. She was familiar with the movie; Paul had asked her if she'd seen it, and had recommended it. She knew what it was about, and was surprised it was considered an acceptable happy hour conversation.
Guy turned toward her and said, 'You ever seen that one, Tracy? Anything with whips and chains does it for me.' He was grinning, his tone light, but his eyes focused directly on hers.
She felt herself flushing slightly and hid behind a big gulp of her drink.
'Let me get you another,' he said, rising, and was gone before she could protest. He returned with a fresh drink, the slice of peach perched jauntily on the rim of the glass, and handed it to her with a flourish. As she ate the slice of peach, a little juice spilled down her chin. Embarrassed, she swiped at it with her napkin, aware of Guy's eyes still keenly on her.
'So, you didn't answer my question. Ever see that movie?'
The others in the group were engaged in various conversations, fueled by beer and joy in the impending weekend. They were loudly discussing the merits and detractions of feeding food to your lover.
Whips and chains do it for me. Guy had just said that, hadn't he? Was the whole world into this BDSM thing, and she was only just coming round? What did he mean by that remark? And why was he staring at her so intently? Wasn't he married too? She decided to call his bluff.
'No, I've never seen it, but I know what it's about. Whips and chains do it for me too.' She'd started out trying to be cool, but her ears burned and she realized the tequila must be getting to her quicker than she thought. How could she have just said that?
Guy nodded, smiling. 'Then we have something in common, I see,' he said quietly. He moved closer to her, letting his large meaty thigh touch her own slender one. She didn't move away, but kept sipping her drink, her mind momentarily on pause.
Guy turned away from her, joining in the conversations around him, seeming completely at ease. His thigh still touched hers, and almost against her will, Tracy felt herself responding to him. What was going on with her? When he brought her a third drink, she didn't even bother to question herself any longer. He suddenly seemed witty and urbane, and she threw back her head as she laughed at his jokes. She was drunk and happy, her face flushed with alcohol and her eyes bright with possibility.
By 6:30 the party was pretty much over. It was drizzling outside, and the idea of waiting for the bus in the rain held no appeal to Tracy. When Guy offered to give her a ride home, she accepted, not letting herself think past just getting to the car.
On the ride home Tracy became suddenly shy. She was still drunk, but now more aware of herself, and the fact that they were alone in the car together. Not that he would try anything, surely. They worked together, after all. Guy didn't say anything, but focused on the road; she knew he'd put away a few himself.
'We should have lunch sometime,' he said casually. 'Discuss our, um, shared interests.' He didn't look at her as he spoke, eyes still on the road, fingers clenching the steering wheel, and she realized he was as nervous as she was. That assured her somehow, and she felt a little calmer, smiling at him.
'We should.'
When Kyle got home thirty minutes after Tracy, she didn't ask him where he'd been. He had takeout Chinese with him, which would have ruined her plans if she'd actually made him the nice dinner she'd been thinking of earlier, but she hadn't made him a thing. He didn't notice, acting pleased with himself that he had provided the sustenance for the evening. He set it out, opening each little carton and announcing the contents within.
'Rough day?' Tracy remarked with elaborate casualness.
Kyle loosened his tie and sighed a loud histrionic sigh. 'Man, that staff meeting took forever. Those guys just love their meetings. Through the whole thing, I was thinking about you and getting home.'
She didn't call him on it; didn't say a thing. Her usual response to such a statement would have been to throw her arms around him, and feel grateful that he had missed her – but he was lying, and she knew it. How many other times had he lied to her these past few months? Maybe it was this, not the online forays, that finally decreased his sex drive. He was 'getting it' elsewhere.
The odd thing was, instead of feeling devastated, a part of her was quietly relieved. She was angry, she had to admit, and felt betrayed, but also relieved. Because wasn't she, in fact, just as guilty? She may not have actually
