Secrets
3) Invitation
After a pleasantly lazy Sunday, Monday saw a return to the standard workday routine—including a visit from my inappropriately flirtatious colleague Roberta. Only this encounter didn’t go the same way as the preceding ones.
When Roberta had commenced the low-key sexual harassment some months before, I had initially been embarrassed and confused, half convinced that I was reading way too much into what was nothing more than friendly banter. But as her innuendoes had become more blatant, the invasions of my personal space that bit closer, I’d had to admit that I wasn’t just deluding myself, and she really was trying it on with me, despite my happily married (well, comfortably married—all right, married and taking it for granted) status. And that was when the guilt had started to creep in.
Guilt that somehow I must have inadvertently been encouraging Roberta, since my refusal to engage with her unprofessional behaviour hadn’t put her off. Guilt about the state of my marriage—I was already aware that relations between Jane and myself were less than ideal, even if I didn’t have a clue what was wrong or how to try and put things right—because maybe Roberta could sense that not all was well at home, and perhaps that was what was drawing her, like blood attracting a shark. Guilt at not having told my wife that a co-worker was trying to come in between us. And, worst of all, guilt because there was one facet of my character that kind of enjoyed having these attentions paid to me by a woman who was by no means unattractive.
But things had changed since the last time Roberta had perched herself on the edge of my desk and let her skirt ride up just enough to give an ‘accidental’ glimpse of her stocking tops. And that change must have been reflected in my body language or something, because when I noticed Roberta striding towards me, she hesitated. Not for long, but even that momentary interruption in her advance was enough to tell me that she’d noticed something different.
“Looks like that conference you were on has perked you up a bit.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Nah. Just the same mix of stuff I already knew, stuff that’s not relevant for what I’m doing here, and tedious networking with a bunch of tired, stuck-in-a-rut has-beens. About the only good thing to come of it was that it made me appreciate being home with my wife all the more afterwards.” There. New status quo established.
Roberta opened her mouth and then closed it again, clearly unsure of how to deal with me when I wasn’t flustered. She caught sight of a mark on my neck from Saturday evening’s antics, and did a bad job of hiding her double-take. “Did you cut yourself shaving?”
I grinned and shook my head. “Jane missed me as much as I missed her.”
Before Roberta could respond to that, I pressed my advantage. “By the way, she was wondering if you’d like to come to our place for a meal some time.”
“What!?”
I’ve told her all about how… friendly you’ve been of late, and she’d like to meet you. Are you free next Wednesday? I know you don’t usually have anything on that night—you’ve told me often enough.”
“I… Let me get back to you on that.” She backed off without her customary finger-rippling little wave, and I returned to my work.
That evening, while Jane and I snuggled together, I told her how things had gone with Roberta. She chuckled to hear how disconcerted her would-be rival had been, and stroked my left shin with her right foot.
“So has she given you an answer yet?” The foot moved a little higher.
I made inarticulate, confused noises. The invitation hadn’t been serious, had it?
“I meant it when I said you should ask her round,” she confirmed, “And she’ll probably accept.”
My scepticism must have showed, as she went on, “Don’t believe me? Let’s make it a bet. If she does agree to come here, you have to eat me out again.”
That was a bet I’d be happy to lose. “And if she refuses? Which includes never speaking to me again unless she absolutely has to because of something at work.”
Jane smiled. “I’ll let you have another go at acting out your fantasy of performing cunnilingus on me.”
“I perceive something of a common theme between the prize and the penalty. You wouldn’t be hinting about what you’d like us to do later, would you?”
She squeezed my thigh. “I was starting to think you’d never ask.”
“You could have just used the ‘breakfast’ trigger again.”
“That was strictly a one-off. I could see the risk of accidentally causing a scene at some future date.”
“Fair point.” I took her right hand in mine and shook it. “The bet’s on. You ready for a down-payment on the winnings?”
“Wouldn’t that be a going-down payment?”
I slid to the floor and knelt in front of her. “Whatever.”
I lost the bet.
The following Wednesday Roberta followed me home from work. Once we’d both found parking spaces, I texted Jane as arranged to let her know that we’d arrived.
She was waiting to greet me when I unlocked the front door, and as I caught sight of her, I began to understand what was going on. The purpose of this evening was obviously to show Roberta just how outclassed she was, so she’d back off and find someone else to bother.
Jane looked stunning. A new hairdo that even I couldn’t miss, new (and deliciously sexy-looking) black dress, flawless make-up. Which wasn’t quite so flawless after the lengthy and passionate kiss she gave me in the porch, but the slight smudging only enhanced her appeal.
“And you must be Roberta,” she said, doing that not-quite-handshake thing that women seem to favour when they’re not embracing and air-kissing. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Roberta had obviously made some effort to spruce herself up between the end of work and getting out of her car, but right now she wasn’t even in the same league as Jane, and I could tell that she was well aware of that.
We proceeded through to the dining room, and the mouthwatering scent of the roast Jane had prepared hit us. Second salvo, demonstrating that Jane wasn’t just beautiful: she was also skilled. I began to wonder if the meal was going to include some under-the table fun to make it clear that my appetite for food wasn’t the only one she knew how to satisfy.
We chatted until the meal was ready. I got the impression that there was a lot going on under the surface of Jane and Roberta’s conversation, but I couldn’t tell what exactly they were saying to each other without speaking the actual words.
The food tasted as good as it smelt, and the wine we had with it must have been a good deal more potent than it seemed, because I have no recollection of any of the rest of the evening. It’s all a blank up to when I woke to find myself spooned against Jane the following morning. Somehow I managed to dodge the hangover, which was a good thing, as I had a meeting first thing at work that morning.
Having Roberta round seemed to have done the trick, as she cut back on the flirting from then on. She’d still drop by my desk for a bit of restrained banter most days, and she’d often ask how Jane was getting on, so I guess neither of us had done anything too terrible during the part of the evening that I didn’t remember. For all I knew, the two of them could have wound up best frenemies by the time Roberta left.
Once in a while during these workplace chats it seemed as if she was leaving something specific unsaid, presumably in reference to some conversational tangent that came up after dessert. I was too embarrassed to ever admit to her that a great chunk of that evening was just a blank to me, but I seemed to do a decent job of hiding my cluelessness whenever it happened.
All in all, I did an excellent job of deluding myself. It would be several months before I found out the truth about the second half of that evening and the changed dynamics between Roberta and me.