The Secret Lives of Housewives by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd Page B

the air conditioner on full blast.
    â€œWell, hi yourself,” the familiar voice said. “What was that all about?”
    She tried to catch her breath. “I was having coffee with a few of the women from my yoga class. You remember. I told you about that. That’s why I suggested you call on my cell.”
    â€œOh, yeah. Right. Listen, I only have a minute. Tuesday?”
    What do you think? “Of course, baby.”
    â€œGood. While I’m at home over the weekend I like to look forward to our little get-togethers.”
    Get-togethers? Why do I do this to myself? “I look forward to them, too.”
    â€œOkay. Gotta run. See you in the office on Monday.”
    â€œCall me again if you get—” But he’d already hung up.
    Why indeed? She thought back to the previous Tuesday. The desk clerk at the small hotel they frequented knew them well and quickly supplied her with the key to their usual room. Mike’s company credit card number was already on file. She unlocked the door and set her purse and a paper bag on the dresser. The room was a little seedy but the air conditioner worked and the beds were comfortable. And, she thought with a small smile, they didn’t squeak. The furnishings were strictly utilitarian, the standard flowered bedspread with matching drapes, pale tan ersatz wooden dresser and nightstands, and industrial brown and beige carpeting.
    The bathroom was plain white tile, with the usual individually wrapped soaps and little bottles of shampoo. From time to time, Mike took a quick shower, always forgetting to bring the toiletries into the stall. “Hand me the shampoo. That is, of course, unless you can’t find real poo.” Then he’d laugh at his joke for the dozenth time.
    Today she’d brought delicatessen, pastrami on rye with cole slaw and Russian dressing for Mike, and roast beef on rye for herself. She pulled two diet sodas from the bag, and leaving the door slightly ajar, went to the end of the hall and filled the ice bucket.
    When she returned Mike was already digging into the second half of his sandwich. “We’ve only got about half an hour,” he said, his mouth full. “I’ve got a meeting with the Madrid people at one-thirty.”
    Of course, she knew about the meeting. She’d arranged it. “I know, but even just a half an hour is worth it.”
    Mike crammed the entire remainder of his sandwich into his mouth. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked so cute, Eve thought, with his receding hairline and black-framed glasses. Maybe he’s not much, but he’s mine every Tuesday. Slowly she pulled her plain black sweater off over her head and watched his eyes. She knew she was a little chubby but he seemed content with her body, looking her over, his gaze heating.
    â€œOh, Eve, I love watching you undress.” He started to stand but she pressed down on his shoulders, keeping him seated. “Mmm.”
    She slowly unzipped her skirt and allowed it to fall to the floor. Now she was wearing only a lacy black bra and panty set she’d bought the previous week just for him, thigh-high stockings, and a pair of three-inch spike heels she’d borrowed from the supply of samples they kept on hand in the stockroom. She folded her glasses and put them on the bedside table. She loved it when he looked a little fuzzy while they made love, sort of like seeing him through an oiled lens, as they did in the movies sometimes.
    He reached forward and cupped his hands over her hips, slowly drawing her toward him. “You look great,” he said, making her feel like a million dollars. “Really great.”
    He buried his face in her belly, inhaling deeply, obviously enjoying the scent of her body. When he unhooked her bra, her large breasts spilled out. As he filled his hands with her, kneading her flesh and pinching her nipples, she couldn’t keep the grin from her face, knowing how much he