Authors: Janis Thomas
Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Family Life, #General
I grab the phone and press the Menu button and the screen comes to life.
Sorry. Had to take a call.
No problem. Was just
(I think for a minute)
revisiting that something new I told you about.
My curiosity is getting the better of me. Not to mention my imagination.
It’s not that exciting, I promise. You’d be disappointed.
Maybe someday you’ll trust me enough to tell me about it. See you tomorrow.
Bye.
I read through our conversation, then plug the phone into its charger and set it next to the computer. I stare at my blog as thoughts both weighty and feather-light move through my mind. They tumble and turn over each other, threatening to give me a migraine. As if on autopilot, I scroll up to the menu bar of the blog and click the New Post tab. If my blog has become therapy for me, I desperately need some right about now.
Ninth Post: March 24, 2012
SomethingNewAt42
THE FLIRTATION FACTOR
My nameless relative said something to me not long ago, and it went like this: “A little flirtation with someone who is not my husband is sometimes the only thing that gets me through the day.” I think I am going to put that on a bumper sticker.
Experts say (and by experts, I mean
Cosmo
, of course) that flirting is healthy, something that all women should actively experience regardless of their marital status. It is as natural as breathing and as necessary to one’s mental health as air is to one’s staying alive. (I don’t know if I believe this last, but who am I to question
Cosmo
?) For married women especially, flirting, and being flirted with, does wonders for our self-esteem. It lets us know that we are still desirable despite the sweat-sock fuzz between our toes that has replaced pedicure foam. Flirting is our God-given right to be completely ourselves instead of someone’s wife or mother. And we must remind ourselves of who we are every once in a while or we may eventually be swallowed up by anonymity, never to be heard from again.
And the bottom line is that flirting is harmless. Or is it? The act of flirtation itself is harmless. Placing the emphasis on certain words, throaty laughter, witty replies, double entendres: very stimulating, yes. But where is the demarcation line between innocent flirting and adulterous betrayal? It’s somewhere between batting your eyelashes at the male in question and mounting him in the back of a Starbucks. (I am speaking hypothetically, of course.) But the line is fuzzy and easily overlooked. You might not even be aware that you are crossing it, and then what do you do? Double back? Suppress the side of you that has just begun to make you feel whole and desired and good about yourself again? Life is so short, a roller coaster ride that is over before you can decide whether you’ve enjoyed it, and it is often devoid of surprises (particularly for marrieds). It just doesn’t seem right to deny ourselves that small modicum of pleasure that doesn’t cost us anything. Except when it does.
Let’s take me, for example. For a long time, I thought my inner coquette had taken a permanent vaycay to the south
of France, where her talents would come in handy, but I found out recently that she isn’t gone at all; she’s just been imprisoned deep within me. The thing is, when she reared her fabulous and perfectly coiffed head, perhaps I should have just pushed her back into the tiny cell I’ve been holding her in and thrown away the key. That sexy bitch is dangerous! She could get me in a lot of trouble. Now I have to figure out if there is a way I can use her for good instead of evil.
For a few weeks now, I have been involved in a flirtatious sparring match with someone who is not my husband and who is a bona fide hottie. Our repartee has renewed me. But I have begun to question just what the hell I am doing. When it began, it took me by surprise. I even questioned whether he was really flirting with me or was I simply making an ass out of myself. But it has now become clear that ours is a two-way tango, and I fear I might be starting something that I have no control over. There has been nothing untoward, no stolen kisses, no breathless whispers in each other’s ears. But the idea of such things has bloomed in my head. It says somewhere in the Bible, don’t ask me where, that the thought is as bad as the deed. If that is the case, I am pretty well screwed, especially since the Good Book also says
Thou shalt not commit adultery
. I have a sneaking suspicion that Jesus is not very happy with me right now.
The problem is I don’t want to give it up. At the same time, I fancy myself a Good Wife, never having considered being unfaithful. And I am just obtuse enough to think that even now, I would never be unfaithful. But perhaps the flirtation factor opens the mind to the possibilities, and those who are weak cannot resist them. Knowing myself, and the ease with which I can fall prey to a carton of Ben and Jerry’s
or a two-for-one special at Target, I should probably handcuff the flirt and send her back where she belongs. My nameless relative may be able to flirt with impunity and not be in danger of crossing the line. Most women may be able to do it, but I don’t think I am one of them.
Damn. It was fun while it lasted. And that inner vixen of mine is really going to be pissed when I slap the cuffs back on her.
Almost groggy with fatigue, I rub my eyes, then click the Publish button. I have no idea if the blog will make any sense to anyone, but it doesn’t matter. It makes sense to me, and writing it has helped me realize what I have to do.
Starting tomorrow, I must keep my distance from Ben Campbell. I have made my choices in life, and although I didn’t obsess over it at the time, when I got married, I promised to love, honor, and cherish Jonah. Flirting with other men doesn’t fit into any of those categories. Although it has been innocent up to now, something changed inside me tonight when Ben kissed my hand. It became more real. I know Jonah flirts with the girls at the office, customers, waitresses. But he honestly isn’t aware of it. And although many women have sworn their mates would never cheat on them only to be sorely disillusioned, I just don’t think Jonah has it in him. It’s not so much his taking a moral or ethical stance as it is a matter of pride. He wants to be the eighty-year-old man in the nursing home who is able to brag to his cronies that he never cheated on his wife. Besides, Jonah is not good with duplicity, even on a minor scale. He once lied to me about finishing off my Death by Chocolate cake, which I’d been looking forward to all day. He pretended that one of the children ate
it. Not only did his face turn lobster red, but he tossed and turned all night, woke up in a cold sweat, and confessed to me at three o’clock in the morning. This is not a man who would do well at adultery.
I think about a line from
Titanic
.
A woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets.
Yes, I know. You cannot get more cheesy. But it also strikes me as very true. There are many things, ideas, memories, feelings that I have never shared, nor ever will share with Jonah. They don’t affect our relationship, but they make me realize that no woman is ever really
known
by her husband or partner. We
feel
things on every level of our existence and we connect to our feelings. Sometimes they are normal, sometimes overwhelming, and sometimes downright insane. But we own them. Men cannot understand these feelings, these interwoven connections we have to each other and the world around us. So it is better not to share them with the men in our lives. Men’s thinking is more simplistic, linear. The past is the past.
Want food? Kill deer. Want sex? Club woman over head.
They don’t tie emotions in to every situation and circumstance as women do.
Anyway, this
thing
with Ben, whatever it is, will go the way of my other secrets, wedged into one of the few remaining empty compartments of my heart. I will be able to pull it out from time to time, dust it off, and relive the way it made me feel, but only for a short while before I place it back where it belongs. Hidden.
I glance at my cell phone dispassionately, pick it up, and carefully delete each of Ben’s texts. My phone pings as each text is swallowed into the vortex, and I force myself to feel good about my decision. It’s the only sensible thing to do. It’s the right thing to do. Stop it before it has the potential to become more than a
thing
.
My eyelids seem weighted with bricks, and when I close them, I instantly see a pair of warm chocolate brown eyes gazing at me. I want to melt into them, to be swept away…
No!
I open my eyes and see the faces of Jonah and the kids on my screen saver, smiling up at me. But even they, the most important people in my life, cannot overtake the image of Ben’s gaze, which is now burned into my brain.
I quickly shut down and push away from the computer and make my way through a house full of shadows. Navigating blindly, I climb the stairs and move quietly down the hallway, stopping and looking in on my children, all of whom are clearly deep in REM sleep. Pushing through the door of the master bedroom, I hear Jonah’s snore, which is softer than usual tonight. I wonder if he, too, is dreaming, and what images might be floating through his slumbering mind.
I head for the bathroom to do my ablutions.
Three minutes later, I pull back the covers and nudge at my husband, not caring that it is well past midnight. He can sleep when he’s dead, right? He mumbles something that sounds like “I’ll check the tuna cage” but I can’t be sure. I give up nudging at him and slide my hand down his stomach, then slip it beneath his boxer shorts.
“Wha?”
he croaks, and then his eyes open partway. “Hi there.” His voice is a low rumble, heavy with sleep, but his cock is rock hard. “What’re you up to?”
In answer, I mount him and ride him to within an inch of his life.
T
here
is nothing going on.”
My words ring hollow in Jill’s kitchen. I am seated at the counter with my cousin standing across from me, staring down at me like an interrogator from the CIA. I pray she doesn’t have waterboarding in mind.
“
Really
,” she says slowly.
“It was totally innocent.” The defensive edge to my voice makes me cringe, and I take a deep breath. “We ran into each other. We were both free for the evening. We grabbed a bite to eat.”
“Sushi,” she states triumphantly. I shrug up at her. “Raw fish is a well-known aphrodisiac!”
“You’re right!” I spout sarcastically. “That’s why we ended up humping on a side of mackerel!”
“Ha ha.”
“Jill, there was no humping or making out or anything else that I need to confess to you or anyone else.”
She levels me with a knowing look. “Come on, Ellen. Something’s going on. Look at you. It’s eight forty-five in the morning and you’re not wearing sweat pants, you have makeup on, and your hair doesn’t look like you just went a round in the clothes dryer. This is not you!”
I detect a bout of indignation rising from within. I try to suppress it but without success. “Haven’t you been paying attention? I am trying to reinvent myself. I am trying to look decent at all hours of the day. I’ve jogged off eight pounds! I’ve been making smarter food choices. I’m blogging every friggin’ day! Why does any of this have to do with your next-door neighbor?” As the words pour out of me, I realize that I am talking to myself as much as to my cousin.
Jill looks appropriately chastised and taps a pink-lacquered nail on her coffee mug. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re looking great and feeling great and being creative.”
“Thank you.”
“But…”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, here we go!”
“No, seriously,” she says. “In all the years that you’ve been married to Jonah, have you ever had dinner alone with another man? Someone not related to you?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “No.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and regards me accusingly. “I read your blog this morning.”
I lean back against the hard wood of the stool and release a sigh.
“You say that nothing’s going on, but you devoted an entire post to the fact that you’ve been flirting with this man for, what, two weeks now? And you never mentioned it to me? I’m not just your cousin. I’m your best friend. Why didn’t you say anything?”
A few seconds pass before I answer her, and she waits patiently.
“I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to make it into a big deal. I didn’t even know we were flirting. I thought he was just being nice.”
“But you know now.”
I laugh. “Yeah. It was something about the way he fed me a piece of Yummy roll.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God!” she says.
“And he kissed my hand,” I add, more for effect than anything else.
“Holy s-h-i-t!”
I can’t decipher her expression. Consternation? Shock? Disillusionment? I expect her to launch into a lecture about how terrible I am and how I need to get myself together because this whole thing is just wrong, wrong, wrong. For Jill, the moral dilemma of adultery is overshadowed by the idea of the chaos it would unleash, like opening the door to anarchy and disorder, things she despises. She would never have an affair because she is not tolerant or capable of handling anything so messy. I am expecting a reprimand, deserving of one, even. But my cousin surprises me.
“I’m so jealous,” she admits with a grin.
“Jill!”
“I
am
! Do you know what I’d give to have an attractive man feed me sushi? Hell, I’d be happy if my
husband
fed me sushi. Or anything, for that matter.”
“Oh, cuz…”
“So what are you going to do?” Having now been let in to my confidence, Jill is bubbling with excitement and curiosity. I guess disorder and chaos are okay with her as long as they’re relegated to
my
life.
“Nothing,” I tell her, then quickly amend. “That’s not true. I am going to keep as far away from Ben Campbell as possible.”
She frowns. “Wow. Just when it was starting to get interesting. I thought I was going to be able to live vicariously through you for a while.”