Six
feet tall and full figured, Lena is all stature and curves.
Punctuated by stiletto heels. She sips her iced tea and sways to the
music, watching lithe bodies aglow beneath spinning black lights.
Energy
shifts in the club as the bartender announces last call; strangers
begin the distilled process of coupling for the night. They suss out
their options and then dangle the bait.
Can
I buy you a drink?
Are
you here on your own?
Do
you need a ride home?
Lena
turns around to settle her bill and discovers a torn slip of paper
tucked between two twenties. A proposition, of sorts.
Thanks
for the lovely view. Drinks on me. Meet you by the coat check in
five?
She
feels almost giddy – once again the bashful schoolgirl passing
notes in math class, butterflies floating freeform in her stomach.
It
occurs to Lena that she is playing a dangerous game, inviting
disaster. What would people think if they could see her now? Clad in
low cut halter and tight pleather pants, smoky cat eyes accentuated
with red lips. Of course, she knows enough to be discreet, unlike
some of her daft colleagues, posting pictures of themselves half
naked and properly smashed.
A
quick stop in the loo to refresh lipstick and plump cleavage, and she
is ready to make her appearance.
Waiting
beside the queue is a bookish fellow with light red hair and horn-
rimmed glasses, more akin to giving advice at the pharmacy counter or
approving loans at the bank; his distinguished appearance entirely
out of context in these surroundings. She smiles in approval as he
takes her hand and presses it to his lips.
“Hello
there, gorgeous. I’ve never seen you here before. Do you live
nearby?”
“I’m
just passing through, actually. Only here for the night. You can call
me,’ Lena pauses to select her handle ‘Veronica. Veronica
Desmond.”
“Nice
to meet you, Veronica. You remind me of a busty Cleopatra,’ he
winks ‘I’m whoever you want me to be.”
Without
further preamble, Lena follows him to his car in the parking lot and
wordlessly begins to undress him. She attempts to manoeuvre within
the confines of the backseat, feeling like an aging contortionist
while still assuming the appropriate sounds and expressions of
desire. How did she ever do this in high school? He continues to
adjust positions, narrowly avoiding death by stiletto on more than
one occasion. They make forced love in record time.
Afterwards,
they both sit in silence and light up. Another dirty little secret.
She hears a tropical ringtone and swipes to retrieve the text on her
mobile.
“Well,
pumpkin,’ Lena exhales ‘looks like we’d better head home now.
The sitter expected us hours ago, and Max has soccer in the morning.”
“Yes,
dear,’ agrees her husband, rubbing his aching back ‘and next
time, let’s just book the hotel instead.”