The sun slowly rose over the rooftops of the houses lining the dead-end street. Its brilliance glinted off the newly buffed rear end of the dark gray Rolls Royce convertible parked in the gated driveway of the Millers’ house and threw a shadow on the perfectly trimmed (by the gardener, of course) petunias which lined the sidewalk to the Jameson’s front doors. It even peeked through the delicate lace that covered a certain second-story window, brightening the room inside. In this room, a certain Peter and Lily Thomas lied on opposite sides of their enormous kid-sized bad. As the room grew brighter, Lily rolled away from her husband and let loose a delicate snore. The seconds ticked away on the clock beside the bed, closing the distance between the present and soon-to-be-present moment where Lily would be forced awake by the incessant ringing of her alarm. Each tock counted down until the moment the room dropped its guise as a serene, dark cave and became a space crowded with noise, movement, and clutter. But this is the way Lily Thomas chose to live her life: in chaos.
She was not, all-together, the most well-liked woman in the world, let alone on her block. In fact, there were quite a few people who didn’t like her. They saw her noise as obnoxious and her personality despicable. The fact that she grew up on the “other side of town” might have skewed their judgment, for they grew up learning to be notoriously nasty to outsiders. But only to her back. To her front they were as fake as their botoxed faces. Even after Lily had lived on the block for 18 years, the animosity was strong. With Peter always at work and with her two children gone all day at school, she had to deal with their unfriendliness on her own, wasting away many a long day in their huge house, alone.
But do not begin to feel bad for her. This is exactly what she wanted. She especially enjoyed the time away from her husband. After so many years of marriage, he was beginning to bore her, and the long, sunny Southern California days were never a bother to her. She was also never entirely alone. With a cook, gardener, and maid, there was always someone to talk to (though she never uttered a word that didn’t involve some sort of command). She saw herself above other people, an attitude she learned quite well from those women surrounding her.
But still she slept, allowing her block to continue the rare silence. The sun rose even higher in the sky. Her husband slipped out of bed, got dressed, and headed to work. In his calculated manner, his suite was already laid out on a chair so he could get dressed in the semidarkness without even making a sound. His briefcase was set next to the front door, turned at the perfect angle for him to grab the handle without even stopping. Her children were a bit noisier. Their alarms rang within minutes of each other and inconsistent ruffling noises or bangs from dropped books came from their rooms until they emerged. Eighteen year old Peter Jr. (known by everyone as P.J.) walked down the stairs, his cocky smile already set in place, even at 7:30 in the morning. Margaret (never Maggie), followed. Her gait was graceful, her head held high, and she brushed past her brother out the door. They each slid into the driver seat of their cars for the short 10 minute ride to school. Ever since Margaret got her license a couple of months before, they had driven separately. But even the roar of her new red convertible did not wake Lily up. It did, however, cause her neighbors to glance out the window in jealousy. Margaret’s was the newest car on the block; until someone else bought a new one, it would be the envy of everyone. Much like anyone else did when it was their turn with a new car, The Thomas’ relished it.
It was an hour later that Lily woke up to the ringing of the alarm. In the emptiness of the room, she allowed herself a moment of gracelessness as she slid her arm toward the disrupting sound to turn it off. The usual routine on a sunny day like today included her lying in bed for another 20 minutes, eating a light breakfast and then indulging in any matter of lazy activities that one would think would get boring after enough days of doing them. Apparently, Lily only became bored with people, because her routine had hardly changed in the years she had lived on the block. She was predictable in everything, down to the one day every few weeks she would make her way back through the ritz to the mediocre to visit her father at her childhood home.
But today was different. The electricity of that could be felt in the room and Lily wasted no time in bed. In a manner mirroring her husband’s, she had planned out her outfit in advance, hanging it at the far end of the closet, shoes ready beneath it. But before the dress came the other important items in her preparation. First was the hair. Years of practice taught her how to curl the long, brunette strands gently, giving her a sexy wind-blown look. Then came the make-up. This was the tricky part. Evening make-up was much different than early afternoon make-up. If she wore too much it would be obvious, but the affect had to be the same. A shopping spree the day before had fixed the problem for her. She had made the women behind the counter put everything on her, from base to the finishing touches of her lipstick. She now caked the new purchases on her face so that, by the time she was done 20 minutes later, her carefully constructed look was complete. It hardly looked like she was wearing anything. It was perfect.
Getting dressed, of course, followed next. Her sexiest pair of underwear lay at the very front of her drawer. And in the closet, the dress called her name. Robe off, underwear on, and then the cress slithered over her head. A couple adjustments were necessary- she had to pull the sleeve up on one side and the bottom down- but then she was able to clip the clasp at the top. It was time for the full-length mirror check. The red Gucci dress fit snugly on her slim hips and made her chest look much more impressive than it actually was. She turned to the side, admiring her own butt and the swoop on the back of the dress; the fabric covered no skin from the bottom of her neck to the bottom of her spine and she knew it would drive him crazy. Perfectly sexy, completely irresistible, just as she had hoped.
“Thank you, Gucci gods! I would be screwed without you. Or should I say, not screwed?” Her hideous laugh burst out of her, somewhere between a witch’s cackle and a hyena’s barking, and she slipped on her shoes and headed for the door.
It was all part of the plan. She left her house wearing her decoy jacket and would drive into town on the street that would normally take her to all the storefronts. No one would be suspicious. It was the same old routine to everyone peeking out their windows or lounging in their backyards. To Lily, it was a new adventure, a new way to create potential tension. It was the ideal plan.
As she went to turn off of their street, however, she saw Mrs. Miller’s car coming from the very direction she wanted to go. It slowed, turned, and stopped next to Lily’s car. Mrs. Miller rolled down her window, the busiest body on the whole block. God forbid she lose one chance to figure out some juicy gossip. She was not fooled by routine. She knew everyone else hid their secrets behind it.
“God damn it,” Lily muttered under her breath, then rolled her window down as well. “Morning, Louise. How are you?”
But Mrs. Miller was not one for small talk. “Where are you headed at this time in the morning? Isn’t this normally your tanning time?”
“Not today. I woke up and decided I needed a new swimsuit.” Since Mrs. Miller had made a previous comment on how hideous Lily’s bathing suit was, this was the perfect lie. “Have a good day, Louise!” And with that, Lily rolled her window back up and turned right. This would lead her out of their housing development and straight into town, to her destination, the Marriott Hotel.
But first she had to drive past the only Catholic Church in town, St. George’s Cathedral. The cross at the top of the spire glowed dully from the sun, and a sense of dread fell over her. It had nothing to do with her plans to cheat on her husband, but the reflecting light had reminded her of a promise she had made to her father. He had called incessantly, until she could no longer ignore the phone ringing or all the voicemails asking her to please call him back. When she finally had, he had mentioned that the coming Sunday was going to be a mass to honor her mother’s death five years previously. He wanted her to be with him so he didn’t have to sit there alone. Despite Lily’s embarrassment of her upbringing, she had cared for her mother and still cared for her father, so she reluctantly agreed to go because the Church had stopped being her “scene.” She was almost embarrassed to set foot inside and show that she kept any traditions from her childhood, so she had stayed away from mass on any days but Christmas and Easter. Her belief in God was also limited so she didn’t care. In her eagerness to prepare for today, she had forgotten to go to mass the day before.
It was a surprise that her father had never called to remind her. When he wanted something, he was relentless, and commemorating the death of his wife was definitely an event close to his heart. There was very little he asked of Lily anymore, and for her to miss this should have been inconceivable to him, no matter if he had to grovel to get her there.
The body of the Church soon came into view and for a second Lily imagined her father waiting on the steps out front, searching for her car or at least her face in the small crowd of people who attended weekly mass. When neither had appeared, did he just go inside alone? How long did he wait? An uncharacteristic guilt struggled inside Lily, tugging at her in an attempt to get her attention.
Perhaps it would have had she not seen something streak in front of her car, hear a small crack and felt her car bump over something in the road. The thought that she had hit a child crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. It had not been that great of a bump. A simple glance in the rearview mirror showed the lifeless body of a cat. Its tabby carcass was spread across the road, front legs stretching in front of it, forever stuck in its unsuccessful escape from the unyielding car tires. Lily sped forward. She was allergic to cats anyway, so good riddance. In her haste she missed the flash from the cat’s throat as the sun shone upon the tarnished nametag hanging from the cat’s collar.
Not long after, the hotel came into view. She was back to the plan and pulsing with excitement. She parked on the top floor of the parking garage to make sure it was unlikely anyone would notice her car, then walked to the elevator and pressed the button. On the third floor, there was a crosswalk connecting the garage to the hotel. On the first floor of the hotel was the main desk, where she would check-in to the reservation they had made for Mr. and Mrs. Jethro. On the sixth floor was their room, and waiting for her on the bed would be Mr. Jonathan Miller, poor Louise’s husband and the beginning of Lily’s much anticipated affair.
When she walked away from the main desk, she ignored the knowing look the man behind the counter had given her. This was probably not the first secret meeting he had ever seen. In a strange way, this gave her more confidence. Not the first=too many to remember=less chance of being caught. She strutted toward the elevators and stood waiting for one with a smug smile on her face.
When she went to press the button for the 6th floor inside the elevator she noticed her ahnd shaking. Of course, Lily wrote this off as a sign of excitement (she was never one to admit a weakness), but the truth was obvious. It was her first affair, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. This had officially started only a few months before when her husband had been out of town and Jonathan had come over to check on her. It was an unnecessary move, since Lily’s children were both due to be home in just a few hours and it hadn’t even been dark yet, but she had invited him inside for a glass of wine. One turned into three, each time she got up to refill giving her an excuse to sit even closer. Soon, they were kissing, and it only ended because of the sound of Peter Jr.’s car pulling into the driveway. “Ended” isn’t a good word, however- it was, in reality, only postponed. After that night it moved to “accidental” hand brushes at block parties, and seemingly casual conversations over the hedge where the heat from his stare made her feel almost indecent for being in public. Then it had turned to sexting: started out simple and quickly turned dirty. She hadn’t been able to help herself, indulging in it while her husband was asleep beside her at night. But nothing beats physicality, and they soon decided they had to stop sharing words over cold technology. They wanted flesh, and they wanted hot.
And so they were meeting at the hotel.
The elevator dinged softly and the doors slid open, revealing a red carpeted hallway. Directly in front of her was a painting framed in gold, the multi-colored flowers making it a gaudy decoration. A sign hanging next to it pointed her to the left, towards room 622. When she reached the door she paused a moment to look at the key in her hand. She could still turn around, but the thought of what she would be missing if she did made her confidently swipe the card and push the door open. “Hello?”
“Hello.”
His voice wafted towards her from the bathroom and she hurried through the door, hearing the click of the lock behind her. “Jonathan?”
“Lily.” His voice had turned deeper between those two words, became seductive, and he came out of the bathroom, a smile on his face. “For a couple minutes there, I thought I was being stood up.” The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled in the sexy, Geroge-Clooney-attractive way. No woman could resist that, least of all Lily Thomas.
In all her excitement, it took a minute for her to realize she had yet to respond. A wrinkle appeared on her forehead (though she would deny the possibility of a wrinkle forming on her face at all) and her hands gave a nervous jump involuntarily. The key fell onto the lush carpet. Feeling his eyes on her, she laughed airily and bent down to pick it up, useless words running jumbled through her head. But when she straightened and looked up at him, she saw that his smile was still firm in place. He grabbed her hand and tugged her farther into the room, until the bed came into view. On the table beside it sat a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice, two delicate-looking wine glasses already poured beside it.
“I thought you would appreciate the wine. It’s imported, the same kind you keep at your house.” He moved away from her then, skirting around the edge of the bed to come into reach of the bottle. He picked it up and brushed a hand across the label, as if expecting dust to have settled there and blocked his view. “Red Bicyclette Merlot from France.” He placed the bottle back into the ice and instead picked up the glasses.
When he turned and held one out to her, she dropped the key onto the dresser beside her, placed her purse on top of it, and walked towards him. Halfway there she remembered she was still wearing her decoy jacket, and she paused for only a second. Ignoring the slight shake to her hand that had yet to go away, she unbuttoned the top button and slowly made her way down, careful not to open the jacket until the last was undone. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, taking in the way one side of his mouth lifted in amusement, the way he instinctively shifted in her direction. A smile spread across her face as she opened the jacket and allowed it to slide slowly down her arms. Her intention was to let it hit the ground and worry about it later, but as a breath of air tickled her newly uncovered back, she thought better of it and drew her arms the rest of the way out, keeping a firm grip of the coat in one hand. Without a word she turned her back to him and walked, hips swaying in a much exaggerated manner, back towards her bag to place her coat gently on top of it.
“You look stunning.”
Lily laughed. The hoarse sound of his voice and the intense look on his face was not lost on her. She again started towards him and felt a surge of confidence. She was in control here. The dress had put her back on top. When she reached his side she took the glass from his hand, brushing her fingers over his. She kept her eyes on the glass, noticing the way the light reflected off the sides and made the red merlot look as though it was on fire. A delicate twist of her wrist set the wine flowing in her glass and she took a small sip. The wine’s taste was as familiar to her as the freckles sprinkled on her arms. She had been drinking this wine for years. It had been the wine she shared with Jonathan when their affair had begun, She had served it at her children’s graduation parties, her birthday parties, and it was the wine that she and Peter, her husband, had at their wedding. In fact, they drank a glass together every year to celebrate each new anniversary.
It was amazing to her how Jonathan had remembered this was her wine of choice.
A second later, she felt him place his hand on the small of her back. Normally, when her husband did this to her, she got angry by the possessive quality of it. At parties when being introduced to male coworkers he would affix his hand there. Even at restaurants he would do it to warn other men to stay away. But when Jonathan did it, her body responded immediately to the touch. The fact that his hand was resting on her bare skin made the touch even more exhilarating. He was back in control, but as she looked up into his face, she gave up the control without a fight.
When he gently tugged her glass out of her hand, she realized he had already placed his back on the bedside table. Hers joined it, and he turned his whole body towards her, their chests almost touching, their breath sending whispers of air between their faces. A soft push from the hand still resting on her back moved her closer. And their bodies touched, their lips meeting…
But only briefly. He pulled away, whispered, “Get in bed,” and then he moved away from her towards the door, taking the “Do Not Disturb” sign off the dresser as he went.
This was it. She looked at the bed, knowing she had not even a minute to position herself in some kind of seductive pose. She could do the laying-on-the-side model pose, but that would be a bit much. She quickly slipped out of her heels and sat on the edge of the bed, her back to the door. As she heard him coming back, she swept all her hair over one shoulder so that her back would not be covered by anything. He didn’t speak and she didn’t turn around, but she could feel his weight hit the bed, could hear the comforter crinkling as he came towards her. She felt his hand move up her back; the simple touch was enough to make her realize how much had been missing in her marriage for at least the past 10 years. With that thought slipping out of her mind, she turned to face Jonathan.
For the next hour or so, anyone walking down the hallway outside their room could hear occasional muffled sounds drifting through the thin walls and door. To the inexperienced ear, it could have just been the TV. To the veterans of small-town hotels, however, the “Do Not Disturb” sign made what was occurring quite obvious. The inconsistency of the sounds coming from the bedroom was also a dead give-away, but most passed by without caring. It was not uncommon, and therefore not important to their lives.
Lily Thomas, of course, thought otherwise. Two hours after they met, Jonathan had gone. They knew it would be best if they weren’t seen leaving together, and since he had arrived first, he had left first. She stood in the bathroom, straightening out her dress and trying to figure out what she could do with her hair now. It was a mess. In any other situation, she would have been extremely upset that she’d spent so long on making her hair look perfect, but nothing could make her unhappy now. She leaned down and pulled a couple squares of toilet paper off the roll and ran it under the warm water tap. Her make-up was smeared, too. She had no idea how that had even happened. She leaned forward, closer to the mirror, and wiped under both eyes to erase the black smudges that were left from her eyeliner.
She smiled at her reflection. Her cheeks were red and her lips were slightly swollen. It was the perfect sign of her affair: too subtle for anyone else to pick up on, yet a reminder to her that it really happened.
The toilet paper was tossed into the garbage can beside the counter, and she noticed the towels sitting on a shelf above the toilet. An idea started to form in her head. The neighbors knew she had left the house for the day. They might ask questions. She told Louise Miller she was going to be out buying a new swimsuit, but she always got distracted when shopping, and this would save her a trip to the store. She really just wanted to get home where she could go over every detail of the past two hours in her head. And there were four, fluffy, new-looking towels in a cream color that would fit into the master bedroom at home perfectly.
She picked the two on the top up and examined them. If she didn’t know that they had come from the hotel, she would have thought they were brand new. And since she was more detail-oriented than her husband, she knew he would never notice her lie. The only problem would be getting them out. When she walked out of the bathroom, she looked at her purse and cocked her head. One would fit inside, but two would make it too obvious.
But she did have her decoy jacket. With a laugh she stuffed one into the bag and placed the other on the dresser so she could slip into the coat. It would make her look a bit bloated, but she was willing to pay that price.
If she tied the sash around her waist, the towel stayed in place without her having to hold it. This was good news, because she didn’t want anyone stopping her from leaving. Getting caught stealing the towels would be bad enough, but they would find out that two people had checked into their room today and that would mean all kinds of trouble.
After giving the room one last look over, she nearly ran into the hallway and let the door click shut behind her. She kept her pace casual, and when she reached the elevator she pretended to study the ugly flower picture while she waited for it to arrive on her floor. When it did, she took it to the third floor, where she was able to take the crosswalk into the parking garage. It took a minute for her to get her bearings, but she finally remembered where she parked her car and made her way over to it. Ruffling through her purse for her keys was an ordeal that took a couple of minutes, but she finally found them, unlocked the door, and slipped into the driver seat of the car. A sigh of relief escaped her. She tossed her purse into the backseat and untied her sash to pull the towel off of her stomach. She threw that into the backseat as well, and pulled out of the parking spot. Before she could go far, however, she could hear her phone vibrating. She pressed the break and reached into her purse to drag out her iPhone, groaning when she saw who was calling, but she answered because she knew he would keep calling until she did.
“Hello?” She allowed all her exasperation to come out in that one word so her father would know how much of a bother her was being by calling right now.
“Lily. How are you doing?”
She wanted to tell her father to stop with the small talk, but she answered his question honestly. “I’m actually doing very well, thank you, but I’m busy and I’m in the middle of driving, I don’t think I should be-“
“Probably not.” Her father was notorious for interrupting her. “But I was worried about you, honey. You didn’t show up yesterday. Are you sick?”
Lily rolled her eyes. Being sick would be the only possible excuse, but she had already told him she was driving, which meant she was well enough to be out of the house today, so he would most likely not believe that. “No, there was a problem with P.J. and I couldn’t make it. I’m sorry, dad.”
“What happened, is he alright?”
His genuine concern made Lily want to cringe, but her joy at his acceptance of the lie far overshadowed that. Apparently, this was an excuse she had not used before. “Yeah, he’s fine. He hurt his ankle playing basketball, and I was worried it was broken but he wouldn’t let me take him to the hospital. It was a mess. But he’s a lot better today, the swelling has really gone down.”
“Good, good. Well, take him in if it keeps bothering him.”
“I will, dad.” Now she was beginning to sound like a teenager, just trying to dodge the questions and get off the phone with him as quickly as possible. She turned out of the parking garage and headed back home, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear as she did so.
He was silent for a moment, which was never a good sign. What was coming next would probably not be anything she wanted to hear. “You should have called if you weren’t going to make it.”
“I know, I know, but in the chaos I forgot about it.” She knew that was the wrong thing to say the minute she said it, but she couldn’t take the words back.
“You forgot. Lily, it was a mass for your mother. The woman who raised you.” She was trained in her father’s tones and she knew that even though his voice wasn’t raised, he was angry. “I know you get caught up in your own little world, but I would have at least thought that you would remember your parents. After all we’ve done for you.”
“That came out wrong, dad. I didn’t forget about you.”
“Why don’t you call me tomorrow? I’m not feeling well, I think I’m going to lie down for a little while.”
“Ok, sure. Bye!” And with that she hung up. She knew that, had she been a good daughter, she not only would have gone to mass the day before, but would stop by the house today to at least make up for it. It’s what her father wanted, but after 18 years of attempting to break away from that part of her life, she felt no obligation to go, and he should know that by this point, too.
She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and continued down the street, passing the Church again. The cross at the top of the steeple glinted brightly from the sun and she had to squint her eyes to see. As she pulled past the Church, however, her thoughts drifted back to Jonathan, and how nice it had felt to kiss him, how warm it had made her feel.
Those thoughts lasted her until she reached her block. Without turning on her turn signal, she turned onto the dead end street and drove past the Miller’s house. She smiled as she looked at it, feeling a sense of triumph to know that, despite what Louise and the other women on the block thought of her, the men found her history unimportant. In fact, she was better than them in that regard; at least better than Louise. Lily could hardly wait to see her again so she could gloat at her. As she turned into her driveway, she noticed a commotion at the Hamilton’s house behind her. She parked the car and twisted in her seat to see the whole family on the porch, admiring what looked to be a new car in the driveway.
It was gorgeous. It seemed to glitter in the sun and its paint was perfect. No scratches, no dents. And if she saw correctly, it was a Lexus Hybrid. Maybe not the most expensive car on the block, but definitely to most modern. This was a problem. Until today, they had been on top of the car chain with Margaret’s new car, but the Hamilton’s were in the lead now.
As Lily tied her jacket tightly around her waist once again and reached for her purse, she sent a silent but sincere prayer up to God to make sure she would be able to convince Peter it was about time her traded in his 1-year old car.
She was not, all-together, the most well-liked woman in the world, let alone on her block. In fact, there were quite a few people who didn’t like her. They saw her noise as obnoxious and her personality despicable. The fact that she grew up on the “other side of town” might have skewed their judgment, for they grew up learning to be notoriously nasty to outsiders. But only to her back. To her front they were as fake as their botoxed faces. Even after Lily had lived on the block for 18 years, the animosity was strong. With Peter always at work and with her two children gone all day at school, she had to deal with their unfriendliness on her own, wasting away many a long day in their huge house, alone.
But do not begin to feel bad for her. This is exactly what she wanted. She especially enjoyed the time away from her husband. After so many years of marriage, he was beginning to bore her, and the long, sunny Southern California days were never a bother to her. She was also never entirely alone. With a cook, gardener, and maid, there was always someone to talk to (though she never uttered a word that didn’t involve some sort of command). She saw herself above other people, an attitude she learned quite well from those women surrounding her.
But still she slept, allowing her block to continue the rare silence. The sun rose even higher in the sky. Her husband slipped out of bed, got dressed, and headed to work. In his calculated manner, his suite was already laid out on a chair so he could get dressed in the semidarkness without even making a sound. His briefcase was set next to the front door, turned at the perfect angle for him to grab the handle without even stopping. Her children were a bit noisier. Their alarms rang within minutes of each other and inconsistent ruffling noises or bangs from dropped books came from their rooms until they emerged. Eighteen year old Peter Jr. (known by everyone as P.J.) walked down the stairs, his cocky smile already set in place, even at 7:30 in the morning. Margaret (never Maggie), followed. Her gait was graceful, her head held high, and she brushed past her brother out the door. They each slid into the driver seat of their cars for the short 10 minute ride to school. Ever since Margaret got her license a couple of months before, they had driven separately. But even the roar of her new red convertible did not wake Lily up. It did, however, cause her neighbors to glance out the window in jealousy. Margaret’s was the newest car on the block; until someone else bought a new one, it would be the envy of everyone. Much like anyone else did when it was their turn with a new car, The Thomas’ relished it.
It was an hour later that Lily woke up to the ringing of the alarm. In the emptiness of the room, she allowed herself a moment of gracelessness as she slid her arm toward the disrupting sound to turn it off. The usual routine on a sunny day like today included her lying in bed for another 20 minutes, eating a light breakfast and then indulging in any matter of lazy activities that one would think would get boring after enough days of doing them. Apparently, Lily only became bored with people, because her routine had hardly changed in the years she had lived on the block. She was predictable in everything, down to the one day every few weeks she would make her way back through the ritz to the mediocre to visit her father at her childhood home.
But today was different. The electricity of that could be felt in the room and Lily wasted no time in bed. In a manner mirroring her husband’s, she had planned out her outfit in advance, hanging it at the far end of the closet, shoes ready beneath it. But before the dress came the other important items in her preparation. First was the hair. Years of practice taught her how to curl the long, brunette strands gently, giving her a sexy wind-blown look. Then came the make-up. This was the tricky part. Evening make-up was much different than early afternoon make-up. If she wore too much it would be obvious, but the affect had to be the same. A shopping spree the day before had fixed the problem for her. She had made the women behind the counter put everything on her, from base to the finishing touches of her lipstick. She now caked the new purchases on her face so that, by the time she was done 20 minutes later, her carefully constructed look was complete. It hardly looked like she was wearing anything. It was perfect.
Getting dressed, of course, followed next. Her sexiest pair of underwear lay at the very front of her drawer. And in the closet, the dress called her name. Robe off, underwear on, and then the cress slithered over her head. A couple adjustments were necessary- she had to pull the sleeve up on one side and the bottom down- but then she was able to clip the clasp at the top. It was time for the full-length mirror check. The red Gucci dress fit snugly on her slim hips and made her chest look much more impressive than it actually was. She turned to the side, admiring her own butt and the swoop on the back of the dress; the fabric covered no skin from the bottom of her neck to the bottom of her spine and she knew it would drive him crazy. Perfectly sexy, completely irresistible, just as she had hoped.
“Thank you, Gucci gods! I would be screwed without you. Or should I say, not screwed?” Her hideous laugh burst out of her, somewhere between a witch’s cackle and a hyena’s barking, and she slipped on her shoes and headed for the door.
It was all part of the plan. She left her house wearing her decoy jacket and would drive into town on the street that would normally take her to all the storefronts. No one would be suspicious. It was the same old routine to everyone peeking out their windows or lounging in their backyards. To Lily, it was a new adventure, a new way to create potential tension. It was the ideal plan.
As she went to turn off of their street, however, she saw Mrs. Miller’s car coming from the very direction she wanted to go. It slowed, turned, and stopped next to Lily’s car. Mrs. Miller rolled down her window, the busiest body on the whole block. God forbid she lose one chance to figure out some juicy gossip. She was not fooled by routine. She knew everyone else hid their secrets behind it.
“God damn it,” Lily muttered under her breath, then rolled her window down as well. “Morning, Louise. How are you?”
But Mrs. Miller was not one for small talk. “Where are you headed at this time in the morning? Isn’t this normally your tanning time?”
“Not today. I woke up and decided I needed a new swimsuit.” Since Mrs. Miller had made a previous comment on how hideous Lily’s bathing suit was, this was the perfect lie. “Have a good day, Louise!” And with that, Lily rolled her window back up and turned right. This would lead her out of their housing development and straight into town, to her destination, the Marriott Hotel.
But first she had to drive past the only Catholic Church in town, St. George’s Cathedral. The cross at the top of the spire glowed dully from the sun, and a sense of dread fell over her. It had nothing to do with her plans to cheat on her husband, but the reflecting light had reminded her of a promise she had made to her father. He had called incessantly, until she could no longer ignore the phone ringing or all the voicemails asking her to please call him back. When she finally had, he had mentioned that the coming Sunday was going to be a mass to honor her mother’s death five years previously. He wanted her to be with him so he didn’t have to sit there alone. Despite Lily’s embarrassment of her upbringing, she had cared for her mother and still cared for her father, so she reluctantly agreed to go because the Church had stopped being her “scene.” She was almost embarrassed to set foot inside and show that she kept any traditions from her childhood, so she had stayed away from mass on any days but Christmas and Easter. Her belief in God was also limited so she didn’t care. In her eagerness to prepare for today, she had forgotten to go to mass the day before.
It was a surprise that her father had never called to remind her. When he wanted something, he was relentless, and commemorating the death of his wife was definitely an event close to his heart. There was very little he asked of Lily anymore, and for her to miss this should have been inconceivable to him, no matter if he had to grovel to get her there.
The body of the Church soon came into view and for a second Lily imagined her father waiting on the steps out front, searching for her car or at least her face in the small crowd of people who attended weekly mass. When neither had appeared, did he just go inside alone? How long did he wait? An uncharacteristic guilt struggled inside Lily, tugging at her in an attempt to get her attention.
Perhaps it would have had she not seen something streak in front of her car, hear a small crack and felt her car bump over something in the road. The thought that she had hit a child crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. It had not been that great of a bump. A simple glance in the rearview mirror showed the lifeless body of a cat. Its tabby carcass was spread across the road, front legs stretching in front of it, forever stuck in its unsuccessful escape from the unyielding car tires. Lily sped forward. She was allergic to cats anyway, so good riddance. In her haste she missed the flash from the cat’s throat as the sun shone upon the tarnished nametag hanging from the cat’s collar.
Not long after, the hotel came into view. She was back to the plan and pulsing with excitement. She parked on the top floor of the parking garage to make sure it was unlikely anyone would notice her car, then walked to the elevator and pressed the button. On the third floor, there was a crosswalk connecting the garage to the hotel. On the first floor of the hotel was the main desk, where she would check-in to the reservation they had made for Mr. and Mrs. Jethro. On the sixth floor was their room, and waiting for her on the bed would be Mr. Jonathan Miller, poor Louise’s husband and the beginning of Lily’s much anticipated affair.
When she walked away from the main desk, she ignored the knowing look the man behind the counter had given her. This was probably not the first secret meeting he had ever seen. In a strange way, this gave her more confidence. Not the first=too many to remember=less chance of being caught. She strutted toward the elevators and stood waiting for one with a smug smile on her face.
When she went to press the button for the 6th floor inside the elevator she noticed her ahnd shaking. Of course, Lily wrote this off as a sign of excitement (she was never one to admit a weakness), but the truth was obvious. It was her first affair, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. This had officially started only a few months before when her husband had been out of town and Jonathan had come over to check on her. It was an unnecessary move, since Lily’s children were both due to be home in just a few hours and it hadn’t even been dark yet, but she had invited him inside for a glass of wine. One turned into three, each time she got up to refill giving her an excuse to sit even closer. Soon, they were kissing, and it only ended because of the sound of Peter Jr.’s car pulling into the driveway. “Ended” isn’t a good word, however- it was, in reality, only postponed. After that night it moved to “accidental” hand brushes at block parties, and seemingly casual conversations over the hedge where the heat from his stare made her feel almost indecent for being in public. Then it had turned to sexting: started out simple and quickly turned dirty. She hadn’t been able to help herself, indulging in it while her husband was asleep beside her at night. But nothing beats physicality, and they soon decided they had to stop sharing words over cold technology. They wanted flesh, and they wanted hot.
And so they were meeting at the hotel.
The elevator dinged softly and the doors slid open, revealing a red carpeted hallway. Directly in front of her was a painting framed in gold, the multi-colored flowers making it a gaudy decoration. A sign hanging next to it pointed her to the left, towards room 622. When she reached the door she paused a moment to look at the key in her hand. She could still turn around, but the thought of what she would be missing if she did made her confidently swipe the card and push the door open. “Hello?”
“Hello.”
His voice wafted towards her from the bathroom and she hurried through the door, hearing the click of the lock behind her. “Jonathan?”
“Lily.” His voice had turned deeper between those two words, became seductive, and he came out of the bathroom, a smile on his face. “For a couple minutes there, I thought I was being stood up.” The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled in the sexy, Geroge-Clooney-attractive way. No woman could resist that, least of all Lily Thomas.
In all her excitement, it took a minute for her to realize she had yet to respond. A wrinkle appeared on her forehead (though she would deny the possibility of a wrinkle forming on her face at all) and her hands gave a nervous jump involuntarily. The key fell onto the lush carpet. Feeling his eyes on her, she laughed airily and bent down to pick it up, useless words running jumbled through her head. But when she straightened and looked up at him, she saw that his smile was still firm in place. He grabbed her hand and tugged her farther into the room, until the bed came into view. On the table beside it sat a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice, two delicate-looking wine glasses already poured beside it.
“I thought you would appreciate the wine. It’s imported, the same kind you keep at your house.” He moved away from her then, skirting around the edge of the bed to come into reach of the bottle. He picked it up and brushed a hand across the label, as if expecting dust to have settled there and blocked his view. “Red Bicyclette Merlot from France.” He placed the bottle back into the ice and instead picked up the glasses.
When he turned and held one out to her, she dropped the key onto the dresser beside her, placed her purse on top of it, and walked towards him. Halfway there she remembered she was still wearing her decoy jacket, and she paused for only a second. Ignoring the slight shake to her hand that had yet to go away, she unbuttoned the top button and slowly made her way down, careful not to open the jacket until the last was undone. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, taking in the way one side of his mouth lifted in amusement, the way he instinctively shifted in her direction. A smile spread across her face as she opened the jacket and allowed it to slide slowly down her arms. Her intention was to let it hit the ground and worry about it later, but as a breath of air tickled her newly uncovered back, she thought better of it and drew her arms the rest of the way out, keeping a firm grip of the coat in one hand. Without a word she turned her back to him and walked, hips swaying in a much exaggerated manner, back towards her bag to place her coat gently on top of it.
“You look stunning.”
Lily laughed. The hoarse sound of his voice and the intense look on his face was not lost on her. She again started towards him and felt a surge of confidence. She was in control here. The dress had put her back on top. When she reached his side she took the glass from his hand, brushing her fingers over his. She kept her eyes on the glass, noticing the way the light reflected off the sides and made the red merlot look as though it was on fire. A delicate twist of her wrist set the wine flowing in her glass and she took a small sip. The wine’s taste was as familiar to her as the freckles sprinkled on her arms. She had been drinking this wine for years. It had been the wine she shared with Jonathan when their affair had begun, She had served it at her children’s graduation parties, her birthday parties, and it was the wine that she and Peter, her husband, had at their wedding. In fact, they drank a glass together every year to celebrate each new anniversary.
It was amazing to her how Jonathan had remembered this was her wine of choice.
A second later, she felt him place his hand on the small of her back. Normally, when her husband did this to her, she got angry by the possessive quality of it. At parties when being introduced to male coworkers he would affix his hand there. Even at restaurants he would do it to warn other men to stay away. But when Jonathan did it, her body responded immediately to the touch. The fact that his hand was resting on her bare skin made the touch even more exhilarating. He was back in control, but as she looked up into his face, she gave up the control without a fight.
When he gently tugged her glass out of her hand, she realized he had already placed his back on the bedside table. Hers joined it, and he turned his whole body towards her, their chests almost touching, their breath sending whispers of air between their faces. A soft push from the hand still resting on her back moved her closer. And their bodies touched, their lips meeting…
But only briefly. He pulled away, whispered, “Get in bed,” and then he moved away from her towards the door, taking the “Do Not Disturb” sign off the dresser as he went.
This was it. She looked at the bed, knowing she had not even a minute to position herself in some kind of seductive pose. She could do the laying-on-the-side model pose, but that would be a bit much. She quickly slipped out of her heels and sat on the edge of the bed, her back to the door. As she heard him coming back, she swept all her hair over one shoulder so that her back would not be covered by anything. He didn’t speak and she didn’t turn around, but she could feel his weight hit the bed, could hear the comforter crinkling as he came towards her. She felt his hand move up her back; the simple touch was enough to make her realize how much had been missing in her marriage for at least the past 10 years. With that thought slipping out of her mind, she turned to face Jonathan.
For the next hour or so, anyone walking down the hallway outside their room could hear occasional muffled sounds drifting through the thin walls and door. To the inexperienced ear, it could have just been the TV. To the veterans of small-town hotels, however, the “Do Not Disturb” sign made what was occurring quite obvious. The inconsistency of the sounds coming from the bedroom was also a dead give-away, but most passed by without caring. It was not uncommon, and therefore not important to their lives.
Lily Thomas, of course, thought otherwise. Two hours after they met, Jonathan had gone. They knew it would be best if they weren’t seen leaving together, and since he had arrived first, he had left first. She stood in the bathroom, straightening out her dress and trying to figure out what she could do with her hair now. It was a mess. In any other situation, she would have been extremely upset that she’d spent so long on making her hair look perfect, but nothing could make her unhappy now. She leaned down and pulled a couple squares of toilet paper off the roll and ran it under the warm water tap. Her make-up was smeared, too. She had no idea how that had even happened. She leaned forward, closer to the mirror, and wiped under both eyes to erase the black smudges that were left from her eyeliner.
She smiled at her reflection. Her cheeks were red and her lips were slightly swollen. It was the perfect sign of her affair: too subtle for anyone else to pick up on, yet a reminder to her that it really happened.
The toilet paper was tossed into the garbage can beside the counter, and she noticed the towels sitting on a shelf above the toilet. An idea started to form in her head. The neighbors knew she had left the house for the day. They might ask questions. She told Louise Miller she was going to be out buying a new swimsuit, but she always got distracted when shopping, and this would save her a trip to the store. She really just wanted to get home where she could go over every detail of the past two hours in her head. And there were four, fluffy, new-looking towels in a cream color that would fit into the master bedroom at home perfectly.
She picked the two on the top up and examined them. If she didn’t know that they had come from the hotel, she would have thought they were brand new. And since she was more detail-oriented than her husband, she knew he would never notice her lie. The only problem would be getting them out. When she walked out of the bathroom, she looked at her purse and cocked her head. One would fit inside, but two would make it too obvious.
But she did have her decoy jacket. With a laugh she stuffed one into the bag and placed the other on the dresser so she could slip into the coat. It would make her look a bit bloated, but she was willing to pay that price.
If she tied the sash around her waist, the towel stayed in place without her having to hold it. This was good news, because she didn’t want anyone stopping her from leaving. Getting caught stealing the towels would be bad enough, but they would find out that two people had checked into their room today and that would mean all kinds of trouble.
After giving the room one last look over, she nearly ran into the hallway and let the door click shut behind her. She kept her pace casual, and when she reached the elevator she pretended to study the ugly flower picture while she waited for it to arrive on her floor. When it did, she took it to the third floor, where she was able to take the crosswalk into the parking garage. It took a minute for her to get her bearings, but she finally remembered where she parked her car and made her way over to it. Ruffling through her purse for her keys was an ordeal that took a couple of minutes, but she finally found them, unlocked the door, and slipped into the driver seat of the car. A sigh of relief escaped her. She tossed her purse into the backseat and untied her sash to pull the towel off of her stomach. She threw that into the backseat as well, and pulled out of the parking spot. Before she could go far, however, she could hear her phone vibrating. She pressed the break and reached into her purse to drag out her iPhone, groaning when she saw who was calling, but she answered because she knew he would keep calling until she did.
“Hello?” She allowed all her exasperation to come out in that one word so her father would know how much of a bother her was being by calling right now.
“Lily. How are you doing?”
She wanted to tell her father to stop with the small talk, but she answered his question honestly. “I’m actually doing very well, thank you, but I’m busy and I’m in the middle of driving, I don’t think I should be-“
“Probably not.” Her father was notorious for interrupting her. “But I was worried about you, honey. You didn’t show up yesterday. Are you sick?”
Lily rolled her eyes. Being sick would be the only possible excuse, but she had already told him she was driving, which meant she was well enough to be out of the house today, so he would most likely not believe that. “No, there was a problem with P.J. and I couldn’t make it. I’m sorry, dad.”
“What happened, is he alright?”
His genuine concern made Lily want to cringe, but her joy at his acceptance of the lie far overshadowed that. Apparently, this was an excuse she had not used before. “Yeah, he’s fine. He hurt his ankle playing basketball, and I was worried it was broken but he wouldn’t let me take him to the hospital. It was a mess. But he’s a lot better today, the swelling has really gone down.”
“Good, good. Well, take him in if it keeps bothering him.”
“I will, dad.” Now she was beginning to sound like a teenager, just trying to dodge the questions and get off the phone with him as quickly as possible. She turned out of the parking garage and headed back home, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear as she did so.
He was silent for a moment, which was never a good sign. What was coming next would probably not be anything she wanted to hear. “You should have called if you weren’t going to make it.”
“I know, I know, but in the chaos I forgot about it.” She knew that was the wrong thing to say the minute she said it, but she couldn’t take the words back.
“You forgot. Lily, it was a mass for your mother. The woman who raised you.” She was trained in her father’s tones and she knew that even though his voice wasn’t raised, he was angry. “I know you get caught up in your own little world, but I would have at least thought that you would remember your parents. After all we’ve done for you.”
“That came out wrong, dad. I didn’t forget about you.”
“Why don’t you call me tomorrow? I’m not feeling well, I think I’m going to lie down for a little while.”
“Ok, sure. Bye!” And with that she hung up. She knew that, had she been a good daughter, she not only would have gone to mass the day before, but would stop by the house today to at least make up for it. It’s what her father wanted, but after 18 years of attempting to break away from that part of her life, she felt no obligation to go, and he should know that by this point, too.
She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and continued down the street, passing the Church again. The cross at the top of the steeple glinted brightly from the sun and she had to squint her eyes to see. As she pulled past the Church, however, her thoughts drifted back to Jonathan, and how nice it had felt to kiss him, how warm it had made her feel.
Those thoughts lasted her until she reached her block. Without turning on her turn signal, she turned onto the dead end street and drove past the Miller’s house. She smiled as she looked at it, feeling a sense of triumph to know that, despite what Louise and the other women on the block thought of her, the men found her history unimportant. In fact, she was better than them in that regard; at least better than Louise. Lily could hardly wait to see her again so she could gloat at her. As she turned into her driveway, she noticed a commotion at the Hamilton’s house behind her. She parked the car and twisted in her seat to see the whole family on the porch, admiring what looked to be a new car in the driveway.
It was gorgeous. It seemed to glitter in the sun and its paint was perfect. No scratches, no dents. And if she saw correctly, it was a Lexus Hybrid. Maybe not the most expensive car on the block, but definitely to most modern. This was a problem. Until today, they had been on top of the car chain with Margaret’s new car, but the Hamilton’s were in the lead now.
As Lily tied her jacket tightly around her waist once again and reached for her purse, she sent a silent but sincere prayer up to God to make sure she would be able to convince Peter it was about time her traded in his 1-year old car.
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