Red Orchids Ch. 02

"So I earned my grade?"

Henry couldn't believe this. He absolutely could not believe what he was hearing.

"Oh yeah. All the way."

There was a pause and more movement. Henry suspected they were cleaning up and getting dressed. As if to prove this, Mark said, "You know, you don't have to put your shirt back on..."

The woman laughed. "If I don't, you'll never go home. And if your wife found out, that'd be bad for everyone."

"My wife isn't the quickest draw in the west, Marlene..."

'Oh you prick,' Henry thought angrily at Mark. He was cheating on Ellen and he was accepting sex from students in return for good grades. Henry had been shocked before, but now he was just angry. Ellen didn't deserve this. He thought of her, making dinner for Mark and worrying about him, probably scared to death by now. As angry as he was, as sad as he was for Ellen, Henry had to admit that about that one point, Mark was right. Ellen didn't suspect a thing. But then, why should she?

"So it's a secret then, yes?" Marlene asked again, her voice muted through the thick wood of the door.

"Absolutely," Mark reassured her, "It never leaves this room."

There was a long silence.

"Unless," Marlene suggested, "Unless you'd like to meet up again?"

"Really?" Mark said eagerly.

Henry wanted to puke. His respect for Mark had fallen so far he doubted he would ever find it again.

"Yeah," she said slyly, "How about this? Whenever I'd like to meet up, I'll leave one of these on your desk in the classroom."

"Nice," Mark laughed.

Henry wondered what she had given him for a calling card.

"We'll meet up here."

"No phone calls."

"No phone calls," Marlene agreed.

Henry felt like he was ready to jump off at the signpost ahead and get off at the next stop in the fucking Twilight Zone. He scratched his chin for a moment and then turned and quietly walked back down the hall. He thought about waiting for them to come out, or even going back and exposing them. For a moment, he entertained the thought of playing hero and shedding the light of truth on them. He could have done something bold, something he had never done before. But he didn't. He couldn't. He could only think of what he was going to say to Ellen. It was all so surreal. Henry knew that Mark and Ellen were having trouble, but he never once suspected Mark being capable of cheating.

'Sure, expose him and the girl. Tell Ellen what had happened and then watch her fall apart,' he chastised himself, 'Blow it all wide open. But to what end, Henry? So you can pick up the pieces?'

Henry waited for the elevator doors to open. They slid open with a pleasant musical chime that was in a mockingly direct contradiction to his mood. He leaned against the elevator car wall, his arms crossed and brow furrowed. He was going to have to call Ellen and tell her something, he knew that much for sure. But say what? He wondered if he should even say anything at all, if he was even within his rights. Or would not saying anything only make it worse?

In the end, he decided to chicken out. He had volunteered for a routine check-up, not this, and he sure as hell wasn't ready to call up Ellen and give her news that would most likely cause her to go into cold sweats crying over. No, Henry cared for her too much to let that happen on his account. And besides, for all he knew, it might just be some big misunderstanding. Granted, he couldn't really see how that was possible based on the friendly conversation he had just heard about the size of Mark's cock. Either way, Henry wasn't up to the challenge and he damn well knew it.

Not tonight.

Henry paused for a moment, struck by sudden inspiration and then walked back to his office three doors down from Mark before the doors could close. He grabbed a slip of his green notepaper with the header "From the Desk of Henry Tyler" in bold, block print and snatched a pen out of his top drawer. He quickly thought of what to write and then jotted down the following:

"Mark, Ellen was looking for you. Give her a call, ASAP. –Henry, 10:00 pm"

He pulled a long piece of scotch tape out from the dispenser and tore it off. He folded the note and crept back down the hall to Mark's door. He could hear laughter from inside the office, flirtatious afterglow high jinks that Mark had no right enjoying with another woman, let alone a student. He placed the note against the door and taped it there.

"I'm too old for this shit," he muttered and quickly walked back to the elevator.

***

"Unless," Marlene suggested as she buttoned her jeans, "Unless you'd like to meet up again?"

"Really?" Mark said eagerly.

Mark pulled his shirt back on and looked around for his underwear in the pile of papers on the floor.

"Yeah," she said slyly and picked her purse up on the floor. She unzipped the black leather bag and reached inside, "How about this? Whenever I'd like to meet up, I'll leave one of these on your desk in the classroom."

Marlene pulled out a single, blood red orchid. The stem was cut short, but just long enough to give some balance to the delicate folds of the flower. Mark looked at it, amazed it hadn't been crushed in her bad. She held it out to him.

"Nice," Mark laughed and took the orchid.

"We'll meet up here unless we agree otherwise," Marlene slipped her sandals back on

"No phone calls." Mark said evenly and looked at the orchid again. It was so beautiful, so deeply and truly red that it seemed to have it's own luminance.

"No phone calls," Marlene agreed with a nod.

"Sounds like a plan," Mark smiled and kissed her again.

"You need any help cleaning up?" she asked, motioning to the mess on the floor.

"I got it covered," he said.

Mark walked her to the door, his hand firmly planted on her ass as they went. He kissed one more time and Marlene gave a long, sensual squeeze to his crotch. Mark sighed happily as his cock began to swell again. He opened the door and let her out. Mark watched her walk down the hall and to the elevator.

"My Lord," he whispered to himself and then noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Mark grabbed the note taped to his door and read it. His heart jumped and adrenaline pumped through his body as he realized Henry had been at the door while Marlene was here. How much had he heard?

"Fuck," Mark muttered and closed the door. He went to his desk, considering calling Henry to find out what he knew. Henry wasn't a very good liar, and all Mark would have to do is listen for the little stutter that popped out every time he tried. He picked up the phone, and then thought better of it. If Henry had told Ellen what was happening, if he actually knew anything at all, then Ellen would tell the tale.

"Fuck me,' he shook his head and placed the phone back in it's cradle.

Mark quickly cleaned his office and then hurried home. He realized it was the first time he had hurried home in a long time.

***

Ellen waited by the phone, a third shot glass full of whiskey resting comfortably in her hand. The first two had gone down as smooth as she thought she remembered whiskey going down. After her vision cleared and she regained her senses she also remembered that she didn't even drink. But that was a revelation better left for another night though as she sat on the plush vanilla couch in the living room, still dressed in her Fredrick's of Hollywood negligee and her silky black robe.

The television set was assaulting her with random images and what she was sure was subliminal advertising as she watched the commercial break between segments of the late night news. The sound was muted and the attractive people on the screen hawked their wears silently. She half smiled at the ridiculous glee these assholes showed over drinks like Dr. Pepper and the promised rugged adventure of buying sport utility vehicles. She drank Dr. Pepper all the time, and yet she never quite looked or felt like the girls in yellow bikinis dancing and laughing with beefy hunks on the beach as they drank their soda. And she had owned a SUV for over three years, and never once had she driven up a mountain and experienced a ride as smooth and perfect as offered.

Of course, there weren't many mountains near the city, and come to think of it now, she never really went swimming at the beach anymore. How can you know if you don't go into the mountains or hang out on the beach with Dr. Pepper? She laughed to herself and threw her head back, downing the alcohol with one powerful gulp. She waited for the burn to subside and pursed her lips together. She would pay for this trip into the bottle tomorrow.

She looked at the clock on the VCR and saw it was now a quarter to eleven. Henry had yet to call, and Mark had yet to even let her know he was alive since he stormed out earlier that morning. She hoped nothing bad had happened to either of them, but as she sat there and stewed over her husband and his erratic behavior, the more upset she became. She could allow for him working so hard and investing so much into his job. Sure, that was only a good work ethic, right? She could even understand how he might be offended at living off the money they had received from the family. Ellen didn't much like the idea either, but the fact remained that they did have a nice nest egg. They had a lot saved up a lot between his job, her time working as an accountant and the money she had gotten as a wedding gift from her father.

But Mark wanted to earn it all, to make sure no one questioned him for marrying into a rich family. It was a matter of honor, Ellen guessed.

"Sure," she whispered, brushing her hair out of her face. The elegant French hairdo she had created earlier was now almost completely ruined, keeping form only because she had pressed the back of her head against the couch cushions. She thought about what Sheila had said earlier at the diner. She hadn't wanted to believe it, let alone even consider the idea that Mark was cheating on her. It scared her so deeply and completely that her stomach churned and bubbled in a vomit inducing protest.

"I can't handle it," she shook her head.

As if on cue, the door opened and Mark walked in, looking tired and thoroughly worn out. His hair was messed up and his tie gone, the shirt opened and casual. He closed the door, turning his back to her as Ellen waited for him to speak. He took his time engaging the dead bolt, and then gave the door a good push to make sure everything was secure. She let her eyes bore into the back of his head like two high-powered lasers. Cheating or not, he had blown her off completely and hadn't made the phone call.

Just one fucking call, that's all she was asking for.

"Henry find you?" she asked in a low, colorless voice.

"He left a note around ten," Mark opened the entry way closet and kicked his shoes inside.

"Where were you?" Ellen asked flatly, her voice beginning to tremble. She wasn't sure what was shaking her more, the anger or the overwhelming need to cry. But she wouldn't cry. Not tonight. He wasn't going to get that from her twice in one day.

"On campus," Mark said as though speaking to a child, "I had the first days finals today, remember?"

"Why didn't you return my calls?"

"Babe, I got so busy," Mark sighed and thought of Alicia, Emma and the surprise visit by Marlene. He added, "Today was exhausting."

"And the numerous messages I left you to call me weren't important?" Ellen asked as a hot rush of blood singed her cheeks, "The fact that I just wanted one quick call doesn't mean shit?"

Mark looked at her, his heart pounding. He could see the anger radiating off her in waves, distorting the world around her like heat from a fire. Her eyes were blazing, and he would not have been surprised if they suddenly glowed the color of the nighty she was wearing. Despite the seriousness of the moment, he looked over briefly. If nothing else, when contained by red lace her tits still looked great.

'Fuck it,' he reminded himself, 'Break the lock...'

"I'm sorry about dinner," Mark said evenly and sat down in the recliner next to the couch, "But I told you I might be late."

"Yes you did," Ellen nodded, "And I respect that. But you need to respect me too, Mark. I waited and waited for you to call. I had someone go and check on you to see if you were okay. You scared me."

"I'm fine," Mark said and wondered again about Henry. He must have known something was going on, otherwise he would have come in and not left a note. Had Henry called Ellen and ratted him out? Mark thought not. If he had, then Ellen would be moving out right now and shoving divorce papers in his face.

"No you're not," Ellen shook her head, fighting back the tears, "You're not... we're not at all. What's happening to us?"

"I'm not doing this again!" Mark suddenly shouted. He dug into her heart going for the kill, sinking his claws in and trying to drag her closer to the inevitable. She was angry, almost livid with him, and where there were emotions running high, Mark knew that Ellen was vulnerable.

"Goddamit we are doing it again!" Ellen raged and jumped up from the couch, standing over him as she jutted her finger right down into his face, "We'll do it over and over again until we get our marriage back, Mark! I am done listening to bullshit excuses about why you treat me so fucking mean. I'm a good woman, and I'm a good mother and goddamit I deserve better than this."

"You deserve better?" Mark snorted, making sure he had remembered to put his ring back on. After he left Emma's earlier, he couldn't quite recall. He discreetly felt his ring finger with his pinky and found the gold band was there.

"Yes I do," she growled, "I deserve to be told when you'll be this late. I'm your wife, I have a right."

Mark slowly stood up and asserted him to his full six-foot-three height and looked down on his wife. Ellen only stood defiantly in front of him, her eyes level with chin but glaring up into his dark, impassive stare. She could smell his aftershave, thick and heavy as it wafted into her nose and burned a little. She wondered why he would be putting on aftershave this late at night. And there was something else, something flowery lingering under the broad, sweeping aroma of the cologne. She thought for a moment, trying to identify the smell and then realized. It was the scent of lavender.

'You finding any unusual perfumes or lipstick on him or his clothes?' Sheila had asked.

'No', Ellen had replied, 'Never...'

"Now you listen here," Mark's black eyes were cold and unfeeling as he spoke to her, no longer a husband or even an equal, but a self-appointed superior, "I don't give a rat-fuck what you do in the evenings or how upset you get over me missing a call to check in. This is my job, and you either get with the program or get out. I will not be treated like this because I do my fucking job. You are my wife, you're right. Not my parole officer, not my hall monitor and not my fucking mother."

Spittle sprayed her face on the word "mother," but Ellen made no move to wipe it off. There was a time when she would have dismissed it as an accident, but now, she knew better. Her husband was spitting on her. She looked to him calmly and asked, "When did you start wearing lavender, Mark?"

Mark remained unmoved, but inwardly he jumped. "Excuse me?"

"Lavender, Mark," she repeated and took a deep breath, "I can smell it under your aftershave."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mark sneered, not backing down. There could be no backing down. He was in control, he was in charge, and he was the man with a plan. He went on the offensive, "How can you smell anything over the whiskey?"

"I had a drink, that's all," Ellen said.

Mark looked at the bottle on the table, "More than a few I think."

"Lavender, Mark," she repeated.

"I am not cheating on you," he hissed and held up his ring finger, "This makes sure of that. I take my vows seriously."

"I never said that you didn't," Ellen said softly, her head beginning to spin from the alcohol soaked blood pumping furiously through her veins.

But they both knew it now. Mark had overplayed his hand, and Ellen had led him right into it. Why bring up infidelity unless it was already on his mind? Mark cursed himself inwardly and desperately sought out an exit from the argument. His ego raged as he realized for the time in ten years, Ellen had been just a little quicker at the draw than he was, and she was drunk to boot. Suddenly, a flood of doubts washed through his mind about his plan. He felt himself faltering, and knew it was time to regroup.

"I am not cheating on you," he repeated calmly, "I know that's what you're driving at."

"Me thinks the gentleman doth protest too much," she observed.

Mark took a deep breath, looked right in her eyes and said, "Go climb back into the bottle, Ellen."

"You must think I'm fool," Ellen said.

"You are a fool."

Ellen felt a fat, heavy tear birth itself from the duct of her right eye. It hung there for moment on her bottom lid, caught in her lashes. Finally, it released and rolled down her cheek.

In the back of his mind, Mark smiled.

"Get the fuck out of my face, you cunt," he whispered to her, suddenly feeling victorious at the sight of her face as he called her a cunt.

The only thing that surprised Mark more than Ellen's sudden craftiness in the art of arguing was the harsh sting of her open palm hitting his right cheek and snapping his head sideways. The sound of flesh quickly striking flesh echoed through the living room for what seemed like an eternity and rocked his skull. The whole world went silent around them as Mark felt the pain radiating from his face in a bloom. He slowly brought his head around, jaw twitching in pure rage and glared at her, smoldering.

Ellen thought for a moment he might hit her back. She didn't relish the idea of one of those powerful hands backed by those huge arms connecting with her face, but she held her ground. After a few seconds spent in retrospect, she regretted hitting him. Not because of fear or guilt, but because she had lost control of herself. It was an impulsive and irrational thing to do. It was so completely out of her character to result to violence, even in the smallest form. And yet, she had done it as though it were second nature to her.

The worst part was she knew that the whiskey was not to blame.

Mark put one hand to his swollen cheek and said softly, "You remember tonight."

***

As he showered, Mark realized now that things had changed considerably. Ellen wasn't the simple housewife he had made her out to be, and the angry red handprint on his face proved it. She had smelled the lavender from Emma's house on him even under all his cologne and now she knew that something was going on. She couldn't prove it, but she still had her suspicions. Otherwise why ask about it the way she did?

"You bitch," he muttered as he scrubbed his groin carefully, his cock and balls sore from the days activities.

If she could prove he was cheating, then his position would be compromised. When the time for a divorce came, there would be questions about his character and morals. And if she was ever even once able to prove he had cheated with Emma Sirtis, then she might be able to find out about everyone else he had cheated with. He would lose his daughter and he would lose the money in the inheritance. Jack would never allow his hard earned cash to go to a cheating ex-husband.

Mark felt a moment of true and genuine desperation as he considered the possibility of losing all that he worked so hard for. He couldn't imagine not having this house or the SUV or the multitude of other niceties he had purchased over the years. He feared the day his daughter grew up listening to and believing the lies her mother would tell her about him. Maddie would grow up jaded and biased against him, her unconditional love for her daddy suddenly warped and twisted. And then to have married Ellen and gone this far only to walk away with nothing because she fooled him into slipping up one night?