Caroline Comes Alive

It was Bill's fault for stirring up all these emotions inside her. Part of her kept wishing she could run back to the way it was just a year ago when she was still married, trusting and naïve.

"You're beautiful and sexy," Bill said. It was several weeks after they met. He stared at her in the dim light of the restaurant.

Steve never said anything like that to her in 31 years of marriage. A year ago, at the age of 53, the security and predictability of her relationship with the only man she had ever loved suddenly vanished. Caroline Rucker was the last person to learn the embarrassing truth about her husband's not so secret ten year affair with his secretary.

"You have to forget about all that and get on with your life," her friend Elaine told her.

Elaine introduced her to Bill Desmond, a retired investment broker. Bill seemed so ordinary, so unspectacular at first. He was 58, friendly and charming.

Six months later her excitement leaps whenever she sees his number come up on the caller ID at work. It still makes her hand shake when she answers the phone. She hopes no one notices.

"Tell me about yesterday," he says.

The sound of his voice and simple demand makes her body quake. The anticipation of describing her tryst with a younger man, a boy, really, fills her with a thrill of excitement, of dread, of feverish exhilaration.

She had taken the morning off the day before to meet the water heater repairman. He turned out to be in his late 20's and very attractive. She called Bill and told him.

"What do you like about him?" he asked.

And she told him. He had a long, lean build, straight black hair, blue eyes, and sinewy arms with veins in his forearms and biceps. The more she talked the more excited she got. It always went that way. Just talking to Bill made her heart beat faster.

"He's young enough to be my son," she said.

That didn't concern Bill. She knew that what he wanted was details. He liked hearing her describe everything to him and he made her go slowly. He wanted to know about every look, every step, every gesture, every hesitation, every touch, every moment, inch by inch, bit by bit. She never knew how exciting it could be to tell him until the first time she did it. After that, each step took on meaning and significance because he expected her to remember it exactly as it happened. Unclasping, unbuttoning, unzipping. The words formed in her brain as it happened. She savored each delicious moment, storing it up for the report she would be called on to make.

"I can't talk right now," she whispers, feeling her voice catch. Two executives stand near her desk within earshot. "What was his name?" Bill persists.

She can feel the color coming to her cheeks. The executives look at her and she suddenly feels embarrassed, guilty. Her throat tightens and she feels her head spinning. These mid-day digressions upset her equilibrium. She tells herself it is unprofessional and bound to get her fired.

She tries to imagine what her three adult children, Matthew, Deborah, and Katie, would think if they knew what was going on. They are still trying to accept her new relationship with Bill Desmond. They've come over twice for dinner in the past few months, and she sees the concern in their eyes. Something about her quick transition to a new life with little bitterness or regret bothers them. They are skeptical of her ability to put the divorce behind her so fast and move on.

"Maybe you should take things slow, Mom," they say.

Her second line is ringing. A new number appears in the caller ID window. A faint recollection registers.

"Hold on," she says, and puts Bill on hold.

She studies the incoming number and then a thrill goes up her spine - a jolt of recognition. The executives start to walk down the hallway away from her desk. She hesitates, then pushes the incoming line with a quick, nervous tap and identifies herself.

"Caroline? This is Alex. We met in the lounge at the Hilton on Monday?"

She remembers. Remembers exactly. She was dressed in a business suit and carried a briefcase, noticed a cluster of men across the room, sat down by herself on one of the sofas, and ordered a scotch and soda. She pretended to organize her papers, and then relax after a hard day. After she finished the first drink, the waitress brought over another.

"Courtesy of the gentleman across the way," she said pointing.

She acknowledged him with a smile. A moment passed, he got up and came over, introduced himself and sat with her for twenty minutes. When he was ready to leave, he handed her his card. She wrote her number on it. He was tall, handsome, Italian or Greek or something. Late 30's, early 40's. Then he excused himself and left. "Of course I remember," she says.

"I would love to see you," he says.

"Hold on," she says.

She pushes the hold button, then presses the line where Bill waits. "Hi," she says quickly. "I'm back."

"Busy?" he says.

"I have another call." She waits. "It's Alex. The one I met at the Hilton."

"You liked him," he says.

She holds her breath. "He wants to see me."

"Do you want to see him?"

She can feel the ache go through her body when Bill asks. She isn't sure why he does what he does, or why she lets him. She promised herself that she would never trust another man. Not after Steve and what he did. The knot of tension and anxiety and fear and desire tightens in her again. She thinks about it. Weighs the options. "Yes," she says in a small voice.

"Then tell him."

She presses the hold button, goes to the other line and makes the arrangements. When she is done, she returns to the line where Bill waits.

"Hi," she says.

"Now," he says after a pause," tell me about yesterday."