Down the Rabbit Hole Ch. 01d

A black dress with an envelope neckline and a slit on the thigh enhances the shapes that I have long stopped paying attention to. I look in the mirror in the shop and I conclude that this is too radical change for a person who has spent the last few months in stretched cotton. Still, I take it to the checkout along with a cherry turtleneck sweatshirt and leather skirt to wear to my first meeting with Max.

The thought of using Richard's card slips my mind, a minor display of retribution that lately seems to be my favorite form of joy when my husband is concerned. The fire I would ignite if I had used his card for my unconventional beauty endeavors. I pay using my account, although the expenditure significantly reduces my savings. It's hard to wear clothes before the wedding, those bought with a generous hand by Richard, I haven't entered for a long time, and I would like to finally feel as before, alluring, provocative.

I want to catch someone's eye, maybe do a little seduction if I feel particularly adventurous. Another round sum goes to the toiletry bag. When a young girl starts massaging my face and cleavage, patting some fragrant preparations into my skin, tears are streaming from my eyes.

"Is something wrong?" She asks surprised.

"No, nothing... just... sorry, I just remembered something sad," I explain.

After all, I will not tell her that I am roaring because I do not remember when someone touched me with such tenderness. I don't remember at all when I was just lying there, I didn't have to do anything, and someone was taking care of me.

Relax it happens, the other says with a smile as if reading my mind.

Reassured by a pleasant visit to a beauty salon, I leave my money at the hairdresser's with a much lighter hand. I decide to go to the salon recommended by Annie, although it is expensive.

"Can you do something about this mess?" I ask, gesturing at the fluff of my hair. I sit in the chair in front of the long mirror. As usual, there is one big tangle on the head. "I have been dreaming about long-lasting hair straightening for years"

"We'll wash them first, then see what the potential is, okay?"

I nod my head meekly. It couldn't be worse, even if he shaved me bold with a razor. Fortunately, such extremes turn out to be unnecessary. When I return to the chair with my head wet, I find out that I use the wrong shampoos and conditioners that are damaging my hair.

"Nobody told you before that your hair wants to curl?" A hairdresser much younger than me asks me tenderly. Which, I must admit, feels very nice.

"They definitely want to make my life difficult."

"You just don't know how to handle them, and it's not that hard."

After a longer persuasions, driven by the entire salon staff, I finally let myself be coaxed to "extract the twist", as he calls it, instead of treating the hair with a straightener. Scissors, then some spraying and finally the barber tells me to lower my head to take out the diffuser. When I get up and look in the mirror, I can't believe my eyes. I have curls like Kim Basinger when she started her career. Applause can be heard in the salon, not only the staff, but even the customers are clapping. I'm in shock.

At home, Jacob chokes at the sight of me with chocolate milk. Michael plays in his room, but after a while, apparently alerted by his brother, he runs to the kitchen. The boys look at me as if Captain America has just flown into their house.

"Wow. You changed a lot!" says Jacob appreciatively.

Fortunately, the cashmere coat that was once too spacious for me fits me me perfectly now. My legs still look good in high heels. Lastly, I put on long gold earrings. I leave my phone number to the nanny and ask once again not to let them stay up late and make sure that they brush their teeth before going to bed.

***

I thought I would impress Max, but ironically he is the one who dazzles me. I have to take a deep breath to shield the glow that emanates from him. I have 4-inch high heels on my feet and yet he still towers over me. His eyes are dark green today as he is staring at me greedily.

"If it wasn't for your cute gap between your teeth I would have a problem recognizing you.

"You were curiously beautiful before, but now... you're knocking it down, girl," he says cheerfully.

"Your hair... what have you done with it?"

I let the admiration hang in the air, feeling amused by it.

At the concert, I feel like we're really on a date. He brings the wine, holds me gently by the waist as someone in the crowd inadvertently pushes against me. Then he leads me to a VIP room separate from the concert hall and private enough that you won't be bothered with prying ears. We are left alone with a cabernet sauvignon cooling in a steel bucket.

"Will you tell me about those bad days you wrote about? he asks.

"My husband is cheating on me," I fire before I even think about it. Part of me wants to finally see if this man ever becomes serious.

"Okay." Max is surprised.

"I thought it was about a more conventional problem, kids bullying at school, discord with a friend. I wasn't expecting a heavy caliber like this one."

"They're not even my kids."

"You are getting more interesting by the minute."

"It's not that I'm an ungrateful stepmother. I really believed that I would love them and create a family."

"But the bastards do their best to make my life miserable. They probably have not come to terms with the divorce of their parents, who are just throwing themselves around with them, and they are playing against me."

"Easier to blame me than mom and dad. And Richard... well, he cheated on his ex-wife, now he is cheating on me."

"Why don't you leave him?" he asks, as if breaking up with my husband was the easiest solution in the world.

In fact, it was a question that I didn't want to honestly answer for several days now. The reason was more painful than I realized, and I convinced myself that if I ignored it long enough, it would fade away. Truth be told it wasn't just that I was afraid to be left alone, without a husband to hold my back. Or the fact that the feeling for Richard was still smoldering.

"I sacrificed a lot for this relationship," I say, looking Max in the eye.

"A lot."

"I guess it's common among women. Probably too often."

"You try too hard, although nobody appreciates it, you give up on yourself" he says, slightly disgusted.

"I resigned my job, I became a housekeeper, mother, cleaner, cook and secretary all rolled into one. I don't have time to go to the doctor with my problems, but not only that. I sacrificed someone... a different love for this relationship."

I surprise him with this confession, I know. I myself am surprised that I treat this stranger as my best friend or therapist to whom I tell about my greatest secrets.

"I'm sorry," says Max.

"I met someone two weeks before I married Richard. I know it's crazy. We got stuck together in a quarantine, inside a guesthouse in Italy."

"It was so sudden and unexpected wild and pointless. All lovers say that they are drawn to each other by something, some force they could not fully comprehend."

"So we weren't very original, I know that. Chemistry, lust, cliche."

"Maybe you underestimate it unnecessarily."

"No. It really was a bit surreal."

"So you decided to marry Richard?"

"Yes. It was... sensible."

Max's eyes narrow. Maybe he doesn't believe me, maybe he mocks me for being so naive.

"You loved him anyway."

"Yes."

"And now you're afraid you've made a mistake."

"You left your lover for your husband who turned out to be a liar. And you want to do whatever it takes to prevent this marriage from becoming the worst investment in your life."

"Something like that," I say with difficulty, feeling my voice sink into my throat and tears welling up in my eyes.

"Are you going to fight for a husband who is looking for happiness with another woman?"

"How about we talk about you now?" I say with sudden irritation.

"The boy you walked to school is your son? Any Mrs. Dunnings?"

"No," he replies quickly.

"Mrs. Dunnings is gone, and she never was, and the boy you saw me with at school is my nephew."

"My brother works abroad, so sometimes I play as a surrogate dad" he explains with a disarming smile of the bully.

"And that's all? Your entire personal life is closed in two sentences?"

"Come. Max takes my hand instead of answering."

After the performance is over, the party continues in the concert hall. Heavy bass booms from the loudspeakers, in the dark it is difficult to see the outlines of human silhouettes, the dancing crowd looks like a compact mass. We blend in with it. Max's scent hits my head as we dance.

His hands, drawing me to him, strong and resolute. There are no more jokes and ironic looks. This is all very urgent. When the music slows down, he leans over me so that I can press my face against his stubby cheek. First I feel the pleasantly scratching stubble, then the lovely softness of his full lips. It was toxicating, forbidden and yet so enticing.

The rational thing to do would be to press my palms against his broad chest and push him away and yet when our tongues connect, I felt an incredible surge of excitement. A force I can't control. So inviting, so unimaginably pleasant, and sweet. I only tear my lips away from him when I'm breathless.

"I want to get out of here," I say.

"My place?" Max grabs my hand and tries to pull me back to him, but I pull away.

"I live nearby."

"No. I don't know..."

I go with him to the car, but as we get in, Max changes his tone.

"If you're not sure, I'll just drive you home."

He's not offended. At this point I doubt he gets angry at anything? I don't know him well, but he doesn't seem to be taking life too seriously. He acts as if events and unpleasantness are bouncing off him like the ping-pong balls tossed in the air.

When we enter my street, I ask Max to stop a dozen yards from the house. I kiss him goodbye on the cheek, we don't say anything else.

***

I guess it's silly to admit that one kiss would change the life of a 36-year-old, but all week I only think about it. I extend my morning shower with a mandatory self-love session where I fantasize about Max diving between my thighs. I'm so horny that I have to do it twice or sometimes three times to satiate my sexual drive.

On Monday, instead of picking up my shirts from the laundry, I go shopping. I chose jeans, tweed pants, a long button-up dress and a silk shirt with a tied neck. I'm going to get the boys from school.

"Claire? What happened?" Amber gets out when she sees me from the car.

"You landed a new job?"

"More like a hobby," I say cheerfully.

"Oh." She looks at me suspiciously.

"But you will still bake these cakes? Two sheets of cheesecake and two..."

"I'll bake up to five sheets. Don't worry about lanterns, too, sire!" I salute.

She looks at me terrified. So does Richard when he sees me in the evening in something other than a tracksuit. He returned excitedly from the symposium, explaining this, of course, by meeting Professor Ferrara. I have to see if this old man even exists.

"Did you make permanent?" Richard asks as we go to bed.

"No. It turns out my hair has wanted to curl all my life."

I smile at the wording used by the hairdresser.

"I liked it straight. Are these clothes new?"

"Old, still from college" I lie.

"I didn't tell you I was a little more... plump back then." Now they fit as a glove.

He nods uncertainly, then turns and falls asleep incredibly fast as usual.

A few days ago, did I not think about saving this marriage? Now all I can think of is seeing Max in a suit. I don't know if this vision won't leave me until I see what it looks like without it.

My secret friend writes every day, but without being insistent. Max asks about my well-being, about what I am doing. I am equally restrained in my answer. I keep it that way until Thursday, when Richard announces that he will be gone Saturday night again. This time, however, Barbara will kindly take her children for the whole weekend. I do not analyze this situation for a long time.

In the evening, I send a short e-mail to Max:

- I changed my mind. - I think this has confused him a bit at first, because he is asking about what issue.

- I want to meet. At your place. If it's still valid. - I clarified.

The further exchange of messages are more concrete.

- When can I see you? -

- On Saturday. 8 p.m is ok with you? -

- Yes. -

I jot the address.

- And one more thing... -

I hesitate, trying not to be too direct, but there won't be a better time.

- I would like to know if you are healthy. You know, disease free. -

Max is not surprised at all by the question, in fact, he was evidently prepared for it, because he immediately replied:

- My current test results are attached. -

It seems that all the subtleness is gone. I'm as transparent as the milk glass. Sex is written blatantly on my forehead. I don't know how I feel about it.