High Life: Alice Makes a Change Pt. 03

"I know what this is. You name a price, I hand you the money, then we're finished."

Jodie leaned forward, putting her chin in her hand, surveying me steadily.

"How much money do you have, Alice?"

"Enough. We have savings."

"The house?"

My eyes widened.

"Yes, maybe we could look at the entire asset package, come up with a figure. But there's something you're missing."

"And what would that be?"

"You've been to Delilah's house. After seeing how we live, do you really think we care about money?"

Her smile froze. Cold tendrils seemed to wrap themselves around my heart.

"No," she continued, "We're not interested in money. We're way past money."

"Then what?" I croaked.

My voice was tiny, my guts constricting.

"Something a lot more valuable than money. Do you know what it is?"

All I could do was shake my head, caught off-guard, suddenly realising that I was a long way out of my depth.

"Power."

Jodie's face lit up, rolling the word off her tongue, relishing it.

"Uh, what?" I stammered, frowning now, "I don't understand."

"Let's imagine a game, Alice. Let's call it carbon trading. Money can only buy you so much."

Mutely, I stared back at her, uncomprehending, waiting for her to elaborate.

"We don't transact money, you see. We transact people. We build up an investment portfolio of favours, giving when we need to, taking when we need to. It's all just business, Alice. There's very little emotion involved."

"What do you want?"

"Are we ready to talk business now? Are you ready to listen?"

I nodded.

"Good. See, the hard part's over. Now we're just laying out the specifics. Here's what you're going to do."

I listened in silence while Jodie talked, feeling a numbness creep over me. At last, when she'd made sure I understood, she told me I was free to go. I stood up, finding myself looking down at her, sitting primly at the table, immaculately presented and in complete control. My drink sat untouched on the table. Jodie followed my gaze to it and gave a little shrug.

"Don't worry about the coffee," she smiled, "Let's just say it's on me. I can afford it."

---

I fussed over my husband's shirt, getting the collar straight. I could see the conflict in his eyes, but he didn't voice any of that to me.

"God, I could use a drink," he said.

I rifled my fingers through his hair, stroking his neck, little touches.

"How do I look?" he asked.

I spread my hands across his broad chest, smoothing out the fabric.

"You look good," I replied, "James, I just...."

"No."

The way he cut me off, the finality of it, shocked me. I bit my bottom lip, looking up at him, struggling with the sudden urge not to cry.

"No," he repeated, softer this time.

James wrapped his fingers around my wrists, pulling my hands down, releasing me. He turned to inspect himself in the mirror.

"It's game time, I guess," he stated in a monotone, "I'll take the car."

"No, I want to drive you."

"Alice," James began, but I got in first.

"I'm taking you. We'll drop the kids off at my parents on the way. It's been arranged."

"What're you gonna tell your folks?"

"Date night."

James laughed, but there was a hard edge to it.

"Let's go then. I'll round them up and get them in the car."

I watched James leave the bedroom, immaculate in a white dress shirt and pressed pants. He was wearing the black leather shoes I'd given him for his birthday. He looked good.

After a while, I could hear voices calling out as he ushered our children out to the car, then silence. I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing a woman in a long dress, her make-up done, high heels and a little patent-leather purse in her hand. All dressed up for a hot date, but I was going to be left on my own. A bitter, sad feeling gripped me and I turned away, unable to look myself in the eyes. I fled through the door and out of the house.

James was waiting in the passenger seat, the boys already in the back. I got in and we pulled away, making the short journey to my parents' house. I pulled up outside turned off the engine. The silence swept in.

"I'll take them," James told me.

"No, it's okay."

James shook his head, already opening his door, calling out into the back to the boys. He turned back to me.

"I'll go," he murmured to me, "My game face is better than yours."

Before I could respond, he had closed the door and was walking up the path to my parents' front door, an arm around the shoulder of each of our children.

He was right; James was equipped for this in a way I wasn't. He had long experience of holding his nerve, of not letting his feelings slip. He had surprised me, after I got home and confessed that I'd tried to deal with Jodie, wrapping me in his arms. He'd said nothing as I relayed Jodie's instructions, watching my expression stoically as I burst into tears. Finally, he'd just nodded, then kissed me, telling me not to worry.

Only now, watching him coming back to the car, could I see it in his face, just like when I was dressing him. By the time he was back in his seat, his expression was rigid, set like stone.

"You don't have to do this," I said, but James just shook his head, staring resolutely forward.

"My fault," he replied, "I'll fix it. My consequences."

"It's not your fault. You were out of it. You couldn't help it."

"No, that's an excuse. I should have been smarter. I let us all down."

I gripped the steering wheel, feeling a strange, irrational urge to scream.

"Alice, we're going to be late. Let's just get it done."

I started the engine, pulling away from my childhood home, from the people who Jodie had so flippantly offered to devastate if we didn't comply. The irony was that I was certain my parents wouldn't flinch, even seeing me in a threesome on video. My father would simply refuse to watch his daughter be humiliated. They would understand. They would be in the tiny minority.

I drove us across Highbridge, into the neighbouring suburb, passing through quiet residential streets to a house very much like ours. A car was parked outside and the lights were on.

"We're here," I murmured.

"Just pull up across the road."

"And then what?"

I stopped and killed the engine. James opened his door, and I opened mine.

"Alice, what are you doing?"

"I'm coming too."

"No. Come back in an hour."

"No way," I hissed, "We stick together. We're a team."

"Alice."

"No. We're a team. Where you go, I go."

I glared at him. I could see the conflict on my husband's face.

"I don't want you there, Alice."

"Why? You don't want me to know? Is that it?"

"That's it."

"Because you feel ashamed?"

"Yeah."

I stepped out of the car, closing the door behind me, crossing the road to stand in front of the gate. A moment later, James joined me.

"You can't feel ashamed," I murmured, looking up at him, "Not with me by your side. We're gonna get through this."

James laid his hand on my shoulder, hesitating for a moment before replying.

"Yeah, we are," he grunted.

I looked up at him, stretching my face into a smile.

"Go team," I whispered.

"Go team."

The walk up the path seemed to take forever, and each step brought my mood lower and lower. At the door, I stalled completely. My husband placed his hand on my shoulder and rang the bell, drawing in a deep breath, raising his chin, setting his face. I knew that look. I'd seen him before the final, waiting to go into the team room for the pre-game briefing, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He could simply switch mindsets, compartmentalising so that he only had to deal with the next couple of hours. I envied him that.

The door was opened by a woman with long, straight jet black hair and coffee-coloured skin, and I recognised her instantly: Jemima Bruce.

"James, how are you? Please come in."

Jemima noticed me and there was a flicker of doubt.

"Ah, hello, uh...," she began.

"Alice. We met at the Awards Night a couple of years back. How are you Jemima?"

Her dark eyes darted from James to me, and then she smiled.

"Can't complain, but please do come in."

She led us into the house, my husband behind her, me following him. She looked at me over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Alice. I hadn't expected, uh, company."

She led us into the open plan living area.

"Nice place," I observed.

Jemima walked over to the drinks cabinet and opened the doors.

"Thank you. Would you like a drink? Gin? Whiskey?"

"Whiskey," James confirmed.

"None for me," I told her, "I'm driving."

This seemed to change her disposition and she nodded. "Of course, sorry, I should have expected the arrangements. Maybe just something soft then?"

"Water's fine."

Jemima prepared the drinks, handing James his whiskey with a smile. James didn't say anything. She passed me a tall glass of water with ice cubes dancing in the top.

"Falconer's on a Pro-Am tour, left me to his own devices while he fishes balls out of the rough for some movie star."

"How long is he away for?"

"Another two weeks. He's got a tournament directly after. He's away a lot, but you know how it is, don't you? At least James is retired now."

The conversation faltered. Normally, I could have kept going, asking about holidays or children, or swapping war stories of having professional sportsmen for husbands, or any one of a dozen topics, but I didn't.

"So," Jemima said, breaking the awkward silence, "How does this work? With you? Do you want to make yourself comfortable here, or...?"

She was uncertain, and so was I. My mind blanked and I began to panic.

"Alice will be fine here," James said, "She'll be discreet."

"Ah, yeah, okay," Jemima nodded, her confidence returning, "Yeah, sorry. I'm just not, uh, I mean I don't usually do this."

She gave me a wry smile, and continued, "I must sound like a fool. I imagine you're used to that."

"Don't worry about it," I responded.

"I have to say, when I heard that James was available for this sort of thing, it took me by surprise."

"How did you hear?"

Jemima held a hand to her face, laughing.

"Oh, this is one of those, isn't it? How did you hear about our services?" she replied, becoming animated now, loosening up, "Referred by a friend? Actually, no. I was just browsing Highgate Life. You know, the services section. Your little entry was beautifully crafted. You must have a good manager."

I forced a smile, finding myself falling into my expected place, dropping into character. I'd done this before: the supportive wife, the good mother. This felt the same and also entirely alien, all at the same time. Jemima was expecting something from me, that we were here as arranged rather than we'd been forced here under threat of ruination from Jodie's blackmail.

"Yes," I replied.

"Okay," Jemima laughed, finishing her gin, "So, shall we get to it?"

She placed a hand on my husband's arm and I bristled, but Jemima wasn't paying me any attention. I choked the feeling back, supressing it ruthlessly. We simply couldn't afford it.

"What did you have in mind?" James asked, taking a long pull of his whiskey.

"I thought maybe upstairs, but," she replied, hesitating, "I don't know. This might sound stupid to you both."

"What might?" James asked.

"I just feel funny about doing it on our bed."

"Does Falconer know?"

Jemima flinched and I could see that James regretted asking the question immediately. Her composure faltered and the smile faded away.

"No," she murmured, "No, he doesn't. I was, uh, shit. This is my first time."

She dropped her hand away from my husband's arm.

"I'm sorry," she said, "You must think I'm an idiot. I have no idea how this works."

I could see the uncertainty on her face, the honesty, and the simmering resentment that I had been holding onto began to fade.

"That's okay," I told her, "Match day nerves, right?"

"Something like that."

I crossed over to the drinks and picked up the whiskey. I topped up my husband and then poured a shot into Jemima's empty glass. She gave me a peculiar look, and then downed it. For some reason, I began to feel better; Jodie was the enemy, not Jemima. No, Jemima was a sports wife like myself, home alone while her husband was playing away. I knew the rumours, through friends of friends.

"It's all fair play," I found myself telling her, "Works for him, works for you. James, want to scout out the field? Somewhere that's not the master bedroom?"

"Sure."

James departed, leaving us alone. Jemima watched him go, then turned to me.

"I don't know how you do this. I was so surprised when I found out who."

"Why?"

"You always seemed, I mean, the times I've seen you together, you always seemed so, uh, straight."

"Yeah, I guess."

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you been doing this?"

"It's been a thing, after he retired."

I had amazed myself, coming straight out with it like that.

"I couldn't do it," she confessed, but then screwed her face up, "Though, I guess I have. Falconer and I, we've had our issues. But you probably already know."

She finished off her whiskey in a single gulp.

"Everyone seems to know," she hissed under her breath.

James appeared in the doorway, beckoning to her. Jemima turned to me.

"I wish my marriage was a tenth as strong as yours," she muttered.

I watched her go, following my husband out of the room, hips swaying elegantly in her skirt. Jemima had also dressed up like it was date night.

---

I scrolled through my phone, trying to distract myself. The posts from all my friends and family scrolled past, barely registering, showing such normality, such everyday life. My life was completely different now, changed overnight from mother and wife to something else. I felt my lips tremble as I forced back unexpected tears. Jemima hadn't said it, she'd just taken it as read: I was my husband's pimp.

The way she'd gone along with it, showing me an almost professional courtesy as we discussed the next steps for the night, left me feeling hollow inside. The worst part was that I couldn't deny it. I had dressed James up, driven him to his booking, checked that we were all clear on what was about to happen, and was now waiting on a couch for her to finish fucking my husband. I hated what Jodie had turned me into, had made James into, but the more I thought about him, no doubt naked now in the other room, the more I felt an unexpected emotion: pride. I was proud of him, the way he was just getting it done. If he was keeping it together, then I could. I owed him that.

I found myself on the page for Highgate Life, and I tapped a link to look at the Services page. I scrolled through the entries, looking at nannies, gardeners, pool maintenance people. There was a section for personal development services, and I began to notice it: odd words, repeated phrases, just enough to stand out in a handful of entries in the list. I scrolled through them, then I stopped dead. It read:

'Personal development: male professional, discreet, ex-professional sports-fitness expert. One-on-one sessions. Fulfillment-focused.'

I tapped the entry, and a contact page opened up. There was a logo and a company name and a text box with a calendar to choose an appointment date. None of it looked out of place, until I realised: the normal entries linked off to user profiles, connecting the reader with a person. This entry was hiding behind a façade. Ex-professional sports fitness expert. Male. James.

I got up, unable to just sit anymore. The house was large and dark, and I went from room to room, listening out for any tell-tale sounds. The stairs creaked as I went upstairs, making me shudder with each sound, but the upper floor was silent and empty. I crept downstairs again, moving to the back of the house, hearing nothing.

I approached an open door, a low, warm light spilling out into the hallway, and stopped. Peering inside, I could make out rows of padded leather seating. Silently, I edged forward, seeing a huge screen against the far wall, and dimmed downlights. A hand darted into view, squeezing the back of a seat in the middle of the front row, and as I moved, an arm was revealed, dark skin on the black leather.

"Shit."

A female voice called out, low and melodious. The hand gripped the leather harder, making it creak. I found that I was holding my breath, trying to move absolutely silently, peering around the doorframe for a better look. I had to bite my lip to stay quiet.

James was naked, leaning over the chair, facing me. Jemima's hands gripped the chair back, the rest of her hidden from view. I stared in mute fascination, frozen in place, as my husband reached down and brought Jemima's legs up over his shoulders, hunkering down.

"Oh fuck," she gasped, "Oh, yes."

James began to move back and forth. Jemima's hands disappeared and a moment later I began to hear a soft, rhythmic slapping noise. I watched my husband's face, the focus. He was staring down at another woman, fucking her in front of me. I knew all the reasons, I had been able to rationalise everything up until this point, but seeing him in the middle of the act erased all my careful mental preparation, and instead I felt betrayed.

I was overtaken by a burning jealousy, that she was enjoying the man I loved. He began to thrust into her harder, his shoulders flexing, his chest filling out, and I could only think about how it would be feeling for Jemima now, with her legs in the air and spread wide to admit my husband's manhood, feeling him hammering into her with his powerful bulk. I wanted to break away, to flee, but I found myself mesmerised and fixed to the spot. All I could do was watch him take his pleasure from another woman right in front of me.

Somewhere inside the envy, the rage, there was something else, a feeling I was unwilling to name. Caught in my internal struggle, my eyes lifted from the straining muscles of his torso up to his face, and I went cold.

James had been watching me the whole time.

I stared into his eyes across the rows of seats, wanting him to stop, feeling powerless to make him stop, desperate and humiliated, made to watch my man give pleasure to someone else. I knew I couldn't do anything about it. I knew what the consequences would be if I broke this off. I knew all these things, but none of it made a difference to the twisted, helpless, dark feeling inside me.

Then James shifted position, sliding her feet off his shoulders and pulling her legs apart, spreading her completely open. I could tell that his wrists would be wrapped around her ankles, pinning her in place. I saw her hands brace against his thickly-muscled chest. I saw the look in his eyes, fixed only on me, as he began to drive into the other woman with a fierce, animal urgency.

Jemima started to mewl, a wavering, high-pitched sound, broken up by the impact of each thrust. All the while, James didn't take his eyes off me, his expression grim, determined. I stared back at him and just then, at that point, my roiling emotions transmuted into something else, and I saw it.

James was magnificent, fucking Jemima mercilessly, his muscles rippling as he dominated her body. I felt it too, quailing inside with each thrust, gazing in awe.

Jemima screamed, clutching desperately at his chest, but James didn't relent, face reddening with his effort as he watched me watch him. I saw him clench his teeth, the cords of his neck standing out, and my breath stopped, caught helpless in the moment, waiting for James.

Jemima screeched, making words that had no sense to them, convulsing in her orgasm, and James erupted, his expression darkening like thunder as he climaxed inside her, finally breaking eye contact with me to lock his gaze on Jemima.

The spell was broken, the link severed, and I stepped back, away from the scene, retracing my steps silently, aware of my pulse hammering in my throat and the aching, throbbing fire between my legs. I left them behind, seeking safe haven, trying to comprehend the thing James had just done, and what his actions had done to me.