Moonstruck

He was a man of science for whom traditional beliefs and conventions were archaic; reason and logic were his mantra. She was more traditional but burned with an ambition to be a great writer, an aspiration sometimes assailed by feminine self-doubt. As in a classic Greek tragedy, their character traits would combine to lead the pair into treacherous waters.

Ted grew up a small-town Georgia cracker and surprised everyone by earning a Ph.D. at Georgia Tech. Now he was a 31-year old astronomy and physics professor teaching at the University of Alabama, Huntsville and consulting with NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center. Angela was a lively Gulf Coast girl from Mobile and attended the University of Alabama, completing a masters in English Literature. She was an attractive 26-year old who taught creative writing at a local junior college to make ends meet while pursuing her writing ambitions. The couple met in Huntsville shortly after arriving there to work and married two years ago following a brief courtship.

On a mid-November Friday afternoon, the couple sat on their porch in rockers enjoying a glass of Pinot Grigio and some cheese straws. The sun was creeping toward the top of the surrounding ridge lines and the shadows were deepening. There was a crispness in the air, but old man winter had not yet arrived.

They caught up on their day, shared gossip about friends, and argued good naturedly about the relative merits of the Alabama and Georgia Tech football teams; an argument in which Angela enjoyed an easy advantage. They poured a third glass of wine and sat back enjoying the darkening evening, the mild wine buzz, and their congenial companionship.

Ted sipped his wine and munched on a cheese straw. "So how is the novel coming?"

Angela made a face. "Oh pooh! Don't mention that accursed thing. Nothing is working." She sighed deeply, waving her hand in disgust. "I just deleted the whole chapter I have been working on. It was rotten."

Ted nodded. "Writing a novel must be grueling. I read once that Margaret Mitchell took ten years to write Gone with the Wind."

"Oh God, don't say that. I have spent months on my novel. Nothing is working when I try to put it on paper. I must have writer's block."

Ted exclaimed "Ah ha! I have a cure for your writer's block," while grinning and pointing to the sky theatrically.

Angela gave him a sarcastic look. "Oh, really?"

"You must take a lover."

Angela stopped rocking and looked at him like he had lost his mind. "What!" she sputtered.

"Oh, yes, all the great writers do it. Look at D. H. Lawrence. He stole his wife, Frieda, from her husband who had been his professor. Lady Chatterley's Lover is based on the same Frieda cheating on him with an Italian soldier."

Ted took a sip of wine, enjoying pulling Angela's leg. "Then there are the Fitzgeralds and their blatant hanky panky which became the inspiration for Tender is the Night. Also, Norman Mailer and that Latin beauty whose name escapes me, and don't forget Faulkner or the amoral Amantine Dupin, - the list goes on."

Angela rolled her eyes in exaggerated mock exasperation and started back rocking.

Ted grinned. "You writers have a very naughty reputation. See nothing else will do. You must take a lover in order to get your creative juices flowing and complete your novel!"

Angela laughed and waved a hand at him dismissively. "You goof. I am not taking a lover to get my creative or any other juices flowing. Besides what does a nerdy science guy like you know about writing anyway? Or love for that matter."

"Well, I have been sleeping with this really hot author."

Angela groaned. "No, I am not an author. I am a hack. I teach writing because I can't write. Otherwise, I would have finished my novel by now." Angela was suddenly on the verge of tears.

"Whoa. You are an author. You have published six short stories. Don't get discouraged; you are just starting your first novel."

Angela shook her head and gave a weak smile. "Thanks, Ted. But working on this novel is like chewing gristly meat. Nothing is worth keeping. I always wanted to be a famous author, but I just can't do it."

In typical male fashion, Ted plunged in over his head to try to solve his unhappy wife's problem.

Ted patted Angela's hand. "Look, you need a chance to immerse yourself in the novel. Take the spring semester off. Don't teach. We can get by fine without your salary - besides when your novel is a best seller we will be rich! Just take off and write."

Angela gave a discouraged shake of her head. "Oh Ted, I wish it was that easy."

Ted watched his glum wife for a minute. "Okay, we need something to get you inspired. What is the novel about?"

Angela replied with a grumpy pout,"An adulterous heroine in colonial Charleston."

Ted pursed his lips and steepled his fingers thinking. "Okay, that sounds interesting and suitably racy to sell. Let's say after Christmas you go down to Charleston; stay at that grand old bed and breakfast we like. The Church Street Inn. Sit out on their porch and sip sherry; walk along the Battery; poke through old streets and graveyards; that old city just drips inspiration. Write on your novel there for a few weeks."

"I don't know, Ted. It would cost a lot of money."

Ted poured himself another glass of wine. Angela had barely touched her last glass.

Ted cajoled Angela. "Come on. It is not like you to be so down in the mouth. You are usually a full-speed-ahead and damn-the-torpedoes kind of girl."

"I know, Honey, but I feel ..." Angela waved her hands in frustration, "incompetent, dumb, overwhelmed. I don't know."

Ted paused thoughtfully for a few moments stroking his chin as he contemplated the problem. He was feeling very worldly and cosmopolitan in the warm glow of the wine. "Angela, maybe you should take a lover like all of the other famous authors. Just have a wild fling, break all the rules, get fired up, and write a best seller."

Angela gave Ted her best 'are you out of your pea-picking mind' look. "You want me to have an affair?"

Ted laughed, warming to his idea as he mulled it over. "Maybe! It'd just be for your writing inspiration and research."

Angela shook her head with a grimace. "Oh, get serious, Ted. Who would I have an affair with, anyway."

"You are a sexy gal. The boys'll be howling at your door."

"Ted, sometimes I think you are nuts," Angela answered with a flicker of a smile.

Ted shrugged with an ah-shucks laugh and said, "Ah, probably so. But think about it, Angela. Really. We are adults. We are not small town hicks anymore. Many modern married couples experiment now. Maybe my writer-wife just needs a torrid affair to set her on fire again."

Angela giggled, "Ted, I almost think you are serious."

Ted grinned, accepting the implied challenge, and said, "Angela, tell you what. During any blue moon, you are free to have a lover or lovers. Not all the time, hence the once in a blue moon part. We will call it Angela's blue-moon fling for literary research and inspiration!"

Angela just looked at Ted with a crinkled brow, too taken aback to make a response. He really was serious.

Angela finally gave an uneasy laugh and replied, "Uh, grabbing a hunka hunka of burning love and dragging him into bed sounds like fun, but no. Absolutely not. Way too complicated in real life."

Angela shifted the discussion to a less dangerous topic. "What exactly is a blue moon, anyway, Mr. astronomer?"

Ted was glad to see some of the spunk coming back into Angela. "Popularly, it is when there are two full moons in a calendar month. It happens every two or three years."

Angela threw her hands up in mock exacerbation. "Well great. I am to what, wait a couple of years for my inspirational affair to finish my novel?"

Ted laughed triumphantly. "Gotcha! It just so happens the next blue moon is January 2018, six weeks away. Between the two full moons on 1 and 31 January, you are free to take a lover. Just for literary inspiration, of course."

Angela replied shaking her head but smiling, "Quit being silly! Okay, you win. I will take next semester off and work on my novel and maybe make a trip to Charleston. But I am absolutely not taking a lover. What are you thinking, you idiot?"

Ted grinned, pleased his teasing had buoyed Angela's flagging spirits. "Fair enough, but the offer stands. We want to get you smoking on that novel of yours; whatever it takes."

November and December passed in a swirl of seasonal family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas, Christmas parties, and a big New Year's Eve blow out at the Country Club. New Year's Day was spent watching college bowl games with friends, and the mandatory Hoppin' John and greens were consumed to assure health and wealth in the new year.

Ted was slated to provide the opening address at a 2-1/2-day long astronomer's convention in Nashville the last half of the first week of January. On that Wednesday, Angela said she was going to a local writer's guild workshop and hurried off after breakfast. Ted packed, reviewed the slides for his talk on NASA's solar exploration program, and made a pimento cheese sandwich for lunch. Then he drove to the Nashville convention hotel, arriving a little after three. Ted's opening talk was scheduled for 5:00 pm after which there would be a happy hour meet-and-greet followed by a banquet and an evening speaker.

Ted's room was ready when he arrived so he went on up to get settled. He had been upgraded to a suite, apparently for being the opening speaker. The suite was definitely VIP quarters with a spacious well appointed living room and a luxurious bedroom with a king size bed and view over the Cumberland River and Nashville skyline. A hall connected the two rooms providing access to the bathroom. There was also an over-priced self-service bar, small refrigerator, microwave, coffee maker, and bar sink. Opposite the bathroom was a locked connector door leading to the adjacent suite, allowing the two suites to be rented as a unit.

As Ted finished the last of his unpacking, a flurry of knocks sounded from next door. He opened the connector door and stepped back.

Angela stood in the adjacent suite posing with a cocked hip and hands on her hips. His wife wore a skin-tight black dress that accentuated her firm buttocks, flat abdomen, and the swell of her breasts. The scandalously short dress and stiletto heels showcased her shapely legs. Well-coiffed chestnut-colored hair cascaded fetchingly down to her shoulders. An unfamiliar perfume wafted about her.

The effect on Ted was akin to twitching a jig in front of a large-mouth bass. His eyes popped as his mouth gaped.

Angela's mascara-highlighted brown eyes twinkled with amusement, enjoying her effect on Ted. She said brightly, "Hi, Ted. Sorry! This is not for you. I am accepting your offer of a blue-moon fling for literary inspiration."

Ted was taken completely off guard. He stammered, "What? Uh, Okay. Um, who?"

Angela replied quickly, trying unsuccessfully to mask her excitement. "John Roberts. He is a famous writer from New York City and has a best seller every year. He tried to get me in the sack at a seminar he taught in Huntsville last year. I declined. But I called him last week and announced that I am available now in exchange for help on my novel."

Ted had the deer in the headlights look as he tried to find a response that would not come.

Angela continued, "He is a complete scoundrel. He's is a notorious womanizer and has had two divorces. John is also knock 'em dead handsome and is rumored to be dynamite in bed."

Ted just stood there staring dumbly slack jawed, trying to absorb Angela's sensational announcement.

Angela stared directly into Ted's confused eyes and said quietly, "Okay Ted, if you want to change your mind, say so now. John just texted me from the airport. His taxi will be here in 20 minutes."

Ted's mind was awhirl. It was one thing to say his wife could have a fling with another man when they were tipsy on wine, and it was all a vague intellectual abstraction off in the future. Now facing the physical reality of his sexy young wife being on the verge of stripping naked and taking a stranger to bed, Ted's feelings roiled.

One part of him screamed not just no, but hell no. Pride answered that he had already said yes and proposed the plan. He would be a real weasel to go back on his offer now that she had called his wine-inspired pseudo-bluff. Oh hell, this is the modern era; it's only sex anyway.

Ted picked his words carefully though they came out tight and strained. "Honey, there will be no recriminations from me."

Angela stepped in his room and took hold of Ted's tie pulling him to her. She gave him a long salacious kiss. As Ted wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, she flicked her tongue in his mouth, eliciting an excited moan from him.

Than Angela abruptly broke the embrace and stepped back with a saucy smile. "Now Ted, I am more than a little miffed at you for so cavalierly tossing me into another man's bed. In fact, I am furious that you could do that."

She shushed Ted's attempted reply with a wave of her hand. "Hush, I know your intentions are the best, but still, think how unimportant it makes a girl feel."

She cocked her head with a teasing smile. Still holding her hand up to silence him, she said with slow emphasis, "So when you are giving your big talk this afternoon - in front of all of those boring scientists - I want you to remember your wife is getting her lights banged out ten floors above you!"

With that she took a deep breath and stepped back into her room with a determined, "Well! It's too late to turn back now." She closed the door on her side, and Ted heard the tumblers of the lock click in place, leaving him staring at the bare wooden door.

Ted was thunderstruck. He only vaguely half-remembered his wine-besotted offer in the first place. He had thought in terms of maybe a steamy one-night stand, but Angela had upped the ante on him. Her lover would also be her coach and tutor.

Ted gathered his things in a daze and numbly left for the convention registration and to set up his powerpoint for the talk.

Ted was a polished pubic speaker, but this was not one of his better efforts. As he stood at the podium addressing his colleagues in the darkened meeting room, his mind's eye kept envisioning his wife upstairs passionately writhing under the ministrations of another man on her suite's king size bed.

As opening speaker, he had to attend the meet-and-greet after his talk but skipped the banquet, arriving back at his room shortly after seven.

He should be ashamed of himself, but he had to know. He eased open his side of the double door to the adjoining suite and put his ear against the door into Angela's room. The doors were flimsy hollow core and sound carried through them easily. He clearly heard his wife's steady aah-aah-aah in cadence to the sharp slapping of flesh on flesh and creaking of a bed in vigorous use. Angela was soon groaning and shouting, "Oh yes, yes, fuck me Baby, oh fuck me, oh, oh, oh," and finally a happy squeal of orgasmic delight.

Ted staggered back and sat on the edge of his bed. Well, what did he expect? But hearing his wife in the throes of passion with another man was an unexpectedly agonizing blow. He could still make out his wife and her lover's gasps, muted murmurs, and giggles as they lay in their sticky, limb-entangled, post-coital cuddle.

He rubbed the tears from his eyes with balled fists and wiped his wet cheeks with his hands. Damn, he was bawling like a two-year old. Where did that come from?

Ted kept his side of the double door open to eavesdrop on his wife and her lover. It was like picking at a scab - neurotically satisfying and stingily painful at the same time. He could hear snippets of conversation, laughter, the clink of ice in glasses, and periodic suggestions of more erotic activities.

Ted slept fitfully that night and was woken at 5:30 am by a new amorous noise-fest next door. He got up, quickly showered, and left for breakfast and the convention.

Shortly after five pm, Ted returned to his room. He felt drained emotionally and physically. The simple biology of his wife having sex with another man was far more devastating to his psyche than he ever dreamed. He would have vehemently denied being the jealous type. He was the cool, logical modern man of science unhindered by such arcane feelings. But the green-eyed monster had him by the throat.

There was a light tap on his door from Angela's room. He opened it to find Angela waiting there. She was barefoot and dressed only in a t-shirt with an Alabama-A logo. Her hair was tousled and sweaty, and her face flushed. She was fresh from a recent bout of love making.

She smiled weakly and said in a tired murmur, "Hi. Heard you come in. John just left for New York. It's only the two of us now."

"Ah, I see," Ted stammered at a loss for words.

Angela stepped to him and kissed him tenderly. Ted happily returned the kiss pulling her to him without dwelling overly on where Angela's lips had been shortly before.

Angela smiled as she felt her husband's erection harden. It was fun having two men lusting after her.

"You may reclaim your naughty writer-wife in a bit, but first we need to talk."

Angela took Ted's hand, led him to her suite's living room, and waved him to the couch. "I expect you need a drink," she said in a soft tone.

That's an understatement," was Ted's subdued reply.

Angela opened the in-room bar and fixed a double bourbon on the rocks for Ted and a single for herself. She handed Ted his drink and then perched in the chair across from him, tucking her legs underneath her. There was an awkward silence as each sipped their drink and debated how to open the conversation.

To break the ice, Ted nodded toward the Alabama-A on Angela's t-shirt. "Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter?"

Angela smiled lightly, "Hmm, good literary allusion for a science nerd." Then she continued with a perky, " Hey, how do you like your room? I upgraded your reservation to be next to me."

Ted replied, "Ah, nice. I, um, got quite an earful last night and this morning."

Angela nodded and cooly replied, "Yes, I know." There was a short pause. "Ted, I saw you listening at the door."

Ted turned scarlet with humiliation. "Uh, No, uh ..."

Angela gave Ted a sad, sympathetic smile. "It's okay, Honey; I understand. Your hall light was on and ours was off. I could see your shadow under the bottom of the door."

Angela paused and then asked, " Was it hard to listen to us?"

Angela watched Ted curiously. The offhand way he had thrown up the idea of her having an affair had become like a pebble in a hiker's boot that grew bigger and more painful with each step. Every time she thought of it, her anger increased until it was an open wound. She had orchestrated blatantly taking her lover under Ted's nose just to poke him in the eye for his indifference to her.

Tears stung Ted's eyes as he struggled not to show it. "It was," he admitted in a strangled voice after a long minute pause.

Angela handed Ted a Kleenex. "Poor baby." She sighed, "But this was your idea, remember. I am sorry, but I wanted you to realize what your wife taking a lover really means. It is not like one of your physics equations describing cause and effect. People are much more complex."

"So I learned." Ted dabbed his eyes and glanced around the room with a sniffle. A tray with a wine bottle and the debris of a room-service lunch was on the floor by the door. Angela's laptop was on the desk and connected to a printer. There were mounds of paper with copious blue editing marks stacked on the desk and on the coffee table in front of him. Obviously, some work as well as sex had been accomplished here.