The Price of Temptation

Jeff tailed off. Ursula heard a rustle through the phone and pictured Jeff standing up, perhaps pacing the room in his bare feet, a glass of wine in his hand. He cleared his throat.

'I want you, Ursula,' he said. 'I know I shouldn't be saying that, but I want you. And I know we shouldn't do this. Common sense says not to do this. But the inner voice is telling me that I'm kidding myself if I think 'common sense' has anything to do with it. That turning away from you would be due to cowardice, not common sense. And I have a terrible feeling that if I turn away from you, I will simply do it to maintain the status quo and part of my soul will die. God, that sounds ridiculous.'

'No,' said Ursula quietly. 'No, it doesn't.'

There was silence. Ursula cleared her own throat and said gently: 'Jeff ... I still don't understand what you meant by "off the hook".'

'Don't you see?' said Jeff. 'If you don't feel the same way about me, then there's nothing to turn away from! It's an illusion! It's a man meeting an amazing woman and creating a whole fantasy about her to fill an empty space in his own life. Ursula, if you were to say: "Jeff, I'm flattered, but this is all a projection," I would accept that. I'd thank you for being honest, we could share a laugh about how crazy life is, and then we'd go our separate ways, no harm done. Do you know what I mean?'

Ursula sat staring at a monitor screen which had just gone black when the machine went on stand-by. Yes, she knew what he meant. And now he was waiting for her to answer, and she knew that what she said next, maybe even the inflection in her voice, would determine the course of this conversation. Jeff had even given her the words. Yet Ursula was in agony. To say yes was unthinkable. But to say no...

She couldn't do it.

'Jeff, I don't know what to say.'

There was more silence. Ursula found herself willing Jeff to grow impatient, to accuse her of indecision, anything, anything, to make it possible for her to say no. Why did he have to be married, for fuck's sake! It was so unfair!

'Here's what I'm going to do,' said Jeff. 'I'm going to send you a text. And on this text will be a time and a place where we can meet for a few hours of privacy.'

'Jeff, please don't...'

'You don't need to answer. Simply show up or stay away, whichever—'

'No, Jeff!' cried Ursula, suddenly finding her voice. 'Don't send me anything! Do you hear me? I said no!'

This time, the silence seemed so thick, it had substance. Ursula gripped the phone, straining to listen as though she might somehow see the man's face if she tried hard enough. She heard his outbreath.

'Good night, Ursula,' said Jeff and he ended the call.

***************************

The following morning, Ursula arrived at ten-past-nine and had to park her green Clio in a public parking space because the staff car park was full. She got out, wincing as the handle of her bag pressed into the bandaged cut on her hand, and slammed the car door. She walked quickly across the tarmac to the white building and up the steps of the main entrance. Beryl was behind the reception desk, checking something on the computer. She looked up as Ursula was walking past and her hand froze on the plastic mouse.

'Ursula, darling, what happened to your hand?'

'I'm not your darling!'

Ursula marched past and was on the point of charging up the staircase, when she stopped. She turned and walked back to the reception desk, taking measured steps, until she was face to face with the older woman.

'Beryl, I'm sorry,' said Ursula. 'I cut my hand on a broken glass and it still hurts, but that's no excuse for me to snap at you.'

'That's all right, dear,' said Beryl. 'We all have our off-days.'

'Yes, but...' Ursula steeled herself. 'Listen, Beryl, I want to say something about the way you call me "dear" and "darling". If you were a man, I would never tolerate it.'

'But I'm not a man, thank God.'

'I know, but if I let you call me "darling", that makes me a hypocrite.'

'No, it doesn't...'

'Beryl, please! I'm making an official request. My name is Ursula. Please refer to me by that name.'

Beryl stared at the computer monitor. Her face reflected its faint bluish light and Ursula could see every one of the woman's sixty years. Beryl turned her head and addressed the knot of Ursula's silk scarf.

'Of course, Ursula,' said Beryl. 'I'm sorry if I offended you.'

Ursula nodded her thanks and proceeded to go up the staircase to her consulting room. It was too late for her morning meditation, so she checked her phone -- something she had been doing a lot since the previous evening. There was no text message. Jeff had clearly respected her wishes, damn him. It was so typical of a man put the burden of choice onto her, she thought. "Off the hook" indeed.

Ursula tapped her phone to check her inbox and a sudden chill ran through her body -- there was an email from Sally. Heart thumping, Ursula tapped it. The message was short: Sally had double-booked herself and could they move their next coaching session to another day?

Ursula nearly threw her phone at the window. God damn that woman! She couldn't even be trusted to keep a bloody appointment! Sally Price, whose real name Ursula didn't even know because Sally had given it up—thus betraying every woman who had ever fought for equal rights—was just so ... typical! Blond and pretty, with sexy legs, she embodied so much of what Ursula hated about this looks-obsessed culture. Men like Jeff consistently chose women like Sally over women like Ursula, and Ursula hated it. She could even see how having a desirable man choose an intelligent woman over his oh-so-pretty wife might actually be a blow against the patriarchy.

Ursula switched off her phone and put it on the desk. She had a client in five minutes and she needed to calm down, get her thoughts straight. Ursula walked to the windows and looked out at the garden, hoping the trees would work their usual magic.

It was no use. The curse of intelligence is the ability to see and what Ursula saw broke her heart and twisted her guts. Staring out the window, she saw a woman who had a troubled relationship with sex—who frequently tried to make light of it by saying, 'I don't know what all the fuss is about.' Sex-related words made her wince and the whole business struck Ursula as vaguely repulsive, like going to the toilet. She'd had more than a few disappointing experiences and even when a man was a half-decent lover, Ursula still wasn't sure how she felt about it. Her two longest relationships were with men she had genuinely loved, but the feelings of closeness and intimacy were way more rewarding than the actual sex. It wasn't that she hated it, but she could not honestly say that she loved it either.

But Jeff Price was a whole different ball game. Even thinking about his cock didn't make Ursula wince -- it filled her with a lust she never knew she could feel. She actually wanted to have Jeff's erect penis in her mouth and her pussy ... even her asshole, if that's what he wanted. It suddenly struck Ursula that she'd never had sex with a man out of pure, unconditional desire. There was always a reason -- it was 'part of the relationship' or 'the next step' or she wanted to feel wanted and sex was the price she had to pay. A wave of bitterness flooded her system, and Jeff's casual remark about part of his soul dying was like a spear through the heart.

The intercom buzzed. Ursula went over and asked Beryl to send her next client upstairs.

For the next hour, Ursula focused on her work -- listening to her female client, asking pertinent questions and practising attentive non-judgement. It was a good hour for both of them and when it was over, Ursula accompanied the other woman downstairs, relieved to feel like a professional person again. She began to see how she would get through this.

Returning to her consulting room, she tried to ignore the urge to switch on her phone, setting up her laptop instead. After five minutes of trying to concentrate, Ursula gave up. 'All right then!' she said aloud, as though to a nagging child, and turned on her phone. As the screen cleared and settled on its home display, she wanted to say to that child: 'You see!'

But there was a message notification. Ursula's heart went into overdrive and she had to breath with her mouth open. She tapped the message icon.

It was from Jeff.

***************************

The White Horse Inn used to be a classic wooden-beamed inn back in the days of horse-drawn carriages, offering weary travellers a hot meal and bed for the night. Today it was a hotel complex made up of three blocks of concrete-and-glass buildings, which included a restaurant, a self-service café, and toilet-and-wash facilities, all surrounded by a huge car park. Because it was a quarter mile from a major motorway intersection and one mile from an airport, the White Horse was a popular venue for business meetings, airport stopovers ... and couples having affairs. Even as Ursula sat in her green Clio, she saw a man and a woman get out of separate cars, go to each other and share a passionate kiss. The man had white hair and wore golfing trousers, while the woman ... well, if not for the lingering kiss, Ursula would have assumed she was his daughter. She watched them put an arm around each other as they walked towards the main building and she shuddered.

'I shouldn't be doing this,' said Ursula aloud.

No, she shouldn't. But she was going to do it anyway. She checked her phone: five minutes to go. Then she opened Jeff's message for the hundredth time. It was brief and practical: The White Horse Inn, Room 322, Sunday 13.00. But there was one sentence underneath which had inscribed itself onto her heart: 'Do whatever is right for you.'

Ursula stepped out of the car. She locked it and started making her way to the main building. As she was walking through the gap between two parked cars, something made her look up. A flock of geese were flying in a V-formation high overhead, dark spots against the white-blue sky. Ursula watched them a moment, her heart soaring with them. She had the thought that wanting to have sex with a desirable man was the same kind of primal instinct which drove these geese to fly south in the winter. Suddenly, she felt repulsed by her unnatural surroundings -- the car park, the buildings, all this 'civilisation'. It was stifling, man-made, a concrete cage built to contain women like her, when all she wanted was to fly, to soar, to be free.

Ursula reached the main entrance of the hotel building and stepped into a giant slowly rotating door. She realised she didn't have an overnight bag of any kind and immediately felt self-conscious, but when the door opened into a large foyer, all three receptionists were busy. No one even glanced in Ursula's direction as she walked over to the lifts. She travelled up three floors, then walked along carpeted corridors with brass notice boards on the walls to help guide visitors to their rooms. The closer she got to Room 322, the more terrified and aroused Ursula became. She passed a man going in the opposite direction, the two of them veering aside without making eye contact. Her boots made a dull thudding noise on the carpeted floor.

Then, all at once, she was there. A door identical to all other doors, except this one had the magic number: 322. Ursula straightened her skirt, brushed hair from her face, took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

At first, there was nothing. Maybe Jeff was late. Maybe he wasn't there at all and this was all a cruel practical joke. Jeff's "off the hook" remark came to mind. But then there was movement behind the door. There were approaching steps, the metal latch clunked as the handle was turned and the door opened.

And there he was: Jeff Price, wearing a soft dark-grey sweater, black jeans and almost black loafers. He was so goddamn beautiful, Ursula just wanted to stand there and look at him. He saw the wonder in her eyes, smiled sadly and stepped aside.

'Come in,' he said.

Ursula walked in, partly in awe that this was even happening, partly curious about the sadness. Was he having regrets? She walked past the bathroom door and into the small, neat room, taking in at a glance the double bed, brass lamps in the wall, heavy curtains which reached to the floor and a woman standing before the windows. Ursula blinked. Yes, there was a blond woman wearing a pink jumper and blue jeans who stood, hands on hips, glaring at Ursula with murder in her eyes.

It was Sally Price.

***************************

Ursula's first reaction was to turn and walk out. She heard Sally shout 'Hey! Come back!' but Ursula kept going. Then Jeff planted himself before the door and folded his arms like a nightclub bouncer. Ursula stopped, stunned.

'You can't do that!' she cried.

'My wife wants a word,' said Jeff and he pointed back into the room.

'Get out of my way!'

'Or what? You'll call the police?' Jeff looked over his folded arms like a genie looking down at the puny human who released him from the bottle. 'Go ahead and call. Let's have a nice police report about this meeting, shall we? It might even make the local papers and go viral.'

Ursula stared at the man. His expression was cold, implacable, and she could suddenly imagine him killing someone. Ursula was appalled to realise this didn't make him any less attractive.

'You planned this,' she said dully. 'You set me up.'

'I set the situation up,' said Jeff. 'No one forced you to come here.'

'You bastard...'

'Says the woman who tried to poison my wife against me.'

Ursula was genuinely shocked. She opened her mouth to protest her innocence, but Sally's voice cut in from the bedroom.

'Ursula, have you quite finished with my husband?'

There was nothing else for it. Ursula turned and walked back into the bedroom, mustering as much dignity as she could.

Sally stood framed by the windows, arms now folded like her husband's. Despite the blond hair and pink jumper, there was something about the woman which made Ursula nervous. Ursula stopped at the foot of the bed, making sure it was between her and the other woman. Sally still stared at her, unblinking, like a crazy woman in a moment of stillness. Ursula cleared her throat.

'Sally...' she began.

'Mrs Price,' corrected Sally.

'Ms Price.'

'Mrs Price! Mrs ... Jeffrey ... Price! Say it!'

Ursula clenched her teeth and glared at Sally. Yes, she owed this woman an apology. Yes, she had broken her professional code of ethics, to say nothing of her own moral principles. But there were limits, damn it!

Sally walked around the bed to confront her, face to face. Ursula had to force herself not to back away. Sally looked right into Ursula's eyes, close enough for a vicious head butt, and Ursula began to shake. Sally's expression changed from anger to a kind of satisfaction.

'You hate that I took my husband's name, don't you?' she said. 'You don't just disagree with it "on feminist principles". You hate it.'

Ursula's mouth was dry. She wanted to deny it but couldn't. In fact, she was angry at Sally for not hating it too. How could she not see that her husband was using her? As if answering her thought, Jeff appeared in the room, taking his place by the wall like a spectator at a tennis match. Without taking her eyes off Ursula, Sally addressed him.

'I owe you an apology, Jeff,' she said. 'You were one-hundred-percent right about this woman.'

'What do you mean?' said Ursula.

Sally backed slowly away, as though Ursula had begun to rot. Ursula had never seen someone look at her with such contempt.

'I fought for you, you know,' said Sally. 'When Jeff told me about the phone call and showed me the text, I was furious with him. Okay, it was obvious you fancied him, but that didn't give him the right to say what he was saying about you! Besides, I believed in the work that we were doing together. The way I saw it, you were helping to empower me, and Jeff had no right to interfere. I accused him of a hundred different kinds of shit and made him sleep in the spare room.

'But do you know what bothered me, Ursula? It was the fact that you didn't respond to the text. As far as you knew, Jeff was booking a room for the two of you and, although you hadn't said yes, you didn't say no either. The days passed and the option was left open. So when Sunday morning came around and there was still no message to shut this whole thing down, I had to come with him. I had to know.'

Sally gave Ursula a look and gestured to an imaginary table upon which all the evidence was laid out. Ursula's neck went red. She swallowed and tried to speak. Her voice didn't seem to work and Ursula had to cough and try again.

'Mrs Price...' she began. 'I apologise for breaking your trust. It was unprofessional and unethical in the extreme and if you wish to file a complaint at the wellness centre, I completely understand. However, I honestly believe that your husband is a toxic presence in your life.'

'Oh, really?' said Sally.

'Look what he did today!' said Ursula. 'Don't you find it manipulative?'

'Ursula, you're only here because you were intending to fuck my husband behind my back! Why the hell should I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?'

Ursula stared at Sally. Sally glared back. Ursula shook her head and turned to leave, but she stopped to regard Jeff. He was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, a vaguely amused look on his smug, handsome face.

'Congratulations, Mr Price,' said Ursula icily. 'You clearly didn't like the path Sally was taking during our sessions and you have successfully derailed it. I suppose having a woman learn to think for herself was too much of a threat for you.'

Ursula heard Sally's voice from behind.

'Hey Jeff, is she saying I can't think for myself?'

'Nah...' said Jeff, his gaze still on Ursula. 'I think the insult was aimed at me and she hit you by mistake. Ursula, would you like to have another go?'

Ursula wasn't going to waste two more seconds on this bastard. She walked out of the hotel room and slammed the door behind her.

***************************

On Monday morning at ten-to-nine, Ursula arrived at the wellness centre and parked her green Clio in the staff car park. She took her bag out, locked the car, and paused for a moment to feel the cold air on her face and look at the greenery of the drive. She had slept well that night and felt surprisingly good. 'Off the hook,' she muttered to herself as a blackbird flew out of a tree. She shook her head and walked around the white building to the main entrance.

Beryl was behind the reception desk. As soon as Ursula walked in, Beryl turned from the computer monitor and stood up to face her. 'Uh-oh,' thought Ursula and she went over to the desk. Beryl's face was lined with concern.

'Good morning, Beryl,' said Ursula. 'What seems to be the problem?'

'You had a call yesterday afternoon,' said Beryl.

'You were working yesterday?'

'There was an all-day meditation workshop. Plus, I get double-time on Sunday and...' Beryl stopped and frowned. 'Anyway, the call was from one of your clients.'

'Which one?' said Ursula, already knowing the answer.

'Sally Price. She wanted to cancel all future sessions.'

'Why didn't she send an email?'

'That's what I said. But then she said...'

Beryl stopped. She looked nervously at her desk, as though a cockroach had just scuttled across it. Ursula leaned on the counter and calmed her breathing.

'Come on, Beryl,' she said. 'Let me have it.'

'She wanted to leave you a message,' said Beryl and swallowed. ' "Stay the F away from my husband." '

'That was it? Nothing more?'