Unexpected Awakening Ch. 01

I let myself fall backwards onto the hotel bed, my spine softly pressing against the mattress as my phone also fell by my side. The e-mail to my boss about how the meeting went had been sent, meaning my work for the night was done. My hands found their ways up to my face, fingers rubbing against my heavy eyelids and no doubt smearing the small amount of eyeliner I put on before dinner. I still need that third drink. Wonder if Paul got his.

After gradually slipping off my shoes, I approached the fridge in my bare feet and recalled Paul hurriedly pacing away from the restaurant once our client's car was out of sight. I was sure he was going to drown himself in alcohol that night, especially after how he embarrassed himself at the meeting. Our client didn't seem nearly as interested in our offer as he did on the phone, which really caught me off guard and I had to practically beg him to go with our company for his business' software insurance. That had caused Paul to panic during the business dinner, since I had told him it would be an easy sell earlier that day. At least we pulled it off.

I pulled open the fridge door, spilling light onto the green carpeted floor, and grabbed the first can I saw. I didn't even care what it was and, after opening the can and starting to take gulps big enough to make my throat sore, I realized it was some kind of IPA. While I was more of a wine girl, I chugged until nothing remained in the can.

I tossed the empty can into the closest trash bin and picked my phone up from the bed, sighing as I found Will's name in my contacts and pressed on it with my thumb.

I held the phone against my ear and listened to several rings. I thought it was going to go to voicemail, a part of me somewhat hoping it would.

"Hello?" Will's voice came, interrupting the cyclical rings.

"Hi," I said, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing my legs. "Just wanted to call and say I'm back in my room."

"Ah, that's good."

Silence.

Really? That's all you can say?

"I don't know if good's the right word for it. Client was kind second-guessing going with us. Had to re-talk him into it."

"Wow. What a pain."

"Yeah. And Paul... Remember Paul? The new guy I told you about?"

"Uh-huh."

"I still think he's nervous being at a new company. He kind of got tongue tied near the end and there was the longest pause between the three of us. I swooped in and saved it, though."

"That's great."

"Yeah. Gonna turn in soon. Was kind of a long dinner. Flight's at eleven in the morning too. So sleep is sounding very appealing right now."

"Okay. Sleep well."

"What are you up to? How was your day?"

"It was okay. Nothing to really write home about. Gonna read a bit and then go to bed."

"Okay. Sounds like you're having a more relaxing night than I am. How's Helen?"

"Sleeping. She had some homework but I helped her with it."

"That's good. Glad you had an all right day. Oh! Don't forget. You're picking me up at the airport tomorrow."

"I'll be there. You left a note on my nightstand."

"I wanted to remind you. You know, just in case. Good night, Will."

"Good night."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and, before I could hit the cherry-red end call button, Will's name and the buttons below it all disappeared. I was left facing the list of recent calls.

Wasn't in a chatty mood tonight. Typical.

Feeling the skin on the backside of my neck growing a little warm with anger, I returned to the fridge and chugged another beer after setting my phone down. This time, I happened to grab what tasted like a blonde ale and was able to drink it twice as fast as I did the IPA.

I'm probably going to regret this tomorrow, but who cares? I can take a nap on the flight home.

I tossed the now-empty can into the trash bin. Then, I proceeded to change out of my dress. After taking off what I jokingly referred to as "the red queen" in my head, I bent over in my underwear to dig some pajamas out of my suitcase. When I stood up, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging above the desk in my room's corner.

God, no wonder Will hasn't been interested in you lately.

I had no way of arguing with the thought, at least not with what I saw in the mirror. For starters, I was a redhead, which caused my face to sometimes be naturally flushed and make me look like I had a slight sunburn all the time. And the parts of my body that weren't slightly red were somewhat pale, as I never tanned well. Naturally, I also had a few scattered freckles across my face and down my arms. My bra and panties were both nude. It didn't help that my bra only held B-cup sized breasts, which had seen better days before I had my daughter. The panties themselves were nothing spectacular either, just your standard classic briefs. I couldn't remember the last time I wore any of my more sexy underwear, which probably no longer even fit. While continuing to gaze at own reflection, my free hand rose to my belly and traced my fingers along some of the stretch marks pregnancy had left me with. My fingers slowly brushed against them, eventually reaching my C-section scar. My hand twitched and pulled itself away once I felt the scar, as if the mark was a scolding hot frying pan. At least I'm married. Nobody wants to date a lady who looks like me.

I sighed and shook my head, tossing my pajamas onto the bed and taking off my underwear. Come on. Don't talk about yourself like that. No point. Just... You lost most of the baby weight, remember? And some guys are into mom-bods. Most of them are probably really young, but still. MILF is a thing for a reason, right?

I stuffed my underwear into my suitcase and put on my pajamas. Tonight, I was wearing a plain white shirt and my favorite bottoms, which were fuzzy and had long blue legs with huskies scattered across them. I had assumed I would be in a good mood that night, given how the sale seemed to be a sure thing when I originally packed. I figured wearing my husky pajamas would be a good way to ride that positivity high. So much for that.

I then took my makeup wipes out of my suitcase and headed to the bathroom to take my face off.

When I came out of the bathroom to put the makeup wipes away, my head was feeling slightly lighter and I didn't feel as tired as I did when I returned to my room. Sometimes being a lightweight has advantages.

Wait. What time is it?

I dug through my pajama pockets for my phone, only finding air and fuzz. The phone also wasn't on the nightstand where my charger was plugged in. Fuck, I must be drunker than I thought if I can't even find my phone.

Eventually, I saw the phone on my room's tiny brown couch, which was just in front of the window and next to the AC unit. I picked it up, pressing the power button, noticing that I had a missed call from my co-worker, Paul. 8pm? It's really only been an hour since I left the restaurant? Shit. Still too early to sleep. Maybe one more beer would knock me out.

A knock came from the door.

"Christine? You haven't turned in yet have you?" an unusually loud voice asked from outside in the hall, Paul's voice. "You weren't answering your phone."

I plugged my phone into the charger and placed it on the nightstand, making a strong mental note of doing so for future reference. Then, I went to open the door.

Standing before me in the hallway was Paul, towering over me at what must have been a height of 6"2. On top of being a tall man, Paul was very big in terms of his body type. Now, I don't mean fat. Don't get me wrong. He was somewhere in between fat and muscular, like a lumberjack The sleeves of his light blue dress shirt were rolled up, showing off arms that seemed to nearly be twice as thick as mine and were covered in a field of black hairs. His left hand was stroking his dark beard, which looked almost as thick as moss. Meanwhile, his right hand tightly held the paper handle of a six pack of beer bottles. I always had a soft spot for men with body's like Paul's, the big and burly kind you just want to snuggle up to. I'll admit, I thought he was very attractive when he was first hired at the office and still did. But the fact that I was married obviously meant that nothing could happen. I would also learn soon after his hiring that Paul was married too, despite only being in his late twenties. That was another reason why nothing could happen between us, that ten year age gap. I was thirty-five and he was twenty-six. Still, that didn't prevent the occasional thought or fantasy on my part.

"Care for a nightcap?" Paul said, raising the six pick a little too quickly and almost causing the bottles to fall out of their paper box. He seemed to be aware of how awkward the gesture was and nervously tugged at his tie.

"You've been drinking too?" I giggled. He's kind of a cute drunk, on top of being cute in general.

"Drinking too?" Paul said, stepping into the room as I moved aside to allow him in.

"Oh. I kind of raided the minibar," I admitted with warm cheeks, both from alcohol and shame. I closed the door and watched Paul set the beer down on the desk.

"Sweet. Honestly, can't judge. I hit the first bar I found. Was a gay bar but I didn't give a shit. Just needed booze in me as soon as possible."

"Any cute guys try picking you up? Or buy you a drink?"

"No," Paul said, kicking off his shoes and standing in the middle of my room in black socks. "I probably looked too depressed. Had several beers. Then I figured I'd probably buy you some as a thank you for saving my ass tonight."

"Both our asses," I pointed out, walking across the room and sitting on the couch. "I would have been in as much trouble as you if Mr. Samson backed out."

"Yeah, but," Paul said, opening one of the beer bottles with the hotel desk's corner, "you still saved the day. And that's worth some free booze."

"Thanks. Appreciate it. Was starting to wonder what to do until bedtime."

"Any ideas?" Paul asked, popping off another bottle cap.

"More booze. Then you showed up."

"That's me," Paul said in a forced high-pitched voice and walked towards me with two beers, one in each hand. "Think of me as The Fairy Beer-Father."

I took a beer from Paul's outstretched hand. "Are your services free, Fairy Beer-Father, or do I have to give you a tip?"

Paul took a seat next to me on the tiny couch, sighing as he sank into the cushions. "No charge. I happily come to those most in need, which, tonight, is you."

"Cheers," I said, holding out my bottle.

Paul clinked his bottle against mine. "Bet I can chug this faster than you."

I pretended to be offended, giving him a fake gasp. "We're not at some frat party. Why would you chug your beer?"

"You just scared of losing?"

"I mean, if I wasn't so old, I could probably put up a decent fight."

"You're not old."

"Yes, I am."

"Are you over sixty?"

"What? No."

"Well then, according to Medicare and Social Security, you're not old."

"You're old at thirty-five."

"Wait. You're thirty five?" Paul asked, his thick eyebrows sinking as he squinted at me in confusion.

"Yes. I know. I look much older."

"Oh, no. Not at all. I thought you were like twenty-eight, thirty tops."

"You're such a fucking liar," I said, somewhat surprised that I swore so easily. Must be the alcohol.

"I'm serious. You have a very young face. It's because of the freckles, I think."

"Ugh, don't remind me. Being a ginger isn't all that great. I get red even when I wear sunblock on cloudy days."

"Okay, back to the age thing. You're not old. But, whatever. Agree to disagree. Since you don't seem to like being 'old,' why not try at least acting like your young and chug a beer with me? You definitely earned it after tonight."

I sighed. "All right. It's been a long day. Not like I'm driving tomorrow."

Both of us leaned our heads back and raised our beers.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Paul's throat pulsing quickly as his eyes were kept tightly squeezed shut and wrinkles formed around their sides. He drank just as well as any boy I met in college, despite his age.

Eventually, my throat grew tired and lungs ached for air. So I pulled the bottle away from my lips and leaned my head forward, coughing into my free hand and trying not to puke up the beer I had just guzzled down.

After a few coughs, I heard Paul shift in his seat next to me. I turned and saw him leaning forward, setting his empty beer bottle down on the floor in front of his feet.

"I hate being a lightweight," I managed to say between two coughs.

"Not being able to chug and being a lightweight are two different things."

"You know what I mean," I said, giving one final cough that made me feel like a tiny hammer hit the middle of my ribcage.

"Probably doesn't help that I bought the cheapest beer I could find. Could swallow it a lot easier if it was better quality."

"Swallowing used to not be difficult for me," I joked, finishing off what was left of my beer in two gulps. "I'm out of practice."

Did I really just say that? Shit. This really needs to be my last drink for the night.

Fortunately, Paul laughed at the joke. "Oh? I'm sure you were popular in college."

"Both in bars and dorm rooms." I said, setting my bottle down in front of my bare feet. God, why am I still talking like this?

Maybe it was the alcohol or the fact that I had seen Paul completely embarrass himself that night, but I felt oddly comfortable around him. Actually, Paul was very charismatic when you got some one-on-one time with him, but was usually quiet in larger groups of people. So that may have been it.

"Great," he chuckled, rising from the couch and getting another beer off of the desk, which he then opened before sitting back down next to me. "The flight tomorrow is probably gonna be a bitch after all the beer I've had tonight."

"It'll be Friday, though. We get a three-day weekend since we won't be going into the office."

Paul finished taking a sip from his beer. "True. So, sleep on the plane, the drive home and when I finally get back into my own bed."

"Aw. Your wife's picking you up from the airport?"

"No. She's got dinner plans with co-workers. So I'm just gonna take an Uber. On second thought, maybe sleeping on the drive isn't a good idea. Sleeping in an Uber sounds like it could end with me waking up in a bathtub full of ice."

I laughed. "Good point. Sorry to hear she can't pick you up."

"Yeah. But I sort of get it. She wants to fit in at work, so she's trying to socialize. Don't get me wrong. It sucks being home by myself so much, but she wants to make a good impression."

"Wait," I said, trying to recall the bits and pieces I knew about Paul's personal life. "You guys moved here three months ago and she still hasn't made any friends at work?"

"I mean..." Paul said, sighing after taking another swig of his beer. "She's kind of shy like me. And she feels very nervous about how her co-workers see her, since it's New York-Presbyterian. Feels like she might be seen as not being up to snuff."

"But she's a surgeon, though. Not everybody can say that."

"Yeah. A Cardiothoracic surgeon, which is why the hospital offered her the job when we were living back in Maine. Thought she'd make a great employee. Offered her a fucking great salary for us to move too, so we did."

"Huh. Yeah. It does sound like you get pretty lonely, being at your guys' house by yourself."

"Our apartment? Yeah. I do get pretty lonely, since, you know, I just started working with you and don't know anybody in New York."

Paul took an especially long sip of his beer.

Suddenly, Will being a little distant these past couple of months doesn't seem so bad.

"I can kind of relate to feeling lonely," I admitted. "Maybe not quite as lonely, but still."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I sighed, somewhat wishing I had another beer to get me through this story. "My husband, Will, hasn't seemed all that interested in me lately."

"Really? I can't imagine why. You're really nice to talk to."

"Okay, you're cut off," I teased, tapping his beer bottle with my hand. "But yeah. He hasn't really been interested in talking much for... God, a couple of months now. We haven't even had sex since-."

I cut myself off, finally able to control my liquored-up tongue.

"Sorry," I said. "I've had a little too much beer tonight. I'm sure you don't want to hear about my sex life. Or lack thereof."

"No, it's fine," Paul said, his words heavy with empathy. "If it makes you feel better, Irene and I have only had sex twice this year."

"Twice?" I gasped. "Oh my god. I'm sorry. That came out kind of judge-y. I didn't mean it to."

"Lighten up. I know what you meant," Paul assured me, laughing as he took another drink of beer.

"I mean, things in my marriage have kind of sucked this past year, including the sex. But twice?"

"Once on our anniversary. Once on my birthday," Paul said, begrudgingly.

"I'm not sure if this helps," I said, my apprehension about the topic of sex quickly melting away the more it was discussed, "but the sex I've been having hasn't been great. I'd rather have two instances of good sex as opposed to my, what, ten mediocre times?"

"Seems like both of our marriages have seen better days."

I laughed. "You can say that again. I've tried to talk to Will about having better and more sex. But he says he's always tired from work and needs his sleep."

"Irene says basically the same thing. At least, when she's not trying to meet up with co-workers."

"Now I know why some people have open marriages," I said, sarcastically, the alcohol causing me to burn up a bit now. "I'm feeling pretty hot and wanna turn down the AC. That okay?"

"Yeah."

I walked over to the AC unit and turned it down to 68, the cheap plastic button practically fighting me at every number. When I was done and the AC began to hum, I sat back down next to Paul.

"But, shit. Sounds like you're having a rough time."

"At least there's Mary."

Paul's eyes slightly widened and his lips tightly pressed together.

"Mary?"

"I...Uh... Can you keep a secret?"

My eyes narrowed and my stomach felt like it was slowly sinking down into my thighs. But I was too curious and buzzed to not pry. "Of course."

Paul finished the rest of his beer in a few gulps. "Well, we've been having problems for a while now. And the move only made things worse. One night, when Irene was working late, I was Googling things about marital problems. And I got a suggested website ad on one of my searches for Scarlett Anderson."

"Scarlett? I thought it was Mary?"

"No, Mary is... God, I can't believe I'm talking about this," Paul said, setting his empty beer bottle down next to the first one and sitting back up, his knee softly pressing against my own. "The website's name is Scarlett Anderson. It's supposed to be a combination of popular woman names, I guess. I don't know if that's true. But that's what I've read. And it's a website for married people who are looking for, well, other married people."

"Wait," I said. "So, you're telling me that this Scarlett whatever is a website for people to go and...have affairs?"

"I know what you're thinking. But, honestly, I was as appalled as you are. I couldn't believe something like that existed, or that it even popped up as an advertised Google result. Curiosity got the best of me, though, and I clicked on it. Probably spent an hour just reading through the sites FAQs and all the testimonials they had on there. Had a hard time sleeping that night."

"Because you started using it?" I asked.

"No. Well, not at first," Paul said, clearing his throat and rubbing his cheek before continuing. "This was about a week after we came to New York and both of us were still really tired from the move. But, in the days after, I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I was in just so much disbelief and partly because...it kind of turned me on, the things I read about people's experiences. I must have re-read those testimonies about fifty times over time. I was just so curious. Eventually, I made an account because I wanted to see more of the site. I didn't plan on meeting anybody. I just... It was morbid curiosity, I guess. I had a blank profile, no bio and never contacted anybody. Was pretty much a ghost. Until..."