Warmth in the Snow Pt. 02

Breathe. Not quickly. Slowly. Don't panic. Keep your wits about you. Yeah, right.

Twenty minutes after Diane left my office, I finally gave up reading the same paragraph over and over again. The words simply did not register, for the conversation I just had with Diane pushed everything else from my head.

One night. That was it. My life completely screwed up. I always did all the right things. Good grades. Eagle scout. Worked hard. Grew a business. Rotary Club. Country club. Frequent mentions in the business press. Paid my bills. I leaned back in my chair and massaged my forehead with my palms. I am a success in life. Until I am not.

I replayed our conversation over and over, parsing its nuances. Would she keep it a secret? Would she change her mind? For the past five years, from the day she came in as a junior account executive, she was the soul of trustworthiness. So when it came to trusting her, I decided I had no choice. My options were almost nonexistent. I buzzed the receptionist.

"Marian, I'll be out for the next several hours. Personal business." By that, I meant driving around aimlessly. Some people stand in the shower to think. Others fish or play endless hands of solitaire on the computer. I drive. The knob of the gear shift helps somehow.

It was a sunny winter's day, so there was that, and the temperatures were mild. At least on the interstate, life gets simpler. There's only one direction to go. So I shifted, changed lanes automatically, and thought through the very few contingencies, each worse than the one before it. The phone rang. Carla on the caller ID. A flash of panic, the feel of being hunted. Shit, she knows already.

"Hi, hon." There was no rage in her voice. I was relieved. Don't be an idiot. How could she know already? "You're not at the office."

"Oh. Yeah, I needed some alone time in the car."

"Oh. Anything wrong?"

"No. Just thinking through a project. You know me." Well, no. Carla definitely didn't know me at all, at least not now. "So what's up?"

"Well, you left early this morning. I'm just reminding you about the dinner tonight at the club." Oh, God. Not the stupid fundraiser. For some stupid disease. On a Monday, no less.

"I'm glad you reminded me. When do you need me home?"

"Actually, I wanted you to meet me there. Seven o'clock, sharp. I need to help Nell set up. She's in charge. I'll change there."

"Oh, that's fine. What about Jodi?"

"She can pick up something on the way home from practice. Oh. I forgot to mention. She was accepted to Vanderbilt. Just got the e-mail." Finally, something to brighten my day. Our daughter worried her grades weren't good enough, as if only perfection would do.

"That's great!"

"Yeah." There wasn't much conviction.

"You don't sound happy."

"Well, I'm experiencing the empty nester thing a little. Jodi has been busy with school, and you and I haven't spent much time together lately." Less of an accusation, more a statement of fact. I thought over the whirl of the past few months. Christmas had been a blur of client parties, the last-minute flurry of projects, and closing out the year. Real estate had taken up most of her weekends of late. So, no.

"Well, let's do dinner, you and I on Friday. Catch up."

"Nice try, but we have plans with the Holcombs." Jack and Nell. Again. Now it was my time to sound unenthused. "You don't sound thrilled."

"You know how I feel about Jack."

"Well, get over it. Nell's my best friend in the world." Since when?

"I thought Susan was your best friend."

"She's been so weird lately. Always with the drama. I'm taking a break from her."

I returned in time for a working lunch, this time to act the figurehead during the sales meeting in the conference room. The team had been outstanding over the past few years, so there was little for me to do but nod and ask the occasional question. In the darkened room, my attention wandered from the PowerPoint through the glass walls to the corridor outside. There I saw the telltale flow of auburn hair and an intent walk, Diane holding file folders across her chest as if they were a shield. I couldn't help but think of her breasts, and how they had felt when pressed against me.

"Dave." Huh? "Hello...Anybody there?"

"Oh. Sorry, Rick. Didn't get much sleep last night." Probably won't get much tonight either.

"No problem. Anyway, if you look at page 15 on the report..."

I rallied to get through the afternoon. At five, I lowered the blinds on the west side of my office to block out what was left of the pure and fierce winter sunlight. Given that it was a slack time of year, the rest of the office emptied out quickly. Having crossed through the items on my to-do list I, too, could leave the office with a clear conscience. A tap on the door. Or rather a synchronized drum of long fingernails.

Diane again. She slipped in with a bashful smile, closing the door behind her. She flopped in a chair facing my desk. She looked a bit disheveled, her jacket unbuttoned to reveal the white silk blouse beneath.

"You okay? You were out for a while this morning."

"That was quite a bomb you dropped."

Diane breathed in deeply. Her breasts. Her fabulous breasts rose up beneath the blouse.

"Yeah. I just felt that you needed to know as quickly as possible. But I guess Monday morning first thing wasn't my best timing."

"There really isn't a good time for that. So no worries." She nodded, my cue to continue. "So. Tell me more about what's going on with Mark." She looked behind her, satisfying herself that the door was closed.

"I had suspected something for a while. Suddenly, too many reasons to work late. An extra couple of night spent at summer camp to clean up. Hangups on the phone. Plus he had a talking-to in October about being a little too friendly with the counselors. He played it off as if it were nothing."

"How old were they?"

"College aged, but still. After that, he played it cool. But he was way too protective of his phone."

"Yeah. That's a bad sign."

"Stupid. That's what it is. So he's called me five times today. I'm expecting flowers tomorrow, like that will make it all better."

"Well. Hate to bring it up, but..."

"Yeah, I know. We're not much better. But at least that was a one-night thing. Mark's fun evidently went on for a while. Months and months. It took planning."

"Doesn't matter."

"Well, there's first-degree and second-degree murder."

"Yeah, but the victim's still dead."

"Nobody's the victim here. Unless you count our families."

"Okay. Sorry. You're right. So. Still going to go it alone?"

"I think so. Mom's in town. The one time Mark did catch me on the phone, he mentioned something about maybe having a job. Equipment sales or something. Some friend from college. I didn't hear all of it, since I hung up." I looked dubious. Mark had never impressed me, only being able to talk about deer hunting and Jesus, in that order. Once, having learned about a client's swank hunting lodge, he begged to be taken on the next meeting there. As if I would ever let a nitwit like that within a mile of one of my clients. In my eyes, he was never Diane's equal in that marriage.

"Well, financially..."

"Yeah. Thanks for the raise. It was a nice one." The bookkeeper had raised an eyebrow when I told her the amount, but said nothing. Diane looked around the room. Always positive, always cheerful, this was a side of her I had never seen. Stony. Reserved.

"So what's the next step?"

"Divorce attorney. Yeah, I get it. I cheated too. But he cheated first, and a lot, too. If I thought for a minute that he was faithful, that little episode the two of us had wouldn't have happened."

"Does your son know?"

"Nathan? No. He's three. What would I tell him? Of course, the marriage wasn't all that good anyway. I tried, at least until two weeks ago."

She stopped for a moment, and looked up to the ceiling and blinked rapidly. I reached for the box of tissues in my desk and slid them over. Diane thanked me and took one and dabbed her face, while I checked the hallway outside. Everyone had left for the day. I turned to find Diane standing to go. She had been strong long enough. Now she was crying.

"I don't know what to do..." she sobbed. I hesitated, then engulfed her. Diane clung to me while I kept one eye towards the door. Despite myself, I found myself once again stroking her hair, savoring the silken feel on my fingers. Her warmth, her scent, the natural feel of the moment despite all the pain and worry that caused it, as if all my senses were alive at once.

She leaned against the desk for support while I held her. During the long moments of our conversation and then our embrace, the sunlight had angled upward through the blinds, creeping up the walls to shine on the ceiling and leave us in shadow. I fought my secret pleasure at being strong and needed in the moment.

Long minutes later, Diane stopped crying. Her sobs were replaced by long, deep breaths. I felt her body rise and fall against me as she exhaled. I felt the feathery touch of her breath on my forearm. The firm grip of her hands on my back, her fingernails digging in ever so slightly. My own hands were beneath her jacket, slowly easing up and down her spine, my way to comfort her.

The kiss on her forehead was intended to be innocent, a soft reassurance. To that, Diane smiled sadly and looked up. And then kissed me back. And again. Our kiss tasted of tears at first, only to be replaced by the tang of something delicious and forbidden. I felt myself well up against her as my hips pinned Diane against the desk, her hands once again pulling me into her.

"Oh, God. That feels so good," she whispered to me, a tongue in my ear. "I can't stop thinking about you." My hands at the buttons on her blouse, the freeing of the clasp on her bra. The warmth and firmness underneath. The melting of her beneath my touch.

"We can't take anything off. What if someone sees us?" I did not reply, instead reaching beneath her skirt, yanking the lacy confection of her panties down her thighs. Her moans were the only approval I needed. She stepped out of the thong while I felt the heat and wetness beneath her outer primness, and turned to lean over the desk. Her face was partly ecstatic, partly a bawd's grin as she waited for me to unzip.

"We have to hurry. Daycare," she said between grunts. I obeyed, wasting no time plunging into her. Diane threw her head back.

This was not lovemaking. It was fucking. A savage coupling, my pushing into her and her pushing back. The hem of her skirt was thrown over her back, her legs unsteady on her heels as I clutched her waist and pistoned in and out. She jammed a knuckle in her mouth as a way to mute her screams, in the event someone was still loitering out in the halls. Finally, a shrill, whispered release, the long release of air, a long and exultant "Yes." The last sibilant S finally trailed off, only to be replaced by the thump of the cleaning crew working its way down the hall outside.

Jolted by the prospect of discovery, we quickly straightened ourselves out. Diane fumbled at her buttons, while I tucked myself away and zipped up. I retrieved her panties out from under my desk.

"Here." She snorted amusement.

"Not keeping it as a souvenir?"

"God no." At that moment, there was a slight rap at the door, more a formality than anything. The door opened, and the custodian peered in.

"Okay to clean, Mr. Dave?" Raphael's English had improved over the past few months.

"Sure thing. Come on in." I tried my best to sound nonchalant as I gathered my things, relieved at our close call. "Diane, I'll walk you out."

The elevator ride down wasn't quiet. Diane spoke first.

"Okay. We were trying to be good."

"Yeah. That worked out."

"Well, I needed that, to be honest. At least one thing's a positive."

"What's that?"

"You can't get me pregnant again." Gallows humor. I didn't laugh. "I was trying to be funny."

"Yeah. It's a little early for that yet."

"Want to talk about this some more?"

"Fifteen minutes. Sorry to be rushed, but I have this event. So now I need a shower. And a scotch."

"Make it five. Day care, remember?"

So we sat in my car, the engine running to keep the interior warm. Her plan remained the same, claim the child as her husband's. But, in me, a kernel of doubt had taken root.

"Okay. This is going to be weird, given the circumstances. But do we really want to pin this on your husband?"

"Do you have a better idea? I wasn't actually going to say as much. I just figured the world would assume."

"Well, he's paying for a child he didn't actually father." Diane narrowed her eyes at that.

"It's kind of a strange time to suddenly get all ethical, Dave. I mean, are you going to tell your wife about this child we're going to have?" I flushed at that. Jesus, it just keeps getting worse.

"No, I..."

"Then what? You tell me. I'd really like to know."

"I don't know. Okay? I just don't know."

"The way I see it, it serves the fucker right."

"You cussed." My attempt at levity.

"Yes, I did. I'm beginning to how useful it is." We were quiet for a few more moments, the only sound being the heat pumping through the vents. In the twilit parking lot, we watched people leave the building in ones and twos, lives undoubtedly more simple than our own. Diane looked at me once again, as if to speak. A thin smile played across her face.

"What?"

"Dave, it's going to be fine. What's to be gained from the truth?" With that, she kissed me on the cheek, expertly wiped her lipstick with a thumb, and strolled to her car.

I arrived on time to the fundraiser, despite having showered at home to wash away the smell of Diane. In the hall outside the dining room, Carla inspected me with disapproval.

"Where's your tux?"

"It's black tie? On a Monday?"

"We were doing it for fun. Kind of a theme. Jeez, Dave. The invitation was on the refrigerator for weeks." I looked inside the room at the crowd thronging the parquet. Yes, most of the men wore tuxes. One even wore a kilt. Only a few wore suits like me, their wives making apologies on their behalf. I took an inventory of the crowd, one to whom we were fairly new. Carla had tried to branch out, expanding our circle over the past year. Now, I'm socializing with people I barely know, I thought to myself.

"Sorry. I was running late."

"It's fine. We're sitting with Nell and Jack, Vance and Elaine. Make nice."

Not my crowd. Jack and Vance made the conversation even louder than their matching plaid cummerbunds and bowties, a lame attempt at humor by two men who liked bathroom humor a little much. Nell was keeping pace, judging by the joke she was finishing up as we approached.

"...it comes in three sizes: six inches, eight inches, and 'Oh my God, does that come in white?'" The four of them burst out laughing, joined by Carla who I guess had heard the joke before. Who is this woman I am married to? A year ago, she would have been appalled.

"Dave!" Jack clapped a hand over my shoulder. I flinched at his touch. Always a bit too much. Nell, too. Although she was an attractive woman. More than once, in her cups, she had given me the boob rub on my forearm at a crowded party.

"Hello, everyone."

"You need to catch up. We've been at it for forty-five minutes now. Third glass of wine." With that, he beckoned over a waitress. Nell grabbed a glass of red and handed it to me. I felt a headache coming on, a product of the day's stress.

I would like nothing better than to recount the conversation, if only anything memorable had been said. It wasn't even chitchat. It was the same mix of double entendres, lazy gossip, and bragging that I had come to expect from this group. The goings on of people I didn't know. The name dropping and mentions of lavish vacations, lake homes, and children getting accepted to selective schools. Carla was far more animated than me, for my responses were mostly one word, as in "Great." Or "Excellent." I suddenly felt like the dullard in the room.

The chicken was rubbery. The speech and awards were tedium. More than once, I stifled a desire to excuse myself to the restroom and play a few games of solitaire and just think. At one point, during the long acceptance of a lifetime achievement award by someone I didn't know, I looked over at Carla. Despite the darkened room, I saw movement at the fringe of the white linen tablecloth, Jack's arm moving underneath. By the power of geometry, I guessed that his hand had moved to Carla's knee. She wiggled for a moment at his touch, then slapped his arm.

"Jack," she whispered. "Cut it out." Jack moved his hand back to his lap. Nell merely laughed. I made a note to ask Carla about that later.

That night, I hung up my suit while Carla chattered in the afterglow of the event's success, going on about who said what to whom. Most of the names were unknown to me. I just grunted my assent.

"So what was that with Jack," I finally interrupted. Carla's back was to me as she was unzipping her dress. I saw her stiffen.

"What was what?"

"Jack's hand. On your knee." With that, she turned to me, pulling one earring out, then the other.

"Jack's just grabby that way after he's had a few. You're not getting jealous, right?"

"No, I guess not." Oddly, that was the truth. I was surprised at my own detachment.

"He's kind of notorious for that. I don't know how Nell puts up with it." With that, Carla put her jewelry in the case and walked to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerged.

"New negligee," I offered with approval. She had always been so conservative that way. Carla beamed.

"It's not too risky, right?" Already knowing the answer, she fell into bed, scooting next to me.

"Uh, no. Who else would see it, anyway?" At that, she turned out the lamp. I felt the tug of the drawstring on my pajama bottoms. There was the pang of memory, that of Diane, one that I quickly drove away for the business at hand.

"Just you."

The next morning, the phone rang. I turned on my lamp, wondering who would be calling my mobile at, what, 4:45?

"Hello?" My voice was clotted with sleep. On the other end, I heard a deep wail. A sob. A struggle to speak. I was now alert.

"Dave?" It was Diane. Now, Carla was awake, too, squinting at me in the lamplight.

"Diane. What's wrong?"

"It's Mark. He's shot himself."