Cheating to Survive (Fix It or Get Out) (21 page)

Catherine shook her head yet again, speechless, astonished that she could make him feel this way. Someone so charming, whom others adored, desired and sought-after, wanted dull, ordinary Catherine? Maybe all those girls that threw themselves at him turned him off. That’s why he chose her. That must be it.

She had watched him kiss other women’s hands wishing it would be hers. Observed how sweetly he spoke to the nurses, wanting him to whisper in her ear. Analyzed the way he touched their shoulders as he spoke to them in that smooth, captivating voice and yearned for him to touch her skin. She felt the pulsing between her legs quicken.

His hand made its way around to the back of her neck, the other hand joined in and he leaned in closer to her face. Both hands massaged the back of her neck in slow, soft gestures. “Catherine, you have not said a thing. Can it be that you do not feel the same way about me? That you don’t find me attractive? Am I too old for you? Please speak to me, I need to know if my fantasy will be shattered right here before you.”

Fantasy. She was his fantasy?

The throbbing intensified causing the heat to soar between her legs and the sensation of warmth flooded her causing her to orgasm right there in front of him. Her breath quickened. She panted out loud like a dog, pathetically. Her convulsing body must have aroused him, for he squeezed the hard object under his pants as if incensed and then lunged in and threw his lips onto hers.

Dr. Mangle kissed her hard and violently. Her muscles lost their tension and she relaxed her posture. She let him kiss her, firm and powerful. This is what it felt like to have passion for something, to be desired and coveted. Warm liquid from within, escaped and covered her underwear.

He nuzzled her neck, gnawing at it like a hungry grizzly bear. He grabbed her hand and crushed it into the hard object popping out from the top of his pants. “Do you feel this?” he asked. “You did this to me Catherine, no one else. No one else can do this to me but you. You make me hard.”

She had never touched anyone else’s. Well except for Herman Nowacki’s. But her first year in college gave her the opportunity to finally experiment with boys, and well, it was so small she could barely grasp two fingers around it. That didn’t count.

He pulled away, stroking his hard penis. “There is so much I’d love to show you Catherine, so much I’d like to do to you, experiences you’ve never dreamed of. I can take you there. I can make you feel things you never thought possible.”

This wasn’t happening. A crazy dream perhaps from lack of sleep. A man like him could never want her, but then again, maybe she had redeeming qualities. Qualities that Peter squashed and buried until even she no longer saw them.

She wanted to feel, feel something, anything. Living with this perpetual numbness was too much.

He lifted her up onto her desk, her binder smashed into the wall. He put his hands around her ankles and lifted her long tan skirt, caressing her calves. He resumed his journey up her left leg, and continued higher.

She froze. Fossilized and petrified. She felt like a patient at the OB/GYN’s office with her legs in stir-ups. How much further he would go? Would he stop before he reached her knees, continue all the way up? She thought about the underwear she threw on, white briefs with red roses. Not very flattering but he would not see them today, not here in the middle of her office. Catherine suddenly thought of Heather and Silvatri having sex in here. Her heart raced. It was possible.

Dr. Mangle continued to move his persuasive hand up her leg and over her knee. He drifted toward her thigh, stopped, studied her and then looked back down.

“What?” she stammered, finally speaking. “What is it?”

He chuckled, removing his hand. “Are you wearing knee highs?”

“Yes, why?”

He burst out laughing. In the middle of everything. Humiliating her.

“What’s so funny?” she whimpered. She
was
a loser. What had she done wrong?

“Knee highs, seriously?” He bent in, ran his tongue around her ear and then whispered, “We have to get you a pair of thigh highs with the garter to match.”

****

Catherine stared at herself in the lingerie store’s mirror. The sheer white thigh-highs with a back-seam and white lace trim had an attached garter belt whose wide lace straps caressed her butt, cuddling it and embracing the firm round skin. The straps hooked to the top of a matching four-inch band of material encircling her flat stomach. She chose a tiny white thong so as not to hide her sultry butt.

The white see-through bra, with its sheer material, did not come in her size since most bras that fit her had bulky, thick material. She chose one two sizes smaller and her huge breasts exploded out of them, nipples peeked over the edge.

She twirled around one last time, finger in her mouth rolling it on her tongue and ran her other hand up the back of her thigh to the bare skin above. She faced the mirror again and her hand travelled to the front of the thong, lingered and rubbed the area. Were there hidden cameras in the changing room?

She danced in the private fitting room and beamed at her twin in the mirror. Real, significant, desired, important. Catherine transformed. Resuscitated and revived.

Chapter 30
Victoria

On this unusual eighty-degree, non-humid August day in New York, Andrew and Sara drove to the South Shore beaches with friends and Ed completed construction of a storage shed. Victoria normally spent the Friday before she worked the weekend running errands, calculating bills and cooking meals to freeze for the coming days, but today Aiden took the day off to spend with her.

She pulled into his driveway. Aiden was already waiting and leaning on his sporty gunmetal grey Cadillac. The ideal man for a luxury vehicle commercial.

He held the door for to enter. His irresistible cologne permeated the interior, instantly seducing her. Victoria’s fingers meandered over his maroon car seats, the color the same as the negligee she bought weeks ago for Ed, the one buried in the bottom of her pajama drawer.

“Are the windows too much?” he asked. “It’s much too nice for air conditioning today.”

Ed always insisted the air conditioner remain on inside the house even on gorgeous days like today. The silence from the locked windows prevented her from hearing birds and crickets, children playing tag, the distance sound of trains, and it dulled her as if she was in solitary confinement.

Her shoulder-length hair flicked and waved from the breeze off the seashore. The clear sea air became apparent as they neared the North Shore. Starfish Beach, a private beach one mile from Aiden’s home, welcomed them.

The boardwalk bustled with lovers enjoying the weather. Aiden obviously wasn’t the only one playing hooky today. The lack of breeze made the air feel warmer as they strolled along the boardwalk. They approached a young couple holding hands and the pair knocked their hips into one another, laughed, then stopped to kiss.

Victoria’s heart took a blow at the realization that Aiden and she could never do such a thing in public. They walked with three feet between them, casual, non-suggesting.

She envisioned him embracing her on the boardwalk, a fantasy for sure, but one that made her float like the seagulls above. Any time spent with him was a gift. It gave her reason to continue down her path in life, the path with the “Dead End” sign prominently displayed.

“I took my boys here when they were little.” He leaned on the long piece of railing overlooking the bay. “The rocks hurt their feet but they never complained. We came later in the day, flew this bright orange box kite in the seaweed air. I brought a small charcoal grill and we’d cook up burgers and hot dogs, toast marshmallows. One was always sure to fall into the sand. Then we’d watch the sunset down past the rocks over there.” He pointed to an enormous strip of boulders about a quarter of a mile down the beach.

“My wife loved the beach too. Before the kids were born, we snuck out to that last lifeguard stand and sat wrapped in a blanket and watched the sun set and the stars grow brighter. One night we watched for so long we fell asleep.”

His story evoked a memory of her father and her gazing at the stars in a lounge chair on their back patio. She always thought they only shone in their backyard, no one else’s. They were Victoria’s stars. What did a seven-year-old know?

“Do you come to the beach often?” he asked.

“When Andrew and Sara were little I took them all the time. Ed hates the beach, the sun beating on his head. When they were older, I’d say eleven and fifteen, it wasn’t fun anymore. Andrew was bored, wanted to be with his friends and Sara wanted to build sandcastle after sandcastle. It was stressful back then.

Ed withdrew from us. Midlife crisis perhaps. I was exhausted – between the kids, chores, work. I have to admit, by the time I made lunches, packed up the car, carried toys and towels, chairs and a radio, I just wanted to lie on the beach and read a book. They sensed it, I’m sure, and didn’t want to go anymore.

Heather started working with me the following winter. Her girls were seven and five at the time and she suggested we go together next summer. Andrew refused to hang out with three little girls but I brought Sara. Heather was amazing. The way she got down and built this whole sand house for Laurel’s Polly Pocket dolls. She made rooms and furniture, a pool, all out of sand. Then she played with them, actually took a few dolls and named them. One was called Sarsaparilla I think. Oh, God.” Victoria let out a laugh. “She had a whole story line going. The way the girls watched her. Heather knew how to have a good time, still does.”

Victoria’s smile curved down. She missed the fun, the spark in her life. Aiden rested his hand on her shoulder. Instead of helping, she looked around to see if anyone was watching.

This charade only blanketed her pain, like spreading icing over a broken crumbling cupcake, trying to hold the pieces together and make it look appealing on the outside.

Chapter 31
Heather

Heather, Victoria and Catherine sat in the cafeteria eating breakfast at their usual table in the back corner. Originally it was to hide from Jean since the alignment was perfect with the cash register and large fake palm, but now more to share their secrets without being overheard.

Heather finished her salad and snapped her double dark chocolate cookie in half. She bit off a piece and the richness of the soft cookie and melted chocolate chips cleared her mouth of the spinach and red pepper tang.

Catherine had been increasingly quiet since last week. Were they not giving her the opportunity to talk? Was she still angry with Victoria? But then this morning she spotted something. Catherine’s short skirt. The woman must have been a nun in a former life because she always covered her legs with pants or long flowing skirts.

Heather flung another piece of cookie in her mouth and continued to stare while Victoria described her boardwalk experience to them. Catherine looked up from her strawberry yogurt parfait and locked eyes with Heather.

“So then this seagull swooped down right in front of us…”

Catherine tried to look away but Heather continued her gaze.

“Aiden tried to swat it away but his sandal caught on one of the wood planks of the boardwalk and…”

Catherine snuck a quick peek, then pretended she needed another napkin. Her other one untouched. Heather bit off a large chunk of cookie, refusing to remove her eyes. The two of them launched into a staring contest.

“…we didn’t know what to do so Aiden grabbed my hand and dragged me over to the sand and stupid me tripped over a child’s shovel and– ”

Their staring match chopped Victoria’s laughter in half. Catherine’s nostrils flared, her veins in her neck strained against her skin. Heather on the other hand, plastered a huge smirk on her face and munched in an exaggerated manner.

“You’re wearing eyeliner,” Heather said, “and mascara.”

“So.”

Heather bent her head under the table. “Nice skirt.”

“Thank you.”

Victoria looked back and forth at them. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell us, Catherine?”

“Nothing, can’t I look nice?”

“Forgot to wear your hair clip today?”

“I had a headache. It was hurting my head.”

“Who is it?” Heather snickered.

Victoria put her tea down. “Who is what? What did I miss?”

“Catherine’s holding out on us. I can see it.”

Victoria gazed at Catherine and detected it too. Victoria shot a glance at Heather and back at Catherine and then smiled. With Heather and Victoria staring at her, Catherine folded.

“All right, there is someone.”

“I knew it!”

“Please. I’m still in shock.

“What…did…you do?” Victoria asked.

“I don’t know how it happened. I would never…you know that.”

“Yeah, you’ve thrown it in our faces enough times.”

Catherine frowned at Heather. “I was taken by surprise. I guess I always had a crush on him but refused to admit it, plus I never thought he’d be interested in me.” She took a sip of water. “Oh Lord, the thought of cheating, but it was only a kiss.”

“You kissed someone?” Victoria knocked over her Styrophome cup. Tan liquid streamed across the table.

Heather quickly squashed it with a wad of napkins and silenced Victoria. “Someone from here?”

“Yes. A doctor.”

“No fucking way! Who, Dr. Bishop?”

“Ew! No.”

“Dr. Holben?”

“No. Why are you picking all these nerdy doctors?”

“Well…” Heather coughed.

Victoria chuckled. “Okay, how about Dr. Wachsman?”

“No, no, no. It’s not anyone you would ever suspect. Someone totally out of my league. Attractive, charismatic, magnetic, desired by everyone in the hospital…”

“Okay, he’s Prince Charming, we get it. Now who the hell is it?”

Catherine leaned in and they followed. Catherine screeched like Rori and closed her eyes. “I still can’t believe he would want someone like me but it’s…” Catherine blushed like the red pepper Heather just ate. “Dr. Mangle,” she whispered.