The Secret Lives of Housewives (3 page)

Cait realized that she was close also and just typed:

She came, as she usually did, hard and fast. She heard her moans as her body spasmed over and over. When she could think again, she typed:

She'd helped him come and it was a gas. She got almost as much enjoyment from the fact that she'd been partly responsible for Hotguy344's orgasm. She wasn't a total loser the way she felt she was with Logan.

She quickly signed off and took another shower. Then she found the green dress Logan wanted her to wear and spread it out on the bed. “Okay,” she said aloud, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. “Now I'm ready for anything.”

N
ice women, Angie thought as she climbed into her five-year-old Ford and thought, for the hundredth time, how much she and Tony needed a larger car. She'd been watching ads on TV and, knowing that the babies' two car seats took up the entire back, almost drooled at the seven-passenger vans. Of course, with only two children, she and Tony could manage but if there were more, well…She'd always wanted lots of kids, and when she got pregnant, she'd dreamed of three or four, spaced a convenient two or three years apart. Now, with the twins, she wasn't so sure she ever wanted to see another diaper, but they were so adorable. She knew she was a good mother and she loved the job. In a year or two they might be ready for more kids, one at a time. But even with only the twins a bigger car would certainly help.

When she'd discussed a new car with Tony, he'd told her flatly that, with the extra expenses of two babies, the chances of affording even a late-model used car, much less an expensive new van, were slim to none. “Angie, baby, you know I can't do it on my salary, even with my second job.” Tony taught English in a high school in New York City, and during the summer and on weekends during the rest of the year, he worked with his brothers doing electrical contracting. He wanted to get some time to work during the week but his commute to the Bronx got him home too late to get in any meaningful amount of time. “We'll just have to keep the Ford running and make do with less room.” When Angie looked totally defeated, he'd added, “Maybe we can ask our folks for help. Eventually.”

Angie sighed, put the car in gear, and, waving to the women she'd just left, drove slowly out of the community center's parking lot.
What nice women
, she thought again. Coffee at the diner next week. God, it would be so great to have someone to talk to who didn't focus on kids. She talked to her folks and Tony's frequently, but they seldom even asked how she was. “How are my babies?” her mom would ask.
My babies.
Like they were hers. Maybe she could come over sometime and actually help take care of them instead of sipping coffee and talking baby talk to them.
Stop it,
she told herself.
Mom is what she is. Be a good sport and take her as she is.

“Are the twins still taking two naps a day?” Mary Cariri, Tony's mother, would ask. Although Tony's folks had moved to North Carolina, Mary called almost every day for an update. Often she called at the worst minute, but Angie tried to talk to her at some length anyway, while juggling the babies, bottles, and dirty laundry. “Tell me about them. Any sign of them walking?”

When did I stop being a person, too?
Angie wondered.
Even for Tony.

She flipped on the car radio and tried to relax as soft music filled the passenger compartment. She used her yoga breathing and focused on the tall oaks and pines that lined the quiet streets of East Hudson. Summer flowers were in full bloom in front of well-maintained houses. Now that the clouds had passed and the sun shone brightly, she knew that all the neighborhood children would be outside playing in their yards: toddlers with balls and brightly colored plastic toys, digging in sandboxes or splashing around in small inflatable wading pools, older children on bikes or skateboards or shooting baskets, parents sitting together and sipping iced tea.
God, I can't wait until the twins don't need me every waking moment.
Maybe she could make some friends, too, like those women she'd been with briefly after class that morning.

She turned onto Judy Lane, a typical suburban street with paved sidewalks and impossibly green lawns. Her split level was halfway down the street, and as she approached, she thought about Tony, waiting for her. She let her mind drift into her favorite fantasy. He'd be at the door to greet her. She could see it.

“I'm so glad you're home,” he'd say. “I missed you so much.” His kiss would be warm and deep, his hands stroking her back, wandering down to her cheeks.

“I missed you, too,” she'd say as she came up for air. His kisses always made her breathless.

“The babies are still asleep,” he'd whisper. “Come into the bedroom with me.”

He'd draw her into their room, where the sun shone through windows open to the soft summer breeze. He'd slowly remove her clothes and stroke each part of her body as it was revealed. His soft hands on her shoulders, his lips on her neck would heat her blood and increase her heart rate. Then his mouth would find her breast and he'd bite lightly on her already erect nipple. Shards of pleasure would arrow to her groin, making her swell and moisten.

Soon his fingers would slide between her thighs and stroke her hungry body. God, how she loved the feel of him opening her, penetrating her. He'd tell her how she aroused him, how he wanted her and only her.

They'd be on the bed now, naked, his large cock sliding into her soaked body, filling her, then teasing her by pulling out. In and out, until she was writhing beneath him. They'd climax together, then doze.

She returned to reality as she pulled into the driveway of their small, three-bedroom house and turned off the engine. She remembered when the Ford had fit into the small garage, but now the space was filled with baby stuff: a second high chair—they'd have to find room for it in the house somewhere now that the twins were feeding themselves—a twin stroller, two toddler tricycles and two wagons, portable cribs for trips to who-knew-where, boxes of hand-me-down clothes from caring neighbors, and enough other stuff that she'd actually lost track of what was in some of the cartons.

Angie climbed out of the car and walked past the few straggling salvia and zinnias left from her flurry to put growing things around the house one afternoon several months ago. She'd spent two hours with the baby monitor beside her while the twins were sleeping and it had looked really good for quite a while. Now, however, with her lack of time for care or water, most of the plants had wilted in the summer heat. Maybe this morning's rain would perk them up.

She opened the front door and walked into the small entryway. “I'm home,” she said softly, hoping the twins were still asleep. She reached down and picked up Gizmo, their six-year-old chocolate brown miniature poodle, so he wouldn't bark and wake the babies. Reflexively, she scratched him behind his ears as he wriggled joyfully in her arms.

The living room was its usual shambles, filled with baby toys, books, blankets, a pile of clothing from the wash she hadn't had time to fold yet. A pile of diapers and a box of baby wipes lay on the coffee table on top of a pile of art books she'd bought to add color to the room. The babies' bottles from their pre-nap feeding still sat on one end table. Beneath it all was the comfortable, contemporary furniture she and Tony had bought when they were first married, when they had two incomes and could afford to buy pretty much what they wanted. They'd actually decorated, poring over magazines and haunting furniture stores, local art shows, and craft fairs. She breathed in the standard smell of baby lotion, formula, and just a hint of baby poop.

She glanced into the kitchen, at the sink filled with dishes that needed to be stuffed into the dishwasher and several bowls on the tray of the twins' single high chair. Again she realized that they needed to find room for the second one. Where could it go? she mused. The kitchen was too small for two high chairs and the dining area carpet was still in pretty good condition. For the moment she was feeding one baby in her arms, while the other sat in the chair, but that wouldn't work for long. Maybe they could put a throw rug down in the dining area or just use a sheet of plastic.

“Hi, hon,” Tony mumbled, not looking up from the computer game he was playing. “MaryLee fussed a bit about an hour ago but then went right back to sleep. Brandon, as always, is out like a rock.”

Tony. She loved him, she really did. He was warm and caring with long, slightly shaggy dark hair and soft brown eyes. He wasn't exactly gorgeous but even now, when her libido was almost nonexistent, his sexy body, sensual face, bedroom eyes, and tight, jeans-encased butt still stirred her.

“That's great,” Angie said, sighing as she thought about the ordeal when they woke: changing diapers then feeding a pair of hungry babies. Fortunately they were exceptionally good children, seldom cranky even at mealtimes.

“Did you get the beer?” Tony asked, still using his controller to shoot at enemies. As explosions flashed on the screen Angie was pleased that he had at least turned the sound off.

“Oh, baby, I'm sorry,” Angie said. “I completely forgot to stop at the store. I got to talking to a few of the women from the class and it just slipped my mind.” She turned and started toward the door.

“Don't bother,” Tony said, pushing the pause button. “I'll go.”

“Why don't you wait until we're through with the babies and then I'll go? Or we can put the kids in the car and both go. I've got the list right here.” She fumbled in her pocketbook and found the scrap of paper she'd scrawled on.

“That's okay. Don't trouble yourself. I'll do it.” He grabbed the car keys from Angie's hand.

Right. You'll find any way you can to get out of baby duty. Can't you just once volunteer to take the babies off my hands?
But she sighed and said, “Okay, babe. I'll see you in a few minutes.”

“Actually this works out really well. Jordanna bought a new sound system and I told her I'd help install and wire it up for her. I'll just stop there on my way home.”

Jordanna. Tony's ex-wife, who couldn't seem to stay totally ex. On one hand, Angie was glad they had a good relationship. So many divorced couples were so hateful to each other. But why did they have to be
so
friendly? Gorgeous Jordanna with her corporate job and high five-figure income. Never-had-a-kid Jordanna with no stretch marks and perky breasts. Clever Jordanna with her sneaky ways to keep Tony close. Jordanna, who'd be there to pick up the pieces should things go wrong with Tony's marriage to poor little Angie.

Angie bit back an angry reply. It really was good that they got along. Wasn't it? Damn them both. Tony would spend a few hours with the lovely, needy Jordanna and by the time he arrived home, the babies would be changed and fed and he'd be relaxed with his ego bursting. She took a deep breath.
Get along. Be a good sport. Don't make problems where you don't have to.
“Whatever. Say hello to Jordanna for me,” she said.
And feed her a cyanide cocktail for me, too.

She heard the front door close behind her husband and chastised herself for her negative thinking. She wandered into the kitchen, spread a thick layer of peanut butter on a slice of bread, and folded it over. Chewing, she poured baby cereal into a bowl and pulled a jar of strained apricots out of the closet. Empty baby bottles covered the back of the kitchen counter and she scooped powdered formula into two of them.
Brandon gets the lap this time,
she remembered,
and MaryLee gets the high chair.
At least they weren't breast-feeding any more. What a relief it would be when they held their own bottles. She'd read that ten-month-olds should be doing that, but hers seemed to be conspiring to give her extra work.

Stuffing the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, Angie heard the first slight rustle through the baby monitor. If the twins woke slowly, as they usually did, she'd have about ten minutes to change out of her sweaty clothes and then it would be “Twins Time!”

W
ith a small prayer, Eve started her 1996 Toyota and heaved a deep sigh when the engine caught. She really had to get it over to the mechanic today but she didn't want to take the time. She needed to get home, just in case.

She drove through the center of town, down Main Street with its collection of stores, gas stations, and restaurants. Villa Moretti's. Yeah. She hadn't been there in quite a while and a plate of linguini with meat sauce would taste really good. She had long since stopped minding sitting by herself, reading a good romance novel, and filling her stomach. She'd go there later—if she felt like going out.

For now she turned onto Pinetree. East Hudson was such a nice, ordinary little town, she thought. Ordinary streets with ordinary people doing ordinary things. A ball field and kiddy park. An elementary school on the next block. That was fine with her. She was basically an ordinary person with ordinary needs.

This particular section of town was filled with apartments and inexpensive condos, near enough to the railroad tracks for some commuters to make the long walk to the station and for her to hear the train whistles. Others thought the sound of the long, low wails was lonely, but to her it was a dreamy sound, particularly on a hot summer evening when all her windows were open.

It made her think of the movie
Picnic
. She loved old films and that was one of her favorites. William Holden and Kim Novak making love beside the railroad tracks. You never saw anything that wasn't G-rated, but it was obvious that they did it that night.

She must have seen that film at least two dozen times, and each time she played it she worried that eventually her videotape might just wear through. If it did, she'd buy another. William Holden would be much too old now for her thirty-one years but in that film he was everything she wanted.

She considered what she wanted and realized that Mike might be calling right now. She resisted the temptation to speed but she had to get home. She knew he wouldn't leave a message, no tangible evidence. Maybe his wife would go out for lunch or take the kids somewhere and he'd be able to call and talk for a few minutes. It seemed like forever since she'd seen him. Of course, it had been only yesterday at the office but that wasn't the same as really seeing him. She pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose and deliberately slowed down to twenty.

They'd been able to get a funch, as he called it—fuck for lunch—the previous Tuesday. God, those were good. Grab a hot dog, separately, of course, from the vendor on the corner or bring in sandwiches from the deli on the next block, then hurry to a small nearby hotel where no one asked any questions. Okay, when she really thought about it, it did seem a bit furtive, but it was always worth it. Mike was wonderful in bed.

Frustrated, she arrived at the Garden Grove Apartments, parked her car in its assigned space, grabbed her purse, and dashed up the walk. She'd had to drive through the complex really slowly since the street was filled with children. Bikes and balls filled the sidewalks and spilled over onto the roadway. Elementary school girls covered the walkways with colored chalk designs and drawings while the teens and preteens talked in small groups.

Her unit, number 206, was up one flight in the back, very private. She had dreams of Mike being able to get an evening to spend with her. As she headed for her building she allowed herself just a moment to fantasize.

He'd come to her apartment. No one would see. His hair would be a bit mussed and she'd smooth it away from his face. His wonderful face. It wasn't handsome exactly, with its heavy nose, chiseled chin, and heavy, black-framed glasses. But his eyes. God, his eyes. Almost black and so seductive. When he looked at her, even in the office, she'd melt. His mouth was full and so sexy that it took all her willpower not to rush over and kiss it.

“This is heaven,” he'd say, looking around her modest apartment, and she'd watch his lips form the words. She'd be able to look at him to her heart's content. No need to be circumspect. They'd share a glass of wine and talk about romantic movies, novels, or television shows, anything but the office. He'd put his feet up on the coffee table, lean his head back onto the sofa cushions, and relax.

Then he'd turn to her, cup his hand on the back of her head and pull her close—close enough for a long, searing kiss. She'd touch him, stroke him, undress him slowly, and he'd do the same for her.

Then they'd walk, hand in hand, to the bedroom and stretch out on the bed. The windows would be open and she'd hear the distant train whistle. He'd sigh and agree that it was a lovely sound, tell her how he also loved riding on trains. They would do that on their honeymoon, once he was free of Diana.

He'd touch her then, long slow caresses. As he touched, she'd feel herself swell and her wetness increase. In the light from the bedside lamp she'd watch his cock grow, thickening and lengthening until she knew he was ready.

He'd take his time, rubbing her wet folds, caressing her clitoris, making sure she was ready for him. She would be eager for him and he'd slowly slide into her, taking a long time before he came. And she'd climax, too, just a moment after he did.

The dream had flashed through her mind in only a few seconds, but when she returned to the present she lamented the time wasted and quickly rushed up the walk, idly waving to a few of her neighbors, sitting on lawn chairs on the grass, surrounded by children. As she turned her key in the lock, she heard only the wail of Maxie, her male Siamese, and the galloping feet of Minnie, her coal black female alley cat. No, she was a mixed breed, a domestic short hair like they said on Animal Planet. And Minnie wasn't just a domestic short hair—she was much more. She was a friend, a confidante. When she couldn't talk to anyone else, she could talk to Minnie. She flashed on the three women she'd met earlier. Maybe…

Eve opened the door and scooped Minnie up before she could slip out. Maxie turned his back and sauntered toward the kitchen as he always did, as if to say, “Okay, so you're home. Where's my treat?” but Minnie rubbed her cheek against Eve's and started to purr.

Cradling Minnie in one arm, Eve dropped her purse on the chair, walked into the kitchen, and glanced at the answering machine. Nope, no message. Had he called and just hung up when the machine answered? She wouldn't know unless she asked him. She realized that she could give him her cell phone number, but that seemed so public and impersonal, and anyway she was home all afternoon every Saturday and Sunday. No, the cell phone wasn't intimate enough. When he called she wanted to be at home.

The kitchen was tiny but immaculate, bright floral dishes put lovingly in the cabinet, a tea kettle shaped like a cat on the narrow stove, three cat-shaped magnets on the refrigerator holding the phone numbers of the building's superintendent, her family doctor, and the vet. Well-washed, spatter-patterned tile covered the floor. Although there was limited counter space, when she saw them at a garage sale, Eve couldn't resist the canister set—each of the three containers shaped like a fluffy, black and white Persian kitten—which now occupied a place of honor beside the stove.

Maxie jumped onto the counter and settled there, washing his paws as if he hadn't a care in the world. Eve dropped Minnie beside him, then got two kitty treats from the box in the cabinet and gave one to each. She kept a restraining hand firmly on Maxie and watched Minnie daintily eat her tidbit. If she didn't watch, Maxie would push Minnie out of the way and eat both treats. Men. Wasn't that the way.

Over the next hour Eve changed into jeans and a T-shirt, tidied her already tidy apartment, vacuumed the simply furnished living room, plumped the cushions on the ersatz colonial sofa, and straightened the matching chair and tables. She ran a soft cloth over the frames of the old romance movie posters that filled the walls, lovingly dusting Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in
Casablanca
and Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland in
Robin Hood
. Then she gathered a load of laundry that she'd take to the laundry room in the next building that evening, when she knew Mike wouldn't call. He never called after five. Family time with his wife and kids. No, she wouldn't think about that part of it.

For lunch she opened a can of tomato soup. While it heated, she thought about which movie she'd watch. She looked over her large collection, but she realized that she already knew what she wanted. She pulled the
Picnic
tape from the shelf and stuffed it into the VCR. When the soup was almost ready she put a bag of popcorn in her small microwave and listened to the comforting sound of the popping. Finally, an oversized mug of soup in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other, she wandered into the living room and pressed play on the remote. As the film filled the TV screen, she dropped onto the sofa and the two cats settled themselves on her legs.

She fell into a light sleep and nearly jumped off the couch at three-thirty when the phone rang. Two startled cats dashed across the room as she picked up the cordless handset she'd placed on the floor beside the sofa. She stopped a moment to slow her racing pulse, and once sure she'd sound fully awake, softened her voice. “Hello?”

“Hi, sugar.”

It was him. “Hi, Mike. I'm so glad you got a chance to call.”

“Diana's out so I've got just a moment. How was your class?” She was in heaven. He'd actually remembered that she took yoga on Saturday morning. “Aerobics, right?” he asked.

“Yoga.” Okay, he wasn't exactly right, but he'd remembered something. “It was really good. Angie is such a good teacher.”

“That's great.”

She pulled off her glasses. “Maybe next week, if you can call only on Saturday around lunchtime, you could use my cell phone. I really want to talk to you, but I might not be home. I might go out with some ladies from the class.” It would be worth losing the sense of privacy to be able to sit with the others from the yoga class. Anyway, he didn't usually call until midafternoon, when Diana was out. She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder.

“Sure. You'll give me the number on Monday. Does Tuesday lunch work for you this week?”

He knows it does
, she thought.
He's my boss after all, but he always asks. So polite.
“Sure. I can't wait.” She yanked the bottom of her T-shirt out of her jeans and took off her glasses.

“Me neither.” He paused. “I think I hear the door. Gotta run. See you Monday morning.”

“See you,” she said, but the line was already dead. She breathed warm air onto the lenses and polished her glasses, then put them back on. She saw that the tape was playing the final credits so she stopped it, pressed rewind, and settled down to watch
Picnic
again.

As the opening shots filled the screen she scooped Minnie up and set her on her lap. “He's so wonderful. He says that in a few years he can get a divorce, once his children are old enough to understand.” She scratched the cat's belly. “Won't that be wonderful, Minnie? Just Mike and me.”

Minnie began to purr loudly and Eve pulled a brightly colored afghan over her legs and snuggled down to watch the film.