The Mistress

He is spending the weekend with his wife and children; the perfect family time. Even the perfect family complete with father, mother, brother, sister, golden Labrador, detached house, sports car, four by four…..

They are going bowling, to the cinema, to eat pizza in one of those ‘child friendly’ garish restaurants, oozing with fake cheese and tackiness. She sneers a little when she thinks this last thought, remembering what a snob he is. And then she laughs, as she recalls his last meal; a fresh fruit platter eaten in bed.

With her.

She is sitting in a bar, sipping blood red wine from a goldfish bowl of a glass. Alone. She is alone of choice, she tells herself. And it is half true, at least. She has refused drinks from one man, smartly dressed, nice smile, then another, boxing, she thought, way out of his league. She would rather sit in the window, in the half light of early dusk, and watch the world go by; a world of which she does not feel a part and never has.

She thinks of him.

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

He is an excellent actor, of course. But he is an excellent actor not because he fears for his own scaly skin if he is discovered in his deception, but because he cannot stand the thought of losing those two children who’s smiles dance around their faces like kittens in a basket.

To any outsider, looking in, he would appear as the man who has it all. Inside, he feels as if he has everything and nothing, all at once.

She is being propositioned by a hundred men, in his mind. She will be smiling her alluring smile, so innocent, yet bewitching. No-one, he thinks, could withstand that; he could not. There will be one, he feels sure, who’s proposition she will accept.

His whole self bristles at the thought of her being with someone else, though he himself will lie in his suburban bed tonight, wife by his side, no longer able to fake another excuse of weekend conferences or moral building exercises.

Who knows, his wife may even touch him and he may even respond.

But if he does, he will all the while be thinking of the fruit platter shared in bed, forgetting the lingering and long goodbye, looking forward to the next touch of her hand in his, wishing he was somewhere, anywhere, but not here.

Wishing he was with her.