Thursday, July 5, 2012

Robert Morschel

SHE

The black London cab pulled up next to the night club and Fiona watched her husband get out, greet the bouncer with comfortable familiarity, and enter. She wiped a tear from her cheek, paid her cab driver and followed him in.
It all began when she found a smudge of red on the collar of his shirt - she had almost laughed at the sight. Lipstick on the collar? You have got to be kidding, she thought. She'd read about this many times in her lurid Mills & Boons novellas, but for this to be happening to her was surreal. Perhaps she should say something, confront him? But she was fearful of wrecking twenty years of marriage with an unfounded accusation. He'd been working very late nights these past months but she trusted him. She knew he loved her and the girls, and was a devoted family man. But now a shadow of doubt crept over her. It might be nothing, and talking to him would probably be the easiest. However, deep down her insecurities leapt to the fore - she felt like a dowdy housewife, a mother of two with no prospects, wrinkles spreading like wild fire from her once perky features. Perhaps this was his mid-life crisis, his middle-aged fling with some twenty something year old bimbo from work. She'd read all about it, and now it was happening to her. Did she need to be understanding?
The nightclub was dark inside, scattered shadowy figures sitting around dimly lit tables. Fiona cursed silently because she could not see her husband, but was partly thankful because the gloom hid her floral summer dress. She sat at the nearest table and ordered a gin and tonic from the waiter who appeared as if by magic. Across the room she thought she could make out Nigel talking intimately to a woman. She considered moving nearer but it was too late, the show was about to start. Music started, a burlesque, followed by garish, roving spotlights. She could now just make out the woman at the table - not as young as she had expected, but certainly very pretty and well dressed – and Fiona felt a wave of jealous rage overcome her. Nigel never bought her anything pretty. He was such a practical, frugal man, never expansive or effusive in his love for her. She had never doubted his love, just wished that sometimes he would whisk her off her feet and do something spontaneous, daring and romantic.
A chorus line of stunning young women appeared on the stage, singing and gyrating hips suggestively. Fiona felt sick. She was so far out of her normal world of families, children, school yard gossip and baking. She wanted to run for her life.
Then SHE appeared and Fiona knew immediately that she'd been mistaken about the couple at the table. This was her “enemy”. This was the source of that lipstick smudge. This was the reason she'd found that beautifully boxed dress in Nigel's cupboard. A tall sultry woman, with beautiful, long, sensual, familiar, male legs.


© Robert Morschel 2012

Robert Morschel lives in London, sometimes writing software, sometimes writing words at mulledvine.com. Follow him on Twitter at http://twitter.com/RobertMorschel

2 comments:

  1. O bums ... what an ending, and how well you describe Fiona's thought-processes.

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  2. Still laughing (much later) over this. Poor Fiona--sleeping with the enemy, as it were.

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