Grant Roberts: The Reluctant Swappers

"I'd like us to talk about last night, Sharon. I think it's important … for both of us."

"I think so too. I really do! But it's happened now, and it's over and done with… and it's useless…"

"But it's not over and done with just an apology, you know that."

"It is for me. Really." She smiled at him momentarily, and returned to her rapidly disappearing eggs.

Ron paused, then picked up a piece of bacon between two fingers, and bit off one end listlessly. This was no good! She was just trying to cover up, pretend it never happened hoping it might go away. But it wouldn't go away, he knew that.

"Sharon, you've got to listen. It's no good being an ostrich about this and sticking our heads in the sand, we've got to find out why last night happened, what the reasons were, so that it won't happen again."

"Oh, dear, we know what the reasons were," she smiled, still maintaining her casual, carefree front, "You were tired from your trip, and we both probably had too much to drink… and it happened, that's all. And it won't happen again because, I love you and you love me, and we won't let it happen again."

"Sharon…"

"And there is nothing to apologize for. Really and truly. I've forgotten about it already and if you insist on talking about it you'll only make it worse. There's no sense making a mountain out of a molehill."

"What happened last night was no molehill!"

"I've got to run! It's already 9:00. I've got to stop by the cleaners on my way." Sharon jumped up from the table, and reached for her purse on the drain board by the refrigerator. Then she came back to where her dejected husband was slumped in his chair, his fork playing frustrated games with his uneaten egg. She leaned down and kissed him long and hard.

"Now look, great big beautiful husband of mine, I love you. You made a mistake, and it wasn't such a big one, and I've already forgotten it."

She reached down to cup his unshaven face in her softly cool hands. "Why don't you clean up the breakfast things, and then go back to bed for the morning and rest, and see if you can't forget it. Truly! I am not upset with you."

She pressed her lips against his a second time, ran one hand soothingly along his cheek as she turned and then stepped toward the door.

"Sharon?"

"Yes, darling?" she answered, stopping.

"When did you make your hair appointment?"

"This morning. Why?"

"Oh, no reason… I just wondered. I'll see you this afternoon?"

"Yes, about 3:00." She paused. "Why did you ask about the hair appointment?"

Ron didn't look up from his plate. "I was just curious, that's all," he said.

Dick and Myra Green got up late that morning. They were in good spirits, as they always were after a night as orgiastic as the one before, and as they ate breakfast they solidified their plans for enticing Ron and Sharon Fleming into the trap they had laid for them. Dick didn't leave for the bank until almost 10:30, but that was his prerogative as vice-president, and he made use of it liberally.

After he'd gone, Myra cleared up the breakfast dishes, and moved lazily around the house, straightening up, putting fresh sheets on their oversized double bed, gathering flowers from the garden outside and placing them around the house at strategic points. When the scene finally met her approval, she went into the kitchen, lit herself a cigarette, found Ron Fleming's name in the telephone book, and dialed his number carefully. The phone rang only twice.

"Hello."

"Hello. Is this Ron Fleming?" Myra's voice was even more sultry than usual.

"Yes, it is. Who's this?"

"Myra Green. We shared a very bad steak last night after the Lewis' very bad party."

There was no hesitation on the other end of the line.

"Of course! How are you? Say, I was going to call and thank you for making something out of an otherwise disastrous evening."

"Dick and I felt the same way, Ron. I'm not keeping you from working or anything, am I?"

"No, no, not at all. I'm taking the day off."

"Well, lucky you." Myra smiled to herself. This was going to be easy.

"You're a man after my own heart."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Dick laughed at his end.

Myra laughed as well, and then breathed into the phone, "Well, we'll leave that up in the air for now, what do you say?"

"Agreed. How's the painting coming?"

"Oh, it comes and goes, you know. I get discouraged fairly easily, though, and it's hard to keep my mind on it."

"From what Dick said last night, you don't have any reason to be discouraged. Sounds to me like you're suffering from a case of the artist's dumps." Ron laughed.

"Well, that may be. By the way, are you really going to come over and say comforting things about my paintings? You did promise to say nothing but good things last night, didn't you?"

"I did indeed. And I will… nothing but sweetness and honey."

"Well listen, Ron, if you've got the day off… I mean I don't want to be pushy or anything… but what about today? I'll be home all afternoon, and if you don't have anything else to do, I'd like to hear what you think of me."

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"I don't know, Myra…"

"Well, if you've got something else cooking we'll plan it another time."

"No, I don't have anything planned, it's just that Sharon is out, and …" There was another pause, and Myra waited with excitement.

"Oh well…" she said, gilding her voice with just the right amount of disappointment.

"I'm sorry, it's just that… oh, what the hell! Of course, I'll come over. My wife won't be back for a while anyway, I'm sure."

"I don't want to pressure you, now, Ron…" Myra licked her full, luscious lips in anticipation.

"No, you're not, believe me. I'd love to come. Really! What time would be best for you?"

"That's great! Let's see… well as soon as you can is all right with me. I can even feed you a sandwich if you'd like."

"How can I turn down an offer like that? How do I get to your place?"

Myra breathed a triumphant sigh, gave Ron the instructions on how to find their home, said good-bye, and hung up the receiver. She finished one last pull on her cigarette, put it out in the ashtray beside her, and sat staring at the phone with a cool, almost calculating smile on her seductive face. She'd thought it would be harder!

She picked up the phone again and dialed another number. There was a pause as she waited for the other end to be picked up.

"Hello, Dick?… It's your lovely, irresistible wife… Ummm, you're sweet too, lover. I just called Ron Fleming… Ummm? Of course, dear, who could turn down such a delectable creature as yours truly? It's set for this afternoon… Yes, well I move fast, dear. Do you think you'll be able to put your part of the plan into action?… Sweetheart, do you doubt me? I'll keep him busy 'til next week if I have to, and you know I can… All right, I'll expect you about cocktail hour. But don't interrupt if it looks like we're enjoying ourselves, all right dear…

Righto, see you then, lover."

Myra hung up the phone and quickly went into her bedroom, changed clothes, put on the kind of perfume she knew from experience turned men wild with its musky scent, checked herself in the mirror, and then went around the house checking out all the little details one last time. She was smoking a cigarette in the living room, with a drink in her hand, when she heard the doorbell ring thirty minutes later. She got up, composed her voluptuously ripe body into its most languid, enticing posture, and glided towards the front door.

"Hi!" she greeted Ron cheerily as she opened the door, "Come on into the artist's lair."

"Sounds very inviting, Myra. How are you?" He took her proffered hand, and felt a tingle race up his arm at its delicious coolness. He allowed himself to be led into the living room.