Fashionably Late

You wanted to make a grand entrance to keep him waiting, but all you did was shoot yourself in the foot by allowing her the opportunity to make the first move. She was already fawning all over him when you got there. That’s what you get for spending all that time dithering in front of the mirror. The red dress or the blue? These earrings or those? Hair up, hair down? As if any of it disguises the fact that she's young enough to be your daughter. You did find a plastic surgeon’s card lying on the dressing table the other day. Was that a hint meant for you, or is he finding it daunting to keep up with that young beauty? You had once or twice considered Botox but are too scared by the idea of anyone injecting anything in your face to follow through. It stands to follow that there’s no question of a facelift.

    They see you coming and gracefully glide apart as if they had just happened to meet. He plants a light kiss on your cheek and pats your shoulder as if you were a puppy. Introductions follow. He forgets that you have met this executive assistant before. This forgetfulness has been apparent for a little while now. He’s touchy about it, claiming that he’s just stressed because of pressure at work. Now you begin to wonder if this infatuation is partly to blame. But if this absent-mindedness is the by-product of a new romance, it hasn’t appeared to be accompanied by much enjoyment. He’s tired and often irritable lately. He’s constantly looking in the mirror, eating little more than salads, and exercising. She’s got the rangy leanness of a long-distance runner. He’s fit for his age but getting a little soft around the middle. It must be exhausting trying to keep up.

   The pain of jealousy is sharp for a moment. The guests swirl and mingle toward the banquet room. She smiles prettily as she departs to attend to her duties as organizer. You take his arm as he escorts you to the main table to join the other guests of honor. You see a mature but still handsome couple reflected in the full-length mirrors which dot the ballroom walls. For a moment, the likenesses swim and blur and time rushes back to twenty years ago. His first wife was on his arm then, seeming as old to you as you must seem to that young interloper now. He saw you across the room and made an excuse to talk to you as soon as he could. You weren’t impressed at first. He was handsome, but too old. His charm, charisma and yes, money, won you over. You might as well be honest about that part of the attraction. The general surprise was not that you succumbed but that you ended up marrying him, despite the scandal at the time.

He’s looking to see why you paused, slightly concerned, but mostly irritated. You snap back to the present, smile apologetically and walk tall beside him. Forewarned is forearmed. With hindsight, you can see how unprepared his first wife was. You’ve never been able to decide if she was still in love with him, or just too complacent to think you were a threat. You’re not in love with him anymore and know now that you probably never were. It was chemistry and passion, but not love. The marriage wasn’t awful once the novelty wore off. It went flat, like a sparkling wine that’s lost its effervescence but still retained some flavor. Tolerable for a while. His first wife had no previous experience to judge the situation, but you are recognizing all the strategies he used to deceive her. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that you might remember. You’re not sure whether to be amused or angry by this. It’s not as if he came up with anything original then or now. Mostly working late at the office, business trips, that kind of thing.

    The evening drags on interminably. Miss Organizer is busy with her clipboard, introducing speakers, managing the power-points most efficiently. You can’t help but be impressed. His gaze is following her around the room as if locked in by magnets. You realize this is going to be harder than you thought. You keep your composure during his speech. You’ve perfected the art of gazing up at him and smiling at just the right moments. He has always liked the sound of his own voice. Some questions from the audience, and then it’s over. You follow him across the room as he meets and greets. Finally extricating yourself from excruciating small talk with a tedious couple, you are just in time to see him ask the head waiter where she is.

   It was just to discuss some detail about the presentation, he mutters guiltily when he realizes you overheard. You smile reassuringly and he relaxes. You’d hoped to put this off for a while longer, but there doesn’t seem to be any reason now. You suggest having a drink while you wait and head for a secluded booth in the bar. He follows reluctantly, obviously distracted, but tries to hide his impatience as he sits down. You order drinks. When they are served, you raise a toast to celebrate how well his presentation went. He preens a little. You smile to yourself. He's so predictable. Apologizing for ending the evening like this, you tell him that since you have so little time together these days, you're seizing the opportunity to speak to him alone. That catches his attention. He is wary. You tell him you want a divorce. It's not you, it's me, you say sweetly. We can discuss details later. Gathering up your things, you rise as she hurries towards the table. You timed that well, you say. We've just finished our conversation and I must go. With a farewell nod, you allow yourself the satisfaction of one parting glance. Now you must hurry if you're not going to be fashionably late to meet your lover.