Pandora

My husband Carl is drinking eggnog cocktails with a woman called Pandora. Brief glances between them develop into extended eye contact. Pandora laughs and touches Carl’s hand. He collects her hand, brings it to his lips and kisses it. 

They move to the restaurant area just as a group of patrons arrive wearing novelty hats, stumbling and loud. I recognise a man from my work. Joe from Marketing is wearing a hat that looks like a turkey. He is with a woman wearing a grinning plum pudding on her head, a man with a mini pine tree with tiny lights flashing, and another man crowned in deer’s antlers. We’ve hardly spoken at work, but I don’t want Joe to see me. I duck my head and reposition myself at the low-lit end of the crowded bar to get away from Joe and get a better view of Carl and Pandora. 

In the restaurant, Carl orders wine. I recognise the bottle, it’s a Grange, but I can’t see the year. If it’s his favourite, it’ll be 2015 and in a place like this costing an easy grand. They hold hands across the table.

As I watch them, Pandora’s appeal to my husband makes me hyper-aware of my anatomy. Her height a good head above mine, her slenderness and long gamine limbs. I look down at my bulky breasts straining against my dress. Her precise blonde bob, the opposite of my frizzy curls coaxed into a bun for this incognito mission. Pandora is the antipodal choice.

Joe and his crew are getting louder. I look around and notice they are now a few feet away from me, engaging with strangers, enjoying the heightened conviviality of the season. Fortunately, there are half a dozen other patrons between us. Plus, my height makes it easy to stay hidden in the throng. 

A lobster arrives at Carl’s table, driven in a cart by a young waitress. This is the kind of restaurant where glamorous female staff look indistinguishable from smartly dressed customers. Carl’s gaze lingers a little too long on the waitress, smiles a little too appreciatively as she distributes the innards of the lobster on their plates. Pandora strokes his hand, redirecting his attention back to her. 

‘Hey Philipa.’ Joe is suddenly only two people away and shouting to get my attention over the rowdy pack. I wave and smile wanly; the type of response I’m hoping he will interpret as a friendly rebuff. But he’s too drunk to get the message. He launches himself past the two people between us, drinks are spilled, apologies made, before he lands at my side. 

‘Philipa, what are you doing here?’ he asks as he glances around me, trying to identify possible companions. 

‘I’m just here with a friend,’ I tell him. 

‘Who’s your friend? Where’s your friend?’ he presses, slurred, leaning a little too close. 

‘They’ve just gone to the bathroom.’

‘Do you and your friend want to join us?’ Joe is asking as he signals in the direction of the group of festive hats he arrived with. 

‘Ah no, but thanks.’        

‘Are you on a date, Philipa?’ he asks. I smile and shrug. Strictly speaking I am on a date. It’s just not my date. 

‘Oh, I get it,’ he says as he taps his finger exaggeratedly on his right nostril while he glances at the wedding band I’m wearing on my left hand. Suddenly a stranger’s hand obtrudes our conversation and grasps Joe’s shoulder. It’s the deer-antlers man. 

‘Come on Joe, our table is ready,’ his friend shouts, and drags Joe away. I watch as they are directed to the table next to Carl and Pandora. I move to another spot in the bar, to avoid further attention from Joe that might reveal my presence to Carl. 

Before Joe’s group are seated, an exchange occurs between Carl and the woman wearing the pudding hat. He stands and kisses her on both cheeks. They obviously already know each other, but I don’t know the woman wearing the pudding hat.

Carl and Pandora idle over their meal. Under the table legs are interlaced, feet entwined. Carl signals for the waitress. She returns with their bill. He unfolds it and spends little time scrutinizing the detail before he places a credit card on the small platter on which the bill was presented.  A flash of red from the card reveals that the charge for the lobster and expensive wine will be from the joint account I share with Carl. He places the receipt in his jacket pocket and pats it, evidence secreted.

With his hand around Pandora’s hip, familiar, comfortable, they leave. I follow. As they stroll, they pay no attention to who might be watching because I recognise Carl’s mildly inebriated gait. And at this moment he’s too preoccupied with Pandora to notice any other woman, let alone his wife, trailing ten feet behind. 

‘Philipa, hey Philipa,’ I hear someone calling. I turn around and it’s Joe again, without the rest of the festive hats and the turkey gone from his head. I pause to allow him to catch up the 20 steps between us, the only way to stop him calling my name.

As Joe approaches, I notice Carl halts the lovers’ stroll and turns to look behind. But before he can see me, Pandora guides him to the doorway of a darkened barber’s shop.

‘Joe, I’m running late,’ I tell my co-worker as I stay focused on Carl and Pandora who now engage in a long kiss, his hands cupping Pandora’s face. My husband abandoning his distaste for public affection.

‘It’s midnight,’ Joe says. ‘What’s so urgent?’

‘I have to get back for my babysitter.’

‘It’s not safe walking on your own.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Let me walk with you.’

With Joe travelling in the same direction as Carl and Pandora, I can’t refuse his offer, and I realise he could be useful. I continue to follow Carl and Pandora with Joe in tow until they stop again, outside a bar. Carl is looking up and down the street and there’s a discussion taking place. He takes a few steps in my direction.

Before Carl can see me, I grab my decoy Joe and hug him. I can tell he’s surprised because he doesn’t immediately hug me back. But when he does, the hug quickly evolves into an attempt to kiss me. I move my head away from his and bury it in his chest.

‘Hope you don’t mind. But I really just need a hug.’  He pats my back like he’s comforting someone who’s just received bad news. ‘I appreciate it,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s keep going.’

Whatever discussion they had outside the bar appears resolved because Carl and Pandora resume walking in their original direction. A block later and a man in a waistcoat is holding a door open and they enter.

‘Ok this is me,’ I inform Joe. He looks around confused.

‘You live in that hotel?’

‘My husband and I are staying here. A romantic thing.’

‘I thought you said you were out with a friend.’

‘I meant my husband. He’s coming. He just had to pick up something on the way.’

‘What about your babysitter?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If you are on a romantic thing, why have you got your kids with you?’

Joe lingers on the footpath, looking at me doubtfully. The self-evident conclusion is I have been lying to him. He gives me a look — an inkling that he’s been a pawn. I clock Pandora at reception taking possession of a passkey. They continue through the marble foyer hand in hand until they disappear into a lift.

‘Thanks for walking me,’ I say to Joe with finality. Joe reluctantly backs away and then turns to walk down the street.

‘Ho, ho, ho, Philipa,’ he calls out just before he’s out of sight.

I cross the road, positioning myself on the opposite side of the street. On the second floor Pandora and Carl are in an embrace at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the street. I remove the small binoculars from my handbag and train them on the view. They kiss, an inelegant mauling from Carl as he is unbuttoning her shirt. It’s cinematic-sized exhibitionism, a performance just for me. 

The curtains are drawn and the lights switched out. Carl and Pandora are in the dark. It only takes a minute before my phone pings from a number that is not saved to my contacts. Only one word is sent via text: ‘Now’. 

I walk across the street. Entering the hotel, I use the passkey given to me earlier in the afternoon. My thumping heart a drumbeat as I take the lift and follow the signs to room 206. I swipe the passkey and enter. Pandora sits up in the bed, semi clothed. My naked husband leaps from the bed, like an earthquake has struck. Pandora is already dressing.

‘I have a present for you,’ I say to Carl, as Pandora takes a business card from her purse and hands it directly to Carl.

Carl reads it aloud.

‘Pandora Moore

Director

Moore Fidelity Services’