Worth the wait

“Make this quick; I’m working.” 

Marian recoiled on the other end of the phone. A secretary maybe, but a doormat she was not. Especially not to Steven. 

Well, not always. 

Only during office hours, and even then, Marian was never without the swell of nauseating anticipation that he might walk past her vestibule window, that she might roll her tongue seductively in her mouth as he went by. This usually prompted ten minutes of passion in the stationary cupboard at lunch time.

Being spoken to gruffly was part of the game.

She told herself.

She was used to his moods.

She could guess them.

And anyway, it was 11.45; he’d be hungry by now. 

Or pressed for time to submit a report before his mid morning gym session.

Or maybe it was family troubles again.

Marian enjoyed the game.

So much that it was all she could think about. 

The act.

The art of it all.

Which Marian would she be today? Sexy? Whimsical? Or would she wear a jumpsuit that said “I’m calling the shots today”?

When the scene she’d meticulously planned played out, faultlessly, organically, she was elated.

She felt bereft when it didn’t, and was reminded of how false she’d been to herself, and everyone around her.

All in vain.

Sometimes she reminded herself of the books she read.

Steven walked past the window yesterday.

Clean shaven.

Jaw tense.

Eyes narrowed.

Smouldering.

He was as fit as an athlete, but didn’t play on any teams. 

When he ran it was just for himself.

Not vanity, just fitness.

When he saw Marian’s eyes light up from behind her monitor he nodded curtly.

He gestured to his watch.

Anyone who saw this would have thought he was telling Marian to work faster, or to remember to attend a meeting.

To Marian it meant sex.

She would be there on time, and sit in the dark of the cupboard with her pants already hanging on the coat hook on the back of the door. Steven didn’t notice this of course, she just liked how it felt to put them up there.

Daring.

She would wait.

And wait.

Sometimes long, other times not so long, and Steven would appear, smelling faintly of garlic, or mustard.

And the sex was quite good.

Worth the wait.

Once, Marian waited for the entire lunch hour.

When she returned to her desk there was a cheerfully pink note resting on her keyboard. The single word scrawled in haste upon it was enough to reassure Marian that the game wasn’t over.

‘Slut’.

Her neck hairs bristled when he called her bad things.

But that was the first time he’d said that word before.

It was sexy.

Like a secret.

Steven was a good man. 

Good looking.

Good at his job - his well paid job.

He was intelligent, in a light-hearted way. He wasn’t a snob, didn’t laud it over people or act in a hostile way to prove his power. In fact, he was a listener.

Everyone said so.

He was an intrepid author.

A good thinker.

A wonderful husband.

Marian didn’t speak to many people at work during the day.

She barely spoke to Steven.

He didn’t speak to her, but he was busy. 

Sometimes he rang her from his office to finalise dinner plans. 

They would talk at dinner. 

Long talks about the future, of how he would leave Clare, of how he was unhappy at home anyway and it would be the best thing for the children. 

Talks of starting their own business, where Marian would just answer the phone all day, but would manage her own fleet of people who would answer the phone. 

Over wine they would talk about their co-workers, about Steven’s gym routine, about places they’d visited, about Steven’s parents, and Marian’s father.

Then they would split the bill.

Paid in cash. 

Sometimes Marian wondered about this.

The cash.

Not the conversations, which were the only times she felt herself.

She could be herself.

The cash wasn’t so clear.

Didn’t Clare trust him?

If she saw a bank statement with a restaurant’s name printed on it, would Steven not say he was attending a work function?

There were lots of work functions.

Each one of them with more and more time devoted to how much longer Marian would have to wait for Steven to leave Clare. 

When will you come to me, Steven?

Soon, baby.

Very soon.

Don’t you worry.

There were other work functions of course.

Sometimes Clare was there in attendance.

And Steven would ask Marian to sit on a different table to not arouse suspicion.

It seemed that his brain didn’t work properly when both women occupied the same periphery. 

But he didn’t seem to mind sharing a toilet cubicle with her in the ladies’ room when Clare wasn’t there.

It seemed that it wasn't suspicious then.

But once Marian heard whispers outside the door, something Steven wouldn’t have had the capacity to acknowledge.

Marian had a vantage point at the time, closer to the small gap under the door.

“Marian…” said one of the whispers. It was followed by a smatter of nose-breath laughter.

The next day was when she found the pink note on her keyboard.

She remembers it well because she was wearing her red scarf - a gift from Steven.

Somebody had mentioned that they liked it.

Marian didn’t mind waiting for Steven. 

He knew she would always be there, ready.

She had money saved up, and enough credit in case they needed to take out a start-up loan for their business.

It was a good business plan. 

It played to their strengths.

She often found herself thinking about the whispers.

Sometimes she was convinced she had heard them in her head.

Others she spent hours crying in her bathroom at home.

That the author of the note hadn’t been Steven.

And someone really thought badly of her.

One thing was for certain: she wouldn’t tell him about the whispers.

He would be upset.

Steven was right.

She really did read too many of those books.

“Yes? Marian? What is it?”

Marian blinked furiously and cleared her throat into the receiver so that she could say in a very small voice,

“I’m just checking we’re still all set for tonight.”