Enchanted

I would not call myself a pretty woman, and I am not being modest when I say that. I have never had much luck with men. Even my marriage was arranged by my father. I may not be repulsive to look at, but I am most definitely not attractive.

But that wasn’t the case with the Collins, apparently. The attractive, happy couple that moved in opposite our home six months ago. Well, six months and three weeks, to be precise. They were a sight to see in this boring old neighborhood. Lucy Collins was a beautiful woman. She was swelled up and toned down in just the right places.

I had been observing them from the window in my kitchen very regularly, hoping to find them amid a fight. A couple couldn’t be that perfect, no? But I never could. Two conclusions could be inferred form this observation—either they were very discreet about their arguments, or they never had any. If the latter, Arthur had a lot to live up to.

One Tuesday evening, when I was bringing the heavy grocery bags in, Mr. Collins came up near the car and all but snatched the bags from my hand.

“These look heavy. Please, let me,” he said with a smile.

I waved my hands, “oh no. That is very kid of you, but you don’t need to do that, Mr. Collins.”

He’d already started walking towards my house with the bags in hand, “just Vince, please. And where is Arthur anyway?” He asked with a glint in his eye, as if mocking my husband. This is where I defend him, no?

“Oh, he’s been having a lot of work lately. He comes home late every day,” I took the bags from him and stood with my back facing the locked door.

“That’s a shame,” Mr. Collins sighed, resting his palm on the doorframe. “You must be bored out of your mind all day,” he brought his other hand up too, effectively trapping me between the door and himself. I turned around quickly and started feeling for my keys inside the handbag. As I unlocked the door, I could feel his slow, controlled breaths on my neck the whole time. I could hear his gulps, feel his eyes travel down my body—all of it in the span of a few seconds.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Collins,” I intended to say harshly, but I fear it came out as a soft whisper instead.

“If you need any more help, I’m right here, Eleanor,” was the last thing I heard before shutting the door with a bang.

That night, I slept with Mr. Collins on my mind.

Early next morning, I found myself staring at the night gown in the mirror. Silk, off-white, thigh-length and extremely transparent—it was one of those things I bought online on a whim.

He’d never like it, I though as I felt the fabric on my body. It had been months since Arthur and I had had sex. I’d say we had lost the spark, but we didn’t have any to begin with.

“What the hell are you wearing?” came an incredulous voice from behind me, and I turned around to face my husband.

“Well, don’t you like it?” I asked, with what I hoped was a seductive smile. Taking slow steps forward, I attempted to touch his arm, but Arthur recoiled violently.

“I’ve got work,” he said, trying his best—but failing—to hide his disgust. As Arthur made his way to the bathroom to freshen up, I rushed downwards with my cheeks flushed. He hadn’t laid a finger on me, and yet I felt like I’d been slapped. I needed to catch a breath.

No sooner had I opened the door than I came face-to-face with Mr. Collins. Only a moment later did it register to me that I was in a wildly inappropriate attire. I instinctively took a step backwards, my eyes trained on the ground. I didn’t dare look up, just pulled my robe tighter around me. Not a word did he speak the whole while. I imagined his eyes were taking a tour down my bare legs, my chest and every other thing on display. Just as I was about to ask him the reason for his arrival, a hysterical voice came from behind Mr. Collins.

“Eleanor! Good morning!”

“Hello, Lucy,” I sighed, thankful for her interference. “How is it going this morning?”

“Well,” Lucy said, slapping her husband’s arm, “we have news!”

“Oh?”

“But first, here,” she said, extending towards me a white cardboard box. “Strawberry glazed donuts from the new store that opened downtown! They are the best thing ev-er.”

Taking the box, I grinned at her, knowing full well that they were going into the dustbin. Who liked strawberries? “Um, about the special news you were going to tell me?” I prompted.

“Oh, yeah," Lucy cleared her throat dramatically, "We’re gonna have a baby!” She all but screamed and leapt to envelope me in a hug. I was stunned for a little while and could only speak once she let go.

“That’s—that’s great news! I congratulate you.”

“We’re having a party next Friday,” she said handing out a card. “Here’s the invite. Join us!” Lucy said as she dragged her husband away.

“The Collins are having a baby,” I said shutting the door. I turned around to face my husband, only to find him fumbling with his tie quite awkwardly. Arthur cleared his throat several times before mumbling a reluctant “right.”

“I’m leaving,” he said, reaching for his office bag.

“Perhaps, you are,” I replied, earning an incredulous look from my husband. I only shook my head and headed upstairs.  

My husband was many thigs, but discreet was not one of them. Arthur didn’t talk to me a lot. He didn’t tell me about the long, tiring traffic jams he was stuck in. He didn’t tell me about that one lousy driver that shouldn’t be allowed on the road. He didn’t even tell me about his promotion, I only found out about it upon hearing a friend of his congratulate him. He didn’t tell me about his day, and it goes without saying, he didn’t care about mine.

A lot of what I learnt about him, I learned through his mannerisms and habits. If he bought home fresh chicken or beef, we were going to have a guest home for dinner. If he wanted a shirt ironed for the next day, I’d find it on my side of the bed at night. If he set an alarm for six a.m., it meant ‘wake me up before seven.’ I liked to think that I could read my husband like an open book.

But that assumption shattered when I read the words ‘It’s yours’ from Lucy Collins on my husband’s message board.

Never the discreet one, as I said. Isn’t it common knowledge that if you are going to have an affair, password-protecting your phone is one of the first things you’d do to prevent the truth from leaking? Is Arthur an idiot, or does he think he married one?

I supposed I could throw my wedding ring at his face and call my lawyer, but that would severely derail my life. I’d have to start over. I wasn’t ready for that kind of inconvenience ten years after marriage.

If only my daft husband knew how to hide the truth better.

Friday came soon enough. The Collin’s place was already abuzz with people from the entire neighborhood, it seemed. The excitement was palpable and congratulatory words were being thrown around when we arrived.

“Eleanor, Arthur! I’m so glad you guys could make it. Come on, drinks are waiting!” Lucy said, pointing her thumb towards her house. I smiled tightly and replied with some customary words of congratulations. I made my way inside, not caring if my husband followed. I needed a drink.

The aroma in the kitchen was heavenly. Cakes and biscuits decorated the shelves. There were trays of pastries and donuts on the counter. Chocolate donuts, donuts topped with sprinklers, and a single strawberry glazed donut. They looked delicious. And yet, my desire of a drink dragged me away to the alcohol section. I poured out a glass of whatever was available, and turned around, my back resting on the kitchen platform. The lively party was just barely visible from where I stood, but what my eyes automatically zeroed in on, was Lucy Collins. There she was, talking animatedly, raising her glass (of lemonade, I presumed) at appropriate intervals. I tilted my head, was she really that perfect, enticing, irresistible—, blocking my train of thoughts (and line of sight), stood Mr. Collins.

“You look lovely tonight, Eleanor.”

“Thank you, Mr. Collins.”

“Just Vince, Eleanor,” he sighed. “Enjoying your drink all alone?”

I understood the implication but chose to ignore it. “It’s boisterous outside.”

Mr. Collins shoved his hands into his pockets and took slow steps towards me. “I’m here to escape the crowd, too.”

I chuckled, “It’s your party!”

Mr. Collins was close to me now. Too close.

“Doesn’t mean I enjoy it,” he whispered. I looked up at him and gulped. We were just making conversation, why did it feel so…intimate? I’d never once felt this way before. M. Collins leaned into me slowly, his lips lightly brushing my neck. I felt electricity course through me. Was this normal? I clutched my glass tighter in hands.

“You taste…” he sucked on my earlobe, “…better than I imagined.”

Over his shoulder, I could see Mary from next door make her way towards the kitchen, and abruptly pushed Mr. Collins away.

“Yes, I’d surely let you know, Mr. Collins,” I said, a little louder than necessary, trying to hide my breathlessness. Mary glanced at us, picked the tray of donuts, and headed out. As soon as she was out of sight, Mr. Collins nearly pounced on me, like a predator on its prey.

“Vince,” I rested my hand on his chest and watched his eyebrows rise dramatically. “We can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t,” I repeated.

“Eleanor, you know you want this,” Mr. Collins beseeched.

“Perhaps, but we can’t.”

“Why not?” He asked, tumultuously.

A moment passed. A glass shattered outside. I stared at him.

“Well?” He pressed.

“Because it’s not appropriate,” I smiled.

My words were followed a moment later by a loud thud from outside. The loud commotion finally drew Mr. Collins attention away from me and he rushed out, with me on his trail.

Pushing though people, we finally saw what was in the middle of the mess—Lucy Collins. She was splayed out, with her arms and legs uncontrollably shaking—convulsing. Arthur stood nearby with his mouth agape. Mr. Collins was at his knees beside her, immediately. His hands were on her head, and his eyes held confusion and fear.

“What—what’s happening? Someone—oh, fuck she’s not fucking breathing—someone call 911. Please!”

I pressed my lips together and went back to the quiet of the kitchen. Taking a sip of my unfinished drink, I sighed. It felt almost wrong that there was no one, not one person to pat my back and bask in the warmth of my victory together. But maybe, that’s the beauty, as well as tragedy of it. No one can know.

The ruckus from outside reached my ear, but my brain refused to register it. Gingerly, my hands reached my pockets to take out a tiny glass bottle labelled ‘potassium cyanide.’ Should I have married this bottle, instead? It is discreet. It doesn’t betray.