The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom (7 page)

“You invited Karen and Doug over here?
Tonight?”

“Yeah, I thought it would be fun. They’re a
nice couple. We should get to know them a little better.”

“Oh, I know Karen plenty well,” I growled,
stalking past him to the kitchen. “A little too well, in fact,” I added, to
myself.

Paul followed me. “What’s the problem? I
thought she was your friend?”

“She is my friend.”

“Then why don’t you want to have them
over?”

“It’s fine,” I said, banging around in the
kitchen looking for nothing in particular. “Really, it’s great.” Yeah, it was
just great. I had just gotten used to being around Karen after her confession,
and now I had to face Doug! Doug
and
Karen! It was going to be awkward
and uncomfortable—
worse
than awkward and uncomfortable. And suppose
Karen left him and moved into some tiny, faraway apartment with Javier? I could
just hear Doug telling all the neighbors: Paige knew about the affair all
along. She even covered for Karen so she could cheat on me. And to think she
had the nerve to invite me over to a barbecue at her house! What a horrible,
deceitful woman.

“What’s going on?” Paul interrupted my
internal dialogue.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me, Paige,” he said sternly.

I wanted to tell him then; I really did.
Sometimes I wonder if things might have turned out differently if I had. But I
couldn’t break my promise to Karen. And besides, if Paul knew about Karen’s
affair, there’d be two of us acting awkward and strange around poor Doug
tonight. I heaved a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing. I’m just feeling a little tired
for company, that’s all. But you’re right. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay…” He said, skeptically. “I’ll go get
some steaks.”

“Great. And pick up some lettuce and
croutons for a salad. And get beer… and some red wine. Get lots of red wine.”

Lots of red wine turned out to be a bad
idea. But I thought it would help me relax! If I just had a drink while I made
the salad, I’d be calmer. And a glass while I put on my makeup might make it
easier to pretend that this was just a fun evening between friends, who had no
secrets. And then another, as I made the kids an early dinner of fish sticks
and macaroni, and set them up with a movie in the playroom, might make me
forget that anything was amiss between Karen and Doug. When they rang the bell
at seven, I was feeling quite cheerful and confident that I could handle the
situation.

“Doug!” I swept him into a huge embrace
that I may have held just a tad too long. “How are you? You look fantastic!” He
did look pretty good. He was an attractive man of medium height, with a neat,
greying goatee and stylish glasses. Something about Doug radiated intelligence.
He was no artist’s model, to be sure, but neither was he a hideous ogre who
would drive his wife into the arms of the first good-looking barista to come
along.

“You, too, Paige,” he answered politely.
“Great to see you, as always.” He handed me a bottle of wine.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have, but how
thoughtful. Paul, Doug brought a bottle of wine. Isn’t that nice? That’s so
nice, Doug.”

“Well… thanks for having us over.”

“Our pleasure! Really, Paul and I were just
saying that we should do this more often.” Paul took Doug’s coat and I turned
to Karen. “Hi stranger! Long time no see.” I laughed, as if it were actually
funny.

“Hi,” she said, smiling a little tightly.
“Thanks for inviting us.”

“Well, when Paul said he saw Doug at the
golf course and suggested a barbecue, I just thought, what a great idea! We
don’t do nearly enough together as couples, do we?”

“No.”

It was a warm autumn evening, so we all
stood on the back deck and visited as Paul grilled the T-bones. I kept
everyone’s drink filled, including my own, and played the part of charming and
witty hostess. At least, I thought I was charming and witty. In retrospect, I
can see that I was just drunk. But all in all, the evening went quite smoothly.
Karen and Doug seemed very much a couple, teasing each other good-naturedly,
exchanging fond glances and touching affectionately. It would have been easy to
forget that she was involved with someone else, had I not developed a slightly
unhealthy fixation with the subject.

Being with Karen and her husband only
deepened my fascination—and confusion. Why did they seem so much closer than
Paul and me? They seemed to revel in each other’s company. They presented as a
team, a unified front. Whereas Paul and I—well, he was in charge of steaks: I
was on salads. Our connection didn’t seem to go much beyond that. Did Karen’s
infidelity make her appreciate Doug more? Now that she was sexually fulfilled,
was she more able to enjoy his companionship? Could Doug sense that his wife
was happier, more passionate, and more alive? And did that all rub off on their
relationship? God! Was the secret to a happy marriage a hunk on the side?

It was over a dessert of hot-fudge sundaes
with fresh raspberries, when things went a little off the rails. Conversation
had previously been split along gender lines. Paul and Doug chatted about work,
golf scores, and last night’s football game. Karen and I covered the usual
stuff: the new movie that she had seen and that I wanted to see, Carly’s
difficulty tracking down the vending machine man, the work out regime I planned
to start and the one Karen was already on. But as we sat around the dining room
table, it seemed rude not to address Doug directly. I didn’t want him to think that
I was uncomfortable around him. As hostess, it was my duty to engage all my
guests in conversation. Unfortunately, in my inebriated state, I may not have
chosen the best topic for discussion.

“So Doug…” I leaned toward him. “I hear
Karen’s seeing an infertility acupuncturist. I’m sure you’ll have her knocked
up in no time!”

Doug laughed, a little uncomfortably. Paul
laughed, a lot uncomfortably.

“Seriously though, once you have kids,” I
continued my speech mildly slurred, “then you’re really a family, you know?
…Not that you aren’t a family right now—you and Karen. You are! Very much so!
But you know, kids… kids really kind of solidify a relationship. Not that
they’re always easy, let me tell you. Some days I think, why couldn’t I have
been satisfied with just a dog or something? But kids are great, really.”

At this point, I happened to glance at my
friend across the table. Her eyes were filled with panic. Uh-oh. I realized I’d
been steering our conversation in the wrong direction. If Karen was going to leave
Doug soon, she probably didn’t want me pumping up family life. “Although … you
know, sometimes I think family is overrated. I mean, the whole concept of
‘family.” I did those annoying little air quotes. “Do people really need other
people so much? Like, couldn’t people be just as happy alone, without the
burden of a spouse and children or trying to have children? If I were to find
myself alone tomorrow, I’d be okay. Not, like, if everyone was dead or
whatever, but just being on my own… it would be okay.” I reached for my glass
of wine, but Paul’s hand stopped me.

“How about I make some coffee?” He was
extending the offer to the whole table, but looking directly at me.

“Actually, I think we’d better be going,”
Karen said.

“Yeah,” Doug agreed. “That was a really
early morning on the golf course. I’m exhausted.”

When we’d said our goodbyes, I trailed Paul
to the kitchen. “So…?” I said suggestively, closing one eye to keep him in
focus. “What should we do now?”

“I’m going to clean up this mess. You
should get to bed.”

“I’ll help,” I insisted, grabbing a dirty
plate. The cutlery sitting on top clattered noisily to the floor.

“You’re going to wake the kids,” Paul
hissed.

“Sorry!” I sniped, sounding a lot like
Chloe.

“Listen hon,” he said patiently. “I’ll take
care of the dishes. You get some sleep. You’re going to have a sore head in the
morning.”

Sulkily, I headed up the stairs. I felt
like a scolded child, sent to bed before she was ready. I certainly didn’t feel
tired: I felt full of energy! I wanted to do something wild and spontaneous,
like take a cab into town and go dancing till dawn! At that moment, I
remembered the pink bag tucked into my lingerie drawer. This was perfect! What
better time to resexualize my marriage than right now, when I’d had a few drinks
to enhance my sexiness and lower my inhibitions? I was going to do it! I was
going to put on the new lingerie and jump my husband, right there in the
kitchen. Right there in the messy kitchen! The messiness of it just made it
that much more wild and spontaneous!

Thankfully, donning the crimson water bra and thong was much
less complicated than my previous outfit. When I was dressed, I took in my
reflection. The bra did a great job of boosting my miniscule breasts, and the
thong… Well, who really looks that good in a thong anyway? But men go crazy for
them, for some reason. Before I headed downstairs to ambush my husband, I
slipped on an old pair of ridiculously high-heeled,
strappy
sandals: the pièce de résistance.

“Hello?” I cooed as I walked down the stairs, running my
hand seductively along the railing. “Hello? Mr. Atwell? I’m sorry to interrupt
your cleaning, but I desperately need—”

Suddenly, my ankle wobbled in its stiletto casing and, with
a sharp, shooting pain, turned dramatically on its side. I grasped frantically
for the railing, but to no avail. My body was pitched violently forward and I
fell flat on my face, sliding painfully, step-by-step, down the carpeted
staircase. Paul burst around the corner and saw me lying in a crumpled heap on
the hardwood floor.

“Jesus Christ! Are you okay?”

“Ow!” I moaned.

“What’s wrong? What hurts?”

Just my pride, and of course: “My ankle.”

“Can you stand on it?” Paul took my elbow and tried, in
vain, to get me to stand in my three inch heels.

“Ouch!” I winced and burst into tears.

“It’s not broken, is it?” Paul bent down to inspect my foot.

“It—it’s not broken,” I snuffled. “I just wanted… I just
wanted to surprise you. I wanted to… re-, re-, resexualize…” Another wave of
tears washed away my words.

Paul kissed my hair then picked me up in his arms. “Off to
bed with you, my little wineo,” he said, before laboriously carrying me up the
stairs.

The next day was a write-off. As Paul had predicted, I had a
throbbing headache, plus a swollen ankle, and painful carpet burn on my knees
and forearms. Mercifully, he let me sleep late, coming in to check on me at ten
o’clock.

“How are you?” He asked, from the doorway.

“Not good,” I mumbled. It was true. I certainly wasn’t
feeling very healthy, but I was also incredibly sheepish. Lately, every time I
tried to have sex with my husband, I humiliated myself. That was hard on my
self-esteem, not to mention our marriage.

“I’m taking the kids swimming,” Paul said. “You rest. Keep
your ankle elevated. And you might want to put some vitamin E on your chin.”

“My chin?” I sat up.

“Carpet burn.”

I turned to look in my dresser mirror. Sure enough, my chin
looked like a lump of raw hamburger. I flopped back onto my pillow.

“See ya later,” Paul said, as he turned to go.

“See ya,” I mumbled.

“Oh…” He turned back toward me. “Karen phoned. She wants you
to call her as soon as you’re up.”

“Okay.”

But I couldn’t call her. I was embarrassed by my behavior
the night before, and I wasn’t in the mood for a reprimand from my friend. She
had a right to be angry with me; I’d acted like a complete jackass. While I may
not have said anything about her affair outright, I had probably raised Doug’s
suspicions. Hopefully, he would just think I was a drunken, babbling idiot. I
may as well face it: Karen should never have entrusted her secret to me. I
wasn’t going to tell anyone, but I wasn’t exactly handling the knowledge with a
lot of grace. I acted different around her now—at least when others were
present. I couldn’t even spend one evening with her and her husband without
getting completely shit-faced. And probably worst of all, I couldn’t get her
affair out of my head. It was consuming me, turning me into a sex maniac—a sex
maniac who couldn’t get any action. I felt more dejected than ever.

By Monday, I was physically improved, but my mind-set was
the same. I still hadn’t spoken to Karen. I just couldn’t face her. I honestly
could not handle listening to her gush on about the intensity of her feelings
for Javier, their passion, their connection, their word-transcending love. Nor
could I stand to hear her moan about how conflicted she was between the two men
who loved her and craved her and couldn’t get enough of her. Maybe I wasn’t
being a supportive friend, but I had my own sanity to consider.

I spent most of the day moping. There was
no other word for it: shuffling around the big, empty house in my fuzzy
slippers and an old pair of track pants, my chin slathered in vitamin E cream.
The life makeover list sat unread, my inspiration to turn my life around, suddenly
gone. I couldn’t help but blame Karen. Hearing about her newfound passion and
zest for life had highlighted the blandness of my own existence. I didn’t want
to cheat on Paul; I loved him. But is that what it would take to shake me out
of these suburban-mom doldrums? I wanted something,
needed
something to
change in my life. The phone rang.