Story Title: The Booked Time
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The streetlights pierced the Mercedes Benz’s windows as it drove out of town, catching the four-carat diamond as her left hand rested on her husband’s shoulder. She despised the rock’s weight and protrusion when it snagged her silk stockings or slammed into the granite of their kitchen counters, but she adored how it gleamed in the proper light. And, like her husband’s shoulder, something that perfectly cut and substantial was sometimes worth the bother.
She squeezed his hand, but he was preoccupied with today’s meeting, tomorrow’s teleconference, or next week’s deposition. She might have thought “Mo Money; Mo Problems” if she didn’t have a Harvard degree, but instead she reflected on their seven-year marriage and how, before his practice took off, at least part of his drive was focused at her. She shifted her head away from the window, leaving her hand on his shoulder. They had to pass through the slums before hitting the motorway that would take them to the fringes of civilized society for the rehearsal dinner, which was at an upscale bed and breakfast outside of the city.
The classical music was juxtaposing the rawness of the streets as she watched a homeless man with a shopping cart digging for his dinner in a dumpster outside a pizza joint and two men who wouldn’t know Beethoven from Bach exchange more than handshakes in an alleyway between a bail bonds shop and a liquor shop. She felt his shoulder tense as the light turned yellow; he hated getting stopped in this part of town. She turned back to give him an understanding smile, but his head was fixed ahead towards their future destination. She turned back in time to see the black Mini Copper stop at the next corner and the woman who approached the driver’s side from out of nowhere. Her skirt matched his car, and she had to lean over so far to speak to the driver that it rode up her ass enough to expose a hint of thong from between the fish net covered cheeks.
She may have acquired the four carets, but this woman of the night seemed to live a life of adventure and freedom, which she immediately envied.
She wondered what he would have thought of the hot pink mini skirt and fishnets; wondered if that would be enough to make his see past the seven years of marriage, the two kids she had birthed, the last three sexless months.
Her hand had moved absentmindedly from his shoulder to his thigh as she imagined that she was in the car of a man she didn’t know, heading to a place she had never been, to get fucked like she had never been fucked before. They had both been virgins when they had married; and their lovemaking had gone from new and awkward to routine and rehearsed far too quickly. Not to say he wasn’t an attentive lover; he was. He always touched her until she was wet before entering her, he never went too hard or too fast and he always treated her with the respect and manners one treats a complete stranger.
She didn’t get to see if the woman was going to get into the car or take her client into one of the many dark alleys since he took off as soon as the light turned green. She couldn’t get the image of the hooker out of her head, and her own thong was moist by the time they reached the freeway. He had suggested she wear something other than her red sari, which she had wanted to do. Something more in keeping with the other women at the dinner; something that would help them blend in with the crowd of people they had never met before.
As he applied the break, she felt his thigh tense. She thought to herself, “I’m just like this car.” “This car begs to be opened up and driven aggressively, and he’s the one who’s putting the brakes on and following the laws. He’s got the best money can buy, yet he’s on auto-pilot instead of enjoying it.” She cast another glance at her silent partner as he calculated money in his brain, then closed her eyes and imagined him using the money to hire her for the night.