Page 73 of Such a Good Wife

He hugs me like a soldier going off to war before he clicks open the garage door and pulls down the drive. I spring into action once his taillights disappear down the lane. I go into the bedroom and pull out the black miniskirt I haven’t worn since I dressed up as Madonna for a costume party years ago. Then I squeeze myself into a skintight red tank top. I smooth my hair with a flat iron until it hangs, sleek and glossy, down the middle of my back. I apply an excess of lipstick and false lashes I’d almost forgotten how to put on. I finish the look with alligator-skin stilettos and head to the first of the two places Lacy assures me Joe Brooks will be on any given Saturday if he’s not working.

I confirmed his schedule already, with Lacy’s help, and now it’s either Bourbon and Spits or the strip club. I hope to God it’s the first because explaining my presence at the strip club again will be more difficult. I’ll drive to every bar in town and his house if I need to, but this is his spot, normally, and she says if he does go to the club, it’s usually late, after he’s already gotten drunk at Spits, so I drive out to the bar, ready.

I hadn’t been back since that first night I met Lacy by witnessing her sexual assault in the parking lot. I suck in a deep breath and park. Inside, country music blares and the place is bursting at the seams. I belly up to the bar and sit on a gummy bar stool with duct tape holding the torn, faux-leather seat together. I order a chardonnay that I plan to nurse slowly so I can play drunk but keep my wits about me. I scan the bar to find him perched on a stool near the pool tables, holding a bottle of Coors between his knees as he uses his arms to tell some animated story to a few drunk buddies standing around him. He’s here. My stomach turns over; I watch.

One guy nudges him and pushes a pool cue his way for his turn to shoot. His unsteady gait as he moves to the pool table exposes his level of intoxication, which is exactly what I was hoping to see. I don’t act right away. I observe him in his group of friends. One guy, whom I vaguely remember from school and who wears a T-shirt that says Dad Bod, brings another tin bucket of beers to the high-top table they hover around. They jab at each other like high school boys. Dad Bod puts another guy in a playful headlock and rubs a knuckle on his scalp when he misses a shot. They laugh too loudly and have wide stances and folded arms most of the time, asserting their dominance, taking up space.

A couple of them leave an hour later; the dads of the group, I assume. I’m still watching between staving off fumbling, stammering cowboys who elbow their way to the bar for a drink and stay to make passes at me through slurs and spit. When the two remaining friends strike up a conversation with two college-aged girls at an adjacent table, Joe finally comes up to the bar. He’s graduated from beer to hard liquor, and turns to his left only after he feels my stare. He doesn’t try to hide the shock on his face. Maybe because he’s never seen me dressed like this, or in a bar like this, but probably because I’m a married woman not wearing a ring who he’s currently trying to prove had an affair.

“Mel.” He stands up straight and tries to appear sober.

“Hey, Joe.”

He can’t help himself. He looks directly at the triangle of space a short skirt leaves between crossed legs, hoping to see more.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, and I shrug.

“Needed some time away, I guess.”

“Well, let me buy you a drink, shit.” His words are slow and labored. The last thing he needs is another drink.

“Thanks.”

And just like that, we move to a small table across the room since there is no extra stool next to me at the crowded bar.

“You look really good. I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Moms need some fun every now and then too, ya know. Off the record, right?”

He laughs and moves his chair in. I see him notice the pale circle on my finger where a wedding ring should be.

“I don’t judge you, ya know. I mean...”

“Surprised you want to talk to someone you’re suspecting.”

“Listen, Mel. I’m just doing my job, but I don’t think you did anything wrong. Sex ain’t a crime.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly,” he repeats, and leans back with a laugh, one elbow around the back of his chair, taking me in.

“I do a lot at home. I can go out sometimes. No one owns me.”

“I like that. God, Mel. You seem so different.”

“Clearly there’s a side of me you never knew.”

“Clearly.” He tips back his drink and holds up two fingers, gesturing for another round.

“That’s too bad,” I say, looking wide-eyed and flirtatious. He leans back, running his hands through his hair, nervously.

“Wow.” He sort of pauses and looks at me a moment, and I don’t know if I’m pushing this too fast. Then he shakes his head, and holds his drink up to cheers and gives me a wink. “This is unexpected.”

We spend the next hour talking about nothing of importance. Like two people on a first date, we flirt and make small talk, and then he lets his hand rest on mine, and looks in my eyes, and he wants it so bad, he’s waited for years. But he is really good at this game, so he’ll keep the charm coming until I’m ready. I have to be home by midnight, so I move this part along as quickly as I can.

“Listen, Collin and I are staying together for our family, okay, and the only reason I can’t let what happened with Luke get out is because it would be all over the news and ruin my kids’ lives. We have an arrangement.”

“What arrangement? What do you mean?”

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