Page 7 of Towles

April

Paul kissed my cheek before leaving for the airport. Sometimes, his lack of intimacy made it appear as if he were having an affair, the other woman getting everything I should. Paul wasn’t that kind of man. He had a reputation to maintain, a certain level in his circle that meant more than side pussy. Besides, he wasn’t one of those men most temptresses targeted. For him to be a cheater, hell would have to freeze over.

I had no morning appointments, so I puttered around the house, digging out a favorite vibrator and dildo from the back of the closet. Paul didn’t know about the sex toy stash behind his box of old baseball cards. I introduced a vibrator into our marriage years ago, but Paul balked at the idea. How dare I question his manhood. I left the vibrator on the nightstand that night, and when I woke the following day, it was gone. When Paul left for work, I checked the trash outside and found the cute little toy lying at the bottom all alone. I joked the rest of the day that I was the sex toy whisperer.

Man-child, at least in my head, crawled into bed with me, the vibrator, and the dildo. It didn’t bother him to have such things in bed because he had no doubts about his manhood. Neither did I. A few minutes later, I writhed across the bed in the most extraordinary orgasm of my life. Man-child gave me an orgasm without even being present.

I spent the rest of the morning walking around the house, thinking about what to take if I left for good. There wasn’t much. Most of the shit belonged to Paul.

With no morning appointments, I arrived at work around noon to a buzz amongst the staff. They were mostly young college graduates looking to make a name for themselves, even at the expense of those who’d invested their time in the business. They didn’t understand that every minute spent on social media while at work took away a minute of learning about what we did in the office. By the end of the day, we got about five hours of work out of people.

“I hope he brings friends,” Kendra Alexander said to whomever she was talking to on the phone. Kendra was our OCD receptionist who kept the office and staff calendars pristine. She stayed on top of things like a hooker on Saturday nights. She also dressed like a Saturday night hooker, clearly desiring the attention of a TikTok influencer. Last week, I caught her in the bathroom taking naked selfies. “They call the president of the club Beast.” She giggled and finally noticed the lobby was no longer empty.

“What’s going on?” I asked the pretentious little princess, face now red.

Kendra ended her call and straightened a pen that lay crooked on her desk. “Dr. Clark is meeting with one of those Brothers of Chaos biker guys this afternoon at two. The sheriff called him yesterday. Said he was sending a biker over.”

“That’s what has everyone so excited?” I asked. Remembering the day before, I understood the excitement. “Let's see if we can get back to business.”

Robert Clark and I started the business together ten years ago. Then Paul wanted me to work part-time, so I did. Six months later, Robert ran the place. He took all the important clients, anyone Pine Bluff deemed high profile, and left me with the rest. I later found out Paul had spoken with Robert about me going part-time and Robert taking over.

I stood at Kendra’s desk, ignoring her princess mentality. At precisely noon every day, Kendra and two of the younger psyche doctors retreated to the office safe room and meditated together. Imagining what they were doing made me think of man-child who was part of a biker club. The thought that he might be the one walking through the door excited me and gave me dread.

“April?” Kendra asked.

I ignored the little bitch, knowing she was banging Robert every chance she got, and walked down the hall to my office. I closed the door and stood at the window overlooking the parking lot. I was actually fucking wet from thinking about the biker from yesterday. I shook the thought of the man from my head.

I rolled my eyes at the picture on the wall of me standing between Paul and Robert while on a trip to Hilton Head. The two men left me at the hotel every day while they went to play golf. They were gone so long that I wondered what else they were up to—sleeping together? The thought made me laugh.

The rumble of motorcycles shook the window, and I turned my attention to the bikers passing by on Main Street. None of the bikers was man-child—more disappointment in my life.

The thought of leaving Paul, the big house, and nice cars inexplicably returned. Could I do it? Could I walk out on the man who helped me build a business, who taught me things sexually—though his knowledge of things dark and sensual was non-existent? No. He taught me nothing I didn’t already know.

As the last biker passed, I imagined myself on the back of man-child’s bike, hair blowing in the wind, not giving a damn about other people’s problems. Fuck, I needed, for once in my life, for things to be about me and not someone else. Didn’t we all deserve that opportunity?

Jasmine Wells knocked and then entered. Jasmine was the office happy-go-lucky-who-gives-a-fuck-about-anything psyche doctor. She looked at life with blinders off. Everything had a purpose. Not every action deserves a reaction. She believed drugs—weed and the such—were an essential part of therapy to bring people down to a level where they could properly manage issues and problems in their lives. I think she told me all this while she was high.

“I hear heartless Bob is taking on the biker,” Jasmine said. She eased the door closed and turned the knob so it wouldn’t make a clicking sound. “The son-of-a-bitch will get tossed out the window because of some of the shit he tells patients. A biker isn’t going to listen to his bullshit.”

“Not one of the worst things that could happen,” I said, and we laughed together. I stopped laughing, the dramatic episodes in my head suddenly changing my mood. Was it Paul causing the gloom or the fact that I couldn’t have the life man-child had? “I’m going to leave Paul,” I blurted. “As soon as he gets home.”

Jasmine jerked her head back, a turtle retreating to its shell. “No, you are not!”

I nodded despite the idiocy of the idea. Idiocy would have been Paul’s description. I needed to quit doing that. I wasn’t against a man controlling some things in my life, but controlling my decision-making and every thought? No way.

“I have to, Jasmine. I’m a rat lost in a maze, trying to find the cheese in life. Paul has blocked every corner I turn. I can’t do it anymore. I’m suffocating.”

“Hold up,” Jasmine said and left the office. She returned moments later, easing the door closed. When she showed the recently rolled joint, I covered a snicker with my hand. “Let’s talk this through with a bit of help from a friend.”

“Nothing to discuss, Jasmine. I’m tired of being the old lady in the shoe. I want out. I want a life before life is over.” I gave her a warm smile, hoping to calm her rebuttal.

“I completely agree,” she said, and I just about fell out of the chair. “You need what I have—freedom.”

Jasmine shrugged her dark, shiny shoulders. Despite no real men in the office, she dressed to kill at work. Single with no responsibilities other than herself, she experienced life at the speed of light. Yes, I was jealous. Yes, she was right.

She lit the joint and took a long, enjoyable toke. Smiling like the Cheshire cat, Jasmine reached across the desk, showing much of her tits, and gave over the joint.

I took a long hit and then opened the window, waving the smoke out like a college coed in a dorm, expecting a visit from her parents at any minute. I should have started smoking the stuff ten years ago.

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