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know, but it’s crucial I talk to Javier.
There are some important… issues we need to discuss. I can’t go on like
this. It’s not fair to anyone. I need to have a serious conversation with him
about what the future holds. I’m not even going to have sex with him tonight.”
    Sure, like she’d be able to resist his
smoldering eyes.
    I heaved a heavy sigh. “I guess it’s okay—just
this once.”
    “Thank you, Paige,” she said, almost
gleefully. She sounded awfully excited for someone who was just going to talk .
    “But if Doug calls here, I’m not covering
for you. I’ll just say I don’t know where you are, which, technically, will be
true.”
    “That’s fine. He won’t call.”
    “I sure hope not.”
    “He won’t.”
    I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty
for my small role in Karen’s subterfuge. It wasn’t that Doug and I were close.
Our relationship had always been pleasant, but rather superficial. But I hated
lying. It made me feel like a bad person. Although… I wasn’t actually lying ,
per se. I was just staying indoors and not calling Karen, which, in fact, was
what I had planned to do anyway. I decided to stop beating myself up over it.
    Instead of focusing (again) on my friend’s
dangerous liaison, I would concentrate all my attention on my own plans for the
evening. Because tonight, at 9:00 P.M., my unsuspecting husband would be
landing at the Denver International Airport. When he arrived home,
approximately forty-five minutes later, he would be greeted at the door by his
sexy, lingerie-clad wife, who was fully prepared to ravage him like a horny
teenager—quite possibly right there in the grand entryway.
    When the kids went to bed at eight, I began
my preparations. I had bought a do-it-yourself bikini waxing kit, and for the
first time, gave myself a home bikini wax. The result was a rather lopsided,
chicken skin look, but hopefully Paul would, at least, appreciate my efforts. I
then took a hot, lavender scented bath, where I shaved off all other
superfluous body hair. At 8:45, I toweled myself off, put my hair up in a
loose, devil-may-care style, and applied a full face of makeup. By 9:15, I was
seated in the family room, a thick terry robe covering my garter belt, fishnet
stockings and rather too large push up bra. Inexplicably, I felt nervous… or
maybe just excited. This was a momentous occasion after all: the first day of
the rest of our marriage. To relax, I poured myself a glass of syrah, and
flicked on a rerun of CSI.
    I watched the entire program. And then, I
watched a VH1 Behind the Music episode on Mariah Carey. When the late
news came on, I realized something was wrong. Paul was over an hour late. His
plane must have been delayed. Or he’d had car trouble on the way home. Or his
plane had been shot down by terrorists—although, that would likely have made
the news. But a car crash wouldn’t! He could be lying, right now, in the
twisted wreckage! My children could be orphans! It was a momentary panic. I
still felt fairly confident that my husband was simply running late. But there
was one thing I was absolutely positive about: I could not wear this lingerie
for another second.
    Upstairs, I gratefully peeled out of the
constrictive gear. An ensemble like this was obviously not meant to be worn for
more than a few minutes, before it was ripped from your body in a fit of
passion. Extended wear could cause irreparable damage; I was lucky to have
survived the experience with everything still intact. That’s when I heard the
sound of Paul’s key in the front door. Damn! I tried to struggle back into the
outfit, but it was too complicated. It wouldn’t be very sexy if he came up here
and found me awkwardly tangled in black elastic and lace. Throwing on the robe,
I scurried downstairs to greet my husband.
    “Hi!” I said, excited to see him.
    “Hey, babe.” We kissed. “Sorry I’m late.
The plane was delayed.”
    I stepped back to look at him. His
exhaustion was