eight...

“It’s funny that you talked about Richard’s wife’s tantric sex skills when I asked you what she did.” Julie says.

It's not funny at all, I think. She has a cornucopia of time and money. So, she expends it in tantric yoga classes, in rigorous daily exercise, and in anything and everything to keep herself physically desirable.

“I’m reading Memoirs of a Geisha."

Jesus, Julie's gotten stuck on this topic. I don’t say anything. I avoid her implications. But she might have a point. Yes, these women, my women are skilled in the art of seduction and I’m generous enough to let them practice on me. Nobody loses. Not the husband - they know their wife won’t leave them. Not the wife. And certainly not me. It’s just a game for bored adults. Nothing more…


“Wow.” Julie is impressed with Richard’s mansion in Los Altos Hills. This annoys me. “He is one of those overnight dot-com millionaires,” I say. “Probably can’t afford this place for too much longer, in this economy,” I add with a morbid sense of satisfaction. Julie ignores my sarcasm. I was born into wealth; I have no respect for the ostentatious styles of the nouveau riche.

The place is already cluttered with the sounds of voices. Many people are showing off their salsa skills to the music of the live band. Julie recognizes some people she knows so I leave her with them.

We have been here for an hour now. I see Richard but I still don’t see his wife. I've looked everywhere!

I see Julie talking to a tall strawberry blonde woman. She’s had a Martini in her hand every time I’ve run into her. Is it the same one that she’s drinking or is that all she’s having the entire night? In the years I’ve known her, I’ve never known her to be a Martini drinker. Coming here, to Richard’s house, has done something to her. I’ve never introduced Julie to any of my lovers. Maybe this was a mistake. I’m sure I haven’t told her that this is the house of my lover? Have I? No, I’m sure I wouldn’t have.

I find an attractive woman and ask her to dance. Her husband cuts in and I find myself alone again. A familiar face approaches and we talk. I finally spot Richard’s wife. She is wearing a silk turquoise dress, cut high to reveal her long well-toned legs from hours of swimming. I can imagine my hands sliding along those thighs. I’m aroused. Who is she talking to? Damn, she is dancing with him now. I give them a few minutes and I cut in.

“You whore,” I say. “Are you sleeping with that bastard?”

“Nice to see you too, Zachary,” she trills.

She looks around to see if Richard or anyone else might have heard me. But, from the looks of it, people are too involved with their own dramas to notice us.