~~ The victim...~~

I’m not usually one for post coital conversation. It makes me uncomfortable.
But on this occasion I sensed that in addition to the forty minutes of perspiration soaked pumping… conversation was what I was going to get.

His finger traced a line down my naked back from neck down through my spine, pausing intermittently before planting a kiss on it. Almost immediately a rash of goose bumps covered my body.

“You faked it - didn’t you”

Except for the crisp white sheet I was stretched out on, the bedcovers lay in a frenzied heap on the floor. The hotel room’s cold, artificial air sent a little chill through me.
My mind hosted a quick debate on the topic “Faking orgasms occasionally is good for a relationship”. The affirmative won by a whisker but I decided to lie anyway. I hoped I didn’t sound too irritated.

“Why the hell would I do that? I have a husband I can fake it with. What would be the point of having an affair if I’m going to feign sexual satisfaction? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t an affair based on sexual gratification? Today was amazing. It’s always amazing with you”

He said nothing for a moment. I thought I was safe. I desperately wanted a nap.

“I don’t know – it’s just that I want you to tell me if I’m not doing everything right. I want to please you - every time”

I rolled over on my back. He sat naked and cross legged, at the foot of the bed.
“You DO please me every time. You please me enormously EVERY TIME.” I smiled and held out my arms, into which he tumbled like a child needing reassurance from a mother. I knew that conversation was now inevitable. Lots of conversation that would probably lead to another bout of urgent, tumultuous sex.

“Do you know how long we’ve been doing this…?
“Doing what?” I teased
“You know what I mean…”
“Oh I don’t know. 6 months maybe?”
He sat up and gave me his “duh…are you kidding” grin.
“It’s been nearly eight. And I worked it out the other day. We’ve probably had slept in about a hundred and fifty times. And rarely in the same place twice. Isn’t that amazing?”
I didn’t mean to laugh at that point, but I couldn’t help it.
The grin disappeared as he straddled me and cupped me gently.
“How many times …out of that hundred and fifty would you say I’ve made you satisfied…?”
“What are you…the bureau of statistics?”
“No, I was just wondering”

I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice...
“Honey, it doesn’t matter… does it? To be honest I haven’t kept count, and having an orgasm isn’t the be-all and end-all for me.”
“I know…but it turns me on so much when I can make it happen for you”

I wished that he could make silence happen for me.
“I hate it when you analyze things. Can’t we just enjoy the togetherness for what it is?”
His reaction surprised the hell out of me. He climbed off me…his green eyes flashing with anger.
“The sex? The sex? Like…the breakfast cereal. Or the flu? What’s going on here Morgan? Are you bored with me and this relationship or something? Is there someone else you’d rather be with besides me?”

I sat up and faced him directly.
My own reaction surprised me too. I realized that my words mirrored feelings I’d been suppressing for weeks.
“It’s not YOU I’m bored with, just all this stupid chit chat and you trying to pigeon hole this...this situation. This is an AFFAIR, not a relationship. A relationship is what I have with my husband. You’ve known this all along. I’m married and I choose to stay married. What we have is sex. Lots of it. And that’s all we can ever have. I don’t intend to leave my husband. And even if I did, I doubt if…”

I stopped myself but it was too late.
I’d delivered the fatal blow. Hurt was spurting from a major artery.
“Oh I see. Even if you did leave him, we wouldn’t continue… right?”
I tried to stem the flow.
“Look Rick the last six…I mean eight months has been amazing…”
“HAS been…? Oh so I’m right. This is it then. Just like that. I knew something was wrong, I’ve sensed it for ages.”
The crumpled look on his face activated a tiny worm of panic inside me. It started burrowing through my stomach.
“What IS it with you? We’ve both always known where we stand on this. My feelings for you are entirely separate to my feelings for Derek. You and I have no ties to each other – you are completely free to pursue other relationships. An affair lasts as long as it does.”

“Don’t quote me from one of your books Morgan. I’m not a piece of research…or am I? But then… affairs are your specialty. You know what? You’re so damn insensitive, cold and unfeeling.”

He leapt from the bed and fumbled under the pile of bedclothes for his jocks. He dressed in moments. After putting on his shoes, he sat on the edge of the bed with his back to me. I heard the small quaver in his voice as he finally said the dreaded words that had gone unspoken for eight months.

“I love you Morgan. I know you don’t want to hear it, and I didn’t expect it to happen, but I thought you would have sensed it by now. I even hoped you might share my feelings. All those times we made love…I can’t believe you felt it was nothing more than sex. You couldn’t be that detached. But then anyone who could go home to her husband and hop into bed with the smell of another man still on her has no feelings for anyone but herself”
“Rick!”
“Forget it Morgan. I know it’s over, but don’t ask me for quiet acceptance. I have feelings too you know”
He strode to the door and was gone.

Later that evening, Derek and I shared a quiet meal at Antonio’s, one of our favorite Italian restaurants in Paddington. We both enjoyed Antonio’s cozy dark corners where we could hide. This evening, despite the sensuous gloom of candlelight, a plump woman around mid forties wearing a loose fitting floral dress waddled towards us. She clutched a copy of my latest book “When It’s Over …It’s Over” to her generous bosom.

“Oh my God! It IS you. Morgan McLean. I thought it was you when you walked in. I love your books – they’ve helped me so much with my self esteem. You’ve shown me that it’s okay to be me – I feel so liberated and in control of my life now. Thanks to you I now have the courage to end an affair …”

I was slightly taken aback. More than a little surprised that this homely woman would be engaging in an extra marital relationship. Still, if I believed my own words, it should have come as no surprise that affairs… like shit I’d come to discover…happen.
She bent down slightly towards me and whispered
“You are the BEST relationship expert I have ever come across. I’d rather read your books than do anything in the whole wide world.”
Other than eat, I thought.

“I’m so glad my books have been a positive influence in your life”
I pasted on my fake smile and took the book from her. She thrust a pen at me.
“Can you write…“To Julie, your life is about to change in a big way…best wishes Morgan McLean”
I did so and handed the book and pen back to her.
“How do you think he’ll take it…?” I asked
“Sorry?”
“When you end your affair…”
The woman frowned.
“Oh I’m not having an affair, my husband is. And I haven’t ended it yet, but I will...tonight I think”

The woman beamed a wide smile, gushed her “thank you’s”, and swept away.

Throughout all this, Derek sat quiet and invisible. He was used to strangers accosting me in restaurants, cinemas, theatres, art galleries. He always stepped back and let me handle it – and always with an amused grin on his face.

I know this all sounds bizarre, but with Derek I have almost everything. Companionship, friendship, someone I can laugh with and share my innermost thoughts. He has supported me through every step of my career, and nursed me through the many rejections from publishers as I tried to build it. It was Derek who arranged my first television interview and from there, my career soared. He has promoted and marketed my work and I owe him everything. Dear, stable, quiet, reliable Derek. My partner for fifteen years. My rock. Yes, with Derek I have everything. Except a sex life.

I was 27 when we met. I was a magazine journalist at the time. Good for bread and butter but I hated it. I desperately wanted to write books. I’d written a romantic, epic novel – a pretty bad one now that I think of it, although I was convinced it was the next “Gone with the Wind”. Never published of course... Years earlier in university, I had gained a degree in Clinical Psychology, a subject which was useful for the next two murder mystery novels. Also pretty bad, and also never published.

Derek was – and still is – an advertising guru. One of the owners and founders of the largest advertising company in the country, “Simbleton, Obley, Struther”.

From the first moment I met him, I loved his lazy, laconic style of humor. The fact that he was twenty years my senior didn’t seem to matter at the time. He was single, in fact never married. It would be remiss of me not to mention his wealth and influence as an attractive feature. And his blonde, boyish good looks wrapped up a package that seemed far too good to be true. We were smitten with each other and within 4 months we were married. I felt as though I’d been let loose in the biggest and best department store in the world. However, about a month after our marriage, I realized that if I wanted anything resembling a happy life, I would have to shop in another department store.

While Derek’s masculinity drive was low but adequate before we married, it quickly dwindled to almost zero afterwards. At first I thought I’d married a gay man. In many ways I could have accepted it more easily if Derek had been gay. We visited clinics, psychologists, psychiatrists and sex therapists…all to no avail. We tried drug therapy, acupuncture, meditation – even a tantric instructor. Derek remained in a state of constant flaccidity. Inactive masculinity drive notwithstanding, Derek is considerate towards my own healthy sexual appetite. His bank balance is not usually a fair compensation for my neediness.

But sometimes a girl just needs something more than money, expensive gems, diamonds, jaguars, luxurious gourmets…something more than caress…hard and long.

Derek is aware of that need – and even more aware that he cannot satisfy it. So we have an unspoken agreement. When my itch becomes unbearable, I arrange for it to be scratched. He knows that I will never forsake him, or our relationship. We never discuss my trysts with other men. I always don my protective coat of love-proof armor before an encounter. Conventional words like love, respect and commitment are reserved for my husband, so the affairs are always discreet and conducted with one objective…sexual satisfaction. I choose them all carefully. Young, strong, virile and interested…only in the same thing as me. I was happy to have them beside my body, but not inside my head…and certainly not inside my heart. Rick, it seems was now having a hard time accepting that. I was fast coming to realize that Rick was threatening my perfect life.

Shortly after our marriage, I left the magazine and Derek provided me with the necessary environment and financial support to write the books that have made me famous. I’ve been called the “relationship expert”. On TV programs and radio talk shows, I’m lauded as someone who has changed the lives of thousands. I try not to take all the hype too seriously. It’s just that I’ve always thought that some people have a very complicated view of their own lives. We live by so many rules and laws already that it’s often impossible to enjoy life. My theory is that if you simplify things – see situations for what they are, and squeeze every drop of pleasure out of every single day, then you’ll be happier than you ever dreamed possible. If your work or personal situation makes you unhappy, then change it. Because if you don’t, you have none to blame for your resulting misery but yourself. In a nutshell, that’s what my books are about. I’ve simply cashed in on my own philosophy in life.

After our meal at Antonio’s, Derek drove us home.
At first we chatted about the woman in the restaurant, and about the new book I was working on. I was tired and the episode with Rick had added a sour flavor to my day. Derek sensed my preoccupation and we drove the rest of the way in silence.

We prepared for bed and just before I climbed in I decided to check if I had any phone messages. As I suspected, the red light on the answer phone in my office was flashing wildly. 6 messages! I pressed play. The first message was from Rusty Chan, my publisher. The next five were from Rick. I turned down the volume and played them back. The panic worm snapped to attention and began to tunnel furiously.

“Morgan it’s me. I know I’m not supposed to ring you at home, but I need to see you. Please Morgan, it can’t end like this. Call me when you get this message”

Messages two and three were similar, but with decreasing degrees of self control. It was the last rambling, desperate message that shocked me most.

“I’m sorry about this Morgan. I just wanted you to know something. I didn’t want you to know this but …I’m married.”

I almost dropped the phone. I had no idea that Rick had a wife. He’d never mentioned it …but then it occurred to me that I’d never asked him.

“I don’t love her. These last few months have meant more to me than you can imagine. I’ve fallen in love with you so hard I can’t believe it. I’ve made a decision and I’m going to leave her. I think she knows about us anyway. It’s like you control some sort of light switch in my life. When I’m not with you I’m in total darkness. See that’s the effect you have on a lot of people. With your books I mean. They rely on you to be the guiding light in their lives. I don’t know if you realize that. It’s a big responsibility Morgan…and when you mess with people’s lives, you face the consequences. I want to discuss this with you. If you decide you don’t want to talk to me ever again that’s fine, but here’s what I’ll do. I’ll go see your husband and tell him all about us. Then I’ll go to the papers and magazines and even a radio or TV talk show, and tell the nation that their favorite relationship expert lives a spineless marriage and has to resort to affairs to keep herself satisfied. How do you think THAT would affect the sales of your books?”

There was an abrupt click. The panic worm was going crazy. I went to the bathroom and threw up.

When I finally came to bed, Derek was asleep. I was relieved because I wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to lie about the phone calls.
I knew that sleep would be out of the question, so I lay awake trying to piece together a solution to my problem. I thought about going to the police and telling them that Rick was a psycho fan who’d been stalking me for months. I dismissed that idea quickly, knowing that he would have evidence of our trysts. Amidst all the turmoil in my mind, I realized how little I really knew about Rick. How little I’d really wanted to know. His amazing performances in the bedroom were all I’d ever been concerned about.

I drifted off to sleep, and quickly fell victim to a night of ugly dreams.

I came down late for breakfast. Derek glanced up and smiled over his newspaper.
“Bad night darling…?”
I answered him probably a bit too quickly.
“Oh no…just a few things going on in my head about the new book…Rusty’s pressuring me a little. Nothing much really.”
I managed a feeble smile. I knew I looked like I’d had no sleep.
Derek pulled the social pages from the middle of the newspaper and handed them to me. Just as I was pouring my first coffee…the phone rang.
Derek answered.

After a few moments, he handed me the phone. I caught his worried frown, and stood up to take the call.

“Hello…?”
“Is this Morgan McLean?”
“Yes, speaking”
“This is Senior Detective Peter Wallace from the homicide division of the city police department. Ms McLean...I’m sorry to inform you that a murder took place in the early hours of yesterday evening.”

I let the information seep in and panic gripped my throat. I thought of my parents…my sister…my two closest friends. I couldn’t breathe and for a moment I thought my fiercely pounding heart would crash through my chest.

“Ms McLean…the reason for this call is that…well… we have the suspect in custody. And her statement indicates that the victim was known to you. I wonder if you could come down to the station and answer a few questions for us”

I felt the blood drain from my face. The words victim and suspect seemed surreal to me.

“Who…what…victim…?”
“Ms. McLean I can’t really discuss this on the phone…you will need to come down to the station. We can send a car for you right away…”
By now Derek realized that something was very wrong.
He stood behind me with his hands supportively on my shoulders.
I could feel the hysteria rising as I gushed
“Just tell me who the victim was! This is ridiculous…please don’t let it me my mother or father…was it someone in my family…? Don’t do this to me!”

“The victim was a Richard Dean”
Oh my god. Rick…!
The phone slid from my hand and my legs buckled…trying to put myself in the victim’s shoes…