Six feet tall and full figured, Lena is all stature and curves. Punctuated by stiletto heels. She sips her iced tea and sways to the music, watching lithe bodies aglow beneath spinning black lights.
Energy shifts in the club as the bartender announces last call; strangers begin the distilled process of coupling for the night. They suss out their options and then dangle the bait.
Can I buy you a drink?
Are you here on your own?
Do you need a ride home?
Lena turns around to settle her bill and discovers a torn slip of paper tucked between two twenties. A proposition, of sorts.
Thanks for the lovely view. Drinks on me. Meet you by the coat check in five?
She feels almost giddy – once again the bashful schoolgirl passing notes in math class, butterflies floating freeform in her stomach.
It occurs to Lena that she is playing a dangerous game, inviting disaster. What would people think if they could see her now? Clad in low cut halter and tight pleather pants, smoky cat eyes accentuated with red lips. Of course, she knows enough to be discreet, unlike some of her daft colleagues, posting pictures of themselves half naked and properly smashed.
A quick stop in the loo to refresh lipstick and plump cleavage, and she is ready to make her appearance.
Waiting beside the queue is a bookish fellow with light red hair and horn- rimmed glasses, more akin to giving advice at the pharmacy counter or approving loans at the bank; his distinguished appearance entirely out of context in these surroundings. She smiles in approval as he takes her hand and presses it to his lips.
“Hello there, gorgeous. I’ve never seen you here before. Do you live nearby?”
“I’m just passing through, actually. Only here for the night. You can call me,’ Lena pauses to select her handle ‘Veronica. Veronica Desmond.”
“Nice to meet you, Veronica. You remind me of a busty Cleopatra,’ he winks ‘I’m whoever you want me to be.”
Without further preamble, Lena follows him to his car in the parking lot and wordlessly begins to undress him. She attempts to manoeuvre within the confines of the backseat, feeling like an aging contortionist while still assuming the appropriate sounds and expressions of desire. How did she ever do this in high school? He continues to adjust positions, narrowly avoiding death by stiletto on more than one occasion. They make forced love in record time.
Afterwards, they both sit in silence and light up. Another dirty little secret. She hears a tropical ringtone and swipes to retrieve the text on her mobile.
“Well, pumpkin,’ Lena exhales ‘looks like we’d better head home now. The sitter expected us hours ago, and Max has soccer in the morning.”
“Yes, dear,’ agrees her husband, rubbing his aching back ‘and next time, let’s just book the hotel instead.”