Monday, September 26, 2011

Erica

ERICA
By Doc Walton

No one ever called Erica Wiley a tomboy. No scabby knees and scuffed elbows for her. Unh unh. This was a woman/child who moved with grace, delicate and fluid as maple syrup. She was slow dance, gliding through life, twirling when the mood was right. There was no hip hop for this girl, unh unh, nothing about her to suggest the abrupt, the startled, or even the extemporaneous. It seemed, instead, as if her every move had been choreographed and rehearsed. She was never caught off-guard by word or deed and she always paused, thinking, before she spoke; a rare trait even among adults. Hers were measured words spoken in a voice soft as silk and deeper in tone than one would expect from a child; words leisurely paced and delicately inflected. She felt neither discomfort nor the need to hurry when faced with fidgeting that often occurred by those awaiting her replies. “Stay the moment,” she seemed to say, “and the time spent will be worth it.” This was truly a girl who would never climb a tree or catch a frog. But no matter. There were always boys, eager boys, to do those things for her.

Her growth from child to adult was seamless. There was no clunky stage in between, unh unh. No acne, no awkward, or shy to mark the transition. She was at once full blown woman, and no one could quite mark when it had happened. She was just more of what she had always been, femininity itself, and the boys, now men, still found her fascinating. They were drawn to her as metal to magnet. In her presence even the most uncertain of men felt manly. They preened and posed as if seeking a blessing, or at the very least, her approval. Could one of them, they wondered, possibly become her choice?

Those of her own sex, on the other hand, were understandably less enamored. They appeared in large part to either resent or envy her, and even the few whose admiration she garnered often kept their distance when men were about for fear that comparisons would be drawn and they would be found lacking. Without exception they all sensed a vague, undefined threat from this myth of womanhood come to life in their midst. Could beauty such as hers be harmless in the subtle, societal world of female competition? Could she move among their carefully controlled lives of dinner parties, gallery showings, pampered children and trophy husbands and do no damage, create no havoc? It seemed unlikely. Here was a woman not yet thirty, unmarried, unattached. There would surely be trouble in their Milwood, New Hampshire paradise. But which one of their men would fall prey? Which woman would suffer the cruelty of unexpected loss? Which marriage was held by the weakest link? Each woman looked to her own.
*
Jennifer Dunwell, Jenny to her friends, a group that included nearly everyone she met, was blonde, vivacious, out-going, and the energy at the center of any gathering she attended. She was quick to smile, often provoked to laughter, and the first to shed tears of joy when a moment was moving. She was spontaneous and witty, a tireless volunteer for charitable causes and one of those women who seem to effortlessly juggle the complexities of family life and a full social schedule. With her hair down and a bit of time spent in front of her dressing room mirror, she could be quite the stunner. But she was more often seen with her locks pulled and pinned away from her face, sans make-up, and sporting the sheen of earned perspiration. She was a dedicated runner and a “worthy opponent” tennis player. As a child she had often been called a tomboy, and even now, as an adult, the description was not far off the mark. That she and Erica would become best friends seemed highly unlikely, but that is exactly what happened.
*
That opposites attract is not just an old saw describing an often true component of the boy/girl relationship. It can apply to friendships as well. Looking across a room crowded in busy clusters of well turned out friends and relations, Jennifer was caught by the still presence of a woman who appeared more interested in listening than talking and who seemed to have a perpetual circle of wide eyed men surrounding her. She is a stunner, Jennifer thought, but really…this is a sophisticated group…there must be more to her than that. The hostess at this week’s dinner party, Molly Campion, had introduced Erica to each of those who didn’t already know her, but the introduction had been cursory and Erica had been quickly whisked off to meet other people, an almost instantly forming gaggle of googly-eyed men trailing in her wake. Jennifer made a mental note to connect with this newest member of Molly’s circle before the night was out.

Erica, feigning attention to the animated young man before her while looking past him, was not oblivious to the pretty blonde woman who seemed to generate laughter and smiles from those who approached her. There was clearly gaiety and excitement to be had in her presence and Erica was not above wanting a piece of that. The problem was how to disengage from her current collection of admirers, all nice men, good looking men, funny even, but lacking any quality to separate one from the other. Erica charmed them all almost offhandedly, saying the right thing at the right time, laughing at their jokes and offering, now and again, clever bon mots of her own, even as she sought to escape. The dilemma was that as one suitor or another drifted off or was pulled away by wife or girlfriend offering an excuse that required immediate attention, another took his place. Even “nose powdering” breaks brought only a temporary respite as the moment she emerged from the small sanctuary of a guest room, there was always a cry of “Oh there you are!” from someone and her posse would again begin to form.

It was thrilling then, and blessed relief, when Jennifer approached, took her by the arm and led her off, saying to the surprised coterie, “Gentlemen, your time is up. We have urgent womanly stuff to discuss and I’m told the bar needs your attention.” And with that announcement, led Erica swiftly out a patio door and into a lush backyard garden.
“I hope you don’t mind, I just wanted” Jennifer started to say, but was interrupted by Erica’s “Thank God, I was about to suffocate!”

They both laughed.

“I kind of thought you needed a breather,” Jennifer said, “That pack around you looked downright rabid. I’m Jennifer, by the way, but everyone calls me Jenny.”
“Thanks for the rescue, Jenny. I’m Erica, and I’m more than glad to meet you. The guys can get a little smothering at times, but you seem to handle it well. I saw you fending them off inside, no problem. What’s your secret?”
“No secret: a husband. Whenever a guy who doesn’t know me - or even those who do but are feeling their oats or their booze - starts up with the heavy flirting, I just bring my husband into the conversation and off they go. It’s kinda like magic.”

Erica grins, says, “Good magic. Next time I’m cornered I’ll abracadabra your husband.”

They laugh again.

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” Jenny asks. “I thought I knew everyone in these here parts” she says in her best John Wayne, which she knows is none too good.
Erica smiles at that, answers, “I’m new, actually. I’ve only been here a couple of months. Transferred by Dell. We’re opening a regional office out at the Tech Center. Geeky stuff. Bore you to tears.”

“Really? Computers? I’m barely literate myself. I bet most people would guess you’re a model or a fashion consultant, or, I don’t know, something glamorous anyway. Not that you don’t look smart. I just think that’s not the first thing they’re going to notice.”
Erica understands the compliment, throws it right back.

“Well look at you, Jenny. I’ll bet people who don’t know you think the same thing. That you’re a model or maybe an actress instead of what you really are, which is?

“Housewife.” You know, minivan, would be soccer mom, queen of the domicile. If there’s glamour in there, it’s wearing a really good disguise.”

The two women continue to talk, filling in their backgrounds as people do when they first become acquainted and like each other enough to want to know more. Ten or twelve minutes pass, perhaps even a quarter of an hour without their notice when the patio door swings open. A smooth featured, athletically built man, blond and looking enough like Jennifer to be her brother, approaches. He’s carrying three flutes of champagne, two in one hand, one in the other. He hands each of the women one, and Jennifer says, “This is my husband…”

“Bond” says the man, talking over his wife’s “Jack” and offering his hand. “Jamesh Bond.”

Erica takes his hand. His grip is firm but not intrusive. No stupid display of strength. She looks at his eyes, which are dark, an interesting contrast to his light colored hair. They are smiling, waiting her response.

“And Jack, this is Eri…”

“Pussy. Pussy Galore,” Erica says, while realizing she has selected the most infamously memorable of all the Bond girls. She blushes lightly, surprised at her own response, but manages, “Nice to meet you...” then pauses a couple of beats before adding, “Sir.”

All three laugh and clink glasses.

In the weeks to follow, they become a nearly inseparable social threesome. When one is seen, one or both of the other two are usually close at hand. At first there are raised eyebrows and whispered suspicions when Jack and Erica are spotted having lunch alone or sharing an early evening cocktail, but they are so often joined by a tardy Jennifer that the supposed clandestine aspects of their get-togethers, initially assumed, fade and are discarded as useless gossip. After a time, even Jack and Erica’s presence without Jennifer became a common and accepted occurrence and one that inspires little comment.

But was the situation actually as it appeared, a close friendship between three people, two of them married to each other, the third just an attractive and stimulating addition to the wedded couple’s world? It is possible. Three is not always “a crowd.” But, truly, as life has so often demonstrated, it is not the norm.

Erica did date during this period, a series of earnest and, as other women would tell you, desirable men. None, however, seemed to interest her for long and the few who did make it to an introduction and “double date” with Jack and Jennifer were usually gone shortly thereafter. If Erica were to honestly examine what occurred during those double dates, she would realize that she had pitted her feelings for her date against those she had for Jack, and on each occasion her date had come up short. She was slowly, but inexorably falling in love with her best friend’s husband.
*

It has been noted that opposites often attract. It has also been noted that Jack and Jennifer shared both personality and physical attributes; the two were extroverted, blond and athletic. The dark, mysterious characteristics that had drawn Jennifer to Erica were the same that appealed to Jack. He, no different than all men it appeared, was not immune to her charms, but unlike the others, he was able to hold them in abeyance. Jack found Erica beautiful and deeply sexual, nearly irresistible in fact, but not quite so, because Jack was, it should be further noted, truly in love with his wife.

Jennifer, for her part, was thrilled to have a new “best girlfriend.” She had been lacking a “sister” since her marriage to Jack seven years ago. As so often happens to young newlyweds, old friends drift away pursuing careers or marrying and new friends in the form of other “couples” appear to take their place. A certain one on one, “tell me everything” intimacy is lost, as Jennifer discovered Her college roommate and former best friend, Betsy Florio, now lived on the west coast and their initial weekly phone calls trickled over the years to Happy Birthdays and Merry Christmases. Erica, still single in her late twenties, the only one of Jennifer’s acquaintances that was still without a partner, brought a more mature and somewhat cynical perspective to her status. She could expound wryly on the scene and, finding in Jenifer an avid listener, often did, to Jennifer’s delight. Erica was so unlike anyone she knew that Jennifer found her a positively compelling companion.

That Jennifer was never at a loss for things to do or places to go and happily dragged Erica along was for Erica the tonic she needed to keep from slipping into the ennui of mild depression to which she was too often prone. And, it seemed, when, Jenifer was unavailable, Jack was there; Jack with the smoky eyes, sexy laugh and the any-pal-of-Jenny’s-is-a-pal-of-mine attitude. They were a good threesome, these three, an interesting threesome, but that love thing was growing wildly in Erica and was threatening to be intrusive.
*

It has been established that opposites often attract, but it is commonality that more often binds. Long married couples speak of shared interests as the foundation of their relationship, the very cement that holds it together. Jennifer and Jack’s marriage was a good example of that. They ran together, played tennis as a team, and planned their future in tandem. When learning something of value or interest while apart, they eagerly shared it when reunited. You could picture them as older, even much older, leaning across a restaurant table discussing the latest happenings in politics or sports, their kids and grandkids, or the plot of a good book and doing so with the same enthusiasm they brought to the conversations of their youth. Though opposites often attract, they are just as often quick to separate. Unlike those who have much in common, opposites, not finding mutual lasting interest, generally just get on down the road. Generally, but not always. And not always without harm.
*
Erica sat on the side of the bed and looked at Jack. He had thrown his jacket over a chair back and was struggling with his tie knot. His movements were slow, not driven by passion; his expression indicating that he was struggling with something more than his tie. As she watched, Erica unbuttoned her blouse, one careful, deliberate button after another. She too, appeared in no hurry.

Their meeting had been happenstance, or, as Erica wanted to believe, fated. She had attended a late afternoon conference at the Tech Center conducted by management rather than with the talented techie staff Jennifer would have preferred. Following that mostly dull affair, she had dinner with a few of her colleagues at a nearby hotel restaurant. There was wine before and after the main course and a snifter of Gran Marnier following dessert. As her companions drifted off, she decided to stay for a further cup of coffee to help counter the drowsy feeling brought on by a full meal and more alcohol than she was accustomed to. Although she appeared to be perusing her notes as she sipped her inky black stimulant, her mind kept slipping away to thoughts of Jack. The woman, then, who was never taken by surprise was actually startled when the voice she was hearing in her head said from behind her, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Jack had been conducting a management seminar in another part of the Tech Center and had just finished. He had skipped lunch for an afternoon run and was now starving. After Erica regained her composure and the expected “what the heck are you doing here” conversation was over, Jack convinced Erica to have another Gran Marnier and keep him company while he ate…and drank. He began his dinner with two double scotches that he felt he had earned for the completion of a successful day. His run had been invigorating and his seminar had delivered kudos from his colleagues.

After dinner, the polite phrase would be, they retired to the bar for a nightcap, but in truth both Jack and Erica were feeling the warm glow that alcohol, atmosphere and good company can inspire. Neither wanted the moment to end. The nightcap became two, then three. A fourth was ordered, but the drinks remained on the bar untouched as the tone of their conversation became more intimate. Their voices were lowered then, and they leaned closer to each other, the better to hear the soft sweet, revelations of feelings previously suppressed and unspoken. Was it Jack or Erica who ultimately offered the comment that required a small kiss of agreement or confirmation? It matters not. The gentle buss that followed, light and but of a moment, seemed to linger on their lips and the separation after was equally brief before their eyes leaped to each other with a plea of “more” and their mouths obeyed, wetly and without restraint. This was a kiss that deepened with every second it lasted and its intensity brought Jack and Erica to their feet, barstools pushed aside so their bodies could press as tightly together as clothes would permit. There really wasn’t much thought going on during that embrace, much consciousness of what was happening to them or around them, but they were aware enough, barely, to register the sound of the bartender shouting, “Hey you two! Go get a room!”
And it seemed like a good idea at the time.
*
Passion can be hard to keep aflame when two people have to endure the rigmarole of checking in to a hotel. There is the form to fill out, fake names to be decided upon, excuses not asked for, but volunteered nervously, for the lack of luggage. There is the trek to the room following a bellhop and the fidgeting as he points out the room’s features, sets the thermostat, and gives the “If you need anything just”…well, you know how it goes.

By the time this was all said and done, Jack and Eric’s ardor had somewhat diminished. They tried another kiss and let their hands roam a bit to fan anew the flames, but now there was a third party in the room and that party was either Jack’s conscience or Jennifer, call it what you will. Erica could sense it in Jack’s sudden reticence and for the second time that night she was taken aback. Men did not cool in her presence. Although Jack had placed her gently on the bed, he had not started the “let’s tear off these clothes” routine that usually accompanies first time coupling. Instead he had risen to his feet and even as he undressed she could see that his eyes, though pointed at her, were looking inward; inward at new thoughts, thoughts not considered or perhaps just pushed aside earlier that night. She was not surprised then - there would be no third time for that - when Jack stopped his strip at his belt buckle and said, “Erica, I can’t do this. I just can’t do this to Jenny.”

“That’s alright Jack,” Erica said back in a voice that was steady and clearly consoling. “Thank you for stopping it.” To which she quickly added, “I can’t do it to her either” and found herself knowing it to be the truth.

They talked a little bit more then, even suggesting an actual nightcap, but neither one could face the bartender after their earlier actions. They parted in the parking lot with what appeared to be a friendly brother/sister kind of hug and promises to get together again soon, you know, like always. Both knew though, that things had changed and would never again be like “always”.

What needed to happen and did was that they would not meet, not soon nor ever. With a threat of “I quit if you don’t move me,” Erica requested and received a transfer to a distant city. She was gone from Milwood in little more than a week. She could not have stayed. She realized that she truly did love Jack, honestly and deeply and if that love was to go unrequited, it was better done in a faraway place. Let time and distance work their healing magic. To see Jack often, or even at all, would be more she could bear. She would lose Jenny as well, her first real best friend. There was sorrow enough in that. But how could she ever again look in that friend’s trusting blue eyes knowing she had nearly seduced her husband and, in truth, wanted to still. That too would not be possible for Erica to emotionally withstand. There was but one thing she could do, and that was to leave.
*
If a sigh of relief for the departure of a nagging but vague anxiety can be a collective thing, then the women of Milwood emitted that sigh.
*
It is said of tomboys that they are a hardier breed of girls, fearless and competitive. It is further suggested that they are tougher than their softer sisters, inside and out.

No one ever called Erica Wiley a tomboy.