The doorbell rang and Bruce’s face fell. Already? Not even nine-thirty and they’d already crashed the party. What could possibly have changed in their plans so early? And this meant they’d have to restart the scheduling dance to find another remote opportunity to share the house with friends instead of family.
Not to mention the whole, “Who are they?” question from Adam, should he wander into the living room and meet their guests. Of course, he’d also question why Mom was dressed like that?
“Like what?” Bruce would ask, indignant.
“Like a,” but Adam would trail off. They’d had similar conversations in the past, and honestly Bruce had a hard time working himself up over the idea that Paige might be dressed like a slut when she herself had asked him, “Too slutty? Or not slutty enough?” before putting on tonight’s extremely slinky and slutty-by-choice dress.
He set the bottle on the side table in the hall and unlocked the door, swinging it wide, about to throw a “What?” at his sons, realizing that his intensity might itself need explaining, but not quite caring.
The “What” did an abrupt left turn, and nearly became, “What are you doing here?” but he managed to stop that as well, finally settling on, “Well, hello, Lamberts.”
“You guys busy?” Ryan poked out a bottle of wine that had clearly just been purchased, as he’d tucked the bag it came in into his coat pocket.
Bruce blinked. “Uh, well…” he began.
“We’ve had a terrible night,” said Jennifer. “Just got outed and bitched at by Barbara and Noah.”
He sighed. One of Paige and his main concerns when they’d started this exploration with the Lamberts had been the possibility of doing critical damage to their relationship with their friends, those lovely people who really just wouldn’t understand. When at events at the Watkins house, he always felt as though he was tolerated as an accessory to Paige, who herself was perhaps only invited because she worked so closely with Barbara.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The couple on his doorstep smiled nervously and shivered. He stepped away from the door and waved his hand toward the hallway. “Come in a second.”
Ryan and Jennifer stepped inside. “Happy you’re home,” said Ryan. “We could really use some… positive reinforcement.”
“And passion,” said Jennifer, planting a kiss on Bruce’s lips.
Well, they not only brought wine in a bottle they brought wine in a girl, haven’t they? Bruce thought, noting the taste from Jennifer’s kiss.
“Listen, guys,” said Bruce, bringing his voice down. “We’ve got some friends over right now, so—”
“Special friends?” Ryan smiled.
“Yeah,” admitted Bruce.
“The more the merrier?” Jennifer asked.
He could hear the hope in her voice, the need. He’d been there, they both had. When Paige’s brother had found out they were swingers and decided to confront them in a big splashy show of judgment, fuck, he’d been there. They’d flown to Vegas with the Murrays that weekend. Had to get the fuck out of life for a while.
Ryan looked uncomfortable, perhaps picking up on Bruce’s hesitance. “Just a drink?” he suggested.
“Play it by ear?” said Jennifer.
They both stared at him, the yearning so great. He gave them a polite nod and held out his hands. “Can I take your coats?” He hung them on the peg hooks by the door, noting to himself that if they knew the peg hooks meant temporary, they might be hurt. “Now, listen, this couple… they’re—”
“What happened to you?” asked Paige, appearing in the doorway, adjusting the bottom hem of her dress, which just barely covered her shapely bottom at its lowest. “They asked if you fell into the—” She noticed Ryan and Jennifer. “Well, hey, cuties,” she said in a stilted manner. “I thought we told you we couldn’t—”
“There was an incident at the Watkins’.”
Paige frowned. “Oh, man. Was it the proverbial shit?”
Ryan nodded. “They outed us to Sam and Patti, and then just went on and on about how they didn’t think it was a good idea, and we weren’t thinking clearly.”
“Fuck,” said Paige. “It can be rough when people don’t understand.”
“They didn’t,” said Ryan.
Bruce looked at his wife, whose eyes were clearly asking why he’d invited them in. He tried to tell her, but was sure he’d failed, as her eye-talking skills were light years beyond his.
“Simone wanted me to ask you for a red this time,” she told him.
Bruce nodded. He picked up the bottle from the side table. “How about the Matello Pinot?”
Paige nodded and looked at the bottle. “You tell me.”
“It’s good!” said Bruce, “And the name means little fool.”
“Perfecto,” said Paige.
“We, uh, also…” said Ryan.
“Yes, the Lamberts brought wine as well.” Bruce grabbed both bottles and led the procession into the living room, where their other friends awaited their return.
29
A knot grew in the pit of Jennifer’s stomach. She rested her hand over the place where it sat. This whole thing was off. They shouldn’t have come here. Clearly Bruce and Paige didn’t want them here. She couldn’t really blame them, either, showing up unannounced, uninvited, asking themselves in, interrupting their evening with sexy friends.
Rude. Just rude.
She reassured herself, though, as they walked down the hall, that these two wonderful people understood, because they’d been through this whole thing themselves. Being outed. Having to defend their lifestyle. Fighting for their right to be left alone by well-meaning friends and family.
Who knew, maybe the six of them would get along, and something else could happen.
She fluttered a bit at that thought. Only four days had passed since their last rendezvous with Bruce and Paige, but that was entirely too long, as far as she was concerned. How she wished they could fly away somewhere, maybe off to California’s wine coast, where they could go to tastings and eat fabulously expensive meals that they couldn’t rightly afford but who the fuck cared? Then, at night, fuck until they fell asleep, without worrying about that early meeting, or the kids at home, or nosy friends, or any of it.
They could be lovers.
Jennifer sighed at the thought, and the pit momentarily vanished. They’d only been to the house once, so the four of them could drive together to a play, and they hadn’t seen much of it. What they had seen confirmed what they’d expected: Overwhelming good taste and the kind of money necessary to realize that taste. The house felt warm and inviting, not full of the kind of rooms that belonged behind gold velvet ropes, only to be used on the most extravagant of occasions.
A crackling fire in a massive stone hearth, mantle the better part of a small tree, greeted them as they turned the corner into the living room. A semicircle of two overstuffed brown leather couches and a chair surrounded the hearth. On one couch sat a man, fortyish, slender, graying at his temples, on the other a slightly younger woman, straight black hair cut just below her ears in the front and higher up in the back. As they entered, the couple stood, their expressions uncertain, smiles that went only skin deep.
Bruce introduced everybody with his signature bravado. “Simone, Mike, meet Ryan and Jennifer. Good friends all.”
Jennifer and Ryan shook hands with both Simone and Mike. Jennifer could feel in their handshakes that they didn’t know what to make of this arrival. This intrusion.
“Now, Simone,” said Bruce, “I’ve been informed by Paige that you’re in need of another drink. I’ve just this moment opened a bottle of Matello Pinot Noir, and Ryan was wonderful enough to bring,” he turned the bottle in his hand to see the label, “our old favorite Ménage à Trois. A blend.” He held both bottles up before her.