Simone extended a thin finger with deep red polish on the nail and swiped it against the Matello. “You’ve talked about this one,” she said.
“I have.” Bruce moved to the sideboard with the bottles and pulled two new glasses from underneath.
Jennifer held her hands together in front of her and shuffled anxiously.
“So,” said Mike. “How do you both know—”
Bruce leaned away from the sideboard and smiled at Mike, giving a wink. “Lifestyle.”
Almost immediately, a lot of the tension seemed to drain from the room as both Mike and Simone visibly relaxed. “No need for pretense then,” said Mike.
“By all means,” said Bruce, “Don’t stand on ceremony here, Mike.” He brought the freshly filled glass of crimson wine to Simone.
“Yeah,” offered Ryan. “We’re, uh, cool.”
Paige sat immediately next to Simone, the two of them taking up barely a single couch cushion. They smiled at each other as Simone rested her hand high on Paige’s thigh, and Jennifer got the impression that’s where they had had been moments before this interruption.
“Jennifer? Ryan?” asked Bruce, pointing between the two bottles on the sideboard.
She knew the bottle they’d brought was dramatically less posh and impressive than the one Bruce had opened. She felt ashamed, even though he and Paige had never once acted as though Ryan’s or her choices in wine or fineries mattered a bit. She waved her hand at him and sat in the easy chair that completed the semicircle.
Ryan watched his wife sit and felt that maybe they should leave. Soon at least. A polite glass of wine, and then leave their friends to their evening. This had been a bad idea. “You recommend the Pinot?”
“I do indeed.”
“Well, you’ve not steered me wrong yet,” Ryan smiled.
“Would you like to sit?” asked Mike. “I promise I’m secure enough that I am able to sit next to a man.”
“When one has shared a single vagina with another man, it does seem to relieve him of other petty male bonding insecurities,” said Bruce, handing Ryan the glass. “Please, sit, Ryan, or I’ll have to remain standing.”
Ryan sat next to Mike.
Bruce nodded and sat on the spacious other side of the couch occupied by Paige and Simone. Ryan watched the two women. Simone, now comfortable that no one here qualified as vanilla, appeared intent on getting Paige’s attention through nibbles on the neck and whispers in the ear. He was struck by how natural and effortless the interaction appeared. He could see a long history. He glanced at his wife, who seemed to be trying, and failing, not to stare.
“How long have you known these two?” Mike asked him.
“Oh, uh,” Ryan thought about it, and marveled at the short amount of time. “Only about two months.”
“Oh!” Mike said, excited. “You’re the newbies! You’re the reason we’ve had such a devil of a time getting these two out for a date!”
Ryan’s stomach dropped. “No, I mean…”
“I’m kidding,” Mike slapped his arm. “We’re incredibly busy. Simone travels for work and my schedule… Well, our availability is scarce. It just so happened that we were free two random nights, and it seems others with better schedules had gobbled them up.”
Mike’s smile was genuine, but Ryan still didn’t know how to react to the implied theft of their friends. He looked to the others in the room, but found no solace. Bruce watched as Simone and Paige delved deeper into each other, petting, kissing. Paige’s eyes closed, head back, hair ablaze in the firelight. Jennifer, also no help, stared intently at the trio on the couch.
“We’ve known these wonderful people forever, it seems,” said Mike. “Eh, Brucie? How long?”
“Nine years, I think.”
Mike’s grin widened and he slammed his hand down on Ryan’s knee, not turning away from Bruce, to whom he exclaimed, “Nine?”
“Nine,” said Bruce with a nod.
“Jesus,” said Mike, turning back toward Ryan. “And how long in the lifestyle?”
“Oh, uh, well, that two months,” he said, then added, “ish.”
Mike marveled at him, the way people do with babies and college graduates. “L’chaim!” he said, raising his glass of Scotch toward him. Ryan clinked his glass.
“Ryan?”
He turned to Jennifer, who was still looking at the three on the couch. Maybe he’d misheard, but it had sounded like her.
“So what did it?” asked Mike.
Ryan turned back to him. “We needed a change.”
“It is that, certainly.”
Bruce leaned over and kissed Simone’s shoulder, mirrored by Paige doing the same on the other side. He put his hand on her knee.
“Just a month in, are you still soft swap?” asked Mike. “It took us about six months before we moved beyond oral sex.”
“No, we’re full swap.” said Ryan. “We actually started there. Full sex.”
“You don’t mind me being direct, do you?”
“Oh, no.”
“Good, I find things are much easier when you’re simply direct with questions. And there’s nothing wrong with soft swap, of course. Are you okay, Jennifer?”
She didn’t respond to him. Ryan watched Mike reach out and lightly put his hand on her knee. She jumped, startled.
“I can’t,” she said, louder than intended.
The trio on the couch stopped and looked at her. She felt their eyes all staring as she stood from the chair. She backed away to a wall. She couldn’t do this, sit here. All of it ran through her, over and over in her mind, memories of the play times the four of them had spent, surely, but mostly memories of that solo date she’d had with Paige. The one where they couldn’t even wait to get back to the house before sliding their fingers down each other’s jeans at the mall, leaving a broad wet spot in Jennifer’s.
But now she was kissed this skinny girl, this experienced skinny girl that she’d known for years. Only bits of Ryan and Mike’s conversation had penetrated the fog of jealousy, but that one, nine years, oh, that one had stuck.
“I can’t watch,” she began, feeling tears welling, tears she absolutely didn’t want to spill. “That,” she gestured with her palm at the couch.
The three of them, and on the other side, Ryan and Mike, all stood. Everybody moved toward her at once, looks of concern on their faces. Too much, just too fucking much. She couldn’t breathe. She gasped. Ryan grabbed for her, but she wanted Paige to just hold her and tell her that everything would be alright.
Too many people.
Too many too close.
Ryan’s hand reached her and he took her arm but it felt like tugging and sure they all look so genuinely concerned but when Jennifer left there’d be laughing and she would shrug and say, “Newbies.”
“No!” She held out both her hands, palms out. “We need to go. Ryan, we need to go.”
“Yeah,” said Ryan as she went. “Yeah, okay.”
He looked at the faces, seeing genuine concern all around. He looked at his glass of wine and set it on the end table next to the easy chair where Jennifer had been sitting. Jennifer who had left the room. Jennifer who had looked like she was about to cry. “It was,” he offered, “nice to meet you.”
Ryan met Bruce’s eyes, and saw surprise, confusion perhaps, more than anger. But what could he expect? “Sorry,” was all he could offer.
“Jennifer!” He caught up with her crossing the lawn, face buried in her hands, tears streaming now.
“I want to go home,” she said. She pulled on the passenger-side door handle and let her arms flop when she found it locked.