The Art of The Affair

10

I'd been so drowsy when I'd arrived home that I hadn't bothered to take off my makeup.  I woke with the next day with smeared eye makeup and messy hair, and to a note on the kitchen counter from Ron.  I'd emailed him and George the relevant clip last night at work and they'd each reviewed it.  They both agreed that they'd like to have a second occurrence, just to be sure the police wouldn't see the video as inconclusive.  I was to say nothing to Jason about it for now.  Ron and George wanted to be the ones to confront him and I was only too happy to oblige them.

After starting some coffee, I went into the bathroom to have a shower.  A knock at the door threw me into hurry-up mode, and I hastily slipped on a bra under my tank top before going to the door.  When I pulled the curtains back to have a look, my visitor glanced over and saw movement.  I dropped the curtain and sucked in a breath so hard that I aspirated my saliva and started coughing.  Clapping a hand to my mouth, I recovered and silently waited for him to leave.  A second, more forceful knock sounded on the door.  I had no choice but to open it.

I squint against the bright July sunshine and barely open the door more than a wide crack.

"Malfoy?"

"I have a first name," he deadpans.  "And my, don't you look gorgeous in the mornings.  I had a feeling you don't drink much."

"Am I supposed to be embarrassed that I'm not a lush such as yourself?"

"Am I supposed to be offended at yet another undeserving insult?"

"What do you want," I groan, opening the door a little further.

"I'm looking for your husband.  Is he here?"

"He had to meet an insurance adjuster at the Cherry Street pub.  If you don't have his number-"

"I'd rather ask for Jason's job in person," he interjects.

That gets my attention.  I raise an eyebrow and open the door the rest of the way.  I invite him inside and he accepts.  

"Do you mind taking your boots off?"

He doesn't answer but he bends down and begins complying.  I excuse myself and hurry back to the bedroom to change out of my tank top and shorts, but he asks a question and I can't hear him.  I decide I'd rather clean up my hair and my face a little than to change clothes.  I do as much damage control as possible and return to find him seated on the sofa.

"I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of making myself at home."

"Not at all," I say, easing down onto the other end.  I tuck a leg beneath myself and try to appear unruffled and chill.  

He glances around the room, looking anywhere but in my direction.  This gives me the opportunity to look him over.  Of course he isn't wearing shorts and a t-shirt like most men are on this warm day.

"Jeans and boots in the summer?" I ask, not bothering to disguise the amusement in my tone.

"What of it?"

I make a disinterested noise and then change the subject.

"So you've decided to take my advice and go for the job?"

"You took my advice, now I'm taking yours."

"Ron doesn't know that you know about Jason or the hidden cameras, but it was your idea, so.  Anyway, Ron agrees with George that the police may want a second occurrence, and a better shot of what he's doing would help as well."

"Then I guess he shouldn't find me here right now, should he?  Since I'm not supposed to know the manager position is about to be opening up," he adds.

"Eh, just tell him you noticed a discrepancy with your pay."

His head slowly swivels and he fixes me with a complicated look.  

"What?"

"You're intelligent, vocal, competitive, and cunning - everything my father wishes I'd been.  He went to some fucking private school when he was younger, came from a wealthy family actually.  Until," he exhales as he continues, "my grandfather apparently left his wife and child and started a new family with someone younger.  My father grew up poor and angry about it.  He's bitter at the world since I can remember.  Can't tell where I got that from, can you?  Anyway, he and his mates were king shit at this school - bullies, I'd guess.  He'd always made it clear which attributes he thought were worthy, but I'm not my father's son."

"Who are you?" I ask quietly, and for the first time, I genuinely want to know.

"I'm my mother's son.  She loved astronomy, she loved gardening and being outdoors, and she loved reading."

"Loved?"

"She isn't dead.  My father sold their place in the country and moved here.  She can't see the stars anymore from all of the light pollution, there's no space to garden and she isn't able to anyway."

"And reading?  Surely a library-"

"She can't see well enough to read."

"Oh," I reply quietly.  "I'm sorry Draco."

"I don't want your pity."

His cold tone doesn't phase me.  I get him now, even if just a little.  

"Pity and compassion aren't the same things."

"What about you, what's your story?  I see you deep in thought all the time.  What's eating at you."

My lips part and then close again.  He pounces on my hesitation.

"Really?  I just got pretty fucking personal.  The least you could do is trust me with something."

"You don't care about my stuff," I stall.

"Try me."

I sigh heavily.  "I just thought that life would be...different."

"Different how?"

The temptation to seize an opportunity that I never have is too great.  I buckle under the premise that we won't be working together much longer anyway. As I talk, I scrutinize a mole on my thigh and then begin to rub at it with a finger.  Anything to avoid looking at him.  When I'm finished, I nervously await his response.

His eyes flicker to the walls and take in the decor.  They land on the only hanging, framed photo of Ron and I.  It was taken on our wedding day.  Suddenly I feel exposed.

"You said everyone's pressuring you into having children, and you aren't ready.  Wanna know what I think?  You aren't ready because you aren't in love with him anymore."

"I think I should get ready for work."

His eyes leave the photo and turn back in my direction.  He stares down at the mole I'm absentmindedly rubbing on my leg.  I pull my hand away and tuck it between my legs.  

"I don't think you should come in tonight," he says as he gets to his feet.  "With you gone, Jason will feel more comfortable.  Maybe he'll fuck up again."

He's right, I know he is.  But I don't want to stay home tonight.  I watch as he bends over and starts putting on his boots by the door.  The back hem of his shirt rides up, exposing his pale lower back.  I can see the band of his boxers or whatever he wears, just above the waist of his jeans.  I should look away but I don't.  I know exactly why I don't want to stay away but it's wrong.

He glances up and pauses in the middle of tying his laces.  We lock eyes and I feel it where I shouldn't.  Time freezes and my lungs stop.  I don't blink or breathe or move until he looks down again and finishes the job.  I get to my feet to see him out but I don't tempt fate by making eye contact again.

"Come in tonight after close, after Jason's gone.  I'll wait thirty minutes."  

I open the door, gripping it tightly, and he passes by me.  He doesn't pause or turn back.  I shut the door, lock it, and then turn in time to collapse against the door.  Slowly, I slide to the floor.  I don't know how long I stare across the room at nothing but when I finally get up, I can feel something twisting in my gut.  

The hourglass has been turned upside down, and the finite sand has begun to fall.