Playing Jacks

i. Life's a Bitch

I.                    Life’s a bitch

Bryce had wanted her to use a limo- ostentatious- but in these late night hours, as Sophie maneuvers her small convertible away from the knotted New York City’s intersections, she rather wishes she had a driver.  Heaven knows, she could have easily picked up her car the next time she came to the city office or, better, enjoyed another rare weekend like this one- on the town with her girlfriends.  Now, exhaustion blurs the roads but emotion keeps her foot low against the floorboard.

Bryce just got in tonight.  He’ll be busy, reviewing the work and messages he’s missed while away.  He may even be too busy tonight . . . but she’ll slip into his office and stand against the door that separates their residence from his clutter.  If he waves her over to his desk, he’ll pull her into his lap and they’ll talk, their faces close and whispers quiet until work intrudes and she’s forced back into the shadows.  His business and the Family’s demands outweigh their petty needs.

But if he stands; if he leans on the door jamb above her and tilts her chin up; if he kisses her, then she’ll know: the world isn’t about to end and he can be hers for a little while longer. 

Anticipation presses her foot lower against the accelerator.  She reviews the way the events will unfold again and again, burying Marie’s accusations until they aren’t relevant.

The long stretch of interstate peters into recognizable neighborhoods and shopping centers.  Street lamps make halos of light against the night’s pitch.  The familiar brings both relief and another wave of weight sleep to fight off her heavy eyes.  Circling behind the house, she finds the garage already open, his car sleeping in its place.  Rebuttals whisper from the corners: See?  He’s home.  She’s wrong.  She’s wrong.

Eager for the surprise, she bolts from her car, leaving her bags behind.  She can’t believe he actually thought she’d wait until tomorrow. 

The entire residence is dark but she doesn’t bother to light it.  Sophie knows every turn and obstacle, skipping up the stairs.  A stream of light angles from somewhere beyond the loft.  Grinning, she pads into the room and drops her purse on the settee in front of the wall-o-TV that Bryce calls his entertainment center.  It’s black now.  The light spills from his open study- his open, empty study.

Confused, she scans the dark house again.  Light illuminates the outline of their bedroom suite door.

Of course, she smiles.  Maybe I’ll even catch him in the shower . . .

The door falls open with the faintest touch.  It wasn’t even latched.  Across the room, naked arms and legs intertwine as they roll slowly on the bed.

Sophie gasps.

“Oh shit,” Bryce moans into his lover’s neck.

A long, slender arm shifts to reveal the willowy intern, her lips curled into a cruel smile.

Marie was right. Struggling to recompose herself, Sophie nods and accepts the sight in front of her.  “Well . . . that was . . . faster . . . than I’d anticipated.”  The words are weak.  He probably didn’t hear them but they weren’t meant for him anyway.

She turns, snags her purse and leaves.

Down the stairs, she moves quickly, automatically.  She flees.  What was that intern’s name?  It doesn’t matter.  Her movements are involuntary now.  Adrenaline pumps through her system, jarring every sense awake.

“He called you tonight, didn’t he?” Marie had sneered over the phone- hours earlier.  “Told you that he didn’t want you to drive the roads so late.  At the very least, he’d send a driver.”  Marie had listened as Sophie carefully confirmed her theories before pronouncing. “He’s with one of his lovers, darling.  Wake up.  You’re not the only one.”