Keeping Up

 

I knocked once; then twice again on the heavy cherry wood door. I glanced over my shoulder down the long dimly lit corridor. I'd followed him upstairs, undetected. Or so I'd thought.
The door creaked open, “Come in my dear.” A pale, long fingered hand gestured his invitation. He was dramatic; clad in a black silk dressing robe and black velvet slippers, with one eye brow cocked with a permanent question.

A question I knew he would make me answer tonight.
I stood awkwardly in the doorway unable to make my feet cross the threshold. I half waited for him to pull me inside. He didn't. It had to be my decision. I had to be willing.
“Don't be afraid, I won't.... bite.” He smiled wickedly, but his eyes were innocent and sincere.
I took a few wooden steps into his room. His bedroom. His... lair. I almost laughed at the thought. Now I was the one being dramatic. Nothing bad could happen. I mean, his wife and the other guests were right downstairs; drinking champagne and enjoying catered hors d'oeurves, oblivious to the absence of their host. And me. No one would miss me, I'd come to the party alone.
It was as though he read my thoughts.
Instantly he was beside me. He casually slid his arm around me, with his hand on my lower back, firm but not forceful.

“No my dear, no one is wondering where you are.”
I shivered and my knees went weak.
“I... I um...” I tried to speak...to protest?? No, I wanted to be here. My brain was flooded with too many thoughts, too many scenarios, I had no alternative but to give in. Whatever he desired, I had no choice, my answer would have to be 'yes'.
I'd never actually met him until tonight. I'd seen him in the office building where I worked every so often. He was far above my 'station', out of my class; I was a receptionist. He was an important man, the important man; the owner of the company I worked for. A rich man. A married man. An irresistible yet much older man. Tonight's dinner was celebrating a merger, and I'd been invited along with everyone else on the ground floor. And as usual, I had nothing better to do. Worst that could happen, a free dinner and expensive champagne.
Now I wondered how many others had stood where I was, had felt what I was feeling. How many others had he called 'my dear'? Did it matter?

Suddenly he pulled away, the mood had changed.

“Lenore,” he let out a sigh of exasperation and rolled his darkening blue eyes.

A moment passed, then there was a knock at the door.
“Stay put my dear, I will be right back.” He winked at me, sealing my fate, as if there were any other option.

I stood frozen next to the bed. Their bed. I looked around the room, where could I hide?
He opened the door, but stood blocking her entrance. He said nothing.
“Darling, you are neglecting your guests.” She was patronizing, her voice unfeeling and monotone. I could feel her gaze. She knew I was there, but I don't think she cared.
“Of course. I'll be down...” he looked over his shoulder at me, and smiled, “...in a moment. There is something I must take care of first.”
Lenore laughed. “I'm sure she won't take long. Don't be rude to your other guests my love, even if they aren't as.... pretty.”
He closed the door before she had gone. Alone at last. Now I was frightened.

He pulled me close and stroked my hair. Kissed me on the forehead, and began unbuttoning my dress. I didn't stop him, I couldn't. My clothes and my resolve fell away with one touch. I had given him permission, now I was at his mercy.

An hour later as we lay side by side in their bed, I was awash with guilt. And not for obvious reasons, but because I had taken too long to get here. I knew this was where I belonged. The rumors were silly gossip, stories probably originating from Lenore. He wasn't a monster, he was wonderful; tender and kind.

“I'm sorry.” I rolled over and pulled the sheet up around my neck. He offered me a cigarette, and I took it even though it had been years since I'd quit.
“Oh my dear, what could you possibly have to be sorry about?” His now sparkling blue eyes were sincere, and gentle.
My face flushed; but I had to be honest.

He lit my cigarette, and one of his own.
“I'm... I'm sorry I never thought of you like this before. I thought... I thought you were... old.” I shouldn't have said it. But he already knew.
He cackled and without missing a beat responded, “Oh my dear, I am old, you really have no idea. But I am still well able to, ah... keep up with you, don't you think?”
He took the cigarette from my lips and set it alongside his in the ashtray on the night table. His face was unreadable again; I couldn't tell if he were momentarily hurt, or angry.
Abruptly, he snatched the sheet from around me and his hands were hot upon my naked skin. It wasn't anger or pain, it was passion. Oh yes, he could keep up just fine.

© Garden Summerland 2026