Authors: Kathy Lette
Altar Ego (13 page)
‘She is
not
an adulteress,’ Kate reprimanded, licking the eye sockets of her anti-fog goggles. ‘To be an adulteress, you have to be an
actual
adult first.’
‘In all my girlfriends, you’re the first Scarlet Woman,’ Anouska thrilled, peeling off to a bikini so flimsy that any contact with water would reduce it to a piece of dental floss. She produced her mobile phone (we called it her ‘It Girl Earring’) and set off on the telephonic trail of her absentee husband.
‘Sex with a lead singer does not mean you’re a scarlet woman. It means you have a personality disorder.’ Kate kicked off from the wall, showering me in a jet of spray.
I pursued her in a leisurely old-ladies breaststroke, neck periscoping above the water so as not to get my hair wet. Clinging to the lane rope, I tapped Kate on the shoulder as she tumble-turned and torpedoed past me.
‘Jesus, Kate. When was the last time you did
something
just for fun? Just for the hell of it? When was the last time you twanged a guy’s jockstrap, huh?’
‘I am not a Jockstrap Twanger, thank you very much,’ she said, treading water.
‘You’re pleasure-deprived, that’s your trouble.’
‘This may come as a surprise, you big galah, but the rest of the world couldn’t give a rat’s arse about your imprudent dating habits.’ She sprinted overarm towards the shallow end, capsizing me in her wake. I clawed at the air, spluttering like a spa pool. I was ready to send up a distress flare, when she powered past me again and I grabbed hold for a tow to shore. Swimming really would be fine, if it weren’t for the water. ‘So,’ she pried, against her finer feelings, ‘the sex is really that hot, huh?’
‘Hot? My IUD smelted.’
‘Jesus.’
‘We’ve been through the
Kama Sutra
. Twice. We’ve done the revolving table with the melon, the flambéed banana. The lot.
The man licks out my naval lint
. If there were such a thing as Frequent Leg-Over points, he’d be flying Concorde, first class, for the rest of his natural life.’
‘No wonder you look so damn happy, doll,’ Anouska said enviously, dangling her legs in the tepid, chlorinated stew.
‘Girls, on a cloud rating of one to nine, we’re talking ten.’
Kate slammed her palm against her forehead. ‘Why
is
it that whenever a woman starts having great sex, her IQ goes down?’
‘Why don’t you start having great sex and find out? Just get yourself a man and …’
‘The reason I can’t get a man, Rebecca, is because you’ve got them all. But he’s a rock star. We’re talking about people who insert wildlife into their rectums. Jesus Christ, Becky. I hope you’re using condoms …’
‘He’s not like that …’
‘Oh yeah. I bet you can buy bumper stickers that say “Honk If You’ve Had Zachary”.’
I retreated into the amniotic waters, ballet-kicking my way at glacial speed. A lap or two later I was prodded from above by a pedicured toe. Anouska giving up the hunt for her husband detached herself from her ‘It Girl Earring’.
‘But, doll, don’t you feel guilty? About being unfaithful?’
‘Gee, I dunno. If you’re penetrated while having an out-of-body experience, does that count as being unfaithful?’
‘To
die
for. Can I have him when you’re finished? … Watch out!’ Anouska shrieked. ‘You nearly got my bikini wet!’
‘Oh, God forbid,’ said Kate with mock mortification. ‘A wet swimming costume!’ She was breaststroking towards us, her hands coming together as if in prayer. ‘And what about Julian?’ She trod water, hands on
Speedo
-ed hips. ‘He must have noticed you acting weird …’
‘He’s a man. He probably just thinks the goldfish’s dead or I’ve got my period or something.’
Anouska’s hand froze, mid-hoik of a wayward breast. ‘Your goldfish is dead?’
Kate and I eye-rolled each other. Sometimes Anouska’s brain waves didn’t quite break on the beach.
‘Besides, he’s so busy liberating uniped Inuits or whoever that I hardly ever see him. Unless you’re fleeing some Junta or other he’s just not interested in you.’
Kate shook her head. ‘Sometimes I think you only have a larval sense of what is right and wrong, Rebecca.’
‘Oh Kate, why should I worry when you worry so well for me?’ I playfully jettisoned a plume of pool water in her face. ‘You’re my surrogate. Anyway there’s no need to get your Tampax in a twist. It’s nothing. It’s just a primitive urge. Hobbesian. Look, he makes me laugh, that’s all. He says that cheese is nothing more than “grown-up” milk. Isn’t that cute? He asked me why British mail comes in First and Second, but not Business Class?’ Kate gave me a dubious stare. ‘He calls the Millennium a creepy crawly thing with too many legs.’
‘Oh God. You’re falling in love with him, Becky. You are.’ Kate surged towards me, eyes at water level, like a crocodile.
‘That’s not true. If you knew how I abuse him. Ignore him. How rude I’ve been …’
‘But that’s a bloody aphrodisiac for men. Since
you
don’t love
him
, the Himbo invariably imagines
he’s
in love with
you
! Soon he’ll be swallowing you whole!’
‘Yeah, well. I like that in a man.’ Irritated, I pushed up on the side of the pool and made the toe-cringing cross over tinea-infested tiles to our towels which were nestled on the bench beneath a six-foot replica of a hammerhead shark, which seemed, in the half light, to be grinning lasciviously.
Kate began towelling herself dry with great ferocity, loofah-ing off layers of skin with each rub. ‘But why, Becky?’
‘I dunno. Excitement. Danger. It makes me feel sexy. Wanted. It makes me feel young. The question is not why am
I
having an affair, but why aren’t
more
women having them? I can control my feelings for him, okay?’
‘With what? … Medication?’
‘It’s no big deal. Nobody will get hurt.’
‘No? What if Julian finds out?’
‘Julian will never, ever know. Generally speaking, there are four words you don’t want to hear whilst having oral sex. They are “Hi, darling. I’m home”.’
‘Yes. All it takes is a little planning,’ encouraged Anouska, living vicariously. ‘A little discretion …’
‘How the hell do you know?’ demanded Kate as we descended the mouldy spiral staircase.
‘I … well … I think Darius is an infidel.’
‘A what?’
‘You know. Committing infidelity.’ Cue eye-rolling from Kate and me. ‘It’s all a matter of not changing your behaviour in any way. That’s what leads to suspicion …’
‘Exactly. This will be a liaison planned with military precision. I mean, God, I don’t want to lose Jules. Who would? If I did anything to jeopardize my relationship with Julian I’d need to have my head examined.’
But if I’d known then what I know now, I would have had only one thing to say. ‘
Paging Doctor Freud to reception
…’
13
How To Have An Affair. A Beginner’s Guide
‘LISTEN,’ I PANTED
to the guy in the off-licence as I rummaged frantically through the champagne bottles in the fridge, ‘just say a woman is going home to her partner, five hours late with no alibi, which vintage would reduce the chance of him breaking up with her?’
‘Krug,’ he said impassively. ‘ ’86.’
Having An Affair – A Beginner’s Guide
- Beware the itemized telephone bill.
- Don’t suddenly abandon knickers with questionable elastic for more stimulating smalls.
- Don’t hide your spermicide in your toothpaste tube. You’re sure to forget and end up with fluoride in your fallopian tubes, not to mention tooth decay.
- Take up an evening exercise class, something energetic which definitely involves showering.
- Choose a hobby with no obvious end product. A year of African craft with no woven baskets at the end of it could be a bit of a give-away.
- Best not leave your lovers semen-stained black-leather-studded cock-pouch (two sizes bigger than your partner’s) in your swimming bag … because yes, the dog is sure to sniff it out and bound into the lounge with it clenched between his teeth.
- If this does happen, pretend you are a cross-dresser.
- ‘Slut’, ‘whore’, ‘trollop’, ‘tramp’ – remember that these are words used to describe a woman who has the sexual appetites of a man.
- When feeling cheap and nasty, remind yourself that without infidelity, literature and opera would be up shit creek. There would have been no siege of Troy for Homer to chronicle in the
Iliad
. No Anna Karenina. No Emma Bovary. And what the hell would Chaucer and Shakespeare have written about? Imagine if Cressida had stayed with Troilus? If Tristan had never played tonsil hockey with Isolde? What would Wagner have done then, hmmm? - Don’t appear happier than usual. Nothing gives away an affair faster than frequent smiling for no ostensible reason.
- Don’t indulge in late-night whispered conversations on the phone. Can be just a bit embarrassing when you get caught saying ‘I need your hot rod, you wild, satanic Sex Viking, you,’ when you’d said you were just off to phone your dad.
- Cover your tracks with Sherlock Holmes thoroughness. Nothing worse than driving along with your Significant Other and suddenly noticing your lover’s upside-down footprints on the car window.
- Be careful not to call out the wrong name when making love. Recurrent coital amnesia has blown the whistle on many an illicit love affair.
- Plan your liaisons with military precision and don’t change your behaviour in any way as this will lead to suspicion. And, most important of all,
- Don’t be five hours late coming home with no alibi.
‘Where in God’s name have you been, Becky? I’ve been frantic with worry.’
‘Who the hell are
you
all of a sudden?’ I laughed, stalling for time. ‘The Director of Private Prosecutions?’
I moved down the hall, trying to dodge the prison search lights of Julian’s eyes. But the heat of his scrutiny was making me sweat.
Which brings me to point number 16) Always lie.
An average person tells a lie every eight minutes. Do my hair plugs look real? Answer –
Yes
. Have I put on weight? Answer –
No
. ‘Good Morning’ is, in England, a lie for most mornings of the year. As is ‘I hate to bother you but …’ Blaming traffic when you’re late; faking cystitis when you’d rather watch ER than have sex; pretending it was a mistake when billed for watching porn channels in your hotel room – society would be unliveable if people started telling the truth. Marriages would crumble. Friendships dissolve. As CVs are complete works of fiction, nobody would ever get a job. Not me, anyway. No. Honesty is way, way too subversive.
The only downside to lying is getting found out. Which brings me to –
Lying – A Beginner’s Guide
- Don’t look down at your hand.
- Don’t cover your mouth with your hands.
- Don’t lick your lips a lot.
- Don’t breath erratically.
- Don’t nose rub, ear tug or fidget with clothing.
- Don’t forget what lies you’ve actually told.
‘Oh, I had to chaperone an artist through a press interview over dinner.’ I kept my eyes fixed on his.
‘Didn’t you promise always to tell me when you were going to be late?’ His suit was as crumpled as his face and there was a whisky fog in the air.
‘Did I?’ I started to lick my lips and quickly bit my tongue.
‘Yes, just last week, when you were late.’
‘Sorry.’ I forced my breath to stay even. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Well, why don’t you look in that mental sieve where you keep all our conversations?’ My nose got itchy; my ears cried out to be tugged, my clothes ached to be readjusted. ‘And anyway, I rang the office. They said you left before lunch.’
‘Oh yes. Well, I had a meeting with the Arts Council …’
‘What? For eight hours?’
‘… Then I had a swim.’
‘You’re always swimming, lately. You must have swum the equivalent of the Atlantic ten times in the last month. In case you hadn’t noticed, mankind evolved
out
of the water. So why are you so desperate to get back
in
?’
Another trick up the adulterer’s sleeve, well, trouser leg, is not to alleviate your guilt by being overly nice to the man you’re cheating on or he’ll really get suspicious. What you have to do is be really, really awful; awful enough to make him think that
he’s
the one who’s done something wrong.
‘So what are you implying? That there’s someone
else
? God. I go to the effort of bringing home champagne to celebrate our life together and you just attack me.’ What a fake. God, I was faker than a holiday rep for Club Ibiza. ‘Of course there’s no one else or I’d be off with him
right now
!’
Julian trailed me into the kitchen, his face pale as paper, his thin, dry fingers running anxiously through his hair. ‘Becky, I’m only trying to talk to you. Lack of communication is the reason most relationships fail, don’t you know that?’
‘We talk all the time.’
‘Rebecca, my small intestine communicates with me more than you do … It’s just that, lately, well, you’ve changed.’
‘Well of course I have. Any woman who’s wrestled with a do-it-yourself bikini-wax-kit will never be quite the woman she once was.’ I made myself busy, retrieving champagne glasses from the top cupboard.
‘You are seeing someone else, aren’t you?’ he asked thickly.
I’m not a very nice person, I know. I ran out on my own wedding. My favourite pastime is to go up to supermodels and tell them they look so much better since they’ve put on weight. And worse than that, I was lying my lips off to the only man in the world who really loved me. Next thing I knew I’d be trying to sell people used cars. Regardless of gut-churning self-loathing, I resolutely set my lips and lied. ‘No.’
‘Then why have you taken to making love with your
eyes
closed? … When you
do
deign to make love to me that is. During the past month I’ve tried to make love to you forty-two times. I’ve succeeded twice. Excuses have ranged from: “it’s too hot” (5); facial mudpack (8); “You only ever touch me when you want sex” (12) …’