Letdown

On Wednesday, David calls me at 10:30 a.m., sounding happy and excited. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

“Yup,” I confirm.

“I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” I answer, but I’m nervous. I feel traitorous and dishonest. Things with R. have gotten a little better, and now I’m questioning the wisdom of pursuing anything with him. Oh, well...I’ll just have to get over it. Because I’m curious, frankly. I want to see his body after all these years, want to touch him, want to see if he still kisses the same way, if his hands are still as effective as they used to be at arousing me. I wonder if he feels the same way about me.

“I’ll call you when I’m leaving work,” he tells me. Sure enough, my cell rings around four p.m. He’s getting out of work early today; he's finished his job way before he'd anticipated, and his foreman has driven him home. David tells me that he’s killing some time at a bar just around the corner from his house, and asks me to meet him there instead of Applebee’s.

“What about your girlfriend?” I question him. “There’s a chance she could just walk in there.”

“She’s not allowed in here,” he answers. “Long story. But if you still want to meet at Applebee’s, that’s fine with me. I’ll jump on the bus and take it up there. No problem.”

“Yeah, Applebee’s is better for me,” I tell him. “I’m leaving here at five-fifteen, so I should get there just before six.”

“Okay. See you then, kitten. And I can’t wait.”

Once again, five o’clock arrives and I race into the ladies’ room with my gym bag. I change into a new pair of black panties and a lacy black pushup bra that I’d purchased with this specific occasion in mind. Then I pull on jeans and a tight brown chenille sweater that is not only soft to the touch, thereby encouraging frequent stroking, but also hugs my 38C breasts in a most flattering way. I spend a few minutes touching up my hair and makeup, and then I’m ready.

My drive to Applebee’s cannot go fast enough. I’ve only been in my SUV for a few minutes when I feel an inexplicable urge to turn around and drive home. My heart thuds in my chest. What I’m about to do is wrong, and I know it. But that’s crazy. I’m in control here, and it will only go as far as I let it. No harm in getting together with an old friend for drinks and dinner. I can stop this if it goes too far. I have all the control.

Desperate to quash the small but nagging voice in my head, I turn up my radio and start singing along to the music. It proves to be an effective distraction; by the time I’m a few minutes away from Applebee’s, my guilt and anxiety have eased into a shimmering excitement. I’m tingling all over. Then my cell phone rings.

“I’m hammered,” David mumbles.

“Hammered?” I’m confused. Does that really matter? It’s not like he’s driving to meet me at Applebee’s, he’s taking the bus. He just got to the bar an hour ago. “You’re drunk already?”

“Hammered,” he repeats. “Busted. Christine saw me waiting on the corner for the bus and now I can’t make it out there.”

I can feel the color draining from my face. The bubble of anticipation that has been building inside of me all day bursts. “Is she still there now?”

“Mmm-hmm. Right behind me,” he mutters.

“Does she know that you were coming to meet me?” I demand.

“Nah. I’ll tell you about it later.”

I let out a big sigh of relief. “Well, that’s okay,” I say, fake-chipper, trying to convince myself that I’m not that upset, yet failing miserably. “We’ll get together soon another time.”

“But I want to see you tonight,” he whimpers, sounding on the verge of tears. “I really needed to see you tonight. Fuck! I am so sorry about this.” His voice drops lower and gets faster. “Listen, I gotta bolt now. But I want to take you out for your birthday. I’ll call you later.”

The phone goes dead.

Shit.