Diary of a bad housewife

Diary of a bad housewife chapter 11

Chapter 11

The big day arrived with sunshine splashing over spring tulips, nesting robins, and a sense of excitement I couldn't contain. Fortuitously, Colin left town on a business trip, scheduled to return at 10:30 in the evening. That should give Harry Rhodes and me plenty of time to transact our business.

I drove into the city to pick up my dress. With all the beautiful women surrounding Harry Rhodes, I wanted to be able to maintain my own and hold my head high. I scanned Dior and Chanel catalogues, but settled on a classic retro floor-length with a provenance to die for, chosen by an actress for her appearance at the Golden Globes. The neckline's V plunged deeper than the QE-II's hull, right down to my navel. The left side slit to the waist as well, revealing my legs and my hip when I walked. Très sexy. It wasn't the usual airport wear, but neither Harry nor his traveling companions would forget me.

While I shopped the city, I had my hair done, $230 instead of my usual $40. I instructed them to do my makeup, the lightest touch possible.

Back at home, I checked with the babysitter to make sure she was on the job, looking after the children. With two hours to go, I took a sponge bath, dabbing under my arms and between my legs. I dressed in sheer pantyhose. If all worked out, one evening I'd dress for Colin in fancy stockings and garter belt, providing him access for sly dalliance in a restaurant or theatre.

Uh-oh, I thought, Elvira must be getting to me.

Dress, hair, four inch heels - I looked stunning.

I parked early at the airport hotel, where I arranged to meet Harry. From there, I sashayed through the lobby, catching stares and even a photograph from a grinning tourist.

The hotel featured a bar richly appointed in dark wood with antiques decorating the walls. The bartender frowned at my cleavage. I didn't let it disturb me; maybe he didn't like girls. A minute later a waitress approached, gave my neckline the once-over, and took my order for a martini. Martinis weren't my favorite drink, but I liked the sophisticated look.

The problem with arriving early was I had to tamp down my anticipation, which kept bubbling over. To keep myself busy, I opened my planner to start penciling appointments for stock brokers, financial planners, and lawyers.

Over the next half hour, I received a few glances and a couple of stares. One man sent a drink to my table and two minutes later followed it.

"Are you looking for a date?" he asked.

I giggled. "I am."

"You seem like a woman who's got money on her mind."

Surprised, I said, "Yes, you're right. Does it show?"

"You can't hide a thing in that dress. How much?"

Was this Harry? Almost giddy, I said, "Ninety three million."

He repeated, "Ninety three million? You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am."

"Why don't you say you're not interested and we won't waste each other's time."

"Move along." The bartender came up behind him. "And you," he said coldly to me, "do you need another drink?"

"I have two already."

I couldn't understand why the barkeep was hostile. Was he gay or something? I tucked the nothingness of my dress around my bare thigh.

I glanced at my watch a hundred times before 7:20 finally registered. Surely, Harry's plane landed. I phoned passenger flight information. Oh, no. Flight one-three-zero was over an hour late. The new estimated time of arrival was 8:35. I took a sip to steady my nerves.

I phoned my babysitter to check on the kids. "Listen," I said. "It may be really late when I get in. Is that a problem for you?" She agreed to spend the night with the children if she had to.

A man stopped by my table. "Is this dance available?"

I looked up and smiled. "No, but if you don't mind, could you escort me to the lobby? I've been sitting too long."

He took my arm, winked at the bartender, and we strolled out to the concourse. He invited me to his room, but I told him I merely wanted to stretch my legs.

Many of the shops had closed, but I walked for forty minutes, trying to unwind my nerves.

I phoned flight information. This time they told me the flight was on descent, seven minutes from landing. Back to the bar I headed.

8:39. I checked my watch, concluding the plane should be on the ground.

8:45. I tried to gauge how long it would take Harry to clear Customs and Immigration.

9:05. The bartender frowned at me. Sighing, I sipped more of my martini.

9:20. Harry should have entered Immigration half an hour ago. I decided he was hung up in Customs.

9:40. A tall black man in an impeccable suit and starched white shirt entered the bar, pausing while his eyes adjusted. He hugged a briefcase under one arm. After glancing around the room, he headed straight for my table.

I stopped breathing.

"Mrs. James?"