Third Vision of Destiny - Joan Read online

  Brad raised a surprised eyebrow at her and plucked a cookie from the cooling rack, quickly stepping out of reach of her spoon-armed hand. “Rethink it? Why? It’s already under the tree!”

  “You’re going to spoil your appetite,” she complained even as she glanced toward the kitchen’s entrance, wondering where the boys were. She dropped her voice in case they were close enough to hear. “He’s been looking at porn online.”

  The cookie Brad had just bit into must have gone down the wrong way, because he started coughing and striking his chest with his fist, his face turning bright red. “What?” he said, looking at her through wide, watery eyes.

  “At least I hope it’s him. I can’t imagine Terry going to look for porn. I’m not ready to have that talk with him yet.”

  She looked at him as she started setting the table for lunch. He must have been as stunned as she had felt because he still hadn’t said a word. He set the cookie on the counter and brushed his hand over his pants.

  “Do you want to talk to him about this or should we do it together?” she asked when she finished, taken aback that he still hadn’t reacted. “Maybe he’d be less embarrassed if—”

  “It was me,” Brad interrupted her, grimacing as he finished.

  The words made no sense and Joan could only frown at him. “What?”

  “It was me,” he repeated, scratching at his neck with two fingers. “I was looking at that site.”

  Joan felt like she had just been drenched in icy water. She swallowed hard and tried to talk, but she couldn’t get out more than a word. “You…”

  Taking a step toward her, Brad started raising his hand toward her arm, but she moved back and out of his reach.

  “I just—” he started.

  “Don’t.” She turned back to the oven. The warming drawer made a slight creaking noise when she opened it too sharply. “I don’t want to hear it. After the talk we gave them about the net, I can’t believe—”

  She snapped her mouth shut. Sliding her oven mitts on, she pulled out the casserole from the drawer. She couldn’t talk about this now, not when she felt so wounded, not when it was so fresh. She didn’t want to say something she would regret later.

  “Boys!” she called out, her back firmly to Brad as she carried the dish to the table. “Lunch is ready.”

  They rushed into the kitchen fast enough that Brad didn’t try to explain himself again, for which Joan was grateful.

  Lunch was a somber affair. The boys soon picked up on the fact that Joan was mad, and their initial chatter about the video game they had been playing together quickly died out. Joan could see them giving each other puzzled looks in between more concerned ones at Brad and her, but it was beyond her to act as though everything was all right when it wasn’t. She felt betrayed and hurt, and she could only wonder if she knew the man sitting across the table as much as she had thought she did.

  After the boys had excused themselves, Brad started helping her clear the table, and she could tell he would soon try to explain again. She still wasn’t ready, however, and although she wasn’t proud about it, she took the easy way out: she fled.

  “I need to go now,” she said without looking at him, already grabbing her coat and purse from the mudroom. “Daisy’s waiting for me. I don’t want to be late.”

  Far from being late, she was two hours early in picking up Daisy for their annual “Crowded malls don’t scare us” outing. While Daisy finished getting ready, Joan sat in the living room with Daisy’s teenage daughter. Cara was on the phone with her father, and she clearly had him wrapped around her little finger. By the time Joan and Daisy left, she had apparently convinced him to take her and a friend to the cinema the next day. Terry and Joey had been asking to see the same movie, and Joan distracted herself trying to figure out when she would take them.

  She continued to keep her mind busy on the way to the mall, chatting with Daisy about their last-minute Christmas preparations. It worked for a while, but as they were strolling through the crowd, Daisy stopped walking, laid a hand on her arm, and said her name in a concerned voice.

  “Joan?” Tilting her head to one side, Daisy peered at her. “What’s wrong?”

  At first, Joan tried to deny that anything was going on. This was hardly the sort of thing she felt comfortable discussing with anyone, even a close friend such a Daisy. Because they knew each other so well, however, Daisy refused to believe her and continued to badger her until, a little embarrassed, Joan finally admitted that she had caught her husband looking at internet porn.

  Angling their steps toward the food court, Daisy looped her arm through Joan’s and asked, “Anything more than that?”

  “What do you mean, anything more?” Joan looked at Daisy as though she had just lost her mind. “Isn’t it enough that he’s watching this stuff?”

  “Well…” Daisy shrugged.

  They had reached the coffee shop, and they both ordered a latte before finding a place to sit. Her cup cradled in her hands, Daisy leaned over the table to get closer to Joan and asked quietly, “Did he visit chat rooms, too, or dating sites? Or did he just look at porn?”

  Joan bristled at the question, drawing her chair back a little and looking at the chattering crowd around them. Daisy clearly didn’t understand how upset she was. “Not as far as I know,” she said coolly. “Does it make a difference?”

  “Well, I think so,” Daisy said quietly. She reached for Joan’s hand on the table and gave it a light squeeze, drawing Joan’s eyes back to her. “Haven’t you ever read a romance novel and imagined you were in the arms of the roguish hero?”

  Joan scoffed and took a sip of her coffee. It was too hot, and she burned the tip of her tongue. “It’s not the same,” she said, sulking.

  “I don’t know,” Daisy said, sounding thoughtful. “They say men are more visual than we are.”

  Blowing on her coffee, Joan gave her friend a surprised look. “Don’t tell me you’d be fine with your hubby looking at porn.”

  Daisy was blushing as she raised her coffee cup to her mouth and drank deep. When she lowered her cup, she didn’t quite meet Joan’s eyes. “Well, actually… I know where his stash is.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And it is not completely impossible that we watched some together once. Or maybe twice.”

  Joan covered her mouth and stifled a burst of embarrassed giggling. “Daisy!”

  Her eyes gleaming in amusement, Daisy stuck her tongue out at her. Joan laughed aloud, soon joined by her friend. Their antics drew curious glances toward them and, with some difficulty, they slowly calmed down. By tacit understanding, they finished their coffees without discussing the topic any further, and even when they returned to their shopping, they kept their conversation to safer subjects.

  Joan was glad for the reprieve, but she was also glad for the perspective Daisy had cast on the incident. Maybe she had been a little harsh on Brad. As much as she sometimes joked he acted like he was Joey’s friend rather than his father, he was an adult, and maybe her reaction had been excessive.

  If all he had done was look at videos, she had been unfair. But if it had been more than that…

  That evening, after a quiet dinner, Daisy’s words were still echoing through Joan’s mind when she riffled through the browsing history again. She didn’t find any dating or chatting sites, only the video ones. That was good, she supposed. She hadn’t even realized that things could have been worse until Daisy mentioned it.

  She also didn’t think that she should have reacted any other way. She had a dim view of pornography, had never watched any nor had she ever wanted to. She had never imagined that someone as sensible as Daisy, someone who, all things considered, was very similar to her, could think any differently. Then again, she had never thought that her husband would look at porn behind her back, either.

  She didn’t think of herself as a prude, but could it be that she was too uptight on this? Was it even remotely possible that she might enjoy looking at those videos if she gave
them a try?

  The boys were upstairs, and Brad was in the basement, but Joan closed the door before clicking on the first link. She couldn’t help glancing behind her as she did so, feeling slightly embarrassed at the mere thought of what she was doing. But she was merely trying to understand, she told herself as the page loaded. She wasn’t looking at this for titillation, just to understand. She couldn’t help hiding behind her hand as the video started playing, and peeked at it from behind her fingers. The sound was turned very low at first, but she couldn’t bear listening for very long to the overly-dramatic dialogue—or what passed for dialogue—or the exaggerated moans. When the video ended, she was in part relieved that the ordeal was over, but also confused. Did Brad really enjoy watching this? It was so obviously fake, and so were the main actress’ assets.

  Wondering if it was all this bad, she tried another video. The scenario that played out seemed awfully similar to the first one. At first, she thought it was a coincidence. But when the third video showed the same kind of scene, she started to suspect it was more than that. She continued going through the list, fast-forwarding through four more videos before she admitted to herself that, no, it wasn’t a coincidence. The sex acts were varied, but the videos all played through the same basic scenario. The setting was an office. A woman sat in it, dressed in a professional suit and high heels. Sometimes she was blonde, sometimes brown-haired; sometimes she had a short hair, sometimes long, in a tight bun at the beginning of the video, loose on her shoulders later on. It always was clear from her demeanor that she was some sort of supervisor, while the man who always joined her in her office, wearing his tie and meek attitude with the same artlessness, seemed to be her employee.

  Having seen more than enough, she cleared both the history and cache before turning the computer off. She had just stood from her seat when Brad came in. He closed the door behind him, and gave the computer a quick glance before turning a pleading look to Joan.

  “Let me explain.”

  She raised her hand, palm out toward him to stop him. He took it and squeezed her fingers.

  “You don’t have to,” she said. “Just… just tell me this. Did you fantasize about your boss?”

  He looked completely stunned at the question. “Did I fantasize about Marvin?”

  She couldn’t help chuckling, and the tension broke with the sound. Brad pulled on her hand, drawing her closer. Wrapping her arms around him was such a habitual thing that she was doing it before she even knew it.

  “No, before him,” she said, keeping her eyes locked with his. “What was her name… Cynthia?”

  Brad blinked. “Cindy?” He started laughing, but stopped right away, and simply shook his head. “She was old enough to be my mother!”

  Biting on the inside of her cheek, Joan tried to find her words. She felt a little embarrassed at having to admit she had watched the videos, but if she wanted to understand, she had to.

  “I… looked at the clips you watched,” she said diffidently after a few seconds. “And they’re all…”

  She didn’t know how to finish. When Brad winced, however, she figured he understood what she meant. He pressed a kiss to her temple and sighed softly.

  “Remember that internship when I was in college?”

  Joan nodded; her throat suddenly felt tight, and she was afraid of what he might confess.

  “My boss…” He cleared his throat. “Well, she was hot. But it was just a college boy’s fantasies. Nothing ever happened, I promise.”

  “A college boy’s fantasies?” she repeated. “You’re not a college boy anymore.”

  He sighed, and the slight puff of air caressed her cheek as delicately as fingertips. “I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I’d never cheat on you. You believe that, don’t you?”

  He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes searching her face, begging her to believe him. Immediately, she nodded. She didn’t need to think about it, not for a second. She did believe him, trust him with her heart. She always had, and in all these years he had never let her down. Maybe it was why this small indiscretion had been so hurtful.

  The rest of the evening was subdued. That night, Joan went to bed wrapped around Brad—like she did every night. Nothing more than a gentle goodnight kiss happened before she closed her eyes. For a long time, she couldn’t find sleep, her mind going over the events of the day.

  She loved Brad more than she could express in words, and their lovemaking had never lacked in any way. He had been her first boyfriend, the first boy she had kissed, the first man she had made love with—the only man. Sometimes, though, across the years, she had wondered what it would have been like to be with another man. Sometimes—more often—she wondered if Brad regretted not having ever been with another woman.

  Could she try to give him that, or at least a taste of it? She could not imagine sharing him, of course not. They did not have that kind of marriage, and they never would. But there were other options, maybe. She was a simple woman where sex was concerned; plain vanilla, as she had heard it called, was fine for her. Could she extend her horizons? Could she do it for Brad?

  The decision wasn’t very hard to make, but it lifted a weight from her chest, and allowed her to breathe more easily suddenly. She figured out what she would do, step by step, and planning helped calm her mind. Pressing a light kiss over Brad’s heart, she finally fell asleep.

  The next morning, a call to Daisy arranged for the kids to go to the movies with Cara and her father. Right after lunch, the boys jumped in the car with Brad to ride to Daisy’s, and Joan started her preparations.

  She never used wrapping paper, instead placing the Christmas gifts in brightly colored sturdy, white and red gift boxes that she reused year after year. Pulling one of the small boxes she hadn’t needed this year out of the closet, she placed one of Brad’s ties inside it. On top of the tie, she laid a note that she had rewritten four times to get the wording just right.

  Your scheduled evaluation will take place at 1pm. Come prepared to reflect on your performance and contribution to the company.

  She closed the box and wove a red ribbon around it. It was a gift she was offering Brad, and she hoped he would receive it as such.

  Feeling more anxious than excited, she dressed for the part, slipping on a white shirt, a pencil skirt that stopped just shy of her knees, fishnet stockings she hadn’t worn in years and high heels. She hadn’t worn the shirt since college, and it was tighter than she remembered, pulling taut across her chest so that the lacy edge of her bra was clearly outlined against the sheer cotton. She left the top two buttons undone as well, exposing a generous amount of cleavage. The finishing touch was her reading glasses, which she perched on top of her nose; one of the women in those videos had worn glasses just like these—although she hadn’t worn them, or her clothes, for very long.

  She went to wait for Brad in the office. Even with the door closed, she could hear him come into the house. Standing just behind the door, she listened closely. He had stopped in the kitchen, where she had left the box. When she heard him walk again, he seemed to go up the stairs and to their room.

  Swallowing nervously, Joan sat down, her back to the door, and pressed her hands flat onto the desk. She felt more than a little silly, suddenly, and she had half a mind to just stop it all now, before it went any further, before—

  Two knocks on the door startled her enough that she jumped. It was too late to back down now, she told herself, and in truth she wasn’t sorry. Maybe it would be awkward and terrible, but maybe it would be just a little bit like Brad’s fantasies. She could do this for him.

  “Come in,” she said, forcing herself to speak as loudly and confidently as she could manage.

  The door opened and Brad stepped in even as Joan pushed away from the desk. The chair pivoted until she was facing him. He had changed out of his jeans and woolen sweatshirt and into a pair of dress pants, a white shirt, and the tie she had placed in the box. He had even slicked and combed his ha
ir back, like he used to do when he was in college.

  Joan’s heart missed a beat when she noticed the way he was watching her, his eyes trailing over her crossed legs, where her skirt had ridden up and exposed the lacy edge of her stockings, before sliding to her chest. He had to have a plunging view into her cleavage, she realized, and breathed in a little more deeply.

  “You wanted to see me, Ma’am?”

  The look of pure hunger on his face was getting to her, and she had to clear her throat before she could answer.

  “You’re late,” she said in a sharp tone, looking at him above the rim of her glasses. “You’ve been late too often this month. I think you’re not taking this job all too seriously.”

  “I do,” he said very fast. “I really do. I work hard.”

  “That’s for me to judge. And so far, I’m not impressed.” Crossing her arms, she leaned back in her chair, and considered Brad with her hardest look. She had thought, when she had started planning all this, that she would have trouble getting through it, but it was slowly becoming easier, more so than she had expected—and actually, rather fun. “You’ve been late three times this week. And the quality of your work is less than adequate. Maybe I made a mistake when I hired you.”

  Brad’s eyes widened as though in fear, but she knew him well enough to guess the smile he was trying to suppress.

  “Please don’t fire me. I’ll do anything.”

  She hadn’t heard that slight waver in his voice in years, maybe even decades. It reminded her of how nervous he had been when they first started dating—so nervous, in fact, that she had given up on waiting for him to ask her to their prom, and had invited him instead. To see him so nervous in front of her again was strangely arousing.

  “Anything?” she asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

  “Anything,” he repeated. The word caught in his throat and came out with a light squeak.

  She nodded, trying to project a confidence that wasn’t fully hers. “Prove it,” she said with a thin smile. “Undress.”