Free Emerald Aisle by Ralph M. McInerny Page A

authoritative aplomb that was an essential part of his office persona.
    â€œTell her I will call her back in ten minutes.”
    He got up and shut his office door and, once more behind his desk, took a cell phone from his briefcase and then sat for a moment, trying to rehearse the call he was about to make. It had been two weeks since he had spoken with Bianca, and that had been to tell her he would be out of town and unable to see her. It was stupid to put off the evil day when he would tell her it was all over, but he did not quite know how to break the news to her.
    Early on in their relationship he had thought she would tire of him and everything would simply drift away, leaving little trace on either of their souls. But something had happened to their affair. At first he had been merely a diversion, a way to stave off the boredom that haunted Bianca. He had felt like someone sent to her from a male escort bureau and had little illusion that she had any real interest in him. He imagined himself to be one in a faceless series of mindless tumbles in the hay, the toy of an older woman of incredible yet oddly charming egocentricity. But her talk had been largely weary narratives of her trips and cruises. Any friends she had during the marriage from which she said she was on leave had been abandoned for the strangers she met on boats and in the far corners
of the world, aged swingers like herself who made no real claim on her.
    It had seemed so casual at first.
    â€œTell me all about yourself, Dud.”
    The nickname was both intimate and derisive. “You would find it all impossibly dull.”
    â€œWould I?” She lit an elongated cigarette and expelled a cloud of mentholated smoke. “Sometimes I envy you your scheduled day. Freedom is overrated.”
    A new Bianca emerged. The woman who had everything now realized she had nothing.
    â€œMaybe you should go back to your husband.”
    â€œDo you think so?” She had turned to look at him.
    â€œI really know nothing about it.”
    â€œNo, you don’t. But I have thought of it.”
    â€œOh?” He tried to conceal his joy.
    She drew on her cigarette. “Till recently that seemed a possibility.”
    Her tone was meaningful, and he felt both flattered and frightened. What there was between them was in the nature of things temporary, a finite affair, destined to be ended and probably sooner rather than later. He sat in silence, not wanting to encourage this mood.
    â€œYou’re such a dud.”
    â€œOnly nominally.”
    An odd prelude to her opening her arms and drawing her to him. He was very conscious of the lighted cigarette in the fingers of one of the hands behind his head. He reached for it and stubbed it out in the ashtray. She watched him do this, then lifted her lips to his.
Passion seemed the best postponement of any discussion of her mood.
    He pushed these memories away. Now in his office, he punched her number on his cell phone. She answered immediately.
    â€œIs that you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow was your trip?”
    He had to remind himself of his make-believe trip that had gained him a weekend with Dolores. “The usual thing.”
    â€œAnd what is that? Dudley, I want to hear all about it. Let’s have dinner tonight.”
    â€œI’ll make a reservation.”
    â€œPlease don’t. I want to cook for you.”
    He agreed. It would be the grand finale. A sentimental evening, remembering old times, the fun they’d had, and then he would explain to her how it was. There was no future for them. He couldn’t mention the discrepancy in their ages, but the fact that she was a married woman was decisive enough. If she had intended to get divorced, she would have done so long ago. There must be advantages for her in remaining the legal wife of a man she could no longer abide but who himself seemed still hopelessly in love with Bianca. Or at least hopelessly committed to her.