An Accidental Affair by Eric Jerome Dickey Read Free Book Online

them household names.
    I massaged the bridge of my nose and whispered, “That was unexpected.”
    “Not for me,” she answered. “I’ve wanted to get to know you all day.”
    Then arrived the awkwardness that came after the first time strangers had stolen sex.
    She coughed, caught her breath, and said, “Glad I did this. So glad that I did this.”
    We stopped moving, our breathing thick and labored, like we had hiked Mt. Fuji.
    I asked Patrice, “How do you feel?”
    “Alive. I’ve been feeling dead a long time.”
    “You’re married and you feel dead. Better than being married and feeling like killing.”
    “Marriage can start to feel like a slow death. I had no idea it would be like that.”
    “Not for everybody. Marriage is supposed to be about a new life, a new beginning.”
    “Look at divorce rates. We really need to start learning from other people’s mistakes.”
    “I stand corrected, statistically, but still I don’t think that it’s a slow death.”
    “Your marriage did you a lot of good, Varg. It is Varg, right?”
    “You forgot my name.”
    She hadn’t forgotten my name. I had forgotten my name. I was James Thicke. Being Varg was new. She had come here for Varg Veum, not to welcome James Thicke to the area.
    She laughed. “Okay. What did you say your name was?”
    “Yeah, it’s Varg.”
    “Your name got my attention too. It’s different. Makes you seem exotic.”
    “A name is just a name is just a name is just a name.”
    She took another deep breath then pulled herself to me. We kissed again.
    “The woman or women that you go out with, do you like to see them in makeup, in heels and jeans, in business suits, in soft pants and heels, or in a nice fitted skirt and heels?”
    “I can’t date you, Mrs. Evans. I need you to know that right now.”
    “That’s fine. Just let me come by for an hour at a time, like I’m on vacation.”
    “This isn’t Club Med. It’s Club Cuckold.”
    She asked, “Was your wife pretty?”
    “Like a movie star.”
    Then my mind was gone, felt like it was a billion miles away from this room.
    Patrice was next to me, but I was with Regina Baptiste, holding my wife’s hand as we walked through the circus of tourists at Hollywoodand Vine. Out-of-work thespians were dressed up in superhero costumes. They were taking snapshots with tourists while other travelers searched the Walk of Fame for names of their favorite stars. We walked the strip and held hands. We were across from where they filmed
Jimmy Kimmel Live!
And that night Regina Baptiste was scheduled to appear on the show, her face on the electronic billboards that lit up the strip.
    I asked Regina Baptiste, “Are you excited? In four hours you’re taping his show.”
    “Very excited. I hope I do a good job. I hope he’s as funny as Letterman.”
    “You will do great. They love you in New York and L.A. Everyone loves you.”
    She paused, removed her sunglasses, put on her trademark smile, and I used my Nikon to take a dozen photos. Tourists recognized her, Asians, Blacks, Whites, women, men, even the thespians in superhero costumes flocked to her. She posed for a few photos, posed with tourists, Spider-Man, The Hulk, and Catwoman. The crowd became crazy fast and I had to play bad cop and pull her away from her public. I never grew accustomed to the part of her that I had to share with the world. We’d never be able to take a peaceful walk through any part of town until her fame had diminished. And she loved the rise to the top. Fame was very profitable.
    It took a strong man to be with a beautiful actress who would go to work and kiss other men, handsome men, rich men, men who were on the front of the magazines. It took a strong man to be able to watch her have pretend sex and share her real tongue with other pretend lovers over and over as many watched. A man had to be secure to be able to watch his wife bare her body in front of many, a body that she worked hard to keep looking like a work of