The Secret Lives of Housewives by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd Read Free Book Online

“needed” to do, see the country with his new girlfriend, Doreen. Monica had listened to her mother in the years following, calling her father every name in the book, and a few she made up herself.
    Tempted as she was to pick up the stack of work still undone, she stretched out on the bed and flipped on the TV. When her cell phone rang, she pressed the mute button. “Hello?”
    â€œHi, Monica.” She recognized Trent Lockhart’s voice immediately. He was the assistant media director at the skin care division of a large cosmetics firm, and she’d been trying to convince him to let C & B pitch his account.
    Lowering and softening her voice, she said, “Well, hello stranger. I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”
    â€œI’ve been busy. You know how it is.”
    â€œI sure do. To what do I owe this call?” She’d given him her cell phone number “just in case.”
    â€œI’ve got a free evening Wednesday and I thought we might get together and talk about”—he paused—“things.”
    Things. She knew exactly what things he was referring to. She had been dangling sexual favors in front of him just as he’d been dangling the account in front of her. Another unfaithful married man. “I’d love to talk about”—another pause—“things. Over dinner?”
    â€œSure. How about Peter Luger’s in Williamsburg?”
    â€œSeven o’clock.”
    â€œI’ll bring my car. Why don’t you come in a taxi and then I can drive you back to the city?”
    â€œWe’ll see how it all works out,” she said, knowing her meaning was perfectly clear. No pitching the account, no fucking. It was that simple. Actually, Trent was a really sexy guy and she would have done him just for the hell of it, but that wasn’t the way the business ran, at least for her. And God, was she hungry. She’d been celibate for almost a month, longer than she’d gone in years. She pictured Trent: soft, country-boy blue eyes, razor-cut sandy hair, and a nicely turned out body. She wondered what he’d be like in bed. Aggressive, she hoped, and she’d find out soon. It was only a matter of time.
    Monica had no qualms about trading her body for whatever she needed at work. She’d had brief affairs with several of the senior partners. Everyone understood that they were just short, feel-good fucks but they accomplished what she wanted. She got noticed. She knew no one would really do anything extra for her and she never even hinted at a quid pro quo , but she got considered for new accounts and found out about opportunities before most others.
    What was the problem with that? She wasn’t hurting anyone. She enjoyed sex in all forms, and with a few exceptions, had as good a time as her partner.
    For a moment the image of the guy from the yoga class flashed through her mind and she wondered what he was like in bed. Nah. Too complicated. It was so much simpler when everyone knew what was what.
    As she undressed after her call from Trent, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Not bad, she thought, sucking in her stomach, lifting her ribs, and arching her back slightly. Not bad at all. So I’m not a kid anymore, she thought, lifting her breasts with her hands. I’m experienced and damn good in bed. Every man I’m with gets the best I can give.
    She sometimes wondered whether she should be ashamed of her behavior, but she wasn’t and had never been. She quickly removed her lightly applied makeup and smoothed moisturizer into her face and neck. Then, feeling unusually good and even a bit relaxed, she slipped beneath the covers and listened to Sam shuffle up the stairs and settle comfortably beside the bed.
    Reaching down to scratch Sam’s head, she picked up an old issue of Advertising Age . She didn’t read enough, keep up with who’s who and