The Graces of Marriage

“Star Motel. Room 15. 9 o’clock, Friday.” The neatly typed note was already placed, folded and sealed with a piece of red wax on Charlie’s desk when he walked in on Wednesday morning. The fact that all mail went through his inferiors before it made it to him, made him wonder just how far the vampires – for that’s who he assumed the authors were – would go to make him feel uncomfortable in his own surroundings.

“Garry?” Charlie called out into the main room, his voice echoing emptily through the floor. He and Garry were the only two who arrived before nine in the morning on most days. The others all started at 9:30. Garry, however, started at eight, and Charlie would arrive at nine.

“Yeah boss?”

“Did you put this in my office?” Charlie asked Garry as he waved it from his office door.

“No, boss. Maybe one of the cleaner ladies put it in there last night. What is it? A love letter?”

“Not exactly. I have a group of people communicating with me through this secret form. They’re afraid if people know about their issue with their bodies, they’ll get persecuted or ridiculed.”

“So basically like every other organization, group, or community of people that we deal with here?” Garry laughed.

“Yeah, these guys are pretty out there.” Charlie admitted. “But, I’m withholding judgment until I meet them.”

“I couldn’t deal with half of the things that you deal with as head.” Garry told him. “I’d laugh some of the people that come wandering in here, right out of the building.”

“I try my best not to. It’s bad for business, you know?” Charlie said, returning into his office and leaving the door propped open.

“Yeah.” Garry assented as he returned to work along with Charlie. Soon, the only sounds emerging from either side of Charlie’s pseudo-magical door of authority were the sounds of fingers busily tapping away at keyboards like writers cramming in the last ten-thousand words before a deadline.

“Did Leona say she would be late today?” Charlie stuck his head out of his office a few minutes after the clock rounded 9:30. She was usually early, and the tardiness surprised him. He could always tell when Leona arrived – it almost seemed as if she was either always singing out loud, tapping out a rhythm on her legs, tapping her bag, crashing into things, or otherwise making her presence very, very easily known.

“No. But I think there was an accident on Main Street.”

“Monkeys?”

“Probably.” Garry acknowledged. Green Tech had, over the night, rounded up a majority of the animals, but there were still a few missing. Charlie had a feeling somewhere inside that a few of the monkeys would never be found. The scenarios involving expressway exclamations of “Oh shit, I killed a monkey!” and the backs of otherwise unoccupied delivery trucks serving as new habitats didn’t seem too far from the truth for the monkeys.

“Sometimes, you have to love our jobs.” Charlie laughed and returned to his office. Overall, his job was exceedingly boring – to the point where knowing about it would be both inefficient and a waste of jobs. Garry was in charge of the resources of the department, and Leona was Charlie’s vice-chair, of sorts – she was the one that saw people before Charlie did. The others just took care of the details of the entire operation. In total, including Charlie, there were nine members of the team.

Suddenly, as if from a distance, Charlie began to hear the words of a very nerdy song being belted out by Leona’s normally beautiful voice…

“There’s antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium, and hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium, and nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germanium, and iron, americium, ruthenium, uranium…”

“Good choice.” Garry shouted when Leona made to take a breath. “But do you have to be so damn nerdy?” Leona finished her breath, and Garry joined in as she continued, a weird, cultish practice that Charlie stood to watch from his door, amazed, yet mouthing the words as well. It was often a thing of pride in Green Tech when one could recite the entire song, “The Elements”, by Tom Lehrer, while holding more than their allowed legal limit of alcohol – during the holidays, of course.

“There's yttrium, ytterbium, actinium, rubidium, and boron, gadolinium, niobium, iridium, and strontium and silicon and silver and samarium, and bismuth, bromine, lithium, beryllium, and barium…”

“Enough!” Charlie shouted over them. “We can’t have the whole world knowing that we’re nerds!”

“We work at Green Tech!” Leona called back to Charlie, laughing. “It’s not as if they don’t already know.”

---Friday night came too fast for Charlie, and he found himself in his own doorway, assuring his wife he would be back soon, he was just going out for a few drinks with his co-workers, and he would be back in no time to resume their normal Friday night activities.

Angela smiled, kissed her husband good bye, and then closed the door behind him, the onslaught of tears down her face beginning already. If anything, her husband seemed to have lost his brain. With a minimal amount of searching through his desk in the house, Angela had managed to find a new note, this time sealed by an incriminating portion of red wax. Were she one of her characters, she could take the wax to an analyst or something and all of her problems would be solved. However, lacking resources, she was delegated to manual search and destroy methods.

Carefully, Angela wiped her tears, regained her breath, and made her way back to her bedroom. She had already prepared her attire and equipment for the night. Black denim, for quiet movement along the windows of the motel, black turtleneck and ball cap for camouflage, and most importantly, a plan. During the day, she had scoped out the motel mentioned in the neatly scribed note, taking note of dark places for her to park her car and the room that she would be invading later that night. She had even tried to pull a move that her characters had done millions of times, but it didn’t work out so well. She had stopped by the office to see if she could find out who was staying at that room that night, but she was told that it wasn’t registered to anyone yet – if she had a preference, she could register to it now. Was she from out of town? Flustered, she had said she was looking around for a quiet place to write – a great idea, being a writer, and all.

Thankfully, the clerk had not inquired why she wanted that particular room. She wasn’t sure what she would have said if the issue had come up. She had already introduced herself as a writer, perhaps a crappy move overall, but could be adjusted to the situation. But, there was no need. She simply mentioned that she may be back later in the day, although she had no intentions of doing so – to buy a room, at least.

And now was the time for her to head back to the motel on the outside edge of town. She was surprised that her husband had walked – it was a good two miles from their house to the motel, and she knew how much he hated walking places. But, he was keeping up the façade of the bar, and so, she must wait the extra half an hour before leaving, herself. Why would he ever cheat on her?

It made her so angry to imagine the scene that kept infiltrating her otherwise sane mind. A young, beautiful, red haired woman – for that was why she used the red wax – greeting her mature, yet still handsome husband at the door. They had been married for what seemed like a lifetime! Yet there he was, enveloped in the young woman’s arms, returning her passionate kisses with ones of his own, giving no mind to what the outside world was doing.

They would enter the room, shut the door, and immediately fall onto the bed. No, Angela decided – they wouldn’t. If her husband was cheating on her, he most definitely wouldn’t use a bed – that wouldn’t fit the reason he would be cheating. No, they would perhaps kiss in front of the full length mirror adorning a wall of the room. She would be in front of him, leaning against his well built chest, his arms wrapped around her, both of them staring longingly into the mirror.

“Soon.” He would reassure her, squeezing her before beginning a flurry of kisses down her neck and shoulder, sliding his hands under her shirt to cup her small breasts with both hands. Angela shuddered at the thoughts, enraged, but she couldn’t seem to stop the thoughts and images overtaking her common sense with a vengeance.

“Please?” The younger, more beautiful girl would murmur as she slid her shirt off without any hesitation at all. She would tug at Angela’s husband’s shirt, but he would simply hold her hands down at her sides while they began kissing – yet again. Angela always loved it when Charlie used a little bit of force, and she could imagine it was no different with any other woman – but she knew his real secret, and she hoped that he would at least keep that part of him just for her. Against her free will, the images popped into her mind – mostly memories, distorted by the thought of another woman.

“Beg.” What she would say at least once a month. “Beg for me to fuck you.” Her voice adopted a new tone, that of another woman, as the same red-haired girl from the previous fantasy invaded her thoughts, wearing a black corset in place of Angela’s own bright red one. “I want to hear you beg.” The woman said as she invaded completely. Angela turned her attention towards her husband, encased in only a spiked collar with a chain, hands cuffed behind his back, on his knees in front of the woman.

“Please…” he whispered, almost cowering back against – or into – the whip that flashed down from the woman’s hand, striking his back with a scary accuracy, the spot that made him tingle.

“Please what?"

“Please mistress…” Charlie cried out as the whip bit into his flesh again.

“No.” Angela said, forcing herself out of the fantasy to find herself leaning heavily on the desk in their bedroom. They had dabbled before – and she knew he wouldn’t cheat on her. Not his mistress. They were too close for that. If anything, she should be the one that cheated – she owned him. Not the other way around.

Angela rose unsteadily, finishing her dressing process and mechanically making sure she had everything. Directions, ball cap, pony tail, and clothes were all she needed. And car keys, of course. Swallowing the lump in her throat, setting her convictions straight, Angela strode out of her house and into the darkened night.

What seemed like an eternity later, Angela found herself in the parking lot of the motel, asking herself just what the hell she thought she was doing. Was she throwing twenty three years of experience out the window? Marital faith? But then again, whatever happened to faith on his part? She couldn’t really see the logic – if he was going for punishment, she would gladly give it to him – without him cheating. Was she doing something wrong? Being too rough? They only played rough once in a while. Hell, some of the time, he was on top! She just couldn’t see what was driving him away.

It was now or never. Too loudly, it seemed, Angela opened her door and got out of the car. It was going to be a long walk from the edge of the parking lot to the well lit motel porch. Maybe this would be harder than it looked. The curtains were drawn over the motel room in question, but she had a feeling that she would, in the very least, be able to make out sounds and figures through the windows.

She had not passed her husband walking, so he must already be there. Making sure the coast was clear, she crossed her arms, striding across the motel parking lot with a vengeance. How dare he cheat on her?As she neared the room, she slowed to more of a creeping pace, cursing her feet every step she took, for the gravel seemed to crunch unusually loud against her heels as she moved. She could see the light on, and hear voices coming from inside. It sounded as if the TV was blaring something.

At this point, we digress slightly. What Angela interpreted as television, mixed in with her husband’s voice, was actually her husband’s voice amid a chorus of argument about whether or not he should be able to remove the blindfold. What she heard – him begging for a blindfold to be removed – she interpreted immediately as cheating. Of course, although the scene inside was as hectic as she imagined, it was the scene which she was imagining in line with the noises which brought her heart to a pounding, and caused her to completely ignore the more relevant facts. As is any case of a jealous spouse, it is easy to see why she misinterpreted the muffled voices. Nonetheless, it was a surprise to her when she felt a tap on her shoulder and spun to face a younger, dark haired woman with a bag of ice in one hand, and a flashlight in the other.

“Can I help you?”

“I think…my husband…”

“Is in there?” Offered the woman. Angela nodded, anger rising to a new, previously undiscovered level. “Don’t worry. They won’t keep him blindfolded for much longer. It’s just because they want to be in control.”

Judy Styles was attending her second meeting, and had not even been written in to the purpose of this meeting. She had assumed that the husband in question was simply a husband who was being told that his wife was a vampire. Her previous town – Lancasting – had done the same once a month to new recruits, and people who wanted to be more open with their spouses or boyfriends or girlfriends about their conditions.

“They?”

“Yeah. It’s a big group in there. Didn’t you know?” The woman must be even newer than herself, to not know that piece of information. “It’s easier that way. To overcome the fear.”

“I see.” Angela said, an idea forming slowly in her mind. If this woman and her friends, of all people, were swingers engaging her husband in submissive, group sex, she would extract her revenge. In a most delightful way. “Is that ice for later?” Angela asked her, almost too calmly, mind racing. The young woman nodded. “Well, how about you drop that off inside, and come with me? We can go back to my place, wait for my husband there.”

“You don’t want to be in there?”

“I…I don’t think so.” Angela sighed. “It’s his experience. Not my place to take away from it. But they don’t need you, do they? I’ve got some great leftovers back at our home.”

“They don’t need me, no…” Judy was extremely confused. Was this woman backing out of telling her own husband? “Are you sure you don’t want to be in there?” Judy asked. She was sure she would be more useful reassuring this woman than she would be inside. She was never that good at telling married people that their spouses were vampires.

“Positive. I’ll wait out here. Hey, don’t mention me, okay? I don’t want him to know I was here at all.”

“Right…” Judy said, pursing her lips. She would do as asked. She was hungry, anyway. She could do with a snack – even though she wasn’t sure what the older woman meant. Blood? Or real food?

“I’ll be back out in a minute then.” Judy assured her, knocking on the door, as Angela ducked out of sight. Judy was confused – but all conversation stopped when her knock was heard. Seconds later, the door opened, golden light spilling out onto the white, cracked sidewalk.

“Here’s the ice. Something came up – I’ll be back later, most likely. Are we staying the night?”

“Some are. Others aren’t.” A voice, oddly familiar, floated out to Angela’s ears, positioned behind the line of sight. “Everything alright?”

“Absolutely. I’ll catch up with you all later. I’m just not in the mood.” Judy said.

Everything, it seemed, was falling into place in Angela’s mind. And it would be no time at all that she would extract her revenge.

Not a half an hour later, Angela found herself serving leftovers to a very nice younger woman. There was something oddly hot about the entire ordeal and the tense drive back to Angela’s house. It was as if, at least to Angela, they were both expecting the same thing: a little food, and a little swinging. In fact, she was not so far from the truth – it was common practice among vampires to share a little sex and blood – which was what Judy was expecting. After all, what else she was expecting from a stressed wife, unsure if her husband would still love her…maybe Judy shouldn’t be taking advantage. But, her guess was that the woman hadn’t had an orgasm in a very, very long time. And Judy would be glad to help.

“Let’s be straight here.” Angela announced to her younger companion, Judy, as the latter choked on the spaghetti attempting to slide down her throat.

“Serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh.” Judy said, crestfallen. What was with this woman?

“I want my husband to come home, and find us together.”

“Eating spaghetti?” Judy asked, a grin coming to her face. Angela had been serious, but had, of course, immediately realized, post-“Absolutely” - what her original statement had been.

“No.”

“Good. Because eating spaghetti is far from straight.” Judy’s grin spread wider. This woman was fun – maybe they would have a threesome later, with her husband. “Why?”

“Let’s just say it’s…a surprise, of sorts.” Angela paused, wondering. “Do you think he’ll be too tired?”

“I doubt it. They’re pretty easy going over there."

“Okay. The metaphor’s getting too tricky to continue logically. Do you want to see the, erm, house?” Angela asked, unsure of how to continue. She had always had her husband beside her to get over the rough spots. But, if he was deciding to play big without her, then she would play too.

“Why not?” Judy rose from her seat fluidly, leaving her plate and her purse in the kitchen as they began the arduous journey upstairs to that new realm of weird. It was to be far from an ordinary night ahead.

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