Getting Even

“I thought so. For Adam it definitely is.”

Annelise sighs softly, and she looks so disheartened that I can’t help but feel bad for her.

“Well,” I begin, “if this is work related, then it won’t go on forever. I know that’s not much comfort now, but tomorrow’s another day. Don’t give up hope.”

“I’m hanging in there,” she says. But she sounds as if she could burst into tears any moment.

Here I was, thinking I had it bad because Adam’s sexual appetite is endless. But maybe I don’t have it bad at all.

Sure, he wants to try everything, but like Annelise said, at least he’s trying it with me. He obviously trusts me with his fantasies, and that says a lot.

Yeah, I guess I’ve been a bit of a prude. Nothing is shameless between committed partners—between two people who love each other with their whole hearts and souls.

Chapter Five

Annelise

All that talk about sex with Claudia over dinner has me totally hot and bothered and completely frustrated. So the first thing I do when I head back home and find that Charles is still at work is lock myself in the bedroom and masturbate.

I imagine that I’m with the Charles from the early days of our relationship. The Charles who was always passionate for me, even when I woke up next to him with morning breath. The Charles who would slip his hand down my pants on a ride at an amusement park, or undo my blouse and fondle my breasts in a movie theatre. The Charles who would know with just a look that I was ready to make love.

“Charles, Charles, Charles,” I mutter as I touch myself, imagining it’s his fingers on me, his tongue tracing circles around my nipple.

I cry out as I climax, happily riding the sensuous wave—but only for a moment. Because immediately afterward I feel cold and empty. So cold and empty I could cry.

I have a husband, damn it. Why do I have to pleasure myself, when I have a man who’s young and should be wild about me?

“Forget Charles,” I tell myself and climb off the bed. I head to the bathroom and start the shower. Maybe cool water will help put out the fire inside me.

Ten minutes later, I step out of the shower and towel off. I try to forget about sex, but even as I apply scented lotion to my legs, I can’t help but think of the way Charles used to do this for me, his hands moving over my body with aching slowness.

Surely Oprah will help get my mind off sex. For an hour I can feel better about myself by observing others’ miserable lives. I quickly dress in a T-shirt and shorts, then head to the living room to queue up the VCR. I tape Oprah daily.

I rewind the tape for several seconds, then stop and hit play. When the show comes on, Oprah is looking thoughtfully at a teary-eyed woman.

“So what do you think happened?” Oprah asks the dark-haired woman. “Why did the passion in your marriage die?”

The woman looks downright confused. “I don’t know.”

“You have to know,” Oprah insists. “When you think about your marriage, your life—and I’m sure you have—you have to have at least an idea of what went wrong.”

That’s not fair, Oprah, I think. Maybe she doesn’t know. I’m living proof that things can go sour and a person has no clue why.

“The children,” the woman finally answers. “I suppose once the children came along, that’s when the spark started to fizzle.”

“I’ve said this once,” Oprah begins, “I’ll say it again. Women often put themselves last when the children come along. They get so caught up in mothering, they forget their own needs as women.”

“Not all the time,” I say to the TV. I know without a doubt that if Charles and I were to have children, I’d still make room for an active sex life. As it is, we have no kids, so what’s Charles’s damn excuse?

Stretched out on the sofa, I continue to watch the show, though I’m not sure why. This isn’t exactly making me forget about my dismal situation with my husband. But on the bright side, as I watch a series of women talk about their passionless marriages, I know I’m not alone.

I sit up when Oprah announces that she has a surprise for her guests. She does the best surprises.

“I know you’re all here today because you want help,” Oprah says. “And I want to help you regain the passion your marriages are missing. That’s why I’m sending you and your spouses on a four-day getaway to the romantic Canyon Ranch Spa in Tucson, Arizona!”

The couples burst into full-blown smiles and the audience rowdily applauds.

“This spa has everything you can possibly think of for couples. Classes on kissing. How to create exceptional sex.” The audience hoots and hollers. “If you can’t reconnect sexually with your partner after this four-day weekend, then I don’t think you ever will.”

Oh my God. This is it. The answer I’ve been waiting for.

Of course! How could I have been so narrow-minded?

When was the last time Charles and I took a trip together? About a year and a half ago, and we had really great sex then. I have to get Charles away from work, take him on a romantic trip to this place designed for lovers, and there’s no way we won’t recapture what’s missing in our relationship.

I jump off the sofa and head toward the home office. I intend to find out everything there is to know about the Canyon Ranch Spa. I don’t care what it costs. I’d pay any amount to get Charles alone somewhere where the entire object of the place is to have sex.

If nothing else, I’ll be able to figure out once and for all if my husband is attracted to me. If we’re alone together in a sexual paradise and he still can’t get it up, then I’ll have to…

Truthfully, I don’t want to think about what I’ll have to do. I don’t want to be in a loveless marriage, and I do want to have children.

All of which I’m sure will happen, just as soon as Charles and I recharge our marriage. And I’m rearing to go. But I can hear Charles’s protests that work will keep him at home. He puts in more hours than one would think humanly possible.

I know it’s going to be hard to get him away from work, but I’m going to try. One weekend is all we need.

I type in the words Canyon Ranch Spa.

As the page loads, I’m instantly impressed. This place is stunning. Outdoor Jacuzzi tubs, palm trees…This is romantic at its best.

I look heavenward and utter, “Thank you, God.”

Hours later, I can’t sleep.

Beside me, Charles is lightly snoring. He hasn’t touched me, of course, despite the red negligee I’m wearing. I know priests who couldn’t resist me in this outfit, yet Charles is painfully oblivious.

I stroke his arm. “Charles.”

He doesn’t move, so this time I shake his shoulder. I don’t care that it’s two in the morning. I want to make love, or at least talk to him.

“Charles.”

“Hmm?” he finally mutters.

“Sorry to wake you up,” I tell him. But I’m not. I need to talk to him about this, and it has to be now.

“What is it?” he asks in a sleep-filled voice.

“I was wondering…wondering if you might be able to take some time off work soon.”