Scott Payton hummed a happy tune as he walked down the brownstone lined block in the Park Slope Section of Brooklyn. It had been a good day for the architectural photographer, having spent the better part of it on a shoot at an old pre-war building up on Riverside Drive in Manhattan, and the night promised to be even better. The work week was behind him and the weekend beckoned, a weekend that would see his thirtieth birthday.

Tomorrow night, on his actual birthday, there would be a grand party at a nearby hall where his friends and family would celebrate. Tonight, however, belonged to Scott and his wife of three years, Jillian. Too often of late their mutually busy schedules left them with little time to share a meal together, much less engage in the more intimate aspects of marriage. They planned to make up for that tonight.

Reaching the third house from the corner, Scott opened the low metal gate and walked around the staircase that led to the upper floors, heading instead to the large wrought iron gate that led to the garden apartment below. As he reached into his carry bag for his keys, Scott again wondered what deviltry his wife might be planning for the evening.

Ever since they’d been married, Jillian had managed to come up with a sexually outrageous surprise on his birthday. On the first, only a few months after the wedding, she’d shown up at his work studio wearing nothing but a raincoat and a smile, and then proceeded to screw him every which way to Sunday right on his desk. Last year she had taken him on a picnic lunch in a semi-secluded section of Prospect Park where she’d given him a rather public midday blow job. He could only wonder what she was going to do this year.

He’d been trying to get a hint of what might be in the offing all week, but Jillian had stood firm. All she would say was that if, as he often did when photographing an interesting building, he lost track of time and came home late, he’d be deeply disappointed later. Knowing how often he’d done just that in the past, Scott set multiple alarms on both his phone and watch to remind him of the time.

“Oh, come on, give me just a little hint,” he’d said while getting his goodbye kiss at the apartment door.

“I told you, you’ll just have to wait and see,” Jillian had replied with a mischievous smile, “but I can honestly say that it’s going to be a night you’ll never forget.”

Then, not giving him a chance to ask more, she’d ushered him out the door and on his way.

Stepping into the small vestibule between the gate and the inner doors, Scott reached into his carry bag for his keys, careful not to drop the two bottles of wine he’d picked up at the Wine Emporium near the train station. Highly overpriced in his opinion, the wine was Jillian’s favorite vintage and he knew from past experience that it always put her in an appreciative mood — at least, that had been the case earlier in the year when he’d brought home two bottles for her twenty-fifth birthday.

Putting the bag with the wine on the small table by the door, and then his camera bag on the floor next to it, Scott surveyed the apartment but saw no sign of his wife. Built around a large common area that served as both living and dining room, the apartment had three other smaller room, a kitchenette, bathroom and bedroom. The latter two were closed off for privacy by old style doors, whereas the kitchen area simply had an open archway. It was from that direction that the noise of the oven door opening told him where Jillian could be found.

Certain that she’d be out shortly, Scott picked up the wine and, carrying it over to the buffet, placed both bottles in the small wine chiller. Since he’d called ahead and had the wine already chilled, another added cost, he just had to keep the proper temperature until dinner.

Not for the first time today, Scott reflected on how lucky he was to be married to Jillian. If anyone were to ask him to describe himself, Scott would be quick to say that he was no more than fairly average as far as looks went. Five nine with a lean swimmer’s build; he had dark brown hair which he kept cut short, and an equally trim matching beard and mustache.

Ask him the same question about his wife and the first word that always came to him was gorgeous — an appellation she would emphatically dispute. True, she had done some modeling back in college, having the girl next door look that many agencies sought, but Jillian never considered herself anything out of the ordinary. In fact, she’d turned down a contract with one of the smaller agencies after graduation, preferring to succeed based on what she could do, and not what she looked like.

When Scott had first met her, Jillian had been working at the same communications company as his sister Laurie. Inviting both of them to a housewarming party for her new condo, the younger Payton had wasted no time in pairing them off, reasoning that since he was a photographer and she had been a model, the two of them would have a lot to talk about.

Once they’d been left alone, Scott had been quick to explain that he photographed buildings and apartments, not people, adding that he would understand if Jillian wanted to look for a more compatible companion.

To his surprise, she’d replied that what he did sounded fascinating and she’d like to hear more about it. Despite the fact that he had been sure she’d change her mind after listening to him for a few minutes, Jillian did seem genuinely interested, asking a number of questions over the next twenty minutes. During which, Scott learned that the attractive blonde was nothing like his first impression of her. Funny as well as beautiful, articulate and graceful, she shattered his misconceptions about models. They soon began to see each other regularly and, in a relatively short time, romance blossomed, followed by marriage.

“Honey, I’m home,” he finally announced.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Jillian answered. “I left you a drink on the table.”

Having a drink ready for your husband when he got home was an old-fashioned gesture, one more suited to his grandfather’s time than now, but Jillian delighted in defying convention.

Sure enough, there was a glass of what he knew would be his favorite scotch sitting there, one even more expensive than the wine now in the cooler, and only poured on the most special of occasions. Picking up the tumbler, Scott took a healthy swallow, closing his eyes as he savored the taste.

When he reopened his eyes and brought the glass down, Scott noticed something that hadn’t initially registered when he’d first glanced at the carefully set table. There was an extra setting; the table was set for three, not two.

“Jillian?” he called out, his voice carrying the length of the apartment.

No immediate reply came from the kitchen, and rather than call out again, Scott until Jillian appeared in the doorway. When she did, he almost forgot the question he wanted to ask.

Even now, after four years together, just the sight of her was enough to sometimes take his breath away. Wearing a sleeveless white button down top, opened just enough to highlight her cleavage, and a short blue skirt that accented her long legs, this was one of those times. Five seven with a perfectly balanced body, she had the most striking blue eyes that Scott had ever seen.

Not saying a word, Jillian crossing the distance between them and pulled Scott close, kissing him with a passion rarely demonstrated by lovers who’d only been parted half a day. When she finally let him go, it took him a long moment to catch his breath and remember why he had called her.

“Jillian?” he finally repeated, tilting his head in the direction of the table and the third-place setting.

“Promise me that you won’t be mad,” Jillian said, concern in her voice, “but I just couldn’t say no.”

“Couldn’t say no to who?” Scott asked, apprehension in both his tone and expression, a combination that grew as he thought the worst. “Oh God, don’t tell me that your mother’s coming again, not tonight of all nights.”

Lillian Cabot was the only thing that Scott really disliked about his marriage. Given any opportunity, the widowed fifty-two-year-old never hesitated to express her opinion that her daughter could’ve done better in her choice of husband — much better. A visit from the Wicked Witch of the West Side was all he needed to totally ruin his birthday.

“No, it’s not that bad,” Jillian said, a small smile now appearing on the corner of her mouth, “but I am afraid that we’re going to have to postpone the plans that I had for tonight.”

In the space of a heartbeat, Scott’s expression abruptly went from relief to disappointment.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Do you remember my telling you about Heeja Park, my college roommate?” Jillian asked.

The name rang a bell to Scott, but not very loudly. Jillian had certainly mentioned her before, but at the moment he really couldn’t recall much of what she’d said. He knew that, like Jillian, she’d been a Film and Arts major, and that after graduation she had moved out to the West Coast, but other than the fact that she was from South Korea, that was just about all he remembered. There was a photo of Jillian and her sorority sisters in the bedroom, but even with only two Asian girls in, Scott only had no more than a fifty-fifty chance of picking out Heeja.

“Not that much,” Scott said, deciding that admitting the truth was better than a lie.

“Then you probably don’t remember me saying that she was going to be in town for a business conference this weekend,” Jillian said.

“Great, then she can come to the party,” Scott quickly said, thinking to regain any hubby points he might have lost by not remembering more about her. “I’d love to meet her.”

“I already planned on inviting her to the party,” Jillian said, canceling out any amends on his part.

“So, what...” Scott started to say.

“If you can stop interrupting, I’ll tell you,” Jillian said.

Keeping his mouth in check, Scott made an okay gesture with his hands.

“She’s staying at a hotel in Manhattan, over by the theatre district on the west side, one of those really old buildings that you love so much,” she began.

Scott just nodded, knowing better than to interrupt.

“Well, she called me in a panic this afternoon,” Jillian continued. “Evidently there was a water main break in the hotel that not only flooded the basement but knocked out all of the electrical lines. The place is going to be practically uninhabitable until they can repair it all.”

‘So, she goes to another hotel,’ Scott thought, knowing as soon as the words formed in his head that it couldn’t be that simple.

“She tried to find another hotel, but every place she called is booked solid,” Jillian said, as if reading his mind. “Evidently there are a couple of conventions in town this weekend.”

Scott let out a small breath; knowing what his bride was going to say next.

“So, what could I do but offer her a place to stay?”

‘Of course,’ Scott thought in resignation, seeing his birthday surprise, whatever it was supposed to be, fading away.

Yet, as it did, he also considered it a small sacrifice to make his wife happy. Heeja was obviously important to her, so of course she was welcome to stay.

“Then you’re not disappointed?” Jillian asked after he’d verbally expressed the latter thought.

“Well, I don’t know if I would go that far,” Scott laughed, “but there’s always tomorrow night.”

“Err, tomorrow night’s the party,” Jillian pointed out.

“Oh yeah,” Scott remembered.

“Honey, I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” Jillian said as she kissed him on the cheek.

“Don’t worry about it,” Scott said, trying not to sound disappointed as he quickly moved on. “So, when is Heeja supposed to arrive?”

“She should be here by six,” Jillian said.

“Well then, I guess I have just enough time to grab a quick shower,” Scott suggested, not adding that it had better be a cold one if he was going to make it through the night.

The shower, while refreshing, did little to cool Scott down in the manner he hoped, or at least not for long. Whatever small relief it brought had been quickly dispelled when, as he sat on the bed drying off, Jillian came in to change. It took only a minute or so to exchange blouse and skirt for a light blue dress, but the brief glimpse of her nearly nude body as she did so had been enough to put Scott’s motor back in gear.

As Jillian went back to the kitchen to check on dinner, a still naked Scott wondered if he had time to do something to quench the spark that his wife had reignited. A glance at the clock on the night table said there probably wasn’t, especially if doing so left him needing another shower. That conclusion proved correct when, no sooner than he had finished putting on shirt and slacks, he heard the doorbell ring.

“Could you get that, Scott?” Jillian called out from the kitchen.

“No problem,” Scott called back, running the towel across his head one last time before tossing it in the direction of the laundry basket by the window.

As he walked across the living room toward the door, Scott tried to imagine what Heeja might look like. Uncharacteristically, his mind went blank, which surprised him. He was usually pretty good at this sort of thing.

Nevertheless, he shrugged his shoulders and, as he reached the door, paused for a moment to take a deep breath. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror that hung over the table, making sure that his face reflected nothing but delight at the arrival of their unexpected guest. Satisfied that it did, he opened the inner door and stepped into the small alcove.

Seeing the figure standing beyond the perforated gate, Scott was suddenly glad he hadn’t been able to form a picture of what Heeja might be like. If for no other reason that anything he could’ve imagined would’ve been so far off the mark that he didn’t even want to think about it. He was so stunned that he actually froze for a few seconds before opening the gate.

A few inches shorter than Jill, standing no more than five two or three at best, the Korean woman was dressed in a shapeless grey outfit that caused Scott to recalled the habits worn by the nuns at his childhood parochial school. Austere as they had been, Heeja’s outfit made the attire of the Sisters of Saint Bernadette look downright flashy in comparison.

The hem of her dress, if that was what you wanted to call it, went all the way down to her ankles, and the long sleeves bordered on her wrists. A high collar prevented any hint of exposed chest, not that it was possible to tell if she even had breasts in that baggy frock. Dull black hair, tightly pulled back in an unflattering matronly bun, framed a face scrubbed clean of any trace of femininity.

“Heeja?” Scott asked tentatively as he tried and failed to match the woman before him to one of the faces in Jillian’s photograph, wondering if there was even the possibility that this was someone else.

“Yes,” the diminutive woman replied in a quiet tone.

That question answered, it still took Scott another few moments to totally shake off his surprise. Once he did, however, he immediately went into the patented ‘glad to meet you’ mode that he used with potential clients.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you,” Scott said with enthusiasm, remembering that she hadn’t been able to come to their wedding due to some sort of family emergency back in South Korea. “I’m Scott, Jillian’s husband; won’t you please come in?”

Without even a trace of a smile in response, Heeja stepped past Scott, dragging a battered rolling suitcase behind her. As she did, Scott involuntarily noted that the view from behind was as bland as that from the front.

“I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place,” he continued as he closed both doors behind her. “Jillian’s been looking forward to your visit ever since you called and...”

He paused as he realized that she really wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying but was instead making a critical appraisal of their home. The look on her face didn’t seem to be one of approval.

“Would you like to sit down?” Scott asked, going on to ask if he could get her something to drink.

“I do not drink alcohol,” Heeja replied as she moved to sit on the couch, the inflection in her words giving an impression that she didn’t approve of those who did.

“Well, I’m sure we can find something non-alcoholic for you,” Scott offered, determined not to show offense. “A soda maybe, or perhaps juice?”

“Water would be acceptable,” Heeja said, finally turning her attention back to him.

“Water it is,” Scott said, trying to maintain his smile.

The sound of new footsteps on the hard wood floor caused both of them to turn in the direction of the kitchen, just in time to see Jillian emerge from it. Head tilted slightly downward as she finished drying her hands on a small towel, she didn’t immediately see her guest. Once she looked up and did so, her reaction wasn’t that far from Scott’s had been.

“Heeja?” Jillian asked, hesitation in her voice mirroring the one Scott had expressed.

“Hello, Jillian, it’s been a long time,” Heeja replied, a small smile finally appearing on her face.

“Yes, it has,” Jillian replied, a glance toward Scott making it clear that this wasn’t the woman she had been expecting either.

“I appreciate your letting me stay here for the night,” Heeja continued. “I hope it’s not too much of an imposition.”

“It’s no trouble at all, we’re glad to have you,” Jillian said as she closed the distance between the two of them and kissed her friend on the cheek. “Dinner is almost ready; would you like to wash up?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Heeja said.

“Follow me, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.” Jillian smiled.

Once the bathroom door closed behind their guest, Scott wasted no time in voicing what had been on his mind since he’d opened the front door.

“She was in your sorority?” Scott, who had met a few of Jillian’s other ‘sisters’, asked in disbelief.

“I don’t know what to say,” Jillian replied. “The girl I went the school with was nothing like this. I mean she wasn’t really what you could call a party girl, but...”

“But...” Scott repeated, knowing his wife well enough to pick up when something wasn’t being said.

“Well, she was always a bit religious, but nothing like this,” Jillian said.

“Wait a second, what does religion have to do with anything?” Scott asked, not recalling Heeja saying anything of an even remotely religious nature. “What is it that you’re not telling me?”

“Okay,” Jillian said after what seemed like a long pause, “I heard from Wendy Fitzgerald a few months back — you remember Wendy, don’t you?”

Scott did remember Wendy Fitzgerald, who had come to their wedding. A tall, well stacked redhead who’d gone on to recently get her medical degree. He had no problem picturing her as a member of Jillian’s sorority, but his remembering her being irrelevant to the conversation now, he merely nodded his head.

“Well, Wendy mentioned that another friend had told her that Heeja had become involved in some sort of religious group out in Los Angeles,” Jillian went on. “She didn’t have that many details, but I never imagined that it could have been anything so ... so drastic.”

“Even drastic might be a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?” Scott offered as he glanced back toward the bathroom door to make sure it was still closed.

“Perhaps,” Jillian said, “but regardless of how she’s dressed, or anything else, Heeja is still my friend and welcome in my home.”

“I never said that she wasn’t,” Scott immediately replied, taken back by Jillian’s abruptness for a second. “I just meant that it’s going to be a very interesting night.”

“Interesting or not, it’s going to be one during which I expect you to be on your best behavior,” Jillian added in a no-nonsense tone. “Or do I have to remind you how many times your good buddy, Bill, had to sleep on our couch because he was too wasted to make it home on his own after watching the game with you?”

“Best behavior, I promise,” Scott said with a broad smile as he held up his right hand and exhibited three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

For a moment, Jillian looked like she was going to point out that her husband had never been a Scout, but the opportunity passed as the bathroom room opened and Heeja came back into the room. Inviting her to take a place at the table, Jillian excused herself to head back into the kitchen to bring out dinner. Scott followed right behind her to help.

“I hope you still like beef bourguignon,” Jillian said, emerging from the kitchen with a wide platter in her hand, one that she set down on the center of the table.

“I no longer consume the flesh of animals,” Heeja stated, a clear disdain in her tone.

“Oh,” Jillian said as she looked down at the plate of beef and vegetables.

She thought about it a few seconds, then came up with a possible solution.

“I still have some left-over vegetables in the kitchen,” Jillian said. “I could mix that with some rice and make a nice medley if you’d like that?”

With a nod of her head, Heeja indicated that would be acceptable.

The extra dish took only a few minutes, during which Scott poured drinks. Wine for Jillian and himself, and the bottled water for Heeja.

Despite his promise to behave, he couldn’t suppress a smile as Heeja held up the clear liquid to the light for a moment, as if to check it for contaminants.

Once dinner finally got underway, Scott tried to help Jillian put her inadvertent faux pas behind her and brighten the mood by bringing up some of the stories that his wife had told him about her college years, memories that Heeja undoubtedly shared. The anecdotes didn’t go over as well as he hoped, as Heeja brushed them aside, pointing out that they pertained to a life that was no longer hers and therefore irrelevant. She had no interest in revisiting the past, she stated, preferring to concentrate on the present.

Scott took that as his opening and jumped on it; asking Heeja what it was that she did out in Los Angeles.

“I have the privilege of working with the Right Reverend Joshua Davis and the Church of Universal Enlightenment,” she said as, laying down her fork, her face lit up for the first time since she arrived.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it, what...” Scott said.

“It is the mission of the Church of Universal Enlightenment to bring traditional values back to society,” Heeja said, cutting him off.

That seemed a common goal of most religious establishments nowadays, Scott thought, but it really didn’t tell him any about the church itself. So, he inquired as to how it planned to do that.

“By restoring traditional values to film and television and in the process, banishing the depravity and immorality that have plagued the airways for far too long,” Heeja replied. “People should only be presented with the good word, and not the devil’s lies and false imagery.”

“And who decides what exactly constitutes the good word?” Scott asked.

“Why, the Reverend Davis, of course,” Heeja said as if the answer should be obvious.

“The Reverend Davis...” Scott repeated.

“He is the guiding light of the blessed word,” Heeja beamed.

“I’m sure that he is,” Scott said, now regretting his promise to Jillian. “And what is it that you do for Reverend Davis?”

“I am honored to be his special assistant,” Heeja answered.

“And what does a special assistant do?” Scott further asked, pretending that he didn’t see the look that Jillian was shooting his way.

“Whatever it is that the Reverend needs,” came Heeja’s reply.

“Right,” Scott said sarcastically as he finally acknowledged his wife’s admonishment.

A look that Heeja either didn’t notice or simply ignored as she picked up her fork and returned to her simple meal. As he had said, Scott had never heard of Reverend Davis or his church, but he could easily imagine his type. The sort of evangelist that talked little old ladies out of their annuity checks and then lived high on the hog while his acolytes ate rice and beans every day. Some so-called ministers, he’d heard, even took advantage of easily influenced followers, especially young women. They convinced them that somehow it was God’s will that they should take care of their more private needs. Even well-educated women like Heeja, he’d read, sometimes fell under their sway.

“Jillian said you came to New York to attend a conference,” Scott said, thinking it best to change the subject.

“Not so much a conference as a meeting with potential sponsors of the church,” Heeja clarified.

“And the Reverend trusts you to meet these ... sponsors?” he asked, finding that it wasn’t that easy to let it go.

“Oh no, I could never speak for the Reverend,” Heeja said. “Only he can speak for the church.”

“So Reverend Davis is also here in New York,” Scott said.

“Of course.”

“And did he also have to relocate?”

“Oh, we weren’t staying at the same hotel,” Heeja said, seemingly amused that Scott had thought that.

“Then where is he staying?” he asked, having finally placed the building that Heeja had been staying in. Small, little in the way of modern conveniences, but clean and relatively safe — the sort of place that would appeal to the highly budget-conscious traveler.

“Why at the Waldorf Astoria of course,” Heeja said. “He is, after all, representing the Church of Universal Enlightenment.”

Heeja went on to say that she had tried to contact him about her need to relocate but could only leave him a message, as he was engaged in numerous meetings with other church leaders.

‘Well, if they were staying at different hotels, I guess Reverend Josh isn’t using her as a bed warmer,’ Scott thought. ‘At least that’s something.’

Based on his impression of her, Scott really hadn’t actually thought that was the case, but you never really know about people. Still, sex was undoubtedly something else that Heeja no longer partook of, that is, if she ever did.

“Would anyone like coffee or tea with their dessert?” Jillian asked, rejoining the discussion.

“I do not drink stimulants,” came Heeja’s reply.

“No, of course not,” Jillian said in a low tone, “and I’m guessing chocolate mousse is also too much of an indulgence.”

The expression on their dinner guest’s face said it was.

“Why don’t we skip dessert tonight?” Scott suggested, sensing that his wife might be losing a bit of her own forbearance.

Agreeing that might be a good idea, Jillian, with Scott’s help, cleared the table, squaring the dishes and glasses away in the dishwasher. Heeja offered to help, but Jillian wouldn’t hear of it. Instead she suggested that Heeja might like to watch a little television while they finished cleaning up. Surprisingly, Heeja said that would be fine.

When they came back into the living room, the weather channel was on the screen. Heeja, who was still standing in front of the television, hadn’t done anything more than turn it on.

“Is there anything special that you would like to watch?” Scott asked, fearing as he did that they might be in for a night of religious programing.

“It is your home; I will leave it up to you,” Heeja said as she settled into the plush recliner Scott usually occupied, leaving the couch for him and Jillian.

Giving what Heeja had said about the state of television earlier, Scott thought it best to avoid any of the premium cable channels or streaming services that they normally watched. In fact, it might even be a good idea to avoid regular broadcasting channels as well. They might lack the explicit language and nudity of Pay TV, but Scott had the feeling that Heeja might also find them objectionable.

Luckily, Jillian was a big fan of early sixties romantic comedies and had a number of them in her DVD collection. Scott picked the most G rated one he could find, a Rock Hudson and Doris Day film, and popped it into the player. Since they’d skipped dessert, Jillian had tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave, filling a large bowl that now rested in the center of the coffee table where anyone could reach it.

Despite the squeaky-clean nature of the film, at least by contemporary standards, Heeja seemed to find it a bit risqué for her tastes. She didn’t come right out and raise an objection, but it was obvious from her facial expressions that she didn’t like parts of it. Especially the love scenes, or what passed for a love scene back then.

Once the film credits began to roll across the screen, Scott wondered what he might suggest next. It was barely nine-thirty and based on her reaction to the film, he didn’t think another one would be a good idea. He was considering a game of cards, or perhaps a board game, when Heeja inquired if they’d mind if she turned in for the night.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Jillian said, cutting off Scott, who, glancing down at his watch, was about to say something about the early hour, “how could we have been so thoughtless? We never considered how long and stressful the day has been for you.”