I heard the garage door mechanism, so I knew that I had about two minutes until curtain up. We had discussed it at lunch; Melisa and I had spent two hours this afternoon preparing a script and imagining supplementary questions, just as if we were preparing a trial brief. I was still nervous, however, so I took another gulp of Chablis and refilled my glass.

I was sitting in my usual place at the end of the kitchen table closest to the cooker when Chris came through the door from the garage. I watched him take the few steps to reach his end of the table, my eyes on the third button of his shirt. I couldn’t quite make myself look him in the eye. Instead of coming round to give me a kiss, he stopped.

“Chris, we have to talk,” I blurted out.

He still didn’t move and there was what seemed like a long silence. “Can we eat first, Anne. I’m famished and I always listen better on a full stomach.”

I felt a little flare of anger. I had spent the whole day preparing myself for this confrontation and all he could think about was food. I was thrown off balance for a moment before I decided to stick to the script Melissa and I had so carefully prepared.

“You know I love you, Chris.”

“I can see you’re anxious to get on, so skip the question-and-answer session and cut to the chase. What is it that is so important that I have to miss dinner?”

“Well, you know that you’re the only man I’ve been to bed with. I know I’m not a great lover, but I do really want to be the wife you deserve.” That was a serious compression of the speech I had prepared but my husband didn’t seem to be in a mood to delay. Perhaps I should have fed him first and then brought this up when he was mellow and relaxed.

Chris still hadn’t moved after taking his first three steps into the kitchen. There was now a long pause. I could hear the ticking of the wall clock and an occasional thump from the refrigerator. Otherwise, the house was silent.

“Is this about your date on Friday?” he asked.

I was shattered. How could he know? I had only discussed this with George at lunch and then Mel this afternoon. Could someone have overheard our discussion in the coffee room? I had been looking at the tabletop during the discussion but now I looked up at my husband’s face. I had never seen the look before in our three years of marriage or during our courtship.

He held my glance for several seconds before he turned on his heel and returned to the garage. I was stunned for a moment before rising from my chair and running after him. I had the garage door open when I remembered that I was barefoot, so I crossed the kitchen to find my shoes. By the time I was ready, Chris had gone and the outer door to the garage was closing behind him.

This was nothing like the scenarios Mel and I had prepared for. We expected anger and disbelief but nothing like this had crossed our minds. I emptied my glass of wine and a second before I pulled myself together and called Mel on my cell. She was silent for some time after I repeated the interchange with my husband. Eventually, she gave a loud sigh.

“From the way you described Chris, I didn’t think he had the balls. Look, Anne, this is now a battle and one that you must win. He wants an obedient wife who will do everything he asks. You will be little more than a slave if you let him get away with it. Leaving you as he did, simply underlines the weakness of his position – if he had a good case he would have stayed to thrash the matter out with you. We must bring him to the negotiating table.”

She went on to explain that in a marriage there could only be one boss. Chris had given me everything I asked for since we married, which was good, but we now had to consolidate my position by claiming my absolute freedom to do as I wished. The best solution was a quick surrender by my husband, and I had to be firm and determined to bring the weakness of his position home to him.

I was unsure about some of her arguments and dearly wished that I could talk them over with Chris who always seemed to be able to take a balanced view. Then I began to get angry that he had walked away before I could give him my reasons for my decision. I wasn’t sure that Mel was right, but Chris deserved punishment for deserting me.

I put a fresh shirt and underwear in the spare room for him; the washbag he takes on business trips I placed in the common bathroom. Then I locked myself in our bedroom, putting a chair under the handle as I saw in a movie. I don’t know if it worked but I felt better for doing it. I dug out the earmuffs and sleep mask I had used to sleep through sorority parties when I was in college.

On Tuesday morning I woke a little late since I couldn’t hear the alarm. I arrived at work just in time to go straight to my desk. I was like a bear with a sore head until Mel brought me a cup of coffee. She was disappointed that I had no confrontation with Chris, but I had no time to check if he had slept in the guest room. The chair was still under the door handle when I woke.

George came round a few minutes later to tell me we were going out for lunch. As he stood at my desk looking smug, I had to wonder why I had agreed to spend the weekend with him. He has a bit of a tummy that he tries to hide under good tailoring and there is a bald spot on the crown of his head. Mel says that he is a fantastic lover and that he will teach me things that will improve my marriage. I spent the rest of the morning wondering what exactly he might do to me. Then I found myself wondering if one weekend would be enough if he really had so much to teach me. ‘One step at a time’, I reminded myself.

Lunch was at the ‘Four Seasons’, which was an encouraging start. George sat with his face to the door, explaining that it was a habit from his days in the Marine Corps. He had persuaded me that a single glass of wine was acceptable even in the middle of a working day and we were sitting sipping waiting for our starter when George stiffened, looking over my shoulder. He had been talking about the coming weekend being the first of many.

I looked up to find Chris standing at my shoulder a rather strained smile on his face. “I’ve got an emergency,” he told me. “I’ve got to go out of town for a few days and I thought it courteous to tell you face to face rather than by telephone.”

I don’t know if George signaled, but the maître D appeared at his elbow to address Chris directly. “I trust there won’t be any trouble sir. “Chris grinned at him: “Not from me,” he smiled. “Can I assume this is your Friday date?” he said, turning to me.

I was still shell-shocked. First, my husband knows about my Friday date and now he turns up out of the blue at my naughty lunch. I couldn’t really pretend that lunch at an expensive restaurant was purely business. “Do you want me to pack for you?” was the best I could offer. Chris laughed.

“No, babe. You enjoy your lunch with don Juan. I’m not sure how much of a problem I’ll be facing so I won’t give a return date.”

“You’ll call me when you arrive won’t you? I worry about you when you’re away.”

“As you know, I don’t make promises I can’t keep, so all I’ll say is that you’ll hear from me if anything goes wrong.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out.

The maître D watched until Chris was out the door before he turned to George. “I’ve cancelled your order for food. I must ask you to leave. The drinks are on the house.” George was ready to argue but I had collected my purse and was standing ready to go before he could say a word. As we exited, the doorman sneered at us: “Your husband drove off. Its safe to come out.”

George ranted all the way back to the office about the restaurant, about Chris, about anything and everything. Nothing was his fault, just a succession of events outside his control. As we stepped into the elevator, he promised that he would make it up to me over the weekend. He was calling Chris a cuckold when we arrived at our floor. He and Melissa had their heads together for much of the afternoon.

Tuesday evening alone at home was followed by Wednesday alone at work. Oh, all the people were there but they appeared to be avoiding me. Mel was busy with one or other of the associates all day and George had a client.

Thursday was a busy day for me Henry Marchant had a list of witnesses for a criminal trial, and he wanted me to arrange depositions. It took most of the day to reach all the people on the list, but I worked a couple of hours of unpaid overtime to finish. After all, I had nothing waiting for me at home. I spent Friday morning closeted with Henry even having sandwiches brought in. He wasn’t happy when I left at two for my appointment in the beauty salon.

By the time I was settled in the chair, excitement was beginning to build as I anticipated the weekend of carnal delights. Dinner was going to be the tricky part. Chris is fun at the table, making up stories about the staff and the other diners. There was always an axe murderer at one of the tables or a wine waiter who looked like Dracula. The one and a bit lunches with George were disappointing since he talked almost exclusively about his prowess between the sheets and how much enjoyment I had to look forward to.

To be brutally frank, I was more than ready for action. There comes a time when words advertising the product are no longer enough. I let myself be talked into a full Brazilian wax. Chris has been asking since before our marriage for a complete removal of pussy hair. It will certainly get his juices flowing on Sunday when he reclaims me.

Sitting in the beauticians I had time to reflect. My husband has made no contact since he left the Four Seasons on Tuesday. My calls have gone straight to voicemail, and he has not even replied to my three texts. As he said, I would have heard if anything was wrong. Mel says he is probably sulking and that I should ignore him.

It was after five before I got home and jumped into the bath. I was working to a timetable that would bring me to the front door just as George rang the bell. I would be a bundle of raw nerve ends if I was ready too soon and had to wait. Mel and I had shopped for the new lingerie and the little black dress I was going to wear.

The lingerie was perfect, but the LD was a little more out there than I remembered from the store. There was certainly a lot more cleavage on show than I would normally display, and I would have to take great care sitting down if I wanted to keep the color of my thong secret. I thought that I stayed just the right side of slutty, but I was very glad that my husband wasn’t there to see how I had dressed for a date with another man.

I had packed my overnight bag the night before and it was at the front door waiting. I had time to go to the kitchen for a glass of water before George rang the bell. He went on at length about my dress as we drove to the restaurant, and I had to sit close to the passenger door to avoid his attempts to expose my panties.

Walking into the restaurant, I was a little disappointed that he hadn’t dressed better for the occasion. I had seen him in an expensive Italian suit when an important client called but tonight, he was in one of his working suits.

Our drinks were served while we studied the menu. As we were waiting for our order, George began his usual advertising blurb. I was going to be blown away by his skill in the bedroom and by the size of his magnificent pleasure machine, as he called it. This continued through the starters but, by the time the entrees were served, he had moved on to our subsequent weekends of bliss.

It was while they were waiting for dessert that George changed the point of his attack. Rather than praising his own skill as a cocksman, he denigrated Chris’ ability, calling him a cuckold and a wimp. Anne was hardly listening since she was thinking what a boring evening it had been. She began to worry about her plan for the rest of the weekend and then she went on to wonder at the lack of communication since her husband walked out of the restaurant on Tuesday.

Her cell rang in her purse startling both of the diners. “Don’t answer it,” was George’s immediate response. “Its my mum’s ring tone,” Anne replied. “I must answer it.”

“Its an emergency, Anne,” her mum shouted, loud enough for George to hear. “You must get over here at once. Its your father!” And with that, the phone went dead.

Anne collected her purse telling George to get the bill. He was ready to argue but she was already on her way to the door. The alert waiter was there in an instant with the payment machine in his hand. George was flustered but could see no alternative but to obey. When he got to the car park, Anne was waiting impatiently by the passenger door.

Apart from giving him clear directions, the journey was conducted in silence. “I’ll wait in the car,” George announced as they pulled into her parent’s drive. Before he had put the gear in park, an older version of Anne was at his door, opening it. “Are you her dinner date?” the woman asked. “What on earth is that you’re almost wearing Annie?” she continued without waiting for an answer.

George, with no other option available, smiled as he got out the car and followed the two women into the house. The older woman led them to the living room where she waved George to a comfortable looking armchair. He was still in the act of sitting when the doorbell rang. “Get the door, Don, I’m a bit busy,” she shouted. “You said ... I thought something was wrong with daddy. You said there was an emergency.”

“So there is – and its sitting there in that armchair,” mom replied pointing to their visitor. “Alice my dear, do you remember Mr. Whitstable? He’s Annie’s boss.” Anne’s father was followed into the room by a distinguished looking man of some sixty years. “Why don’t we all sit down – except you Annie. I don’t think there’s any way you can squat that will hide your panties – if our wearing any that is!”

Alice shook Mr. Whitstable’s hand and moved past him to greet a woman slowly entering the room at the tail if the procession. “And you must be Mrs. Carlisle. Welcome to our home. I just wish it was in happier circumstances. Both George and Anne whipped round to look at the dark-haired lady who followed Alice into the middle of the room. “You’re married!” Anne accused George, who held his head in his hands as he studied the carpet between his feet.

Don and Alice bustled about getting the guests settled and offering them refreshments. When everyone was seated, Mr. Whitstable rose. “Forgive me Don if I take command for a few minutes.” Don smiled and waved his hand in a permissive gesture.

“Last Tuesday I had a visit from Anne’s husband, Christopher Butler who gave me some disquieting information. I had one of our partners check the veracity of his claims. You, Mrs. Butler, intended to spend this weekend in sexual congress with Mr. George Carlile, an associate attorney in our office. Such a liaison is expressly forbidden in the company handbook which you both signed as having read.

“I felt it was incumbent on me as managing partner to inform Mrs. Carlisle and certain other interested parties. I reluctantly agreed to follow the plan laid out by Mr. Butler, which concludes with this meeting. I wanted to see for myself what was going on.”

He sat down while Don pressed a button on his cell to make a call which was quickly answered. “Hi Chris, they’re all here so I’ll put you onto speaker. The stage is yours, my boy.”

“I really must begin with some apologies. First to Mrs. Carlisle. I felt I had no alternative but to tell you about your husband’s dalliances.” Mrs. Carlisle went rather pink but replied that it wasn’t George’s first rodeo but it would be his last, at least with her as the injured party. “Mr. Whitstable is handing my divorce pro bono,” she added. “It appears you’re better at picking lawyers than husbands,” Chris quipped.

“Anne babe, you’re not cut out to be a conspirator. ‘I want to talk’ and ‘You know I love you’ gave your game away at once. You caught me completely by surprise but I risked that remark about a Friday date to try you out. You gave everything away. The next day, I was outside your office by eleven and followed you to the restaurant. I recognized George from the Christmas party and from there it was easy to trace his wife - and their three adorable children.”

“Nothing happened, Chris,” Anne shouted. “I was going to tell George to run me home after the meal. I changed my mind.”

“You lost my respect when you decided to go with him in the first place,” Chris replied, sounding more sad than angry. “There might have been a way back for us if you had stayed home tonight.” Alice had been getting agitated and now she piped up: “You should see the dress she’s wearing. I’ve seen hooker’s looking classier – only when Don has been driving us through the downtown streets, you understand.” There was some guarded laughter at that.

“I don’t want a divorce, Chris. I know I made a serious mistake, but we love each other and we can get past this bump in the road.”

“That brings me to my second apology. Mr. Whitstable, my lawyer says I have a strong case against you for failing to enforce the morality clause in your company handbook. Can I propose a deal?”

Mr. Whirstable rather pompously replied that he could not accept that his firm would be liable, but he was willing to consider an offer. “Put all the blame on Carlisle,” Chris suggested. “Treat Anne as a naïve and innocent party to the affair.” There was a pause for several seconds before the managing partner sighed and replied. “Without admitting liability, I am prepared to propose such a solution to the board. Mrs. Butler, you will be on paid leave until a decision has been reached.”