Chapter 2

"I really don't know what to think, Beth," Julie sighed into the phone. "He just seems to be building a wall around himself."

Julie was getting ready to leave for work. She stood in front of the mirror, holding the phone to her ear with one hand, and absent-mindedly smoothing over her dress with the other.

Mark, as usual, had long since headed out for the day. His rather unusual behavior of late had Julie a bit on edge, and she was seeking refuge by unloading on her best friend.

"Sometimes, he's his old self. But at other times ... he just acts, well you know, preoccupied. You know he's always been close to Ted. Well, when Ted was home from school over the holidays, Mark hardly appeared to notice him at times. Ted even commented on it himself. I just have a feeling that something is up."

Beth Anderson was seven years Julie's senior, and the two of them had been close for several years. Although an hour's drive separated them, Julie had become reliant on Beth's advice and input. Beth's own marriage was a long, stable one, and her soothing, been-there-done-that attitude was one that Julie found to be a great source of comfort.

Beth knew that Julie had a tendency to think too much. But she had never seen her this unsettled, and was somewhat worried. What was Mark up to? Still, Julie had mentioned no evidence other than her own intuition, and Beth didn't want to put any ideas in her mind. "Maybe it's his job," she offered, but she knew that sounded lame. "You're always telling me that he heads into work real early. He's probably just stressed out from the long hours."

"That may be true," Julie replied. "But he almost always gets home from work before I do. He used to stay late one or two days a week, and he never does that now."

"Hmm," Beth countered. "Don't let yourself over-analyze things. I'm not telling you that you shouldn't keep your eyes open, but give the man the benefit of the doubt till he gives you reason not to. You guys have been together a long, long time."

Julie, as usual, was grateful for Beth's rational input. "Maybe. But I'll bet Allan never acts like that."

"You'd be surprised. Why not just talk to Mark? See if you can get a feel for what's going on inside his head. Get him to talk about his job. Or, why not try this. Go pick up a sexy nightie from Victoria's Secret, and model it for him tonight. Then rock his world. With men, that's the great equalizer."

"You're bad, Beth," Julie said with a subdued laugh. She had no secrets with Beth; none at all. "But you know what? That part of our life has not suffered at all."

"Then what the hell are you complaining about, girl?"

"You're bad," Julie repeated, with a giggle. "Just evil." She glanced at the clock; she was running out of time. "Listen, I need to scoot. I'm gonna be late."

"Have a good day, and keep your chin up," Beth replied.

Julie put on her coat, and stepped out into the sunny, cold morning. For now at least, she felt better. She intended to follow Beth's advice. But the lingering doubts had not entirely been eliminated.

Mark sat at his desk and tried to concentrate, but it was no use. He had gotten to work a few minutes early, and had spent thirty-five minutes in the second floor conference room with Shauna. One particular sequence was still playing itself over and over in his mind. Before leaving the room, Shauna had slipped into her dress, and turned and faced away from him. Gathering up her hair between her hands, she had beckoned him to zip up the back. After doing so, he planted a soft kiss on the back of her neck. She turned, smiled, and looked deep into his eyes. "Purr," she growled, and then slinked off toward the door, cat-like. Upon exiting the room, she slipped behind the door and gazed back at Mark. She winked, and ran her tongue seductively over her upper lip, before closing the door. Mark had just stood there for several minutes, muttering to himself, "This just keeps getting better and better."

He decided to get up and stretch his legs for a minute. He had two associates who reported to him, and he went out into the lab, which adjoined Mark's office, to check on the progress of their work.

Neither of the associates was there; he figured they were probably out goofing off somewhere. Instead, he was greeted by the hulking form of Arthur "Bonz" Ogden, the building's lab supply delivery man. "Bonz" (pronounced "bones") was in the process of dropping several boxes of supplies on the floor. "Hey, guy," he bellowed in Mark's direction. "I saw that girlfriend of yours a few minutes ago. Man, she is one hot piece of ass. I wouldn't mind bonking her myself."

Bonz was aware of the situation with Shauna, although not all of the specifics; that fact worried Mark a great deal. "Crude" and "obnoxious" were two of the kinder descriptive terms Mark might have used in referring to Bonz. He was six-foot-three, large-framed, and overweight even when taking those first two factors into consideration. His thinning hair was permanently tousled, his clothes unkempt, and his mind perpetually in the gutter.

Mark had asked him one time how he got his odd nickname. "That's classified," was his response. "But I'll give you a hint. It has something to do with chicken bones."

Mark was content with that explanation; he had no desire to hear any more. In this case, ignorance was sheer bliss.

Still, Mark tried to be civil to Bonz. He had actually done Mark a big favor by acting as the middle man in retrieving the three room keys from the maintenance supervisor, which made the trysts with Shauna possible. Mark wasn't sure exactly how much Bonz knew, but nonetheless, he felt compelled to be somewhat friendly to him. He might need another favor from him someday, or even more important, his silence.

"So tell me," Bonz continued, "is she as good as she looks?" He picked a large, heavy box up from his cart, and bent over to set it down on the floor. Mark cringed as Bonz's pants, a couple of sizes too small, rode downward to expose a good two inches of butt crack.

To Mark's immense relief, the phone rang in his office. "I gotta get that. Thanks for the stuff," he said, motioning toward the boxes.

"Later, dude." Bonz called after him. "Let me know if she has a sister who's available, or even a distant female cousin."

Mark closed the door to his office. He checked the caller ID, and then picked up the phone. "Hey you," said the somewhat gravelly female voice on the other end. "Lauren," Mark said, "Listen. I'd like to get together–"

Lauren cut him off. "I'll be home at six-thirty," she said in a soft voice, which suggested that she was not alone, "after my exercise class. Or would you rather go out for dinner?"

Mark knew he didn't have time for a dinner date. "Let's meet at your place."

"Sounds good to me."

"Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"One of the bosses is within earshot," Lauren whispered. "Tonight, okay?"

"See you then."

After hanging up, Mark immediately dialed up Julie's voice mail box. Except for one open period, Julie spent the entire day teaching in the music room and couldn't be reached directly by phone. She had a beeper, but didn't like for that to be used except for emergencies.

"Hi hon," he spoke into the phone. "I'm gonna be working late tonight. Just had a whole bunch of work thrown at me. Go ahead and have dinner without me. I should be home by nine, no later than ten. Love you."

Mark looked at the clock, and took a deep breath. It was already eleven-thirty. He looked at the pile of work on his desk. I wasn't telling a complete lie, he thought.

Then a thought passed through his brain like a bolt of lightning. He softly brought his head down on the desk.

He had a lunch date in fifteen minutes that he had entirely forgotten about.

About twenty minutes later, after running a red light or two, Mark pulled into the parking lot of an upscale casual Italian restaurant, located in the heart of upper middle-class suburbia. This was Katie's favorite restaurant, and they often met there for lunch. Katie Cheung was a slender, twenty-six-year old graduate student whom Mark had known for a few years. He still vividly remembered the first time they had visited this particular eatery. Mark had naively assumed that Katie, whose parents were immigrants from mainland China, preferred Chinese cuisine. However, when he asked her where she would like to eat, her response was a quick, "Anything but Chinese." She elaborated further, explaining that when she ate out, she wanted something different than that which she had consumed for most of her life. Although he knew that the fare served in most local Chinese restaurants was heavily tailored to American tastes, it still made perfect sense to Mark.

Mark entered the restaurant. Katie was already there; not a surprise, since she was unfailingly prompt. Despite his tardiness, she greeted him with a smile, having already reserved a table. The line was short, and in no time they were being seated in a table against the back wall. A large framed picture of a Roman courtyard hung nearby. Mark liked the ambience in this place; the lighting was fairly low, as was the noise level. The perfect place to talk privately with a date.

As was often the case, they started to discuss his work. Katie's field of study was biochemistry, which gave them a lot in common. She was very interested in Mark's work, and although he couldn't divulge too much because of company confidentiality issues, nonetheless gave her a vague outline of the fruits of his labor.

It had been through work that he had first met Katie. Five years ago, as a recent college graduate, she had applied for a position with Mark's employer. Mark was on the hiring committee, and took part in the interview process. Mark had been very impressed with Katie, and had recommended that they extend her a job offer. However, Katie had already accepted an offer from a rival company.

Still, they occasionally kept in touch. A couple of years later, Katie decided to leave her job and attend graduate school full-time. She had asked Mark to write a recommendation letter to the university, and he had willingly done so.

They became good friends. Mark liked Katie's somewhat perky, direct demeanor. At first, Katie had no other friends or relatives in the area. Her family had moved several times throughout her childhood, which kept her from developing many close friendships. She was very well-traveled, having lived for a time in Hong Kong, as well as London. She had constantly been surrounded by people older than herself, and as a result, had a maturity that exceeded her twenty-six years.

While they were talking and sampling the mouth-watering breadsticks, their lunch arrived. Both had ordered shrimp scampi. "Seafood," Katie smiled. "I've got you trained well. None of that red-meat crap."

"Hey ... if I really wanted first-class seafood, I'd have taken you to that nice little Chinese place down the street."

"Not on your life," Katie replied with a smirk. That was a constant source of inside humor between them.

Mark had to eat and run due to the fact that his lunch hour had gotten off to a late start. They quickly finished their food. Mark paid the bill, and as Katie got up out of her chair, he helped her on with her coat. Katie was very affectionate; they walked out to her car hand in hand. Mark gave her a quick peck on the lips as she got in. She patted his cheek gently. "Later, loverboy," she grinned, before driving off.

It was a surprisingly mild afternoon for late January, and Mark unbuttoned his coat before getting into his own car. He felt comfortable with Katie. They were old friends. The friendship was based on intellectual similarity, but was often romantic, and occasionally sexual. He was open and honest with her about everything. Except, that is, for one point. His marital status.

The late afternoon sun was beginning to disappear behind the dwellings down the street as Mark pulled into his driveway. This was the time of day when he had the whole house to himself, and as usual, it was play time.

He descended into his basement; on went the computer. A routine that had occurred every single workday in recent memory then commenced, and before long, Mark was punching up Mandy's number on the telephone.

"Are you ready for me, big boy?" said Mandy in her high-pitched yet bawdy voice. "C'mon. Let's get naked together."

Phone in hand, Mark climbed the stairs and started to get undressed. He knew that on the other end of the line, Mandy was doing the same.

A short while later, Mark lay on the bed, his clothes still in a heap on the floor. He needed to stop and catch his breath for a moment. What a day it had been so far, and there was more to come.

Mark cleaned up the area with a handful of toilet paper and a small amount of warm water. "Can't have Julie finding unexplained cum stains on the bed," he muttered to himself. He had learned that toilet paper was more practical than a towel, and the evidence was easily flushed away into the sewer line.

He took a quick shower, wiping down the walls with paper towels. Julie was under the impression that he was still at work, and he had to remove all evidence that he had been home. He threw on some fresh clothes. Back down to the basement he went, where he unlocked the tool chest. He took a fresh trash bag, and deposited in it today's dirty clothes, and the towel he had used after his shower. He tied up the bag and dropped it into the chest; he didn't have time to do his laundry today. He had just a few more minutes; to pass the time, he looked through his stash of goodies that he needed to keep out of Julie's sight.

There were numerous pages of printed-out email from Mandy. There was a lovely hand-made card from Shauna, given to him on his previous birthday. Then came an assortment of pictures, still in their original envelopes containing the negatives. Seductive shots of the very photogenic Lauren, which he had taken in her apartment on one particularly steamy evening. Three full rolls of pictures from Boston, where Mark had attended a conference, and had taken Katie with him.

Mark locked up everything inside the chest, and went over to the computer. He cleared the cache, and deleted the history list. This was a routine he religiously performed every time he used the computer. Then he shut it down.

He picked up his cell phone, and dialed his office voice mail. No messages. Good, he thought. Don't want Julie calling me at work and not finding me there.

Satisfied that the house was exactly as it was when he arrived, he put on his coat. He had been running behind schedule all day, but he did not want to be late for Lauren.

I should make him wait, thought Lauren as she entered her apartment and locked the door behind her. Maybe jump into the shower, and still be in there when he knocks. Make him wonder a little.

Her exercise class, which for some reason had been poorly attended that day, had finished up a little early. Lauren figured that the unseasonably warm weather was the cause of the small class size. The weather was of no concern to Lauren; she believed in sticking with an exercise program, and her finely toned, shapely body was ample evidence of that.

Her just-past-the-shoulders, usually straight blonde hair was somewhat disheveled. She had showered quickly after class and dried her hair, but hadn't taken the time to brush it out. This won't do, she thought. Another shower was in order.

In the bathroom, she quickly disrobed, and glanced in the mirror. Lauren was insecure about her body, though anyone setting eyes on her would question why, even when she was fully clothed. Her figure was flawless, maintained by working out and eating right. She stood five-foot-six, with fair skin and deep, expressive turquoise eyes.