Fiction: Rendezvous with Fantasy
Rachel Evans, fingers anxiously intertwined, sat on the edge of an old captain’s chair and rather dispiritedly looked over the contents of a room that simply did not stimulate the emotion she believed she should be feeling.
At length she decided it could not be put otherwise — this room was painfully ordinary. Worse yet, it was worn and tired, filled to overflowing with tawdry secrets long forgotten. This was such an unwelcome surprise; and it was the surprise that was most upsetting.
Rachel had expected so much more. She had envisioned her nervousness evaporating once the door was opened and her eyes beheld the place where her love for Jonathan would be consummated. The two of them had spoken of it so often and planned it so carefully to make sure such an important event turned out perfectly.
This old hotel was selected because they both had long admired its architecture. And neither of them had previously slept here. That was important.
Rachel, they had planned, would leave work first. They both worked in the controllers department of a large corporation and lunching together would not have attracted attention; but today they decided to take no chances. So Rachel would come to the Raphael Hotel and reserve a room. Jonathan would follow about 15 minutes later.
They had devised the schedules that would be reported to anyone who asked for their day’s events. And Rachel knew the question would be asked; if not by Jonathan’s wife Elaine, then certainly by her Dave.
Dave always asked that question during dinner. “How did your day go today, Honey? What’d ya do?” And then Dave would take a bite of whatever was on his plate. While he chewed that mouthful, he would turn to Rachel and wait for a response. It was routine, true, but he really did want to know. He cared.
Dave didn’t mind routines, but he wouldn’t develop one unless it meant something to him. The routine had to serve some larger purpose that he perceived would make him stronger or better or something. All this was an outgrowth of his many years of playing football. The routines. The repetition. The goals.
Odd, thought Rachel, that as she teetered on the edge of adultery, she was thinking, rather fondly, of Dave.
Why not Jonathan? What time was it? Rachel glanced at her watch, rose from her chair and crossed to the balcony window across from her. He would arrive soon. That thought unsettled her further. But she did want that. Didn’t she?
Rachel had wanted Jonathan yesterday, after lunch, when they stopped at the park on their way back to the office complex. They embraced hotly, awkwardly, in the front seat of his Mazda. His hand had palmed circles against her breast before moving to her legs, between her legs. And after making a conscious decision to do so, she allowed her hand to touch him there, too.
The moment ended quickly. The chance of being seen was too great and though they were in love, neither was reckless. But they were in love.
They lived for the moments they shared. Even though it was a shame they had to sneak around. That was the hardest part for Rachel; being secretive ran squarely against her nature. And that’s the part Dave would hate most, too. The dishonesty. He would accept the romance.
Dave understood romance, though it seemed forever since he had displayed any. But before they were married — even for the first couple of years afterwards — Dave was always bringing her flowers or thoughtful, little gifts of some sort; and they made love so often. Now if they made love once a month, it was a good month.
Rachel glanced at her watch again. Jonathan really should have arrived by now.
She labored to pull her gaze from the window and back to the room that she had been wanting to see for several years… since that time Dave and she had picnicked in the park across the street. They had agreed on the Raphael as a weekend get-away site as soon as work settled down and they got some extra money. It would have been fun if it had ever come about.
Was it some sort of revenge that had moved her to suggest this hotel to Jonathan? Probably so, Rachel thought. She wished she had not done so. But it was a little late for that now. And speaking of late, where was Jonathan? Something must have happened. Maybe he had an accident.
Rachel realized that she must have been extremely nervous when she first got here, because her initial reaction to the room now seemed entirely off the mark. The royal blue and burgundy color scheme went quite well with the traditional furniture. The art was tasteful and understated. The place was somewhat worn, but it was an old hotel and a certain amount of wear and tear seemed not at all unreasonable. Dave would like this room.
Where was Jonathan? Rachel decided she would give him five more minutes and then go down and check herself out.
The knock at the door brought her heart into her throat. The sight that greeted her when she opened the door made the pounding stop completely. It was Dave.
“Hi,” said Dave, obviously nervous. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come in and talk to you. It seems like we must have some pretty serious problems, and I’d like to try to talk them out if you would.”
Dave stepped into the room, brushing Rachel’s arm, as she barely gave him room to get in. Rachel had been caught, and she was furious with guilt. Her first instinct was to fight, try to gain an upper hand so she could protect herself.
“I know you weren’t expecting me,” Dave went on. “I hope you’re not mad that I came.”
“What are you doing here?” Rachel demanded.
“Hey, Rachel, I think I’m the one who should be angry. And believe me, I was when I found out about this. Mad as hell. I was mad when I started driving over here. But on the way over, I decided I must have had something to do with this. I decided that I do love you, and I don’t want to lose you. If you think we can work things out, then I want to. But I’m not about to take any crap off you.”
“How did you find out?” Rachel was softening, still guilty but beginning to feel safer.
“Elaine Wyatt called me. Apparently that guy Wyatt that you work with confessed everything to her. She called me and told me where you were. Why did you do it, Rach?”
Rachel looked at the floor, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I don’t know, Dave. It just got started — I don’t know how it got started — and then it just happened.” Her hands went to her face to hide her now streaming tears. “I am really sorry. I really am sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Dave stood a moment and watched Rachel cry. Then he walked to her and cradled her in his arms.
“If I wouldn’t have found out, would you have gone through with this today?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
“I’m going to think that you wouldn’t have.”