Reconciliation

The stunning blonde entered the hotel lounge in the late afternoon each day. Often, she wore a fashionable business suit, the implication being that she was returning from a corporate firm. The woman with the alabaster skin tones and pug nose sported a cropped pixie hairdo that complemented her economical features, as she sat at the far end of the mahogany bar, ordered a single glass of wine, usually a white Chablis. An hour or so later or when the glass was empty, she wandered off.

Men approached but in every instance she politely turned them away. Dennis, who sat at the opposite end of the bar, watched as a balding businessman with a pear-shaped torso tried his luck but to no avail. How old was she - mid-twenties, early thirties? Dennis’ daughter, Jennifer, was that same age.

“Rum and coke?” Ten minutes later he looked up to see the blonde standing beside him at the bar with her wine glass resting on the counter.

Dennis raised his own glass. “Just Coke, no rum.”

“Mind if I join you?” She slid into the seat next to him without waiting for an invitation. “You’re the only customer who hasn’t hit on me this week.”

Dennis pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of his nose and raised his left hand displaying a gold wedding band. The woman chuckled mirthlessly. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to make much difference with the horny bastard staying here.” She lifted the thin stemware, swirling the clear liquor in a clockwise manner before sipping. “Tell me something,” her tone held a somber edge. “Every night I see you here alone. If you’re married, why aren’t you home with your wife?”

“The answer’s rather complicated,” Dennis parried the question then surveyed the room. Nobody else was there. “I was just going for dinner. Join me and I’ll explain my dilemma.”

* * * * *


In the hotel dining room Dennis ordered beef stew, while the blonde chose a Caesare salad layered with broiled chicken. “I’m Dennis.”

“Sylvia,” she replied, running the tines of her fork through the crisp romaine lettuce, croutons and anchovies slathered in a creamy white sauce. “It’s so much nicer not eating alone.”

“But you’re also married,” he returned, gesturing at the diamond ring perched on her ring finger.

“Yes, that’s true enough,” she said with a clipped sarcasm that discouraged any further discussion. They ate in silence and when the meal was finished Dennis asked if she would like dessert. “Just coffee, that’s all.” When the waitress delivered the beverage, she ran a poised finger around the edge of the cup and asked. "How many years are you married?”

“Twenty-three this August.”

“Have you slept with other women?”

Dennis gawked at the pretty woman, trying to decipher her intent but the expression was inscrutable. “I’ve never been unfaithful."

“You misconstrued my words,” Sylvia shot back rather abruptly. “Did you sleep around prior to marrying?”

Dennis glanced about the room before turning his attention back to the blonde woman. “I met my future wife in my mid-twenties.” “You could count the women I slept with on the fingers of one hand with a few digits to spare.”

“And what was that like?”

“I would be less than honest if I suggested that I don’t cherish many pleasant memories, but I got all that erotic wanderlust out of my system early on.”

“Erotic wanderlust.” Sylvia’s features congealed in a withered smile. “My husband came home a week ago Tuesday and announced that a year ago he cheated on me with an office employee.”

“Okay.” Dennis was trying to collect his thoughts. “What’s their relationship now?”

“The harlot’s long since left the office… was transferred to a new territory somewhere out in the Midwest.” An Asian family with three young children entered the room and were seated near the fireplace. “They only slept together once, but that doesn’t lessen the hurt.”

“We were high school sweethearts,” Sylvia continued. “He’d never been with another woman. After the sordid episode, my husband was racked with guilt and self-loathing. He insisted that the short-lived affair was a mistake from the outset, something that would never happen again.”

Dennis’ lips pursed and forehead furrowed. "You would have never suspected a solitary thing, if he hadn’t confessed the crime?”

“No, of course not, but that doesn’t justify what happened.”

“Has he been a good husband?”

“In all other respects, yes.” A cell phone suddenly twittered. Sylvia retrieved the phone from her handbag and surveyed the screen before raising it to her ear. “I’m eating supper. It’s not a good time.” After a short pause she added, “perhaps later tonight. Goodbye.” Shutting the phone down, she returned it to her handbag.

“Your despondent husband?”

“Who else?” she chuckled.

“So what will you do?”

“I’ll torture him a few more days, remaining at the hotel through the end of the week then return home.”

“Now that the philandering degenerate has learned his lesson," Dennis quipped.

“Yes... let him grovel and ingratiate himself a few more days for good measure.” The waitress brought the bill, which Dennis deftly grabbed. “And what about your domestic dilemma?”

“As I mentioned earlier, it’s rather complicated.” Dennis handed a credit card to the server, who hurried off to process the payment. “A convoluted and disjointed story that I’ll share with you another day.”

* * * * *

The following afternoon Sylvia left work early. Back at the hotel she changed out of her business suit and heels to something more comfortable and hurried to the bar. She wanted to forego drinks and whisk Dennis off to the restaurant for an early supper. The previous night as they were leaving the restaurant, she grabbed him by the forearm, pulling the middle-aged man to an abrupt halt. “Don’t disappoint me!” she spoke with a brittle obstinacy.

“I don’t follow you.” Dennis returned.

“You’re separated from your wife.”

“Yes, for several weeks now.”

“Then someone’s obviously at fault… an act of moral indiscretion.”

“No, nothing of the sort.” Dennis shook his head. “If that were the case, you’d have my head on a platter alongside your husband's."

“But that makes no logical sense whatsoever!” Sylvia shot back.

“I’ll explain everything tomorrow.” He gently pulled her hand away from his sleeve and stepped away. “Goodnight, Sylvia.”

* * * * *

The bar was empty except for a handful of businessmen and a matronly brunette sitting at the bar. Sylvia thought she recognized the woman as the waitress who, working the opposite end of the spacious room the previous night, serviced the oriental family. The waitress, who had a pronounced overbite, was a chatterbox, a regular stand-up comedian. If so, then perhaps she was simply killing time until her shift began. “Mind if I join you?” Sylvia slid onto the stool next to the older woman. “There’s strength in numbers,” she added with a sly wink.

“Yes, I get your drift.” Reaching into her purse, the brunette withdrew a plastic pill container, teased several tablets onto the palm of her hand and washed them down with a sip of water. “Menopause is a bitch, but then you’re much too young to know of such abominations.”


“Not necessarily,” Sylvia replied. “My mother went through hell a few years back with night sweats, irritability, hot flashes and weight gain.” “Worse yet, every time her hormones went out of whack depression got the better of her.”

The brunette nodded then raised a small glass with a decorative umbrella. “A Shirley temple,” she explained. “It’s not good to mix pills with liquor.” “I’m Marion,” the woman said. Sylvia introduced herself and quickly scanned the room, but it was still rather early and Dennis had not arrived yet.

The older woman edged closer and lowered her voice, “Peri’s the worst… a freakin’ nightmare.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Perimenopause… the earliest signs of menopause. It hit me in my forties.” “I began treating my husband like shit even though he’d been a goddamn saint during my emotional ordeal.” Marion began to chuckle as though at some private joke. She raised the Shirley Temple and sipped tentatively. “I even accused him of infidelity, but of course it was the hormones making me crazy… delusional and paranoid.” She tapped Sylvia confidentially on the wrist. “I can see that clearly now that the brain fog cleared and I’m back to a semblance of normal.”

“So you’re doing better?”

“Yes, with the new medication things are finally falling into place.”

Sylvia considered what the woman had just told her. “Then no one’s to blame.”

“No, of course not. An unavoidable, ugliness, a marital right of passage - that’s what it was. So, I’m here to make amends and -” Marion craned her neck, lifting her rump high off the bar stool, her features flooded with a radiant smile. “Speak of the devil, here’s my husband.”