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Valerie Fowler |
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| When we first met, I dismissed him as arrogant. How dare he think I could drop everything at a moment's notice just for him? Couldn't he see I had important things going on? But he wouldn't go away. He waited-at first politely, but then the nagging began. And the lurking. Just one quick scene? One character sketch? A ten-minute free write, perhaps? The nerve of him to think he could stop by at all hours and follow me around, one heavy-breathing episode away from becoming a full-fledged stalker.
He refused to give up. He laid on the charm. He captivated, tempting me in new and exciting ways every day. Eventually I could resist no longer-my secret affair began. At first I tried only seeing him on nights my husband worked late. We would meet up after dinner and be inseparable until after midnight. Soon that wasn't enough, and I began rising before dawn for early morning trysts. We met in coffeehouses, cafes, restaurants, and bars. We traveled together and shared rendezvous' in airports, on buses, in cabs. His power was so intoxicating-I couldn't help myself. I tried desperately to keep this from my husband. I didn't want him to know how much time I spent with my new love. I became a tad obsessive-compulsive about the whole thing, trying to juggle my roles of wife, full-time employee, and mistress. There was no satisfying me. I had to be with him every day. My lover made me laugh, made me cry, made me crazy at times. The pressure to hide the affair mounted. Finally, I couldn't take the secrecy, and admitted the whole torrid thing. My husband demanded details of what we had done together. "It's just an intellectual thing," I told him. "He allowed me to sort out my feelings and to show my creative side. It's not like we have a publishing relationship, or anything. Nothing like that." "I've had my suspicions," he said. He showed me scribbled-on index cards and nervously nibbled pencils he found in the kitchen. A notebook and pen from the car. A journal and a flashlight from the nightstand. "Obviously this is no casual relationship. These are the telltale signs." He was right. I had been careless. I left evidence of my indiscretion all over the place. "No, really, dear," I pleaded, "I still love you. I swear, it was just a few queries, a contest or two, no publication. Never! I was going to end it." "Too late for that now." He handed me a letter from today's mail. My first acceptance. "You opened it?" I asked. "I had to know just how far this has gone." I instantly felt relieved. I felt free…and I loved it.
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