DITW 11-5: Sheer

Someone familiar handled a head of lettuce, twenty feet away, far end of the produce department. It was Hyun, by herself, no Sophie.

A strange urge to flee bothered her. Why wouldn’t she want to see Hyun? The urge to flee came clearer: the last time she’d seen Hyun was in the front hall of the apartment, after a fun night out together, dinner drinks and karaoke, then Josh coming home and presenting a pair of panties to her he shouldn’t have. That’s why. It had nothing to do with Hyun.

So she worked closer, zig-zagging through the produce aisles until she was behind her. Hyun looked adorable in cotton. Cotton sweats, white Reeboks, cotton sweater. Hair shaggy, the way Kimmy had worn it before she worked for Devlin. And before Devlin slicked it back today in a luxury suite at The Hazelton.

She whispered, “Stranger,” and Hyun flinched then turned. Her pretty face transformed from curious or alarmed to happy. Then faded to something more timid. Like Hyun remembered the odd moment between all three of them when Josh had come home that night. It had been obvious something was up. But then Hyun smiled again, happy to see her. Her eyes went from Kimmy’s, down to what Kimmy was wearing, and then she performed some small action of self-consciousness: touching her hair, slumping against the edge of the Granny Smith apple display, putting one Reebok over the other.

Though she’d only popped into the big, suburban grocery store on her way home from work to grab some special items, she wasn’t dressed like a normal shopper at the Ajax Loblaws. She attracted attention. She was out of place. Six-feet tall in Louis Vuitton heels, black suit, black shirt; maybe eight-grand worth of clothing.

Hyun’s lips wriggled, struggling with what to say, settling at last on, “You look so great.”

“I’m just coming home from work. I wanted to make Josh dumplings for dinner and I’m missing a few things.”

“Josh is back from Italy?”

They spent a few minutes catching up, and she told Hyun how she went to visit Josh in Rome for a few days when he was there, and Hyun said that was sweet, and she seemed to ease, thinking that whatever badness she’d witnessed that night Josh came home—and found them in bed together—everything was okay now. But, boy, it was not okay.

Hyun asked her, “Do you... would you want to get a coffee?”

And yes, she would. Really would. But she was pressed for time. Josh might get home before her and she had to change before then. How would she explain coming home in a different outfit, especially one like what she wore now? Well, of course she could say she went clothes shopping at lunch, but given the current state of her marriage and the suspicion of her husband, that answer would not suffice. She’d even told Josh this morning that she would be seeing him today. “I kind of have to get home. I want to make the dumplings before Josh gets back from work and I need to change before I cook. It’s already almost five...”

Hyun’s cute face showed dejection—and that wasn’t what she wanted. They’d enjoyed their night out together. She’d realized something intimate about Hyun. That Hyun harbored romantic feelings for her. And while she didn’t return the same feelings, Hyun’s attraction flattered her, and drew her closer to her former sister-in-law. She said, “What are you doing Thursday night?”

* * *

Kimmy came into the apartment moving fast, like she had to pee. Heels quick-clicking, keys tossed to the table, front door closed behind her with haste. Josh got up from the couch and went to meet her, the two of them facing each other in the front hall at the entrance to the kitchen.

But the woman in the hall wasn’t who he expected, and he recoiled like in fright. The woman was clad in black, stood taller than him, hair gleaming, lips blood red. A specter had entered his apartment. The woman from his nightmares. From his dreams, too, the perverted ones. Devlin told him this woman was his fantasy. But this was the woman who cheated on him. The one who’d shattered him.

And she recognized his reaction, a blood red smile lifting to one side. But those black eyes showed sympathy. They showed affection. She lifted a cloth shopping bag, showing it to him like he’d caught her up to something and this bag was evidence of her innocence. “Aw, you’re home already. I wanted to surprise you with homemade dumplings.”

As she sidestepped him and entered the kitchen, he followed, scratching his chest, watching her, looking at those long legs in straight leg pants, those beautiful feet in beautiful shoes. “I booked it at quarter-to,” he said, still studying her, loving what he saw but frightened of it, like the way a young child might eye a hot burner he’d singed himself on even after his mother had warned him not to touch it. “But I’m still working.” He thumbed toward the couch and coffee table where he had his laptop open, working on ideas for Italy.

Kimmy left the bag on the counter without emptying it and tried to slip out again, but he stood in the way and they did a brief awkward dance. She said, “I want to get cleaned up before I cook.”

He stated the obvious question: “What are you wearing?”

“Just a new suit,” she said, getting past him and leaving the kitchen, passing by the pass-through on the way to the bedroom. Her retreat inspired a wave of suspicion and he followed her, catching up to her in the bedroom, slipping the jacket off her shoulders.

“That’s not how you left this morning. That’s not what you were wearing. Did you go shopping?”

Her movement slowed, and he sensed something in her body language. Defeat? Like she’d been busted. She said, “No.”

The answer surprised him and he didn’t know what to say. Had difficulty now forming in his mind how she’d come to arrive home in different clothing. There was an obvious horror, one his mind had been trained to pursue. “You saw him today?”

Kimmy went into the closet and found a hanger, put the jacket on it. “I did.”

“Did you dress for him?”

“We had a meeting today with Benny Chang, this guy who moves a lot from Qingdao.”

“China.”

“China,” she acknowledged. “And I had to look the part.”

“What’s the part?”

She faced him, hands on hips, tall and lean. “I have to look dangerous, Josh. And by dangerous I mean competent.”

“You looked competent when you left.”

Kimmy untucked her shirt and unbuttoned it, then stopped. They looked at each other, saying nothing for a long time. A strong energy traveled from his wife, pushing him out of the bedroom, wanting to be alone while she disrobed. But he wanted to watch her disrobe. He said, “Where did you change?”

“Into what I’m wearing?”

His brow lowered. “Yeah. What else?”

Her hands went back to her hips. “I changed at the hotel.”

The answer rattled him. “What hotel?”

“The hotel where the meeting was.”

“They have a change room?”

“The meeting was in a suite.”

His heart sank. His shoulders slumped. “How did this work?”

Kimmy stayed silent a while, lips slimming, mouth moving around, her eyes roaming, not regarding him.

“Did it happen again?”

Now she was firm, like she was proud to say, “No. Nothing happened. I know what you’re saying, and no, nothing happened.”

“Do you have clothes you change into when you leave here? Is this what you do?” Like a bad girl leaving a good home and dressing in tramp wear when she’d arrived at school.

“No, I don’t, Josh.”

“Just today?”

Kimmy rubbed her brow, like she had heavy news. Not like she was harangued by him, but that she had difficult information for him to hear.

“Tell me,” he said, soft, but not timid. Did he even sound supportive?

Both hands on hips again, but her posture less proud, she said, “Devlin bought them for me.”

His stomach flinched even though he knew it had been coming. “He bought them for you. He made you dress up?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“And you went along with it?”

“He was right, Josh. He was right.”

Yes, sure, Devlin was right. Devlin was always right. “So you changed in the room? In the suite? You changed before this Benny Chan guy got there?”

Another long silence, Kimmy’s eyes on him, mouth shifted to one side as she chewed her cheek. “Benny Chan wasn’t there. The meeting was canceled.”

Stomach squirming, chest tight, lungs seizing, he put a hand on his chest. He’d never expected this horror to return today. Some day it would, but not today. Five minutes ago, he’d been click-clacking away on his laptop, feeling pretty good about himself. “You and Devlin were alone in the suite.”

Kimmy hesitated, hating the answer she had to give, the reluctance clear in the firmness of her mouth. “We were.”

The hesitation, the coming home with ingredients for dumplings, the rush to get home before he did. The way she stopped unbuttoning. He said, “Devlin bought you the clothes?”

“Yes,” she answered, resigned to the truth. At least he should commend her for that.

“Unbutton your shirt and open it,” he said.

Kimmy didn’t move for the longest time, but the moment grew too long and she knew he would ask again. She didn’t want him to ask again, because if he asked twice he would be angry the second time. In no hurry, she unbuttoned the shirt all the way and then opened it and let it hang. The pants were high-waisted, up past her navel. Above that she didn’t wear a bra, only a lacy under thing, like a body suit, sheer, her skin showing. His knees jellied and his mind drained of blood like someone had flushed an upstairs toilet. “Wider,” he said.

Kimmy pushed the shirt off her shoulders and let him see. Her nipples showed through the sheer fabric. This was how his bully dressed his wife. Kimmy complied. Kimmy dressed for Devlin as he asked.

He sat down on the foot of the bed and held his face in his hands.

Kimmy’s voice, just above a whisper: “It’s not what you think.”

Into his hands, he said, “Who cares what I think, Kimmy. It’s what I see that’s killing me.” He rubbed his cheeks, and kimmy didn’t defend herself nor console him. He looked up, eyes bleary, temples pounding. All was hopeless. “Take it off,” he said. “Take it all off.”

Kimmy showed submission, her face placid, serious. She unbuttoned and unzipped the pants, lifted heels and unbuckled shoes, flicked them off and returned to mortal height. She scooted the pants down her thighs and kicked her feet out of them, standing now in only some sily, sheer bodysuit. No need for a bra, her small and perfect breasts needing no support, looking good without suspension in a spandex swath. Lean, thin, supple. Gorgeous. His wife. His wife dressed by an intruder.

He said, “I want to see the back.”

Kimmy turned in place, revealing the bodysuit’s thong seat. Kimmy’s perfect firm ass cheeks bared, the sheer suit’s cutouts high, swooping above her tailbone. The sight roused him and disgusted him. His heart twisted with animal lust and rage and humiliation. It was too much for a man to take. How could she expect him to accept such indecent outrage.

“Did you show him this— this lingerie? Did he see you in it?”