Heart's Lust

something, so here goes: During an argument early this morning, Henry admitted he hired me because he was crazy about me and wants to be with me all the time."

  "That two-timer," I fumed, playing along, because everyone in the frigging company knew he hired Heather to bang her. "So, he wants to have an affair with you. But in doing so, he'd be cheating on his wife."

  "Yeah, so … ?"

  "Um nothing. Please do continue if you must." If committing adultery wasn't bothering her, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear anything else she had to say. Depraved and illegal goings-on in the company were none of my business. That's what the HR director told me anyway.

  "My husband, it's about my husband, Adolf. He's always up to no good, and I don't want him finding out about Henry."

  "Oh, come on," I thought. "Is this for real? Am I on some hidden-camera show? I lifted the pillow next to me, searching for a microphone and the room for a camera. No one in the world falls into such a stupidly obvious trap. Did she want me to rat on her husband. With a name like Adolf, I had no problem imagining the guy was a mobster or drug dealer. Exasperated, yet still horny, my heads battled for control of the conversation. "What, exactly, do you want from me, Heather?"

  "A friend, Michael Gabriel," she sighed. "I need a close, supportive friend who won't judge me – someone who will listen and give me helpful feedback. I had hoped you weren't like all the others … but maybe I was wrong." She set her purse in her lap and dug out her lipstick and mirror. Ignoring the desperate look on my face, she deftly applied lipstick to the supple lips I had kissed only minutes before. She coyly glanced at me and then back into her compact's mirror. "Can't walk around the building with smeared lipstick. Kind of obvious what people would think, you know?"

  My crotch could only get my mouth to grunt in agreement; my brain had checked out, having left for a quick race around Fantasyland. Finally realizing Heather was yearning for a confidant and companion, I blurted out, "You can count on me, Heather. I'll be there for you."

  "Good!" She reached over and patted my inner thigh to reinforce her pleasure with my decision.

  Once again, I had to reel my childish brain in, and with the iron will of an archangel, ignored what everyone in the world knew was a tease. Was she testing my resolve? I chose to assume she was, so I lightly patted her hand in response, suppressing the urge to shove it against my aching member. I was so confused, so conflicted.

  Relieved, though not happy, I watched as Heather lightly let her hand drop to the sofa cushion. She let out a frustrated breath, as if disappointed that she didn't get me to react. Then, just when I believed my dignity was rebounding, Heather said something that haunts me to this day.

  "Before we part, there is something I must tell you …"

  "Oh, come on – enough of this rollercoaster ride already," I thought, and then my brain shut down for good.

  "It's embarrassing to say this. I mean, I'm usually not so forward and blunt …"

  "Uh huh," I grunted as the little head checked in.

  "but, I kind of like you." She paused, scanned the room, and then added, "I think you're cute." With that, she shot up and off the sofa and rushed out of the conference room like a blushing teenager.

  I couldn't absorb all that had happened. I remained sitting on the sofa for at least another fifteen minutes, wrestling with thoughts that she was setting me up versus the possibility she genuinely liked me. Finally, I sloughed off the sofa and trudged back to my hovel. Thankfully, everyone had gone home already, so I didn't have to explain the wet spot on my pants.

  I drove home as I always did on Friday nights, stopping to pick up a sub and a movie. This weekend felt differently, however, as if the planets had aligned so that Heather and I could be together. Thus began weeks of flirting and passionate secretive meetings. Always a gentleman, I never bragged or shared with others. Well, after a co-worker discovered lipstick on my collar, I absentmindedly admitted it was Heather's. I guess I wasn't surprised by my associate's reaction: she laughed hysterically, much to my relief.

  Looking back, I admit I was obsessed with Heather. Her body was magnificent; her touch, soft and caring, kept me wound up and longing for more; and she always greeted me with a warm hug and an earnest smile. Oh, how I yearned for her. I had fallen head over heels, yet I was sworn to secrecy. Our indiscretions weren't newsworthy as they never evolved above a flirtatious crush. I longed to be with her every minute of the day. I lived and breathed for Heather, and although I wanted much more, Heather seemed satisfied with our current arrangement.

  Oddly, I also found myself daydreaming about what it must be like to be Adolf, Heather's husband. I couldn't remember the number of times I had prayed to be him. He was probably suave, debonair, great looking, athletic, and loaded with money. I was certain he had the playboy lifestyle since he had such a terrific wife.

  It was mid-October when I screwed up my courage to tell Heather exactly how I felt about her and about our relationship.

  "Relationship? What relationship?" she angrily muttered from across the conference-room's table. "An arrangement is what I agreed to, Michael Gabriel. I'm a married woman …"

  "… who's having an affair with our company's president. Oh, don't look so shocked, Heather. Everyone, even the window-washing crew, know. Who do you think saw you two doing it in his office? That's right … the window washers."

  "Remind me to have them fired," she angrily shot back. "Hey, my relationship with my boss is none of your business!"

  "Oh, so you have a relationship with your boss, but with me, it's merely a civil agreement, an arrangement, you called it."

  "Before today, I didn't hear you complaining."

  "Starving dogs don't complain when tossed the occasional bone."

  "I suggest you change your attitude and tone before you get yourself fired, Michael Gabriel. Good God, I thought you were different – someone I could trust and hang out with. Yet, you sit here and judge me, pleading for more of me. Well, I'm not interested in being your friend any longer," and with that, she shoved the chair backward and braced to stand.

  I scrambled to throw together an apology. Indeed, her friendship was very, very important to me, I reassured her, and I promised to not let her down again.

  Seeming appeased, Heather smoothed out her skirt and settled into the chair. She shook her head sadly, though, and then said, "I'm not so sure I can trust you any longer."

  "You can! I will prove it to you – you'll see."

  "No, you really screwed up this time by pushing too hard, Michael Gabriel. It's going to take something astounding to convince me we're still friends."

  "Name it," I confidently said. "I'd do anything for you, Heather."

  "Hmmm, now that you mention it, there is something you can do to redeem yourself." She paused and tapped her luscious lips with a fingertip, as if deep in thought. "Here's the situation: I have reason to believe my husband is cheating on me …"

  "Adolf? He's got it made. Why would he cheat on you? You're perfect – you're gorgeous," I loudly sighed, which resulted in an awkward silence. This is when I noticed the bruise. "My God, what happened to you, Heather?"

  She didn't try to hide it with her hands. Instead, she dropped her head in shame. "Adolf found out about my relationship with Henry …"

  "So, Adolf slugged you?" I felt my ire bubbling. Nothing made me more furious than seeing a sweet woman broken by an out-of-control man.

  "Worse … the cheek is all that's visible. You should see the rest of me," she softly sobbed.

  Oh, how I wanted to, but not under these conditions. "If only I were your husband, Heather, I'd …"

  "Please stop there, Michael Gabriel. You're a nice guy, but you don't deserve a wreck like me," she sniffled while watching me out of the corner of her eye. "Adolf was right, it's all my fault. If I hadn't cheated on him, he wouldn't have roughed me up."

  "No one deserves to be beaten up," I spat, unable to believe I was defending her adulterous affair with our sleezeball boss. I trie
d again: "You know, if I were your husband, I'd treat you like the queen you are."

  Heather grimaced, and then forced a smile. "I don't deserve a friend like you. See? Even when I confessed my affair to you, you didn't judge me."

  Actually, I did, but I was so damned in love that I easily dismissed her betrayal. My heart ached, hoping and praying for the day when she'd fall in love with me and forget all about Adolf and Henry. Then, she said the words that I was longing to hear. Well, they weren't the words, but they were a close second.

  "I need you," Heather sighed.

  I perked up, straining forward to hear more, but then wished I hadn't.

  "I need you to come to my house and spy on Adolf. I want to know who he's seeing. Take photos, watch him like a hawk. He's not the only one who's going to have ammunition if our marriage ends up in divorce court."

  "Um, I'm not very comfortable with breaking into your house or watching him from the road. What if he sees me? He's a monster, right? He'll kill me."

  Heather grinned as if she'd developed the perfect plan. "I have an idea. Friday, a painting crew is supposed to be at our house to repaint the rooms on the second floor. You can pretend to be one of the painters. Our master bedroom and office are on that floor, too, so you can pretty much watch Adolf all day long since he works from home."

  "Then, what will you do with the information I hand over to you? Nail Adolf to the cross?"

  "I suppose I'll give it to