“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. And at any rate, I’m still not sure why you call me every week asking me to get you a divorce. Stop drinking and get your shit together, Lana.”
Boy, he was lucky that he was her cousin! And good at his job. If anyone else talked to Lana like that, she would be hacking off their balls and hanging up their entrails from the flagpole in the front yard. “You’re a dick, Horace. See you at Easter.”
That was her sign off every week. And every week Horace replied, “See you at Easter.”
Lana hung up. She didn’t need his shit.
She didn’t know what she needed. She barely understood what was happening to her marriage.
***
They met twelve years ago, at a regional real estate conference. Ken was an established manager of one of the biggest real estate groups in the area, and Lana was an up and coming bigshot who had sold more properties than anyone else in the state that year. It was natural that they meet each other, introduced via a mutual acquaintance who was interested in getting a head-hunter’s fee for bringing Lana into Ken’s fold. Lana had ambition. Ken had need for a charming agent who could sell high-ticket properties. What neither of them planned on was Lana charming Ken into drinks at the bar that night.
And then her charming him into bed. Or the other way around. Lana could never remember since more than two drinks were involved that night.
Few people could say that a one-night stand turned into a business opportunity. Then a relationship. Then marriage within two years. When they announced their impending nuptials to the media, other real estate moguls quaked in their loafers. Between these two shrewd minds, it was only a matter of time before the Andrews, as they were collectively called, started beheading the competition. And then we beheaded each other in the bedroom.
The furor they whipped up in their everyday lives had a tendency to translate to their private life. Lana lived for the high she got from a big sale, and she lived for the celebration of taking Ken between her legs. Whether he climbed on top of her, she rode him, or he pulled on her from behind to impale her on his cock – who gave a shit. Their life meant taking names in public, taking each other’s bodies in private.
The kink came quickly. Ken had dabbled in the switch lifestyle, and Lana was more than curious in both calling her husband a slut and having him defile her when they were alone. Everyone in the local kink scene rolled their eyes when they patrolled the streets of their elite world, looking for new playmates and people to fuck with, mentally and physically. Lana’s thirst for exhibitionism led to them performing many times on stage. I’ve been screwed in front of a total of a thousand different people by now. She felt no shame. Usually, the thought aroused her.
So what happened? For several years, Lana lived for the thrills her husband gave her – and for the thrills they picked up from other people. They were a team. Nobody could think of Lana without thinking of Ken, and vice versa. Sure, they had independent friends and hobbies, but when it came to sex – of which there was a lot – they were a monolith.
Now Lana often stood in their mansion in the Hills, wondering what was missing.
She was a woman who was used to moving on quickly when things dried up elsewhere. She went to three different universities, all before getting her Bachelor’s. Don’t get me started on how many grad programs I went through. Before Ken, boyfriends were like tissues. Disposable. Ken was the first man to really make her feel in love and lust, let alone for so long.
So when she got the feeling she was falling out of love, her first inclination was to sever ties and go her own way. Screw Ken.
No, but…
Lana had a game she liked to play. She would wait for Ken to come home, prepared to fall out of love with him… or in love all over again. The latter happened more often than the former. The fact she even considered the former, however, made her heart drop in her stomach.
Which was funny, because she never considered herself a romantic person.
***
Ken was late that night. Dinner was at seven, as always, but at six-thirty Lana received a call saying her dear husband was trapped in a meeting and only now leaving. It took at least forty-five minutes to drive that far into the Hills, traffic and weather depending.