For love and for money

When Matt disappeared into his bedroom -- forbidding me to watch him tidy up -- I nursed a glass of merlot in his living room and thought about what he might be trying to hide. The look on his face when he returned was unmistakably that of a persecuted boyfriend. What was he doing -- hiding another girl's panties? Changing the sheets? I remembered how I felt when Matt almost found out about my secret phone number -- then found myself saying, in a dry but reassuring tone, "Housekeeping isn't supposed to be your thing, but I'm glad you have a conscience about it. Shall I pour you a glass?" He looked relieved that I was politely rooted to the couch, not snooping around his apartment.

As the wine mingled with the absurdity of our mutual evasions, I started to get teary. Matt disappeared into the bedroom and came back with a box of Puffs -- not his usual brand of tissue -- then sat gently holding my hand while I blew my nose into what had to be another woman's post-coital tissue supply. I didn't have the heart to point it out. If he has been involved with another girl, my affair with Randy should make us even -- but when do we ever really feel even about these things?

"I know I've been traveling a lot -- and I don't always have enough time for us, but I love you," Matt said, touching my face with his fingertips. "You have to know that," he added.

"Why now?" I asked, grabbing another tissue. "Why are you saying that now?"

"I don't know why I say things when I say them -- I'm a guy!" The dorkiness of this response cheered me up a little. The banality of cheating! Here we are in this ridiculously common predicament together. Neither of us wants an inquisition because we don't want to stop seeing each other. Without wanting to say it, we find each other alluring because we aren't sure what the other is doing at all times ... The other day, I felt transported -- possessed -- by Randy's desire, but last night Randy became sort of alien. I felt bound to Matt by our strange code of silence -- we had both decided to be adults, not to talk about something, to preserve what we have.

Randy's got a protective streak, but I could never tell him about an envelope from the Treasury Department -- he's a kid. Matt understands official channels, interest rates -- the serious business of living. I'm afraid to tell him about my knowledge of the unofficial channels, all the men I've been with, but I keep returning to that feeling: This is real, in all its dishonesty, and maybe even because of it. We both feel invested. What I have with Randy is a spending spree, not an investment. Randy's not investing -- he just hit the jackpot. But Matt's flawed, tender gaze was the look of a guy who's invested in me -- or maybe an illusion of me. For one crazy moment, just before I kissed him, I looked into his eyes and wondered: Could I give it all up for you? Not just the flings -- like Randy -- but my clients as well? My freedom?

Friday, later

My afternoon session with Milt brought me back to my senses -- and tested my patience. When he finally came -- in a condom, with the help of my mouth and my right hand -- he admitted that this was not his first orgasm of the day. As if I couldn't tell! "I tried not to have sex this morning -- but what can I tell you? Marriage is tough. I couldn't exactly tell my wife I was saving it for our appointment!"

When I told Milt about the envelope -- and Matt's desire to help me -- he sighed. "Show it to a lawyer -- and let your boyfriend concentrate on wining and dining you."

"A lawyer?" I said, startled. "Why?"

"My guess is, if you're afraid to open it, you may need a lawyer," he said. "This is a steady boyfriend, right? The guy you go to the Hamptons with -- the guy you sneak around on. He's got a good job and you could have a future with him. Don't screw it up, Suzy. Be careful about what you tell him."

I was about to show him the envelope. Then, I realized that it was addressed to "Nancy Chan" -- after seeing Milt steadily for five years, it would be awkward to suddenly reveal my real name, to acknowledge that all this familiarity was built on regular visits to a girl whose name he didn't know. I'm a little embarrassed about hiding my name -- after all, I know his. Funny, but he's the only client who makes me feel that way.

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