Time for another installment of 30 Days, 30 Stories. More fiction. A short story I never finished. Maybe I will now.

Day Thirteen: Unfaithful
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“Come here,” he mouthed at me, watching me over the rim of his wineglass. He smiled then glanced at the dark alcove under the stairs.

I pretended not to notice. I was talking to Gabi, whom I hadn’t seen in ages because of him. Tonight he wouldn’t distract me, I’d decided.

“What’s going on?” Gabi suddenly demanded. Though she was smiling at me, her brown eyes bore into me with precision of a drill. “Come on, out with it.”

“Nothing’s going on,” I said and turned so that I could no longer see him.

“You may as well tell me,” she continued. “I’ve seen how odd you’ve been lately.”

“Gabi, nothing’s going on. My life couldn’t be more boring.”

“Right. You never return my phone calls, you say you’re at home but you’re never there when I come by, all your excuses sound cagey. What gives?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” I smiled brightly at her. “Honestly. I’ve just been busy with the Zetterberg project. Things’ll calm down in a few weeks.”

“You told me you finished that project ages ago.”

“Steve did a rewrite of the last fifty pages of the script so I’ve been proofing them and helping him with some other things. That’s it-- I swear.”

Gabi gave up then, shrugging her slender shoulders and taking a drag from her cigarette. She smoked elegantly, like Lauren Bacall in The Big Sleep or Key Largo. She called out a “Hello darling” to someone. I didn’t need to turn to know it was him. I’d felt him approaching, felt the weight of his stare on me with each step he took. Now he was standing behind me, and the lemony scent of his aftershave filled my nostrils and made me weak. I glanced over my shoulder at him and said a quick hello. He put his hand on the small of my back and kissed my cheek, then kissed Gabi quickly on the lips and called her beautiful. Stupidly, this infuriated me though we all called her that. She was beautiful, with her sylphlike body, her avant-garde fashion sense and wild hair. Everyone loved her and she loved everyone. I couldn’t stop him from innocently flirting with her when it was what he’d always done.

“Manda’s got a secret, and she won’t share it with us,” Gabi informed him as she brushed stray crumbs from his shirtfront. “Perhaps you can wheedle it out of her.”

“There’s no secret,” I insisted. I pretended to be interested in the Indian carving hanging on the living room wall. I knew that Martin had purchased it in a marketplace in Goa. He liked to recount the story of how he found it on his last day in India, after several weeks of smoking far too much hashish and eating questionable curries. The carving was beautiful and intricate, and depicted Ganesh, the god of greed, among other things. Fitting, since now I was greedy for Andrew. I knew I shouldn’t have him and yet I craved him all the more, even if it meant resorting to subterfuge.

“Manda’s too open to have secrets,” he said, his hand stroking my back. I bit my lip. “If she says there’s no secret, then it’s probably true.”

Gabi rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “Fine, fine. I give up. Maybe she’ll tell you.” She kissed us both then strode off calling out a hello to guests who’d just arrived.

“Alone at last,” he said in my ear.

“Hardly,” I retorted and stepped away. There were too many of our friends here. Anything untoward would be questioned and gossiped about. It was too early for that.

“Sooner or later everyone’s going to find out.”

“I prefer later.”

“Come with me.”

“Not here.”

“I’ve got the key to the loft.”

“No, I can’t. Not tonight, anyway. Jens came home this afternoon.”

“When then?”

“I don’t know. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Come to my office tomorrow.”

“Maybe.”

“Just come.” Then he kissed my cheek quickly and I heard him behind me, shouting out a greeting to new arrivals.