Cheating Lipstick Novel– My husband is cheating on me. There it is, an innocuous red blot beneath the V shaped edge of his collar. Red, the colour of ripe cherry, smearing into the white of his dress shirt. Obscure, really. I wouldn’t have noticed it if that button hadn’t come undone, dangling a little on a wisp of thread. She must have moaned into his throat, yanked at the button so hard as he thrusted into her, clawed at it as she came, screaming. He must have driven to see her straight from work last night. Screwed her with his shirt on, with her lipstick on. He came home at seven sharp. Which means it must have been a quick rutting. Against the wall, maybe. My husband likes that. “No time to shower. Lisa’s waiting,” I can imagine him saying apologetically, zipping up his pants.
“We’ve been invited to that dinner at the Caulfields. Can’t be late now, can I?” I remember him side-stepping me, saying, “I’ve got to shower, baby. We need to hurry. Dinner’s at eight.” And he had disappeared into the bathroom, emerging later, sogging wet briefs drapped casually over a hand. “I dropped these on the floor. They’re soaked.” With come. But I hadn’t known it then. Obviously. “Toss them into the washing machine.” I had grimaced. And he’d done that. So he’s cheating on me. The question is. With who? I need to look at his phone. Tonight. I only hope he hasn’t changed the pin. 4.00 p.m. Ryan texts, Meeting a business associate for dinner. Mr. Nakamoto. You remember him? You met him last year.
He just flew in from Osaka an hour ago. Don’t wait up. I love you. I call his office. His fifty-four-year old secretary, Martha, picks up the phone. I’m pretty sure he’s not doing her, considering she’s a mother of three strapping six-footers and a grandma of two. “Hello, Martha. This is Lisa Matthews. Is my husband in?” “Oh, hi, Mrs. Matthews. He just left ten minutes ago.” “I thought the meeting was later this evening.” “Dinner?” She sounds surprised. “What dinner would that be, if you don’t mind me asking?” “With Mr. Nakamoto?” “Mr. Nakamoto’s arriving next Tuesday, Mrs. Matthews. I think you must have the dates confused.” “I must have. Sorry. So he has nothing planned for tonight?”
“Not as far as I know” “Thank you. No need to mention that I called, it isn’t important.” “Of course, Mrs. Matthews. Have a nice day.” “Bye.” There’s only one person I can call. “Jen?” “Lisa?” “Jen,” I take a deep breath. “Ryan is cheating on me.” A long, deep silence. Then: “Oh, God, Lisa. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but —-” “You knew?” My voice cracks. “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re my sister, for crying out loud —-” “He told Charlie he’d end it.” Charlie’s my brother-in-law. My sister, Jenny and him have been married for twelve years and have two boys. “Charlie?” “Remember the guy’s night they had last Saturday? Ryan got drunk and he told Charlie that —” A pause. “That he’d been sleeping with this woman.
Charlie got so mad he threatened him, said he’d tell you. Ryan swore he’d break it off. He begged Charlie not to say anything to you — ” I breathe in. Breathe out. “Ryan lied. He’s still shagging this woman. Wait — ” My throat has gone dry. “Do you know who she is? Did Ryan say who she is?” “Susan.” No, it can’t be. No. No. No. “Susan Wells.” “Susan Wells,” I echo numbly. “Susan Wells” — I swallow — “My best friend?” And my neighbour. Two houses down. “Yes. I’m so, so sorry — ” “How long?” My hands are sweating. “Tell me how long!” I scream. “A year.” No. No. No. It’s not possible. “He said he’d been with her for a year. I’m so, so sorry, Lisa.” Chapter 3 Ryan’s in the shower. Again. Come to think of it, he’s in a hurry to get to the shower these days. He used to stop to hug me, peck me, the moment he came through the door.
The last time he did that was —- let’s see —- last Tuesday? That’s four days ago. Which means he’s been dropping in at Susan’s first the past four evenings, before he came back home to his clueless little wifey. Or, maybe, they met up somewhere. His office. Or a hotel room. Ryan’s a rich guy, money’s no problem for him. Which reminds me —- I need to check his credit card bills. And —- I need to check his phone. Now. While his in the shower, washing off her scent. It’s crazy. It’s 1.00 a.m in the morning —- yes, that’s how late he came home —- and I’m clutching his phone, staring down at it. It’s locked. I key in the pin with shaking fingers. 2292. 2 February 1992. My birthday. It unlocks, just as a text pings through. Susan. Hey, babe. You back home? You screwed me so hard I’m still sore. The bimbo. A new text pings.
Can’t wait to see you tomorrow night. I need a good workout to keep me going till next Monday. The study. 8.00 pm. Make an excuse to L. I’ll be waiting. Night. Love you. Silence from the bathroom. Ryan’s finished showering. I slide his phone back quietly on the side table. Climb back onto the bed. Turn to the side. Close my eyes. I hear the bathroom door open, the pad of his bare feet approaching the bed. The mattress dips a little as he climbs in. I feel his body warmth as he spoons me, pecking me softly, tenderly, on the side of my neck. His manhood is soft, flacid, as he pulls me against his length.
How many times did he screw her? It hasn’t seemed to stop him wanting me, though. Yesterday, he mounted me while I was asleep in bed, and woke me up with his thrusting. “Nothing like a good old morning screw to start the day,” he had grinned, flipped me over on my hands and knees, and drove into me again. And again. And then he went to work, I decided to do the laundry, and my life turned upside down. In the blink of an eye, everything has changed. Yesterday, I loved him. Today, I hate him. “I love you, Lisa,” he murmurs, stroking my cheeks softly. I keep my eyes closed. Breathe deep, evenly. I can feel the weight of his gaze. “My beautiful Lisa,” he whispers. And then, so low it comes out a sigh: “Forgive me.”