Only three more hours until Jack arrives, Adair mused as she sipped her morning latté and gazed out her kitchen window. I wish I were his only private client. Why can’t I be his only private client? I told him I would pay him a salary equal to what he gets from all his private-client work. I don’t want to share him. I want him all to myself.
It was Monday morning—Adair’s favorite day of the week. She’d been up for hours. She always felt restless on this day, too excited to sleep in. She wished it were ten o’clock already.
Adair heard movement on the second floor of her home. It’s Trevor heading to the bathroom, she thought.
Of her four children, all age eight and under, Trevor always woke first. She heard the bang of the toilet seat crashing against its tank. She heard a flush followed by the start of the shower. Shortly after, she heard the pitter-patter of six additional feet on their way to find her.
Adair looked at her phone again and saw it was 7:22 a.m. Their nanny, Sheila, and housekeeper, Betty, wouldn’t be there for thirty-eight more minutes. Her husband, Hugh, had been gone for over an hour. He commuted to Manhattan, leaving at six o’clock in the morning and returning after seven o’clock in the evening.
He’s always gone for this morning routine, Adair thought, sighing.
It was now 7:24 a.m. Her three youngest, Tristan, Penny, and Tatum, with their hair in tangles and rubbing their eyes, padded into the kitchen. Adair put on the best smile she could muster at 7:24 a.m. and, as she opened her arms wide to collectively hug them, asked, “What would my sweets like for breakfast this morning?”
Monday was the day that Jack spent two uninterrupted hours with Adair in the bamboo-paneled yoga studio she built on her stately Georgian Colonial house specifically for this purpose. Citing a full schedule, Jack only allotted Adair one private session per week.
It killed her. She wanted more time with him. She angled for it whenever she could. In order to see Jack more, Adair went to his yoga classes religiously. She volunteered for his charity, Auntie Arts, accepting whatever task he asked of her.
By nine o’clock on Mondays, Adair’s kids were fed, washed and dressed. Depending on their age, they would soon be in or on their way to preschool, school, or with nanny Sheila at the Stepping Stones Museum for Children. Housekeeper Betty, who also did all the grocery shopping, would be off to the Village Market, Garelick & Herbs, Pagano’s Seafood, and Trader Joe’s with an impossibly long list of groceries. The landscapers—with the exception of the foreman, Manuel, Adair always seemed to forget their names—were instructed to stay off the property until one p.m. Deliverymen were told to leave packages at the front gate.
By nine thirty on Mondays, Adair was always showered with her long blonde hair blown dry and straightened, her entire body moisturized with the cream that Jack once told her smelled “delicious,” and her face covered in a light application of makeup. She dressed for yoga in an Under Armour black sports bra, matching fitted Capris, and a loose, translucent tank top. Fuzzy UGG slippers were on her feet.
On this particular Monday, Adair went to her yoga studio after surveying her perfectly maintained thirty-eight-year-old body in her large dressing room’s three-way mirror. Once there she waited, prone with eyes closed, lying on her stomach as Jack requested. The lights were low. The iTunes playlist Jack made for her played quietly. She breathed and expelled deep, long breaths.
Knowing Jack would be with her shortly, she started to calm down. She started to feel hopeful. She felt desire. She started to get to wet.
Jack let himself in and walked through the fashionably decorated and immaculately clean and orderly home to the basement studio. He removed his shoes and lay down next to Adair on a mat.
Once he was settled, Adair heard his breathing, imagining the rise and fall of his chest. Soon their breathing synced, becoming one. Shortly after, Jack reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. Several more minutes passed, and then Jack, as he slowly stood and released their hands, moved over Adair’s body and straddled her. He placed his hands under her hip bones and then slowly moved them to her breasts, cupping them while whispering “Good morning, Adair” in her ear in a way that made her feel faint. Lingering in that position, massaging her breasts, Jack instructed her to breathe deeply.
From that point—the routine varied every week—Jack slowly moved his hands along her arms, taking her wrists and pulling her upper body toward him in a series of gentle, long stretches. Then, laying Adair flat again, he massaged her back while tenderly grinding his hips against hers. On cue, she rolled over and, with Jack at her side, her legs were moved through a sequence of slow, long stretches. They moved into a partner forward fold, their legs and arms in a V-shape with their toes and hands touching. Rhythmically, he rocked Adair back and forth. Then he knelt in front of her, moving her legs into a wide-angle posture with his hands on either side of her outstretched arms.
Minutes passed. She waited in anticipation for his next touch. Jack was teasing her. Adair’s desire built.
He slowly lowered and kissed her. His eyes were open and kind, desiring her, only her.
Jack’s hands moved under her back, and he pulled her chest toward his. The kisses and pace quickened. Instinct took over, and they fought free of their clothes. Their foreplay was done. Jack’s initial thrust momentarily stopped her breath. It always did. She had been longing for this feeling all week. She had wanted him inside her all week, because only then was there no denying the real connection between them.
Afterward, they showered in silence. Adair washed him the way she once washed her toddlers, with tender and thoughtful hands, noting the errant freckle, the patch of uneven skin. Jack’s hands were equally kind, gently and slowly running a washcloth over her body and deeply massaging her scalp. Adair enjoyed this time together, too, for she craved physical proximity, the warmth of a kindred spirit, the lack of tension in their silence.
As Jack stepped out of the shower to dress, he tenderly kissed her cheek. She’d recall the smile he left her with later that night when falling asleep next to Hugh. Hugh’s distance, first attributed to a burgeoning career and now just a painful reality, had been heartbreaking.
Why doesn’t he want me more? she often wondered. What am I lacking? He is the reason I cheat. It’s all his fault.
After Jack left, Adair remained in the shower. The housekeeper returning with the groceries at noon marked the official end of her Monday respite. She once again had to engage, remembering that she was a wife and a mother. She alone carried the responsibilities that came with those roles.
Without Jack, Adair didn’t know if she could have come back to her family. It scared her to think how lost she would be without him.