The Ex-Lovers Ch. 05

Comments are welcome. All characters are fictional and cannot help themselves from being what they are. This chapter is heavier on exposition and not as explicit. Along with the previous chapter, all the dominoes are finally in line. The next installment begins knocking them down.

*****

Hannah's secret did not stay quiet. One of her more conservative friends, a brunette named Rebecca, cornered Ben with what had happened at the party. Apparently, she had no hesitation to pass judgment on Hannah to his face. Ben made it clear he already knew, hoping Rebecca would catch the hint that it wasn't her business. She didn't.

"Ben," Rebecca said earnestly, "you can't let her do this to you. Hannah told you whatever she needed to feel better about herself, but just admitting something doesn't excuse it. It isn't even an apology."

"She apologized."

"So?" Rebecca snapped, with a bit of an edge in her voice. She gave an exasperated sigh, seeming to realize she was being pretty hard on the man she was ostensibly trying to help. Tucking a long brunette strand behind her ear, she looked around to see if her voice had carried.

Ben had been watching the other customers ever since Rebecca ambushed him with "something important" right there in the coffee shop. The ambient noise didn't quite cover her voice, particularly two tables away where his friend Esha sat, locked into her work and feigning total concentration.

Esha really couldn't help overhearing. But when it got awkward—when Rebecca started spilling details about Hannah coming out of a man's room at the party, Esha considerately put on headphones and focused on her laptop.

For a moment, Ben imagined Rebecca dressed up like a severe puritan, with a long black dress with a high waist, a white cap and a long white apron, and just a hint of a vindictive smirk hidden behind a flinty scowl of moral judgment. A puritan with a pretty healthy bust, actually.

"Look, Rebecca," Ben said, leaning forward and keeping his voice down. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me. This is a really tough situation Hannah's in, but it's something we want to put behind us."

"She should have thought about that before."

"Maybe. Anyway I'm—" Words weren't coming. He said the first diplomatic thing he could think of. "I'm glad you were honest with me. It's good to know you have my back."

"Any time, Ben. You're a good guy," said Rebecca. She glanced at her phone. "Shit—I've got to go. Seriously, if you want to talk—"

"Thanks," Ben said. "I might take you up on that."

Rebecca smiled. "Message me." She took her empty mug and headed out.

When the coast was clear, Esha took off the earbuds, ran a hand through her long black hair and looked over at Ben with a sad, sympathetic smile. She kept quiet, politely. Ben shrugged, gathered his now-cold coffee and took the last couple of steps over to Esha's table.

"Drama," he said.

"Need to talk about it?"

Ben cocked his head toward where Rebecca had gone away. "No, it was just...one of Hannah's friends."

"Hmm. Your girlfriend's friend...where have I heard that before?"

"It's not like that. Rebecca's very...I don't know, straight laced. Good girl from a strict family."

Esha raised an eyebrow, reminding Ben of who he was talking to.

"Chalo," she said in Hindi, then repeated in English, "Let's go where we can talk."

* * *

Ben slipped off his shoes and put them next to Esha's on the rack beside the door.

Esha had a studio apartment unlike any other Ben had seen, brimming with bright colors. Living alone had so brought out the desi girl's vibrant personality that Ben could have picked her apartment from a photo lineup. Any part of the wall not hidden by bookshelves were covered in prints: Erotic temple art, yakshinis, gopis dancing with Krishna. In front of one window stood a desk cluttered with notebooks, painted ceramic figurines of dancing elephants and half a dozen pairs of silver hoop earrings. All the shelf space was so full with novels, non-fiction and textbooks that the books sat two rows deep, and stacked horizontally on top of each other.

The corner kitchenette was crammed full of cooking implements, fresh produce in hanging baskets and dishes on display in glass-door cabinets. An electric kettle sat to one side of the sink, and a steel karahi rested on the stove top.

There was no couch. Instead, her bed (covered with an embroidered teal duvet) rested on the floor with a long body pillow resting up against the wall. Between the bed and the flat-screen tv on the wall, the wood floor was covered in thick carpets, a few cushions and several cylindrical decorative pillows.

A nightstand beside the bed was covered in yet more books, candleholders and an incense burner—the source of the luxurious perfumed scent in the air. A full-length mirror across from one of the window reflected more light into the room, even though the window itself was draped with a translucent yellow and orange tapestry.

When the kettle began to boil, Esha filled two small tea cups and offered one to Ben with some imported biscuits. "So, I don't want to pry, but are you and Hannah alright? It sounded like..."

"Yeah," said Ben. "It's been tough."

"So, Hannah came out of this chap's room at a party. Nothing serious went on?"

"Yes—yes and no. I mean, yeah, it was a bad time to get caught, but she literally got caught walking away from the situation, and she was honest about it."

"Do you think it was okay for her to go into his room in the first place?"

"Yeah, I mean...it wasn't like I was there to stop her. It was just a party. People were hanging out in the bathroom and all over the place."

"Be honest, Ben. Tell me what's bothering you."

Ben sighed. "Okay. No, I don't think it was okay for her to go to his room. I think she should have known what was on this guy's mind."

"Go on."

"I don't know. I feel conflicted. In the back of my mind I wonder if she did know, and just went along with it to get back at me for ditching her. Maybe she wanted to cheat on me to begin with. Maybe she just got enough of a thrill after she teased this guy, and it made her feel better."

"You wonder if you can trust her."

"Sure. I mean, what if Hannah hadn't gotten caught? Would she have told me at all?"

"What do you think?"

"I wish she'd never gone to that fucking room."

"But do you think you can trust her?"

"I...I don't know. She made the right choice—she walked away. But how does that balance with letting him kiss her to begin with? You know, she even says he felt her up. I mean, I feel like she'll never do it again, not as long as she's with me, but...I mean, what if she wants to, but she's afraid to say anything? What if she decides she has to choose between me and, y'know, some other guy, and the first I find out about it is when she dumps me? I can't live like that."

"She trusts you, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you told her you were going out to lunch with me, and now you're here. We're alone in my room. She knows about me."

"Well...she knows part of it."

"She knows you cheated on Jane with me, though?"

Ben sat quietly, looking into his empty tea cup.

"Fucking hell, Ben."

"She knows about the time after Jane dumped me. She doesn't know about the first time. Anyway, it's different between you and me now. You have a boyfriend."

Esha scoffed. "You know Taylor and I aren't exclusive."

"Maybe so, but I'm not going to do anything."

"What, and Taylor is?"

"No! I meant—ugh. I meant you and I are friends and I need someone to talk to. I'm not here to hook up or anything. Obviously I can't talk to Taylor. No way. Taylor's the last guy Hannah was with before she got serious with me, and that was after our first date."

"I don't know, Ben. How does Hannah know you're just here to talk? An upset boyfriend, going alone to the apartment of a woman he has a history with, to 'talk' about his love problems. Sounds like you need her trust as much as she needs yours. Anyway, why can't you talk to Taylor? He knows I've slept with someone else while he and I were dating."

"Seriously?"

"Just once. And I'd do it again."

"Has he?"

Esha smiled and shook her head. "He doesn't get very far. I mean, we work all the time anyway, so he doesn't get much of a chance. But the big problem is our number one rule. Rule number one is that we always have to be honest and up front about being in a relationship. That's the problem. Girls tend to assume Taylor's lying about having an open relationship. When it comes to me, guys don't give a shit. I actually feel kind of bad for him; the non-exclusive thing was his idea."

Esha paused for a moment, taking in Ben's face, so handsome despite the pained look in his eyes. He was so casual about things, such a gentleman and so bright. He obviously loved Hannah, but he just wasn't a jealous person. The conflict he felt wasn't whether Hannah had betrayed him, but whether Hannah would dump him for someone else.

Ben was a strong-willed fellow. What he needed, thought Esha, was a little push.

"Honestly, Ben," she said, "drama like this is exactly why I've never had a steady boyfriend."

Ben laughed.

"I'm serious. I like Hannah a lot. I don't know her all that well, but she seems perfect for you. She dotes on you. You two are wonderful together. So...is it okay if I say something impulsive?"

"Said no impulsive person ever."

"Hannah's good looking. She is literally a model in my boyfriend's portfolio. After this, you either have to let her go, or trust her with other men."

"What do you mean, 'trust her with other men'?"

"Well," smiled Esha, "let's find out."

Esha set her tea down gently on a nearby coaster and looked Ben in the eyes. "Here goes," she said.

With only a slight hesitation, she put her fingers to the collar of her teal kurti and began to unbutton the top few buttons. As she worked toward the bottom, the material parted at the neck and revealed her fair brown skin below. She sat up on her knees. Once the buttons were undone, she pulled the whole garment off over her head.

Ben broke out of his silence. "Esha, what are you—?"

Esha folded the blouse lightly and laid it neatly beside her. "Levelling the waters. Trust me, Ben." Esha's full breasts rose and fell with her quickened breath, and her heart was pounding in her chest. Ben's eyes went wide as he saw her nipples through the sheer material of her black lace demi-cup, and he quickly averted his gaze. Esha liked to think of herself as sex-positive, but being this forward was unfamiliar territory.

"Men aren't going to stop hitting on Hannah, but you want to draw the line somewhere. You could draw it at look but don't touch, but she crossed that line. So you either don't trust her, and dump her, or you trust her. If you do, then now the rules have to change. Where you draw the line is up to you."

Esha continued: "You can decide you're going to break up with Hannah. In that case, I think you'd better call that girl Rebecca, because I happen to think Hannah's wonderful."

Ben's face had gone beet red, and his eyes were locked on the far wall. "Esha, please..." he said, but his voice trailed off.

"Or..." said Esha, her voice trembling just a little.

"Or?"

"Or...now, you have to promise me that you'll stop blaming her and give her another chance. A real chance."

"And then?"

"Promise me."

He licked his lips. "I promise. I'll forgive her."

"No," said Esha. "You don't blame her. In other words...you would have done the same thing."

"Yeah."

Esha smiled, and crossed over to Ben on her hands and knees. Her breasts hung restrained in the demi cup bra, a little black bow tucked at the center. Her back arched as she approached him, with her strait black hair splaying over her neck and around her ears. Esha stopped a centimeter from his lips, and asked, "Promise?"

Ben whispered, "Promise." Then he pushed himself forward, kissing her, tasting her lips and instantly cupping her breasts in his hand.

After a long, slow kiss, Esha pulled back from him and opened her deep black eyes. She smiled lazily and licked her lips. "There...not so bad, was it?"

Ben shuddered a sigh. "Yeah. I mean..." A stupid grin broke out on his face.

Esha smiled. "And do you still love Hannah?"

Ben's mood sobered quickly, and he said, "I should—go."

Esha stroked along the front of Ben's khakis. The outline of his erection was unmistakable. "Not so fast! I don't take my shirt off for just anybody. Answer honestly: do you feel like you can go this far with me and still be in love with Hannah?"

Ben was quiet. Esha pushed a bit forward, feeling Ben's cock in his trousers getting harder. She kissed him again, and with no hesitation he returned the kiss with warmth. "Yeah," he said. "I love her."

"I thought you might say that."

Esha stood up, reminding Ben how short she was.

"So...in return, you can be comfortable going this far with another man?"

"Well..."

Esha unbuckled her belt and unzipped her pants. She was wearing simple gray and blue cotton underwear. She began to slide the jeans over her hips, saying, "Fair's fair, Ben. You should be comfortable with her going as far as you do with me."

"Yeah, I am, but—"

Esha paused, her jeans down to her delicious thighs. Ben couldn't help but stare at the gap between her legs, below the delta of her pubis. He ached to see more, but a lump was forming in his throat imagining Hannah with some faceless stranger.

He grimaced. "Esha, I shouldn't be doing this. I'm okay with you—somehow, I'm comfortable. We know each other. You're special to me; what we had between us is special to me. But if Hannah was here, she'd fucking kill me. I love her and I don't want to do anything to hurt her."

Esha kissed him again. On the cheek this time; it was a gentle kiss of appreciation. "So now you know," she said. "You're going to stay with her."

Ben nodded, and kissed Esha on the lips. She patted his cheek.

"What are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know. Right now, nothing. But tomorrow—soon—I'll tell her, you know, I don't blame her. Maybe—"

"Yeah?"

Ben found himself holding Esha's hand. "I don't want things to change between us. Any of us."

"Well," said Esha, sitting back on her calves, her bare arms at her sides. "It doesn't have to change anything, between any of us. It doesn't have to."

"All I want," she continued, "is that you and Hannah can be all right. And you can. You're both desirable people and you love each other. And now, you're even, if you want to look at it that way."

"It's not about revenge," Ben insisted.

"Trust me," said Esha, "I know." She kissed him again, and Ben reciprocated. "Look, you and I are good friends. We've been through a lot. I want us to be in each other's lives again, whether it involves sex or not."

"You say that like we have a choice!"

"We do. We all do. But you're right. You have to talk to Hannah first."

* * *

The costume Hannah had worked so hard on hung unhappily in her closet for a few weeks: pleated skirt, bandeau, vest and knee boots, blue wig and a dozen accessories for her favorite Journey of the Everlore character. Hannah had been meticulous about putting it together, eager to have it ready for the midnight premier of the new Everlore film. Wearing it to the costume party on the last night of October was supposed to be a test drive, but the argument, Ben storming off, and Hannah going up to the stranger's room had given it a sad second meaning.

By the end of November, Ben and Hannah's sex life had still not returned to normal—even their version of normal—and as Journey of the Everlore's opening night approached, Ben realized that the movie would be a defining moment. If Hannah couldn't take pride in wearing the costume she'd worked so hard on, she would get over it—but Ben would be on his way out of her life.

But it wasn't the costume that mattered, or the pass, or the fact that she'd been tempted. He wanted to have sex with new people every day; why should she be different? But he hadn't been forced to look her in the eye and admit it, and she had.

Now, the ice had to break. Esha was right: the lines had to be redrawn.

* * *

"It's just a fantasy," said Ben. "Role play."

"It's stupid," said Hannah. "I don't understand why you want to think about it."

"We already think about it, both of us. So let's think about it together. Let's do something. Trust me."

"Do you trust me?"

"If I didn't, I'd never be able to do this."