A Quite Life

by 

Melissa Ann Dulay

 

The rich aroma of hot coffee wafted up from his mug as Matthew sat staring at the computer screen on his neatly arranged oak desk. It was his second cup on this early Saturday morning. The caffeine coursed through his bloodstream, arousing him from the lethargy of sleep. He read the headlines on the Yahoo news page. Not much exciting was happening in the world on this day in mid-March. He yawned and took a sip of his black coffee. The house was quiet. His wife, Alice, was still asleep; his nine-year-old daughter had spent the night at her friend’s househis and was not due home until later this afternoon. 

 

Matthew checked his email, nothing there but spam. On a whim he began to scroll through the Yahoo profiles, focusing on women between the ages of 30 and 50. He read rapidly through about 20 profiles, glanced at the photos, then stopped abruptly at the 21st one. Her name was Stephanie, she was 48, married, lived in Washington State, worked as a counselor. Nothing unusual about that. But he found he was transfixed by her photograph. She stood next to a Corinthian column, her hand resting against its smooth white surface, almost caressingly. Her dark straight hair fell to the tops of her bare shoulders. And oh what shoulders! The photographer’s lights shimmered on their curves. They looked so soft, warm and touchable. She wore a long black velvet dress with smooth simple lines, elegant actually. She was slim with slight curves where her breasts and hips touched the dress. Matthew’s gaze slid back up to her face. Her large dark eyes looked directly into the camera with just a hint of sadness. The full lips formed a slight smile. It was as if she knew a special secret that she might reveal to you if you were very fortunate. He suddenly longed to be the chosen one, to know her sad secret. He was intrigued beyond all reason, by this unknown woman who lived on the other side of the country.

 

 

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift into a daydream. Stephanie sat across from him at a candlelit table. Her face glowed warmly in the flickering light, her eyes glistened and looked deeply into his. She took a sip from her champagne glass, set it down and ran her forefinger lightly over her lower lip. Matthew reached out and took her hand, kissed the moistened fingertip and smiled into her lovely eyes. He rose to his feet and invited her to dance. Her body in the long velvet dress seemed to melt into his as they swayed to the music. He held her close and felt her warm breath on his neck, her fingers in his hair. 

 

“Meow!” His fantasy ended abruptly when Georgia, the family cat, jumped onto the desk and attempted to walk across the computer keyboard. He lifted the cat and lowered her gently to the floor. She meowed again, pleading for attention, but he ignored her and focused on the computer screen. 

 

On impulse, he typed in Stephanie’s email address and began to compose a note to her. He doubted she would answer. Why should she, a lovely woman with a husband and a career, respond to an email from a lonely, middle-aged, computer geek on the opposite coast? Still, he reasoned, it was worth a try. What harm could result? At worst, she would ignore him or tell him to buzz off. That’s what had happened the few times before when he had emailed women who were strangers to him. He was used to rejection, got plenty of practice with his wife. So, why not? After several rough drafts and revisions he finally was satisfied. 

 

Hi Stephanie, 

 

What a lovely picture on your Yahoo profile. I found myself intrigued by the expression on your face and wanting to know more about you. 

 

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Matthew, and I am a 43-year-old computer scientist working as a researcher and professor at a university in New York State. I am married but find myself lonely and looking for friendship to fill the void. 

 

I have a nine-year-old daughter whom I adore; indeed, she is why I am still in this loveless marriage. 

 

I see that you listed writing as one of your interests. I, too, enjoy writing. Perhaps we might exchange some of our work, if you are willing to share. I mostly write short fiction and poetry. 

 

I would be so pleased if you responded to this email and told me a bit more about yourself.

 

Sincerely, 

 

Matthew 

 

He hit the send button and then went back to gazing at her photograph. He heard his wife cough in the hallway and guiltily closed the windows on his computer. He stood, stretched and carried his coffee mug to the kitchen where Alice was standing near the coffee maker. She yawned and filled her mug with coffee, glanced at him but did not offer to refill his cup. Typical Alice, totally self-centered, he thought.

 

 “Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?” 

 

“I slept ok,” she replied, sipping her coffee. She wore an old gray flannel bathrobe over the faded black sweatshirt and pants she had worn to bed. She was always cold and favored multiple layers on her thin frame. It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen her naked in years. In fact, it had been so long since they had made love, he could not even remember the last time. He had stopped making overtures long ago, after too many rejections. 

 

She turned away from him without another word and padded into the living room with her coffee. He refilled his own mug, picked up his pack of cigarettes and a lighter and went out onto the brick patio outside the kitchen door. The first hit of nicotine made him slightly light headed. Terrible habit, he thought, but continued to puff away as he looked over the neglected backyard.

 

 He found himself wondering if Stephanie smoked, if she stood out on her patio or porch, gazing discontentedly at her own backyard. Abruptly, he stubbed out the cigarette in the old empty coffee can that served as an ashtray and went back inside to his stark little office to check his email. His wife was in the shower now, so it was safe, besides she rarely entered his home office. When he opened his email, he was amazed to find a reply from “Distant Dreamer”, Stephanie’s Yahoo ID. Excitedly, he began to read.

 

Hello Matthew,

 

 How kind of you to compliment my photo. At my age, I am rarely described as ‘lovely’, but I will gracefully (and gratefully) accept any and all compliments that happen to come my way. You have no picture on your profile. Would you be willing to email one to me? 

 

It is a sad coincidence that we are both lonely and in loveless marriages. I have endured mine for 20 years; how long has yours lasted? I suppose it is lack of courage that keeps me in its ties, or perhaps the desire to spare my children the pain of having divorced parents. I have two children, a girl aged 18 and a boy aged 15, by the way. 

 

You said you enjoy writing. I, too, love putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and am currently working on a novel. It is a slow process, and I only have about four chapters so far. I would be happy to share a chapter with you and would welcome your comments. If you would be willing to send me a poem or short story of yours, I would be delighted. 

 

Looking forward to hearing from you again, 

 

Stephanie

 

Matthew’s heart beat fast. She had responded! And so quickly. Would he seem too eager if he sent her a reply right away? He pondered this question for only a minute before he hit “reply” and began to type. 

 

“Hi Stephanie, So pleased to hear back from you! I am attaching a poem I wrote a few months ago. Let me know what you think. If you will send me a chapter of your novel, I would be thrilled to read it and give you some feedback. Scroll down and you will find a photo of me, taken by a student of mine last semester. I hope it doesn’t scare you away. Ha ha! Matthew” 

 

He chose a poem he had written about his daughter. The photo he sent was one of him leaning against a tree on campus, talking with some students. One of his students has snapped the shot with his digital camera and sent it to him. It was too not bad; did not emphasize his receding hairline or the glare on his thick glasses. He smiled as he pushed the ‘send’ button and leaned back in his chair to indulge in a fantasy. He closed his eyes and Stephanie’s face materialized in his mind, smiling that enigmatic smile. He reached out and touched her cheek, gently ran his fingers down to her lips, felt them soft and moist on his fingertip. 

 

The telephone interrupted his reverie. He picked it up, startled back to reality. 

 

“Hello?” he said.

 “Hi, Daddy,” his daughter’s sweet voice came through the receiver. “Can you pick me up about noon?” 

 

“Sure, my love,” Matthew responded. “Did you have a good time?” 

 

“Oh yes! We made pancakes this morning, with strawberries on top. Jenny’s mom let us help.” 

 

“Great, baby. I’ll see you at noon, then. Bye-bye.”

 

“Bye, Daddy.” 

 

He put down the phone and turned off the computer. He would go shower and shave before he left to pick Katie up. Maybe he would take her to their favorite bookstore on the way home. They both loved books. Alice rarely read; she watched TV most evenings. But Matthew and Katie loved curling up on the sofa together and reading. Often they shared funny or interesting passages from their books. They were so much alike, his daughter and him. 

 

The weekend passed in its usual uneventful way. Matthew read a science fiction novel, played chess online, worked on a new poem and waited hopefully for another email from Stephanie. Finally, on Sunday evening, it came. 

 

Dear Matthew, 

 

Thank you so much for sharing your poem. It is deeply moving. The metaphors and similes are original and well-drawn. When read aloud, your poem sounds melodic. Is it about your daughter?

 

 I have been busy this weekend with my children. My son had a track meet which I attended yesterday and my daughter cajoled me into taking her shopping today. My husband was away playing golf most of the time. Typical of him. He doesn’t spend much time with me these days. He seems to have no interest in being around me. Can’t say I blame him. I bore myself lately, to be honest. He is a quiet, solitary man. I suppose he finds me too chatty and sentimental. I don’t really know for sure, since he never talks to me about his feelings. Oh well, he holds down a job, doesn’t beat me, drink to excess or gamble, so I shouldn’t complain, I suppose. Still, I feel so alone and discontent of late. So much so, that I am having trouble sleeping and have lost my appetite. But enough whining from me. Please tell me more about yourself. 

 

I am attaching the first two chapters of my novel. Please let me know what you think. 

 

Your faraway friend, 

 

Stephanie 

 

Matthew downloaded the attachment and read the chapters eagerly. Her writing was lyrical and rich with figurative language. The story was about a middle-aged woman who is having a torrid affair with a colleague. The woman is an English professor in a small private college in the Northwest. Her name is Susan. She has been married for 25 years to a man who is cold and distant. They have two teenagers. Susan feels alone and unhappy in her marriage. Matthew recognized the similarities to Stephanie right away. He wondered if she was having an affair. He wanted to ask her. Indeed, he wanted to know everything about her. He began to compose an email to her, rewrote it several times and finally sent it. 

 

Dear Stephanie, 

 

Your novel is fascinating and so well written. The prose is rich and reads almost like poetry at times. I am wondering if the novel is somewhat autobiographical. I can see some similarities to your life. 

 

Yes, my poem is about my daughter. I admit that I dote on her. She is the center of my life. Thank you for your compliments about my poetry. 

 

I can empathize with you about having a spouse who ignores you. I think if it weren’t for the fact that I bring home a paycheck, my wife wouldn’t notice my existence. But then again, we never really were very close. We married because she was pregnant with my child. She did not want an abortion and I did not want my child raised without a father. 

 

Although there was sex between us in the beginning, there was little else. Truth be known, I don’t even like her much. 

 

How about you? Why did you marry your husband? When did things begin to go wrong between you? 

 

Stephanie, I am so enjoying getting to know you. Sharing my feelings with you seems to come naturally. That is not often the case with me. I have few friends. I am often described as shy. 

 

Have a pleasant Monday and drop me a line if you have time. 

 

Fondly, 

 

Matthew 

 

That night he fell asleep with delightful images of Stephanie in his mind.

 

During the next few weeks the correspondence continued and escalated. In his office at work, Matthew sent several emails a day to his dream woman and she replied in kind. They revealed things to each other they had never told anyone else, feelings, thoughts, and even sexual fantasies. One day Matthew asked if he could call her. He longed to hear her voice. To his delight, she asked him to call her at her office one day after her last counseling appointment. The next day, he dialed her number with trembling fingers. 

 

She answered after the first ring. 

 

“Hello?” she said. 

 

“Hello, is this Steph…um, I mean, this is, uh, Matthew. Can I, um, may I speak with Stephanie.” He stuttered, feeling like a total idiot. 

 

“Well, hi Matthew. This is Stephanie. How are you this afternoon?” her voice was soft and rather deep for a woman, very sexy in his opinion. His heart was pounding.

 

“I’m j-just fine, “he stammered. He was no good on the phone. Never had been. “How are you?” 

 

“Not too bad for the end of a long day full of difficult patients,” she laughed. “Nothing a glass of wine and a hot tub soak wouldn’t cure.” 

 

“Oh, do you have a hot tub?” he asked. “Well, no, actually. But my best friend does and sometimes she invites me over for a soak and chat session. This would be a perfect afternoon for that.” 

 

There was a moment of silence. Matthew didn’t know what to say next. He was so much better at written communication. Perhaps calling her had been a mistake. 

 

“Well, then, how was your day?” she broke the tongue-tied spell. 

 

“My day was boring. Not much going on here. The only bright spots were my emails from you.” He hoped he wasn’t being too forward. He didn’t want to drive her away. 

 

“Oh yes,” her voice sounded breathy, ‘the emails you send me are the highlight of my life these days. I feel as though I have known you forever. I feel so close to you. And we have never even met in person.” 

 

Matthew felt a warmth radiating from his chest up to the top of his head. It was so delightful to have this wonderful, exciting woman telling him she felt close to him.

 

 “It, it’s certainly um…amazing, the…well, the connection we have established.” He stuttered lamely. 

 

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Matthew?” 

 

“No, no. It’s just that I’m not a phone person, really. I’m much better online or in letters. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s ok. I understand.”

 

 “Well, I must go now. It’s after 7 here and I need to head home. But” and he paused searching for the right words, “It was lovely to hear your voice.” 

 

“And yours,” he could hear the smile in her voice. “Thank you for calling me.”

 

“Good-bye, Stephanie. I’ll email you tomorrow morning.” 

 

“Good-bye, Matthew. I’ll look forward to your email.” 

 

He ended the call and put his cell phone down on his desk. Staring out the window at the maple tree outside the building, he felt such a warm pleasant feeling. He had talked with his dream woman on the phone. Her voice was velvety in his ear. He could hear it still. 

 

All the way home, he fantasized about meeting Stephanie, imagined the details of their first kisses and caresses. The fantasy filled him with a tingly aroused feeling that made him feel more alive than he had in years.

 

When he walked into his kitchen the lovely feelings abruptly left him. The kitchen was a mess; dirty dishes and remnants of food were everywhere. “Shit!” he said aloud. He walked into the living room where the sounds of the television permeated the room. His wife slouched on the sofa, with the remote control in her hand. She didn’t even look up at him.

 

“What happened in the kitchen?” he asked, barely controlled anger in his voice.

 

 “What do you mean?” she glanced up at him then back at the TV screen. 

 

“Christ, Alice, it looks like a tornado passed through the kitchen!” 

 

“Oh, Matthew, don’t exaggerate. I just cooked some dinner and haven’t gotten around to cleaning up. Don’t bug me. I want to watch this movie.” She turned the volume up on the television.

 

 He turned away, stalked out and retreated to his home office, shutting the door behind him. Turning on his computer he began to compose a fantasy story, the one he had imagined on his way home. He typed away, losing himself in the mental images. Stephanie meeting him at a hotel where he was attending a conference. The candlelit dinner they shared in the elegant restaurant. Holding hands in the elevator up to his room.

 

The first soft, tentative kiss just inside the door. His arms wrapping around her warm soft body, pulling her close to him. Her enticing sighs. The smell of her delicate perfume as he kissed her neck. He was in another world where there were no rejecting wives and no messy kitchens to annoy him. The story finished, he read it over, smiled, and sent it to his secret faraway lover with the touch of a key. 

 

The next morning, he awoke with a sense of dread. What had he done? What would Stephanie think? Would she be offended by his story? Had he been too forward? He regretted his impulsiveness. When he got to work, he booted up his computer and checked his email, holding his breath. As he read Stephanie’s morning message, a huge smile spread across his face. 

 

“Mmmm,” she had written, “What a delicious fantasy. When is your next out of town conference?” 

 

A few days later, she responded with a fantasy story of her own, even steamier than his had been. Over the next few weeks they continued to exchange fantasy pieces, titillating each other delightfully. “You have awakened something in me which I thought was long dead,” she wrote, “and what a wonderous awakening it is.”

 

 Matthew did not suggest another phone call. He was so much better online than he was on the phone. He was content with their correspondence, sharing thoughts, feelings, dreams. She made his life bearable. He lived for her emails. 

 

One June morning he received a surprising message from her. 

 

The most amazing thing has happened! I got a brochure about a psychology conference taking place in your city. It’s in July and I am planning to attend. Imagine that, Matthew! We can actually meet in person. The thought takes my breath away! 

 

He sat frozen at his desk, staring at the screen. He felt strange. He couldn’t even identify his emotions. She was coming to his town, and she wanted to meet him? For real? In person? Agitation prevented him from sitting still. He jumped up and hurried outside his office building. He tapped a cigarette from his pack, lit it with his silver lighter and paced around the smoking area, blowing smoke like a nervous dragon. A woman who worked in his building walked past him toward the entrance. 

 

“Morning, Matthew.” she smiled. 

 

“Good morning,” he muttered distractedly, stubbing out his cigarette in the cement ashtray and lighting another one. 

 

The woman continued into the building. 

 

His thoughts tumbled over one another: Stephanie is coming here. She can’t come here. This is my world. She wants to meet me. How can I meet her. I’m not good in person. Can’t things stay the way they were? What if Alice finds out? But, if I refuse to meet Stephanie, she will stop writing to me. 

He was too disturbed and confused to go back in to work. He walked briskly around the campus, avoiding eye contact with everyone smoking one cigarette after another. After an hour, he returned to his desk. Opening his email, he typed in Stephanie’s address and replied.

 

Dearest Stephanie, 

 

What wonderful news! What are the dates of the conference and where will you be staying? Words cannot express my feelings about our upcoming meeting. 

 

Kisses, 

 

Matthew

 

Well, at least the last sentence was true, Matthew thought. He did not have the nerve to tell her not to come. He could not admit to her that he was afraid to meet her. He had no idea what he would do. 

 

She wrote back almost immediately and told him where she would be staying and the exact dates. They made a plan to meet in the hotel bar at 3pm on the day she would arrive. She gave him her cell phone number, in case something prevented him from coming. She was very excited. He gave her no inkling of his fears and misgivings. They continued to email each other as before. He dealt with his fear by thinking of their meeting as a fantasy story. It only existed in his mind and on his computer. It wasn’t real. In this way, he could accept it. Perhaps, when the time came, he would find the courage. 

 

The day before she was to arrive, he sent her a long detailed erotic fantasy about their upcoming meeting. He had been to her hotel before and could picture the bar, the lobby, and other aspects of the building. The fantasy story was the best he had ever written. Of course, she loved it. Her reply came later that evening. 

 

My Darling Matthew, 

 

What an incredible story! Let’s make it a reality. Tomorrow, I will touch you at last.

Hold you close. Feel your warm breath on my neck, your lips on mine. I will dream of you tonight. And tomorrow my dream will come true. 

 

Love, 

 

Stephanie 

 

As for Matthew, he barely slept at all that night. 

 

At 2:30 the next afternoon, he left his office and walked slowly to his car. He drove toward the hotel, but at the last traffic light he abruptly turned the car and headed in the opposite direction. He stopped at a small liquor store and bought a pint of Black Velvet whiskey. Driving as if hypnotized, he headed for the lake and parked. The first sip of whiskey burned as it went down his throat, but the next few gulps went down easier. Withdrawing his cell phone from his pocket, he turned it off and set it on the dashboard. He stared at the blue lake, sparkling in the afternoon sunshine, the effects of the alcohol dulling the thoughts in his mind. Replacing the cap on the half empty bottle, he leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and drifted into blessed oblivion.

 

When he awoke, the sun was low in the sky. He drove home carefully and let himself into the house. There was a note from his wife on the hall table. 

 

Katie and I went to a movie. I left you a message on your cell phone, as there was no answer when I called you. We’ll be back about 10 or so. 

 

Matthew turned on his cell phone. There were two messages, one from his wife and one from Stephanie. Her voice sounded distraught. 

 

Matthew, this is Stephanie. I have been waiting for you in the bar for over an hour. Did something happen? Were you unable to call me? You have my number. Please call me when you can. I won’t call you again, in case your wife might be nearby.

 

Matthew deleted the messages and turned off the phone again. He felt exhausted and he had no appetite for dinner. His face looked haggard in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. His cotton pajamas felt familiar and comforting. He slipped under the covers in his bed, closed his eyes and once again escaped reality through sleep. 

 

The next morning, he carried a mug of warm coffee into his home office and turned on his computer. He typed a message to Stephanie and hit the send button immediately. 

 

Stephanie, 

 

I am so sorry I was unable to meet you. You see, I lead a quiet, orderly life and I’m afraid it must remain so. 

 

Forgive me. 

 

It might be best if we no longer correspond. 

 

I wish you well. 

 

Matthew