In Search of a Mistress — “Vera, what’s going on?” her husband gaped as she handed him his shorts an…

IN SEARCH OF A MISTRESS

“Claire, what are you doing?” I gaped at my wife, who was holding out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to me.

“Nothing at all,” she replied. “But if you keep lazing around, all the mistresses will be snapped up before you even get out of bed!” She yanked the duvet off, and I shivered as a chill swept over my exposed legs.

“What on earth are you on about?”

“After what you said last nightthat it wouldnt be long before you got yourself a mistressIve made a decision. The clocks struck. Its half past five: time to get up and join the battlefields of infidelity.”

“I was joking! We were having an argument, remember? Sorry, I shouldnt have said it.”

“No, no, you were quite right. Its me whos at fault. Ive let the fire of our passion turn to ashes. Burnt all the petrol just fuelling myself. Now all thats left isnt enough to bake a potato, let alone stoke a fire. Time to fix it. Up you get.”

“Are you kicking me out?”

“Not at allI’m dragging you up. Daily exercise is your sentence until you shake off the gut. A mistress wont want a bloke who looks like the Michelin Man hanging around. Up. Now!”

Seeing there was no point resisting, I slid from the bed andseeking atonement through righteous exercisesqueezed my shorts over my boxers with some effort.

“Remind me to buy you some proper swim trunks. If you ever take these old sails to some love nest, a gust of wind might carry you right off the bed.”

Ten minutes of jogging around the house with Coach watching hawk-eyed had me staggering half-dead back indoors, where I promptly collapsed and, with what little strength I had, tried to drag myself towards the bed with my teeth.

“And where do you think youre going?” Claire halted my sorry crawl.

“I want to die peacefully in my sleep.”

“No dying allowed. Were after a mistress, not a pathologist. Off to the shower. From now on, youll need at least two a day. You may have spared me your natural musk, but a stranger deserves better. And youll be brushing your teeth twice a day at minimum!” she called from beyond the door. “Wash your hair as well, were off to the photo studio today.”

“Why?”

“Need a proper photo for the dating site. I know you too well to photograph you objectivelyall Ill see through the lens is a dockworker, a beer king, and a man who adores fried pasta with butter. We want to capture the real alpha male.”

“Claire, dont you think youve gone far enough?”

“Save your words, love. Youll need them for the sweet ears of eligible ladies. Now, lets pick a candidate.”

At this, I cheered up a bit. Id always enjoyed idly scrolling through dating sites just for a laugh, and this was the first time I was allowed to do it with impunity. I pointed my finger at a few.

“What about her?”

“Youre joking, right?”

“Whats wrong with her?”

“When I see your mistress, I should feel ashamed of myself, not you. Look at her. Your old Fiesta looked better when we sold it. You could stick a warning on her: ‘Caution: parts of the façade may become detached.'”

“Alright then, this one.”

“THISdid you mean? Honestly, how am I supposed to show my face to friends if my husband has an affair with a ‘well-someone-will-do’? Look here, this is a cracking option!”

“Youre off your rocker. Shed never go for me in a million years”

“Honestly What did I see in such a spineless Pinocchio? What drew me in, that weve lasted fifteen years?”

“My sense of humour?” I hazarded.

“Lets be real, John: if laughter really added years to your life, Id have died of old age during our honeymoon. No need to tempt fate looking for answers. Lets get you a proper suit and dangle you on the hook.”

“Thats enough, Claire, lets just make up.”

“Whos arguing? Having a mistress is a sign youre a successful man. The wife of a successful man is pretty high status, too. I reckon, why stop at just one mistress?”

At the shopping centre, Claire marched me into the priciest mens shop, half-stripping the mannequins as we went.

“Claire, these trousers and jacket cost as much as a set of winter tyres,” I protested as she shoved me into the fitting room.

“Not to worrywe’ll buy you protection at the chemist as well: any kind you want, summer or winter grade, but extra safe. I dont need any of someone elses bouquets coming home.”

“Claire!”

“What? Safety above all, love. Were not picking a scooter, but the hypotenuse for our obtuse-angled triangle. Have you rung your boss yet?”

“About what?” I asked, pulling an arm into the jacket.

“Finances, obviously. Youll need a raise if youre going to juggle two women. Ill be alrighthappy with soup at homebut a mistress is another game entirely. The formulas like concrete: one dinner, three glasses of wine, five stars on the hotelscrimp on any of it, and the foundation will crumble quickly.”

At last I was suited and straightened my tie.

“Handsomejust like on our wedding day,” Claire sniffed, dabbing her eye.

“It looks good on you,” said a woman from the next fitting room.

“Would you like him? Hes seeking a mistress,” Claire offered.

“No, thanks, I have a lover alreadythree, in fact,” she replied, flashing a shameless grin.

“John, dont pick one like her,” Claire scolded, “we need one whos faithful, steadylike a debit card with another bank, somewhere safe to transfer your savings. Right, off to the perfumerylets douse you in something decent and set you loose.”

We wandered around the shopping centre for another hour until Claire nodded in satisfaction.

“Thats it, John, now youre ready. Even without the photo. Go forth and remember everything Ive taught you: be persistent, charming, and confidentlike the day you sold our Fiesta.”

Claire went home to cook soup, while I set off in search of the mistress theyd prepared me for all day.

An hour later, the intercom buzzed at our flat.

“Good afternoon, young lady. Is your husband at home?” The unfamiliar voice was smooth as velvet, smoulderingjust a hint of gravel that made it even more alluring.

“Oh!” Claire yelped, overcome, dropping her ladle. “No, hes off to see his mistress.”

“Might you let me in? I have something to offer.”

The suggestiveness in his voice made Claire flush, then shudder. She almost took some Lemsip, but changed her mind and mashed the intercom button three times in a row.

Three minutes later I arrived at the door, clutching a grand bouquet of red flowers. I slipped past Claire, arm around her waist. The tiny hallway was suddenly very warm.

“Have you been crying?” I asked, seeing how red Claires eyes were.

“A little,” she replied. “I thought Id made a hash of things, but now I realise you need a few logs for a proper bonfire.”

“Then might I tempt you to spend this evening in the company of a pleasant and fascinating gent?” My eyes sparkled with a mixture of desire and perhaps, truthfully, a generous dram of brandy for courage. “Im inviting you to a restaurant, where Ill regale you with the epic tale of your own beauty. Its a non-fiction masterpieceI know youll like it.”

“IId love that,” Claire stammered, catching the spirit of the game. “Let me just take the soup off and pop some mascara on.”

“Ill call a taxi in the meantime,” I grinned.

“Where shall we go?” Claires daft smile was stuck fast.

“A five-star restaurant!”

“Theres no such thing in this town. Closest weve got is a Five Cheeses pizzeria.”

“Then thats where well go. For my mistressonly the best!”

“And your wife, she wont be jealous?”

“Well do our very best to make her jealous,” I winked.