The last time he took her out to the dance was on her birthday, and that was 6 months ago. She never complains. She is taking it with great stride. She usually comes home earlier than he does. He would be home a half-hour later. After landing a kiss on his wife’s sexy lips coated in rouge lipstick, he would walk straight toward the master bedroom to get undressed and put on his jogging outfit. Together with his charming wife already in her modish sportswear, they head for the gym—a one-hour exercise they can’t seem to go without.
A conventional wife, she cooks dinner afterwards—tenderizing his favorites: grilled salmon over steamed vegetables with a special in-house dressing sprinkled over it. All is served with a glass of champagne nicely displayed at the dinner table while they chat, gossip and wine. But things have changed lately. He’s been coming home later than usual, making excuses of being forced to work long hours, of unexpected car problems, of being stop by a neighbor down the street to talk about some weird non-existential problems…
She begins to take notice of his shallow excuses. She starts questioning her self-inherited good-wife demeanor, questioning what seems to be her fading Creole beauty. “Maybe my sex-appealing posture no longer pleases him,” she thinks. She suddenly finds herself in a race with time—with life.
This evening, she is determined to reverse the trend. Committed to reclaiming her youth glow, the Creole belle she once was, she saunters towards her impressive closet the minute she walks in from work. She knows him well, inside out. She knows he commends a prudish crave for fashionably exposed bosom. Consequently, she molds herself into a velvet bodice with a hue that blends with her nut-brown tan, demurely buttoned right up to her ample breasts.
Coquettish, she strolls with grace in feline motion towards the canapé. Patiently, she waits. The bait has been laid. A few minutes later, a single squeak opens the door, and he comes face to face with his lovely wife, grinning subtly, but ponderously capricious. The soft fragrant scent of her fancy cologne gives the knockout punch. In low tone, Michèle Torr plays in the background. Emmène-moi danser ce soir. (Take me to the dance tonight.) He gets the message. Guilt-ridden, conscience-stricken, his wrinkled lips pucker, trying to utter a word. “Can we rekindle?” he begs.
Note: Dr. Ardain Isma is author and educator. He is the chief editor of CSMS Magazine. He is a scholar and an active eyewitness to complex problems of society. His latest novel Midnight at Noon can be purchased at all book retailers. To order a copy, you can click here: Midnight at Noon
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Rekindle? I loveeeeeeeeee it. But wait was he cheating on her?
I’m sure you can guess! He wasn’t teaching. He was going astray. But she’s got the punch!
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