Unfortunately, Dave left his briefcase at the office. Even more unfortunate was the fact that he'd driven almost two hours in rush hour traffic and was nearly home before missing it. He'd have to go back. Three times this month he'd rushed out without it—his memory a mess. His mind only on Gwen. But this time was different: he'd not only left the papers he'd need to have that report on 'ole Andrew's desk first thing Monday morning, he'd left Gwennie's birthday present there, too! After lunch, reluctant to arouse Andrew's curiosity and face a barrage of questions by bringing a lingerie box into the office, he'd quickly stashed it out of sight—in his briefcase! Thank God, I didn't write her name on the card, he thought. Just "Happy Birthday, Darling." If Andrew comes back to the office and spies the briefcase, decides to check up on me . . . see how much work I've done, he'll think the gift's Elaine's. He knows about her birthday coming up next week. Lucky Elaine and Gwennie are the same size. Dave pulled into his driveway. Almost dark. With luck, this might be one of Elaine's bingo nights. I'll have to get the spare set of office keys, he thought. Andrew will have gone by now—or would he? He remembered Gwennie saying something about it being lucky Andrew had to work late tonight. A light shone from the kitchen. Dave glanced at the stove clock; just on eight. A note taped to the refrigerator caught his eye. Elaine's neat handwriting declared: I'm at Marge's. More problems; don't wait up. Relief, relief. Dave raced up the stairs. Thank God for miracles and Marges. Lately, she'd kept Elaine busy. Calling at all hours with boyfriend problems. Luckily, a couple of nights last week she'd kept Elaine later than usual. Dave just managed to beat her home by minutes. Where were those keys? Who could have moved them? There! In the other drawer. Dave glanced admiringly in the mirror above the dresser. Gwennie loved the way he dressed. He ran his fingers through rakish, silver-streaked hair, tucked his rust colored silk shirt inside tight fitting jeans, and adjusted the smart casual jacket. Elaine hated it! Andrew didn't approve either. Andrew—always impeccable in perfectly coordinated jackets and ties. "Stuffy, stuffy, stuffy," Gwennie declared one night. Gwen! Her image burned, white-hot, just beyond his eyeballs. Andrew's fault, he reasoned. Bringing his wife to the Christmas party in that dress. How Dave and Gwennie had clicked that night! Now, three months later, they still clicked. And clicked, and clicked, and clicked . . . Back in the car. Light traffic. Plenty of time; be downtown by 8:45. Grab the briefcase and meet Gwennie by ten. The building dozed. I'll park here in front, he decided. He unlocked the front door. Outside his office, he paused. A light. Did I leave it on? Is someone in there? A crackle . . .the office intercom? Dave hesitated. Soft lamplight trickled out from behind half-closed venetians. He peeked through the blinds. His heart dropped on the floor along with the key. Elaine! Elaine—naked! No, not quite. She sizzled and giggled, wearing Gwennie's present—the "Gun Metal Grey" bra, panties and garter belt. The intercom crackled again: "Surprised at 'ole Dave buyin' that." "Surprised he even remembered my birthday: he's been so thick lately. Forgets everything," laughed Elaine. "Gwennie, too," murmured Andrew. " They should be together. They'd be perfect. Two of a kind." © 1999 Marlene McCarty |
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| Two of a Kind by Marlene McCarty |