Driftwood 8
Title: Driftwood (8/?)
Pairings/Characters: Stephen/Other
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Sexual content, graphic description
Summary: Life changes for Kathryn, and their relationship changes to fit
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Authors Note: This is longer, makes up for the short chapter 7. Sorry if I'm spamming the community! More smuttiness ahead!
New Years was quiet. My husband was with "friends", of course. Naturally. The kids were at their mother's house. Lucy went to bed early, and I spent the evening reading, and sewing, and thinking. And a little crying, but I tried not to. I got a small flurry of text messages after midnight, but none from him, and I didn't send one to him either. I didn't want to talk to him, to hear about him, or to see him. What I really wanted was a quiet room, a pound of marijuana with a carton of ice cream, and 6 months to hide out from the world--I'd emerge single, happy and ready for life. But until then, I had to face my decision.
I knew when James announced he was going to spend New Years hunting that our marriage was over. He's never skipped a holiday before, even one as seemingly trivial as New Years. I had hinted about hiring a babysitter, maybe we could go out, you know, on a date? Sorry Katy--the guys already made plans to go. I decided to contact my lawyer three days later. We got started immediately in handling business decisions. Our small consulting company was doing quite well, and we had set it up originally as being entirely mine. We paid James as an independent contractor, for legal & tax purposes. He had been dealing with a foreclosure when we were starting it up, and our lawyer had determined it would be safer to leave most of the assets in my name. This hadn't meant much in the course of the relationship, but it now meant that I could be potentially walking away with a source of income to survive on, and I wasn't going to take any chances on losing that. James had a stake in the company, but I was a majority owner. I made sure my ducks were in a legal row before I sprang the news on him. The house was both of ours. I didn't want it, and I didn't suspect he did either. I assumed we'd sell it and split whatever profits there would be--if there were any.
He wasn't surprised--and it angered me to see relief cross his face. I was making the responsible decision in ending this. He had been content with sneaking around behind my back for a year like a shit, and he was relieved that I had made the decision, that he got away with avoiding it. I almost told him about sleeping with Stephen, just to see a flash of anger across his face, but I bit my tongue. I had prepared myself for a fight, for a he-said, she-said slapfest of hurtful words. We had definitely fought like that in the past, and I had some choice pieces of ammo aimed to hurt him if it called for. 'Oh yeah? A total stranger, who is rich and goddamn famous, by the way? He fucked your wife last summer and gave her the best sex she has ever had. His dick is bigger than yours!' A whole list of hurtful things to say to a man with any sense of pride. But he was calm, slightly regretful, still matter of fact, and I kept my attacks silent.
The conversation took place in the kitchen one evening, after the kids had gone to bed. I was doing the dishes, he was reading at the countertop. I told him we needed to talk.
"I know what you're going to say."
"I want a divorce."
"I know."
Not "Wait! Lets talk this through!". Not "why?". Not "But we can work this out." He just said, I know. A passive agreement. He knew, alright--he wanted one too. I started to ask about his exwife, but when I saw the look that skitted across his face when I said her name, I walked out of the room. I didn't want to know, and I didn't need a painful verbal confirmation of something I had already knew. But the weight that lifted off my shoulders at that moment, when I realized that the tiny spark of 'freedom' that popped into my head last summer was actually going to come true...it was a great feeling. Announcing the divorce to my family and friends brought surprised gasps and frowns--they had no clue. I stayed mum on our reasons, telling my parents and siblings that I would let them know more details later, but at this point, it was absolutely the best thing for all of us, and there were no hard feelings. (I don't know if I thought that was true or not, but it's a good front for people.) Liz was the only one not surprised, and she bought me & her three rounds of shots that weekend as a celebration.
It was into February, in the midst of recording official company communications involving the buyout of James's shares to me, and nailing down the details of the divorce agreement that I spoke to Stephen again. The amount of paperwork and the cost involved intimated me at first, only made more complicated by us having a child together, and split ownership of the business. But it needed to be done, and I viewed each meeting and process as another step in the right direction. I checked my phone after leaving a meeting with my paralegal late one morning and noticed the missed call. I had simply put him in my phone as "SC"--a double meaning, a reminder of the weekend we were together, and his name. I felt my heart stop when I saw it, a jolt and a flushing to my cheeks. But surprisingly, it was just pleasure and surprise, and not the normal shot of guilt I would have felt.
It was 11:30 in the morning on a Tuesday. I didn't know what kind of time that was to call him back, but his call was 20 minutes before. I called him, and got his voicemail--it was a standard automated message.
"Hi Stephen, this is Kathryn--I saw your call. Hope all is well with you. I'll talk to you later if you want." and I sent the message, leaving it in his hands. It wasn't 15 seconds later than my phone was buzzing--a look down confirmed he was calling me back.
"Hi there," I answered cheerfully, as soon as I saw it ringing.
"Why, hello to you too." was his reply, mirroring my cheerful tone. I found a wide smile on my face at his voice, a level of congeniality and comfort between us that wasn't there the last time we talked.
"How are you doing?" I was headed for my car, keys in hand, my heels clicking on the parking lot surface.
"I'm alright, alright. How about you?"
"Actually, Stephen, I'm doing just fine. It's a nice change."
"Oh yeah? You sound in a great mood. Good things happening?"
"I'd say so."
"Like what?" I unlocked the car and slid inside, holding my phone in place with my shoulder as I turned the heater on and clicked my seatbelt on.
"Do you have time to talk?"
He paused, and murmured something I couldn't hear. He was back a moment later. "I have a few minutes, yeah. Tell me your good news."
"Well, I'm getting a divorce." A one beat pause, a silence that seemed like a mistake to me at first--we were being awfully casual and friendly with each other, and this might not be appropriate. Why would he celebrate that? Oh, it sounds so personal. For a split instant, I was mortified.
"And is that what you want?" Quiet, serious.
"It's what I want. And more importantly, it's what I need."
"Well then, I'm happy for you. You deserve good things. And if this is a good thing, then I'm glad for it." And I could tell he meant it. I felt relief.
"Thanks for that, I really appreciate it. It wasn't an easy decision, but I will say it was an obvious one."
I heard a muffled shuffle across the handpiece, and I heard Stephens voice, dimly and unintelligible. He paused, it felt like he was listening to a reply, and he murmured again. Then he was back.
"Sorry about that, it's always busy in here." He paused, and I heard the hesitation in his voice, his breathing. "If you don't mind me asking...what happened? Was it..." Another pause. He restarted. "I mean, you don't have to explain or discuss anything you don't want to talk about, and I know it's not really any of my business, but was it because..." He stopped. I wondered if he was hesitant to even say the words outloud, since I assumed he was in his office.
I came to his rescue. "No, no, it wasn't because of...us." I slipped the word out quickly, it felt inappropriate or presumptuous. There wasn't really an "us" when it came to him and I.
"I had my suspicions for a long time that my husband was sleeping with his exwife. I know he was. He just gave up, and I gave up too. I realized what I needed to do after New Years, " I continued, feeling relieved that I could actually explain it to him. I hadn't realized how badly I wanted to talk to him about it--and I don't think it was because of some hope that he would take my husband's place, but because he seemed to have an interest in me, and he was kind, and intelligent, and I wanted his words on it.
"Whoa, wait a minute. His exwife? I remember you said you had stepkids." He sounded genuinely concerned. I suddenly pictured him sitting up at his desk, staring out a window. I could picture the light dusting of hair on his arms, his fingers as he held the phone to his ear, his furrowed brows. Probably spinning a pen in his right hand, tapping it on the desk while he listened to me.
I smiled tight lipped in the car, realizing not for the first time that everyone thinks this is wildly fucked up when they hear about it. And I feel deeply embarrassed...like it was my fault, like it reflected badly on me, or that I was subpar to her in someway. It wasn't the first time I've felt that way.
"I do have stepkids, 3 of them. It's their mother. I know, I know--it is as fucked up as it sounds."
"So let me get this straight. This guy marries her. Divorces her. Marries you. And cheats on you, with her?" He sounded flat and incredulous.
"That's it."
"What a shitbag."
I laughed out loud at his tone, said so deadpan and serious. "Stephen!"
"No, Kathryn, really. I mean, what a shitbag. Why did they get divorced in the first place?" I groaned, knowing the reaction he was going to have when I tell him.
"You won't believe it, but she cheated on him."
"You're kidding me."
"I am not kidding you." I smiled.
"You are fucking with me."
"No, I am not fucking with you, although that idea might have potential."
He whistled at me, a rushed "phew", and then he laughed.
"No wonder you're cheerful, it sounds like those two are made for each other. You clearly lucked out in that deal. They'll remarry and cheat on each other for the rest of their lives, and you get to get out."
"I agree. It wasn't always so clear to me, you know? But after some thinking and realizing how deep into things we were, I knew I had to get out. I owed to myself. The divorce some should be final in a month or so. We have lots of paperwork and issues concerning our business, but it's all being solved. I'm actually leaving my lawyers right now."
We went on to have a short conversation, with Stephen asking concerned questions about my daughter and her custody, and congratulating me again on making a decision that made me happy. I asked if he was at work, and he talked a little about his daily schedule, driving into the city, writers meetings, script meetings, rehearsal, taping. It sounded like he worked long hours, but his tone was enthusiastic. We didn't touch on his relationship. I didn't want to pry, and I knew he was busy. He paused every few minutes, covered the mouthpiece, and spoke to someone quickly, returning to the conversation after a beat right where he left it off at.
He jumped back on the phone after such a break, and said, "Kat, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to run now. I liked talking with you, and hearing you happy. Maybe we could talk again soon." He added that at the end, softly. I smiled widely at the shy nervousness in his voice. That was cute.
"I think that'd be great, actually. We can talk then. Have a great show."
"Thank you. Talk later," and he clicked off.
I put the phone in my lap, it was warm, and smiled at myself in the rearview. I was jazzed inside, giddy and pleased and flattered. It was a nice conversation--relaxing, and for the first time, we shared some actual personal details. I couldn't wait to call him again--wondering when I could. A few days, I thought. I felt butterflies in my stomach, and I remembered the last time I had really felt those. It was at the cabin, when he leaned in to kiss me. I closed my eyes and smiled.
I don't know what happened to our one time event, special tickets only. It had morphed into an extended showing---or perhaps more like an extended preview. I wasn't sure, and I wasn't getting my hopes up. Stephen hadn't said a peep about his relationship. And I wasn't going to pry. I wasn't joking when I had told Liz that the idea of a relationship was out of the picture, for a lot different reasons. But a friendship, I didn't think that was impossible.
~*~
We fell into a rhythm, Stephen and I, and it happened quickly. Our phone calls went from being every couple of weeks, to every few days. He would call me most evenings on his way home from work. I was surprised when he told me he drove himself--I always assumed the studio would give him a car. But he said he liked the chance to decompress and return to normal for his kids. We talked about our days together, me starting to learn the names of a few people he worked with, hearing funny stories or jokes. I still didn't watch the show, and I let him know that--he laughed and said it was alright, that he actually didn't watch it either. I talked about business clients or issues, my daughter. We got in political arguments, me being much more of a libertarian than he was, but they were always jokingly half-serious, never tense. I found myself looking forward to my phone ringing at 8:00 or so, after my daughter had fallen asleep, and I had the evening for myself. I would curl up on the couch with a blanket, my laptop, and my phone, waiting for it flash "SC" at me.
My husband had moved out at the beginning of March, back into his exwifes house. We put the house on the market. I was packing up things at that point, and hunting for a small house to buy myself. I took the opportunity to set myself up nicely--cashing in on a fund setup with inheritance from my grandparents. I planned on buying the house outright, appreciating the financial and life freedom owning the house could give me at that point. I wanted to make sure I would be able to give my daughter a good life. We were taking a cut in pay, as James had sold his part of the business to me and left it in my hands, taking his income elsewhere. I was faced with hiring another developer, as well as a paycut, but I had more contracts than I could handle.
It was the happiest I had been in a long time--I felt independent and lucky, loving the time to myself with Lucy, excited to own my own home, and have the freedom that working from home could bring us. I saw me and her traveling together. My nightly conversations with Stephen became a high point--the type of daily rundown and conversation of our days that I used to have with my husband, and I appreciated having someone to tell it to each night who was interested in it. The flirting was nice too.
March turned to April, the rainy start of summer for Florida, the weather turning hot and humid. The divorce was finalized on a Tuesday morning, a quiet and quick affair in the private office of the judge. We signed the papers with our lawyers present. After we set the pens down, the judge stamped the papers and declared it official. I stared at James in that moment--surprised at how the love I felt for him years ago had somehow contorted into this very moment. I felt sad, but mostly I felt relieved. It was done. I called Stephen earlier that day, at a time I hoped he was between meetings. His phone rang to voicemail, and I left a message, short and to the point--"Wait in front of a door. At one point, it will open", a quote from Ulysses, a piece of modern writing we discovered we both loved. I found a good meaning in it for me, that the divorce was an opening door, not a closed one. I was surprised at how easily I transitioned out of married life--but I realized that James and I hadn't been connected on that level in a long time. It really wasn't that different than my life before, but it was easier. I didn't have my stepkids to worry or schedule over, or avoid fights with. I parked in a different driveway (a rental apartment until I found our own place), but it was nice. We made our own hours, spending time with friends and family. James made a point of taking Lucy on his weekends. I loved looking at house, being picky but knowing there was a good waiting for me.
Still, there was an elephant in the room that we didn't discuss. Stephen dropped hints, sometimes verbal, others just a change in tone, that indicated his marriage was in a state of distress. He referenced her only when absolutely necessary, and almost never by her name, which I did catch one evening was Evelyn, when I was chatting with him a drive home from a friend's house.
My heart lurched when I heard her name. It was elegant. In my mind, I saw an instant vision of a beautiful woman, older than me, but stately and gorgeous, because that is quite simply the only kind of woman I could actually see Stephen marrying. I was realistic enough that I knew he was out of my league, and the women in HIS league are called names like Evelyn or Cassandra. Not Kathryn, spelled oddly with a 'Y'. Evelyn had a rightful 'Y', Kathryn looked like it was stolen. I might have had a chance if it was spelled Katherine. Katherines are women who play polo, side-saddle, and own vacation homes on beaches in South Carolina. Kathryns are women who live in small apartment complexes, and divorce their husbands. Stephen and Evelyn make a handsome couple, people would say. Stephen and Kathryn look mismatched.
He repeated my name in the conversation and I realized I had zoned out on what he had said. I apologized, said traffic was bad, flustered and shaken. He said he would call me tomorrow, and that he wanted me kept safe because he "didn't want any blemishes put on those thighs without my involvement." I flushed hotly at that, and said that sounded good, I'll talk to you tomorrow. I hung up the phone and stared out at traffic. Her name brought into crystal clarity that she existed, and I was hit with such an overwhelming rage of jealousy that I actually shocked myself. He went home to her. Every night. He sat in his driveway, hung up the phone, grabbed a laptop bag (I imagined) and went inside. And she would be there, waiting for him, in all her gorgeousness (I imagined). I wanted to ring her throat.
Jesus, did they still have sex? James and I hadn't had sex in months by the time we were divorced. We had it half-heartedly in December, but really honestly, sex with Stephen really *had* ruined me. James was fitless, quick, and boring. He didn't have any of the fire or spark Stephen did. Ironically enough, I had insisted he wear a condom, something I did not do with Stephen (even though I had thought about it, and dismissed it immediately). It wasn't to protect him from anything I had might have gotten, but to protect myself from him. He was irritated and insulted when I asked for it. I didn't care to have sex with him again after that, and he apparently didn't need to.
But Stephen still might be having sex with her. After all, she was gorgeous, I was sure, and why wouldn't he? Even more, how could she resist having sex with him? I convinced myself immediately at that point that they were still having sex, because I couldn't imagine a universe where I lived with Stephen and didn't try to fuck him daily. I'd insist he wear that suit home from work, and I could have the pleasure of peeling it off of him.
I tried hard to shake those thoughts as I went to bed that night, reminding myself that Stephen had actually chosen to sleep with me, and apparently still did if he constantly hints and comments were any indication. And that he had never given me the slightest idea that he was happily married--his only words about it are tinged with anger or pain. It obviously wasn't a match living in paradise. Still, even though I knew these thoughts all made sense, I found myself lonesome that night, feeling for the first time that I was "the other woman", and it wasn't a good place to be. Of course, I wasn't really the other woman--we were friends. We both knew that.
One night around midnight in early May, my cell phone buzzed with a text from my bedside table. I had moved in a week before, buying the house with a satisfied signature. It was perfect--a midsized 1930's cottage, located a few blocks from downtown in my medium Florida city. It was a quiet brick street, close to the center of town, with hard wood floors and wood burning fire places, white trim, and a backyard covered in flowering bougainvillaea trees. It was a far cry from the cookie cutter development we were living in before. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it, and even though it was a full 20k more than what I had intended to spend, I bought it.
I pulled my phone over and saw it was a text from Stephen. 'Can I call you? I know its late.' I typed back an affirmative, curious what was forcing the call at such a late hour. At most, we would speak twice a day--a brief conversation during a lull in his busy morning, and our regular phone call on his drive home. A few moments after my text was sent, his name rang up on the phone.
"Kathryn, I know we never do this, but..." He started in immediately after I said hello. I was confused.
"Do what? But what?"
"Talk to me."
"What do you mean? We are talking, Colbert. What do you want to talk about?"
He paused, and his voice sounded rough and sleepy. "I want to talk about fucking you." I gasped a quiet breath, a hot shudder down my arms at the raspiness of his baritone voice. I got what this phone call was about, and I was game. Already in bed, I slid down a bit under the sheets, holding the phone to one ear.
"Hmm, fucking me? Why do you want to talk about fucking me?" My own voice lowered in response.
"Because I want to get off, and I want you to hear it, and I want you to do it with me. Where are you?"
"I'm in bed, Stephen."
"What are you wearing?" I thought about my nightshirt. Best answer honestly.
"A tshirt. Nothing else."
"No panties?"
"No, no panties."
"So I could slide my fingers up your gorgeous thighs and right up to your pussy."
Oh, my god. My head spun at his words, my body immediately reacting to how sexy his voice, how easy it was to visual him doing it. He was whispering into the phone, words heavy with his breathing and deep voice. I felt myself getting wet, my nipples tightening.
"What are you wearing?" I asked him, quietly, hotly.
"Boxers, pulled down."
"Are you touching yourself?"
"My cock is hard for you, Kath, and it has been all night. I'm stroking it and looking down at it, and imagining it was your deliciously tight pussy on it instead of my hand." I murmured an appreciate groan into the phone, flushing at the image of me sitting on top of him, his eyes hungrily watching himself slide into me. "Kathryn, touch yourself. Are you wet?" He commanded me.
To my surprise at how quick it was, I found my wetness quickly, circling my fingers around my clit, aware that he could hear each of my rushed breaths, every moan and sigh I made. I found myself more vocal because of it, hoping he found my sound as hot as I found his, his breaths ragged.
Stephen was talking to me, his words dirty and graphic, working himself up as he described kissing me, grabbing my hips roughly and driving into me, make my nipples bounce and catch on his lips when he bends over to kiss them. I found myself approaching my orgasm quickly, groaning so into the phone--he was driving me wild with his slow, hot way of speaking, growling his voice and moaning. He encouraged me on it, telling me to rub my clit and to imagine it was his tongue, a thought that caused me to ache with need. For a few moments, we were silent but for the sounds of our sighs and murmurs, our breathing running hotly into the phone, working ourselves closer to orgasm and driven forward by the though of each other doing it at the same.
I couldn't get over how hot he sounded, how much it drove me crazy to know he had his hand wrapped around his thick cock, his eyes half-closed with pleasure, imaging my body. I felt myself starting to come, rubbing my wet clit and arching on the bed, sighing into the phone that I was about to come. Stephen urged me on, whispered for me to come for him. I held the phone to my ear with my shoulder, my free hand roughly pinching my nipples, the extra sensation pushing me over the edge. I cried out his name, shuddering and shaking on the bed, the orgasm exploding in my stomach and pelvis, tingling down my legs and up my back. As I quiet down, I heard Stephens breath speed up, blowing into the phone as he murmured my name, saying "God, I want to fuck you so bad, just spread your legs and fuck you, hard and fast and thick and wet, take you and bend you over and fuck you, goddamnit it..." and he was coming, his voice rising and suddenly he was silent, breath caught in his throat when he groaned it out. I found myself not breathing, listening to him finish with an intensity that memorized the way it sounded. It was the single hottest thing I had ever heard in my life.
I was silent on the phone, my body warm and tingling, floating from my orgasm, the only sound between us our ragged breaths and racing heartbeats.
"Stephen, that was fucking hot."
"Tell me about it. I'm sweating like a whore in church." I laughed at that, feeling my heart rate starting to slow, a hazy warmth spread over my body that meant one thing: sleep.
"We need to do that again..."
"We will. We will definitely do that again. Are you tired?" He sounded worn out.
"Exhausted, completely." I answered honestly, my eyelids already starting to feel heavy and full.
"Go to sleep--I'll talk to you tomorrow.
"Night, Stephen." Whispered.
"Thank you, lady...Goodnight," he whispered back.
Pairings/Characters: Stephen/Other
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Sexual content, graphic description
Summary: Life changes for Kathryn, and their relationship changes to fit
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Authors Note: This is longer, makes up for the short chapter 7. Sorry if I'm spamming the community! More smuttiness ahead!
New Years was quiet. My husband was with "friends", of course. Naturally. The kids were at their mother's house. Lucy went to bed early, and I spent the evening reading, and sewing, and thinking. And a little crying, but I tried not to. I got a small flurry of text messages after midnight, but none from him, and I didn't send one to him either. I didn't want to talk to him, to hear about him, or to see him. What I really wanted was a quiet room, a pound of marijuana with a carton of ice cream, and 6 months to hide out from the world--I'd emerge single, happy and ready for life. But until then, I had to face my decision.
I knew when James announced he was going to spend New Years hunting that our marriage was over. He's never skipped a holiday before, even one as seemingly trivial as New Years. I had hinted about hiring a babysitter, maybe we could go out, you know, on a date? Sorry Katy--the guys already made plans to go. I decided to contact my lawyer three days later. We got started immediately in handling business decisions. Our small consulting company was doing quite well, and we had set it up originally as being entirely mine. We paid James as an independent contractor, for legal & tax purposes. He had been dealing with a foreclosure when we were starting it up, and our lawyer had determined it would be safer to leave most of the assets in my name. This hadn't meant much in the course of the relationship, but it now meant that I could be potentially walking away with a source of income to survive on, and I wasn't going to take any chances on losing that. James had a stake in the company, but I was a majority owner. I made sure my ducks were in a legal row before I sprang the news on him. The house was both of ours. I didn't want it, and I didn't suspect he did either. I assumed we'd sell it and split whatever profits there would be--if there were any.
He wasn't surprised--and it angered me to see relief cross his face. I was making the responsible decision in ending this. He had been content with sneaking around behind my back for a year like a shit, and he was relieved that I had made the decision, that he got away with avoiding it. I almost told him about sleeping with Stephen, just to see a flash of anger across his face, but I bit my tongue. I had prepared myself for a fight, for a he-said, she-said slapfest of hurtful words. We had definitely fought like that in the past, and I had some choice pieces of ammo aimed to hurt him if it called for. 'Oh yeah? A total stranger, who is rich and goddamn famous, by the way? He fucked your wife last summer and gave her the best sex she has ever had. His dick is bigger than yours!' A whole list of hurtful things to say to a man with any sense of pride. But he was calm, slightly regretful, still matter of fact, and I kept my attacks silent.
The conversation took place in the kitchen one evening, after the kids had gone to bed. I was doing the dishes, he was reading at the countertop. I told him we needed to talk.
"I know what you're going to say."
"I want a divorce."
"I know."
Not "Wait! Lets talk this through!". Not "why?". Not "But we can work this out." He just said, I know. A passive agreement. He knew, alright--he wanted one too. I started to ask about his exwife, but when I saw the look that skitted across his face when I said her name, I walked out of the room. I didn't want to know, and I didn't need a painful verbal confirmation of something I had already knew. But the weight that lifted off my shoulders at that moment, when I realized that the tiny spark of 'freedom' that popped into my head last summer was actually going to come true...it was a great feeling. Announcing the divorce to my family and friends brought surprised gasps and frowns--they had no clue. I stayed mum on our reasons, telling my parents and siblings that I would let them know more details later, but at this point, it was absolutely the best thing for all of us, and there were no hard feelings. (I don't know if I thought that was true or not, but it's a good front for people.) Liz was the only one not surprised, and she bought me & her three rounds of shots that weekend as a celebration.
It was into February, in the midst of recording official company communications involving the buyout of James's shares to me, and nailing down the details of the divorce agreement that I spoke to Stephen again. The amount of paperwork and the cost involved intimated me at first, only made more complicated by us having a child together, and split ownership of the business. But it needed to be done, and I viewed each meeting and process as another step in the right direction. I checked my phone after leaving a meeting with my paralegal late one morning and noticed the missed call. I had simply put him in my phone as "SC"--a double meaning, a reminder of the weekend we were together, and his name. I felt my heart stop when I saw it, a jolt and a flushing to my cheeks. But surprisingly, it was just pleasure and surprise, and not the normal shot of guilt I would have felt.
It was 11:30 in the morning on a Tuesday. I didn't know what kind of time that was to call him back, but his call was 20 minutes before. I called him, and got his voicemail--it was a standard automated message.
"Hi Stephen, this is Kathryn--I saw your call. Hope all is well with you. I'll talk to you later if you want." and I sent the message, leaving it in his hands. It wasn't 15 seconds later than my phone was buzzing--a look down confirmed he was calling me back.
"Hi there," I answered cheerfully, as soon as I saw it ringing.
"Why, hello to you too." was his reply, mirroring my cheerful tone. I found a wide smile on my face at his voice, a level of congeniality and comfort between us that wasn't there the last time we talked.
"How are you doing?" I was headed for my car, keys in hand, my heels clicking on the parking lot surface.
"I'm alright, alright. How about you?"
"Actually, Stephen, I'm doing just fine. It's a nice change."
"Oh yeah? You sound in a great mood. Good things happening?"
"I'd say so."
"Like what?" I unlocked the car and slid inside, holding my phone in place with my shoulder as I turned the heater on and clicked my seatbelt on.
"Do you have time to talk?"
He paused, and murmured something I couldn't hear. He was back a moment later. "I have a few minutes, yeah. Tell me your good news."
"Well, I'm getting a divorce." A one beat pause, a silence that seemed like a mistake to me at first--we were being awfully casual and friendly with each other, and this might not be appropriate. Why would he celebrate that? Oh, it sounds so personal. For a split instant, I was mortified.
"And is that what you want?" Quiet, serious.
"It's what I want. And more importantly, it's what I need."
"Well then, I'm happy for you. You deserve good things. And if this is a good thing, then I'm glad for it." And I could tell he meant it. I felt relief.
"Thanks for that, I really appreciate it. It wasn't an easy decision, but I will say it was an obvious one."
I heard a muffled shuffle across the handpiece, and I heard Stephens voice, dimly and unintelligible. He paused, it felt like he was listening to a reply, and he murmured again. Then he was back.
"Sorry about that, it's always busy in here." He paused, and I heard the hesitation in his voice, his breathing. "If you don't mind me asking...what happened? Was it..." Another pause. He restarted. "I mean, you don't have to explain or discuss anything you don't want to talk about, and I know it's not really any of my business, but was it because..." He stopped. I wondered if he was hesitant to even say the words outloud, since I assumed he was in his office.
I came to his rescue. "No, no, it wasn't because of...us." I slipped the word out quickly, it felt inappropriate or presumptuous. There wasn't really an "us" when it came to him and I.
"I had my suspicions for a long time that my husband was sleeping with his exwife. I know he was. He just gave up, and I gave up too. I realized what I needed to do after New Years, " I continued, feeling relieved that I could actually explain it to him. I hadn't realized how badly I wanted to talk to him about it--and I don't think it was because of some hope that he would take my husband's place, but because he seemed to have an interest in me, and he was kind, and intelligent, and I wanted his words on it.
"Whoa, wait a minute. His exwife? I remember you said you had stepkids." He sounded genuinely concerned. I suddenly pictured him sitting up at his desk, staring out a window. I could picture the light dusting of hair on his arms, his fingers as he held the phone to his ear, his furrowed brows. Probably spinning a pen in his right hand, tapping it on the desk while he listened to me.
I smiled tight lipped in the car, realizing not for the first time that everyone thinks this is wildly fucked up when they hear about it. And I feel deeply embarrassed...like it was my fault, like it reflected badly on me, or that I was subpar to her in someway. It wasn't the first time I've felt that way.
"I do have stepkids, 3 of them. It's their mother. I know, I know--it is as fucked up as it sounds."
"So let me get this straight. This guy marries her. Divorces her. Marries you. And cheats on you, with her?" He sounded flat and incredulous.
"That's it."
"What a shitbag."
I laughed out loud at his tone, said so deadpan and serious. "Stephen!"
"No, Kathryn, really. I mean, what a shitbag. Why did they get divorced in the first place?" I groaned, knowing the reaction he was going to have when I tell him.
"You won't believe it, but she cheated on him."
"You're kidding me."
"I am not kidding you." I smiled.
"You are fucking with me."
"No, I am not fucking with you, although that idea might have potential."
He whistled at me, a rushed "phew", and then he laughed.
"No wonder you're cheerful, it sounds like those two are made for each other. You clearly lucked out in that deal. They'll remarry and cheat on each other for the rest of their lives, and you get to get out."
"I agree. It wasn't always so clear to me, you know? But after some thinking and realizing how deep into things we were, I knew I had to get out. I owed to myself. The divorce some should be final in a month or so. We have lots of paperwork and issues concerning our business, but it's all being solved. I'm actually leaving my lawyers right now."
We went on to have a short conversation, with Stephen asking concerned questions about my daughter and her custody, and congratulating me again on making a decision that made me happy. I asked if he was at work, and he talked a little about his daily schedule, driving into the city, writers meetings, script meetings, rehearsal, taping. It sounded like he worked long hours, but his tone was enthusiastic. We didn't touch on his relationship. I didn't want to pry, and I knew he was busy. He paused every few minutes, covered the mouthpiece, and spoke to someone quickly, returning to the conversation after a beat right where he left it off at.
He jumped back on the phone after such a break, and said, "Kat, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to run now. I liked talking with you, and hearing you happy. Maybe we could talk again soon." He added that at the end, softly. I smiled widely at the shy nervousness in his voice. That was cute.
"I think that'd be great, actually. We can talk then. Have a great show."
"Thank you. Talk later," and he clicked off.
I put the phone in my lap, it was warm, and smiled at myself in the rearview. I was jazzed inside, giddy and pleased and flattered. It was a nice conversation--relaxing, and for the first time, we shared some actual personal details. I couldn't wait to call him again--wondering when I could. A few days, I thought. I felt butterflies in my stomach, and I remembered the last time I had really felt those. It was at the cabin, when he leaned in to kiss me. I closed my eyes and smiled.
I don't know what happened to our one time event, special tickets only. It had morphed into an extended showing---or perhaps more like an extended preview. I wasn't sure, and I wasn't getting my hopes up. Stephen hadn't said a peep about his relationship. And I wasn't going to pry. I wasn't joking when I had told Liz that the idea of a relationship was out of the picture, for a lot different reasons. But a friendship, I didn't think that was impossible.
~*~
We fell into a rhythm, Stephen and I, and it happened quickly. Our phone calls went from being every couple of weeks, to every few days. He would call me most evenings on his way home from work. I was surprised when he told me he drove himself--I always assumed the studio would give him a car. But he said he liked the chance to decompress and return to normal for his kids. We talked about our days together, me starting to learn the names of a few people he worked with, hearing funny stories or jokes. I still didn't watch the show, and I let him know that--he laughed and said it was alright, that he actually didn't watch it either. I talked about business clients or issues, my daughter. We got in political arguments, me being much more of a libertarian than he was, but they were always jokingly half-serious, never tense. I found myself looking forward to my phone ringing at 8:00 or so, after my daughter had fallen asleep, and I had the evening for myself. I would curl up on the couch with a blanket, my laptop, and my phone, waiting for it flash "SC" at me.
My husband had moved out at the beginning of March, back into his exwifes house. We put the house on the market. I was packing up things at that point, and hunting for a small house to buy myself. I took the opportunity to set myself up nicely--cashing in on a fund setup with inheritance from my grandparents. I planned on buying the house outright, appreciating the financial and life freedom owning the house could give me at that point. I wanted to make sure I would be able to give my daughter a good life. We were taking a cut in pay, as James had sold his part of the business to me and left it in my hands, taking his income elsewhere. I was faced with hiring another developer, as well as a paycut, but I had more contracts than I could handle.
It was the happiest I had been in a long time--I felt independent and lucky, loving the time to myself with Lucy, excited to own my own home, and have the freedom that working from home could bring us. I saw me and her traveling together. My nightly conversations with Stephen became a high point--the type of daily rundown and conversation of our days that I used to have with my husband, and I appreciated having someone to tell it to each night who was interested in it. The flirting was nice too.
March turned to April, the rainy start of summer for Florida, the weather turning hot and humid. The divorce was finalized on a Tuesday morning, a quiet and quick affair in the private office of the judge. We signed the papers with our lawyers present. After we set the pens down, the judge stamped the papers and declared it official. I stared at James in that moment--surprised at how the love I felt for him years ago had somehow contorted into this very moment. I felt sad, but mostly I felt relieved. It was done. I called Stephen earlier that day, at a time I hoped he was between meetings. His phone rang to voicemail, and I left a message, short and to the point--"Wait in front of a door. At one point, it will open", a quote from Ulysses, a piece of modern writing we discovered we both loved. I found a good meaning in it for me, that the divorce was an opening door, not a closed one. I was surprised at how easily I transitioned out of married life--but I realized that James and I hadn't been connected on that level in a long time. It really wasn't that different than my life before, but it was easier. I didn't have my stepkids to worry or schedule over, or avoid fights with. I parked in a different driveway (a rental apartment until I found our own place), but it was nice. We made our own hours, spending time with friends and family. James made a point of taking Lucy on his weekends. I loved looking at house, being picky but knowing there was a good waiting for me.
Still, there was an elephant in the room that we didn't discuss. Stephen dropped hints, sometimes verbal, others just a change in tone, that indicated his marriage was in a state of distress. He referenced her only when absolutely necessary, and almost never by her name, which I did catch one evening was Evelyn, when I was chatting with him a drive home from a friend's house.
My heart lurched when I heard her name. It was elegant. In my mind, I saw an instant vision of a beautiful woman, older than me, but stately and gorgeous, because that is quite simply the only kind of woman I could actually see Stephen marrying. I was realistic enough that I knew he was out of my league, and the women in HIS league are called names like Evelyn or Cassandra. Not Kathryn, spelled oddly with a 'Y'. Evelyn had a rightful 'Y', Kathryn looked like it was stolen. I might have had a chance if it was spelled Katherine. Katherines are women who play polo, side-saddle, and own vacation homes on beaches in South Carolina. Kathryns are women who live in small apartment complexes, and divorce their husbands. Stephen and Evelyn make a handsome couple, people would say. Stephen and Kathryn look mismatched.
He repeated my name in the conversation and I realized I had zoned out on what he had said. I apologized, said traffic was bad, flustered and shaken. He said he would call me tomorrow, and that he wanted me kept safe because he "didn't want any blemishes put on those thighs without my involvement." I flushed hotly at that, and said that sounded good, I'll talk to you tomorrow. I hung up the phone and stared out at traffic. Her name brought into crystal clarity that she existed, and I was hit with such an overwhelming rage of jealousy that I actually shocked myself. He went home to her. Every night. He sat in his driveway, hung up the phone, grabbed a laptop bag (I imagined) and went inside. And she would be there, waiting for him, in all her gorgeousness (I imagined). I wanted to ring her throat.
Jesus, did they still have sex? James and I hadn't had sex in months by the time we were divorced. We had it half-heartedly in December, but really honestly, sex with Stephen really *had* ruined me. James was fitless, quick, and boring. He didn't have any of the fire or spark Stephen did. Ironically enough, I had insisted he wear a condom, something I did not do with Stephen (even though I had thought about it, and dismissed it immediately). It wasn't to protect him from anything I had might have gotten, but to protect myself from him. He was irritated and insulted when I asked for it. I didn't care to have sex with him again after that, and he apparently didn't need to.
But Stephen still might be having sex with her. After all, she was gorgeous, I was sure, and why wouldn't he? Even more, how could she resist having sex with him? I convinced myself immediately at that point that they were still having sex, because I couldn't imagine a universe where I lived with Stephen and didn't try to fuck him daily. I'd insist he wear that suit home from work, and I could have the pleasure of peeling it off of him.
I tried hard to shake those thoughts as I went to bed that night, reminding myself that Stephen had actually chosen to sleep with me, and apparently still did if he constantly hints and comments were any indication. And that he had never given me the slightest idea that he was happily married--his only words about it are tinged with anger or pain. It obviously wasn't a match living in paradise. Still, even though I knew these thoughts all made sense, I found myself lonesome that night, feeling for the first time that I was "the other woman", and it wasn't a good place to be. Of course, I wasn't really the other woman--we were friends. We both knew that.
One night around midnight in early May, my cell phone buzzed with a text from my bedside table. I had moved in a week before, buying the house with a satisfied signature. It was perfect--a midsized 1930's cottage, located a few blocks from downtown in my medium Florida city. It was a quiet brick street, close to the center of town, with hard wood floors and wood burning fire places, white trim, and a backyard covered in flowering bougainvillaea trees. It was a far cry from the cookie cutter development we were living in before. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it, and even though it was a full 20k more than what I had intended to spend, I bought it.
I pulled my phone over and saw it was a text from Stephen. 'Can I call you? I know its late.' I typed back an affirmative, curious what was forcing the call at such a late hour. At most, we would speak twice a day--a brief conversation during a lull in his busy morning, and our regular phone call on his drive home. A few moments after my text was sent, his name rang up on the phone.
"Kathryn, I know we never do this, but..." He started in immediately after I said hello. I was confused.
"Do what? But what?"
"Talk to me."
"What do you mean? We are talking, Colbert. What do you want to talk about?"
He paused, and his voice sounded rough and sleepy. "I want to talk about fucking you." I gasped a quiet breath, a hot shudder down my arms at the raspiness of his baritone voice. I got what this phone call was about, and I was game. Already in bed, I slid down a bit under the sheets, holding the phone to one ear.
"Hmm, fucking me? Why do you want to talk about fucking me?" My own voice lowered in response.
"Because I want to get off, and I want you to hear it, and I want you to do it with me. Where are you?"
"I'm in bed, Stephen."
"What are you wearing?" I thought about my nightshirt. Best answer honestly.
"A tshirt. Nothing else."
"No panties?"
"No, no panties."
"So I could slide my fingers up your gorgeous thighs and right up to your pussy."
Oh, my god. My head spun at his words, my body immediately reacting to how sexy his voice, how easy it was to visual him doing it. He was whispering into the phone, words heavy with his breathing and deep voice. I felt myself getting wet, my nipples tightening.
"What are you wearing?" I asked him, quietly, hotly.
"Boxers, pulled down."
"Are you touching yourself?"
"My cock is hard for you, Kath, and it has been all night. I'm stroking it and looking down at it, and imagining it was your deliciously tight pussy on it instead of my hand." I murmured an appreciate groan into the phone, flushing at the image of me sitting on top of him, his eyes hungrily watching himself slide into me. "Kathryn, touch yourself. Are you wet?" He commanded me.
To my surprise at how quick it was, I found my wetness quickly, circling my fingers around my clit, aware that he could hear each of my rushed breaths, every moan and sigh I made. I found myself more vocal because of it, hoping he found my sound as hot as I found his, his breaths ragged.
Stephen was talking to me, his words dirty and graphic, working himself up as he described kissing me, grabbing my hips roughly and driving into me, make my nipples bounce and catch on his lips when he bends over to kiss them. I found myself approaching my orgasm quickly, groaning so into the phone--he was driving me wild with his slow, hot way of speaking, growling his voice and moaning. He encouraged me on it, telling me to rub my clit and to imagine it was his tongue, a thought that caused me to ache with need. For a few moments, we were silent but for the sounds of our sighs and murmurs, our breathing running hotly into the phone, working ourselves closer to orgasm and driven forward by the though of each other doing it at the same.
I couldn't get over how hot he sounded, how much it drove me crazy to know he had his hand wrapped around his thick cock, his eyes half-closed with pleasure, imaging my body. I felt myself starting to come, rubbing my wet clit and arching on the bed, sighing into the phone that I was about to come. Stephen urged me on, whispered for me to come for him. I held the phone to my ear with my shoulder, my free hand roughly pinching my nipples, the extra sensation pushing me over the edge. I cried out his name, shuddering and shaking on the bed, the orgasm exploding in my stomach and pelvis, tingling down my legs and up my back. As I quiet down, I heard Stephens breath speed up, blowing into the phone as he murmured my name, saying "God, I want to fuck you so bad, just spread your legs and fuck you, hard and fast and thick and wet, take you and bend you over and fuck you, goddamnit it..." and he was coming, his voice rising and suddenly he was silent, breath caught in his throat when he groaned it out. I found myself not breathing, listening to him finish with an intensity that memorized the way it sounded. It was the single hottest thing I had ever heard in my life.
I was silent on the phone, my body warm and tingling, floating from my orgasm, the only sound between us our ragged breaths and racing heartbeats.
"Stephen, that was fucking hot."
"Tell me about it. I'm sweating like a whore in church." I laughed at that, feeling my heart rate starting to slow, a hazy warmth spread over my body that meant one thing: sleep.
"We need to do that again..."
"We will. We will definitely do that again. Are you tired?" He sounded worn out.
"Exhausted, completely." I answered honestly, my eyelids already starting to feel heavy and full.
"Go to sleep--I'll talk to you tomorrow.
"Night, Stephen." Whispered.
"Thank you, lady...Goodnight," he whispered back.