“I have been here twelve years,” I said slowly, “twelve years, Stephen has only been here five.”
She rolled her eyes with a dismissive smile and replied, “Employees always exaggerate their experience, just tell Stephen I am here and I will wait in the living room.”
She walked into my living room, sat comfortably on my sofa, and placed her feet on the coffee table that Stephen and I had bought years ago at a yard sale during the first year of our marriage and refinished together in our garage.
“Could you bring me water?” she called out from the sofa, “with lemon, and lots of ice please.”
I brought her a glass of water with lemon and far too much ice exactly as she requested.
She looked at the glass critically and said, “Is Stephen upset with you or something because he does not like things done this way.”
“How does Stephen like things done?” I asked.
“With attention and efficiency, and respect for guests,” she answered confidently.
“Are you a frequent guest here?” I asked calmly.
“I come here every Tuesday and Thursday when his wife is working, and sometimes on Saturdays if she is at book club,” Amber said casually as if reciting a schedule.
I did not have a book club and I had changed my work schedule two months earlier, something Stephen clearly had not noticed.
“You seem to know a lot about his wife,” I said.
Amber laughed and replied, “I know enough, she is older and probably boring, Stephen says he stays with her only because divorce is expensive.”
She continued speaking with the same casual cruelty. “He says she cheated on him years ago and now he feels trapped with a woman who probably does not even know what Botox is.”
I unconsciously touched my face while listening, aware that at thirty seven I certainly had a few lines on my face but I hardly looked disheveled.
“Stephen deserves someone better,” she continued proudly, “someone young and attractive who understands his needs instead of a housewife who probably thinks missionary is a bird.”
“Maybe she works,” I suggested quietly.
Amber laughed again. “Please, Stephen told me she has a tiny little office job somewhere, probably answering phones or something insignificant.”
My little job happened to be running the company I founded eight years earlier, a business with two hundred employees that paid for the house we were standing in as well as Stephen’s car and the failing medical practice he had been running for three years.
“Stephen’s clinic must be very successful,” I said calmly.
Amber shrugged and replied, “Between us things are great, he just needs a woman who pushes him to be ambitious because his wife probably coddles him and pays the bills while he survives on a mediocre salary.”
