Dressed to Impress. Elizabeth Coldwell

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      ‘Uh huh.’

      ‘Debbie, I don’t know. That sort of nightclub …’

      ‘It’s just a place for good food and good drinks and first-rate entertainment!’ said Debra, throwing her sister a reproachful look. ‘I was there last week for training. Everyone was really nice and respectful. And anyways, it’s just waitressing! No need to act as though I were becoming an escort or something.’

      Rebecca pulled a pair of long, fingerless net gloves out of a bag. ‘Just waitressing,’ she said, raising an eyebrow. ‘You’ll show up at Nicholas’s club dressed like Hugh Hefner’s idea of a French maid!’

      Debra shouldered the babies’ diaper bags and yanked the gloves out of her sister’s hands. ‘How often do you and Dave have sex?’

      Rebecca gave an amused frown. ‘Don’t know. Often enough, I guess.’

      ‘So you’d say you’re happy with your love life?’

      ‘Pretty much, yes.’

      Debra shut the trunk with a loud bang. ‘Well, I’m not. And I doubt Nicholas is.’ She straightened up. ‘First, when we were trying to get pregnant, sex became this awkward mess. You know – we planned, we fretted, we followed rules and got all technical about it. And ever since the twins –’ she continued, following her sister back inside the house ‘– we’re always too tired and, well, I’m frustrated! I’m frustrated and I’m afraid …’ She took a deep breath.

      ‘You’re afraid of what?’ Rebecca asked, closing the door behind them.

      Debra sighed. ‘That we lost it. You know – the spark.’ She looked at her older sister as if she held the cure to her worries. ‘What if we killed it with all the fertility treatments and scheduled sex?’

      Rebecca tilted her head. ‘You’re both just working too hard. And two toddlers – I don’t know a single couple that doesn’t complain about a slump after having kids.’

      ‘They’re fifteen months old, Becky!’ Debra raised her voice to be heard over Jake’s howling and reached for a stuffed ladybird he had thrown out of the playpen. ‘Here, sweetie,’ she said. Then, turning back to her sister: ‘I can’t even remember the last time we were relaxed and having fun and just – making love. Not performing or fulfilling some marital duty or …’

      ‘Why don’t you, I don’t know, buy some lingerie? Book a spa together. Or you could –’

      ‘And what else does Cosmo suggest?’ Debra rolled her eyes. ‘No. Me waitressing – that’s how we met. And I want Nicholas to remember that I’m still that woman.’

      ‘You didn’t wear a black corsage at Ol’ Flannery’s Pub.’

      ‘Well, that’s the point, if you catch my drift.’ Debra grinned mischievously. She turned to the boys. ‘Be good, OK?’ She pressed a kiss on both her sons’ cheeks. ‘Don’t give Aunt Becky a hard time. Mummy will be back tomorrow. I love you lots and lots!’ She gave Rebecca a hug. ‘I owe you.’

      Rebecca smiled patiently. ‘Good luck, you crazy woman.’

      ‘Thanks.’ With a last look at the twins, Debra left her sister’s house.

      A few hours later, she entered the sophisticated lounge of the Connor’s Club. The whole interior was a hymn of understated masculinity, inspired by Playboy clubs from the 1960s. Firm white leather chairs alternated with dark, glossy ones, their high backrests vanishing in the diffuse glow emitted by discreet table lights. Folding screens made of wengé wood divided the room into separate entities. Across from the entrance, set against a wall covered in mirrors, a bar shone under a cold silvery light.

      Waitresses at Connor’s wore dressy black corset leotards, tightly laced at the front, with matching net stockings and black patent-leather heels. Debra wasn’t heavily made up, but false lashes and a bobbed wig à la Uma Thurman’s Pulp Fiction look made her feel like a whole different person whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrors behind the bar.

      Nicholas hadn’t yet arrived, and she was as excited as she had been back at age 24 in Ol’ Flannery’s Pub, waiting for him to show up with his crowd of college friends every Thursday night, the highlight of her week.

      She was waiting for the barman to fill the glasses for her latest order when she saw her husband’s face reflected between the bottles of liquor staged along the wall. He was accompanied by Al, a red-cheeked, stocky man who must have been a good head shorter. Debra quickly placed the cocktails on her tray and hurried to the guests waiting for them in the far corner of the room. For the next half hour, she made sure not to come too close to Nicholas’s table and tried her best not to ever look in his direction.

      ‘Honey, can you cover for me?’ Another waitress brushed Debra’s arm as she headed out the back door for a cigarette. ‘Just a few minutes?’

      ‘Sure.’ Debra exhaled. No more excuses. She was about to take an order from a group close to Nicholas’s table when she heard a gravelly voice behind her. ‘That’s one fine piece of ass!’

      A glance into the mirror told her that Nicholas’s client was brazenly gorging on her behind. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’ Al asked, nudging her husband. Nicholas nodded and smiled politely.

      ‘Oh, come on!’ Al let out a puffy laugh. ‘That’s all?’

      Nicholas shrugged. ‘I’m a married man.’

      It wasn’t so much his words that made Debra glow inside, but the way he had said them. She had not heard the slightest trace of regret or weariness in his voice. In fact, he had sounded rather proud. She turned around and beamed at him. Nicholas caught her eyes and, for a split second, he smiled back. Then his eyes grew wide. His gaze wandered over her attire, thunderstruck, and Debra’s hands grew damp.

      ‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked, quickly turning her eyes to Al.

      ‘We’ll have two Gibson Martinis.’

      ‘Of course, sir.’

      ‘Al, would you excuse me for a second?’ she heard Nicholas say as she made her way to the bar. Next thing she knew, she was being dragged into a hallway that led to the smoking terrace.

      ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he hissed. The anger in his voice was not exactly the kind of agitation she’d hoped to spark.

      ‘I – I wanted to surprise you,’ she said, hanging her head. Not the great line she’d rehearsed when picturing this scene the past few weeks.

      Nicholas huffed. ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said, his eyes bearing into her. ‘So what – behind my back, you’re entertaining random old men?’

      ‘No! No. This is the first time!’ She looked at him pleadingly. ‘You are the only reason I’m here.’ For some moments, neither of them said a word. Debra racked her brain for something meaningful to say – she’d had the best of intentions, why couldn’t she explain them to the man she loved? Tears threatened to rise, and she gulped them down fiercely, but it was hard to hide her disappointment. This was just like all their conversations of the past months. Or rather, lack of conversations.

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