The Life I Long For

I step out of the faded yellow taxi that I’ve become all too familiar with, the cold air immediately hitting my face. I clutch my black leather bag tightly towards my body, trying to create some sort of shield, but it didn’t work. My hair blows in every direction, getting stuck on my lips and touching my eyes. Goosebumps start to appear on my exposed skin, and I slam the door shut. The sound of my heels grows louder as I make my way into the lobby of the W Hotel, escaping the fall air. I come here on the weekends, and only the weekends. The familiar white marble floors are shining like always.

I take my normal route: enter straight through the double doors, turn to the left, walk past the two tall marble columns in the middle of the lobby and make a beeline for the bar, sitting specifically at the third barstool from the right. I place my bag onto the stool next to mine and slip off my long black coat, revealing my tight black dress to the bartender, and put it on top of my bag.

The W Hotel’s bartender is a man named Tony. He greets me with a smile, and I give one back. I’ve gotten to know Tony quite well. Well, as much as one can get to know someone that they only see on Friday nights. The first time we met he was extremely chatty asking me what I do for work and why I was there alone on a Friday night.

“I’m the senior manager of sales at the Cross, if you’ve ever heard of it,” I took a sip from my drink, surprised that it was quite good.

“Who doesn’t know of the Cross? It’s one of the biggest buildings downtown,” he replied half laughing at me. I wasn’t used to younger people knowing much about the Cross unless they’re in the industry. I looked at him picking up my glass and I downed my drink. He smiled and made me another one.

Since then, I’d decided to cut him some slack. We’ve talked about his family, how his little sister is finishing up middle school and is in her rebellious teenage stage, and his girlfriend who has been begging him to tie the knot already even though they’ve been dating for less than a year. He’s only 26 but says that he feels like he’s ten years older because of the hours he puts in and the long nights he endures. He’s quite handsome with dark features and a killer personality but a bit too young for my taste.

Tony begins to make my usual order — a dirty martini with an extra olive. I look up at the TV above our heads, occupying myself with something other than the bartender and my drink. The news is playing, and the anchors are talking about the weather forecast for the next week. To sum it up, it’ll be freezing. Anyone with half a brain could have predicted that. I focus my attention back to the bar as Tony slides me my drink. I thank him with a wink, and he smiles in acknowledgement. I pick up my drink and sip on it as I look around at the people who are surrounding me. I enjoy people watching — especially while I wait.

There’s a couple sitting to the left me at the end of the bar laughing and smiling, drinks in hand. They look young and full of life. I wish I could go back in time to be that way again. Next to them sits the local hotel drunk. He’s boozed out with almost a dozen empty glasses in front of him which is normal. I’m surprised that a hotel of this level would let him stay or that Tony would serve him. Maybe they feel bad for him. Sometimes I do, but at the end of the day, I remember that it’s his own choice, so I brush off the feeling. Everyone has their battles.

To my right is a young woman in a deep red dress and a black leather jacket. She has fox red hair that compliments her attire and soft pale skin, almost as white as snow. Her face is caked with makeup making her look older, though she can’t be over 25. She reminds me of a younger version of myself, scared of the unknown but living for the thrill. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her, but I don’t blame her for being here. She looks nervous as she downs her entire drink, shaking her leg as a man in a clean suit twice her age approaches her. She smiles at him, and I look away.

Sometimes I debate coming here during the week, or even on the weekends, but I know that it’s too much of a risk. No one that I personally know can realize that I come here. It would ruin everything that I’ve worked for. It would ruin me. It would ruin us. My reputation is too important for me to risk messing up. If anyone from work saw me here, I would be fired and blackballed in the industry. I could never work for a company of the same caliber and position again.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sudden movement of the chair next to me. His arm brushes against mine as he fills the space between us. Tony comes over to greet him as he already knows his usual order, Jack on the rocks. It doesn’t surprise me that he chose this seat. In fact, I was waiting for him to show up. He comes here every time I do. The man next to me is named Richard. He has prominent facial features: a big Middle Eastern nose, thick eyebrows, and big brown eyes. His salt and pepper hair is my favorite part of him. Today he’s dressed in a dark charcoal gray suit; his briefcase on the floor between us. He comes here after getting off from work at 7 o’clock. It’s 7:10 p.m. He smiles at me as he takes his drink from Tony giving him a “thank you” and sips on it. I mimic his gestures.

Richard and I met at this very bar a few months ago after I had a very long, very stressful day of work. I had gotten yelled at by my boss and knew that I needed a drink before I went home to Steven, my husband of ten years. We don’t keep alcohol in our home because of Steven’s struggle with substance abuse, so I knew that the only way that this would be possible would be to stop somewhere. I couldn’t go to the store and bring it home; Steven would have been too tempted to take it. I didn’t want him to relapse. I also didn’t want to go to an actual bar or club; I’m too old for that kind of environment. I thought of the only reasonable solution as I walked down the streets: a hotel.

The ones in D.C. always have a nice bar, and they’ll let anyone who looks the part in. I knew that I fit the look as I always made sure to keep up my style to combat my age. I’m 45, but I feel much older, almost as if I live in a different world than the one that I’m surrounded by. So, I walked to the closest hotel to my office building that had a 5-star rating and sat down at the bar with no issues. My confidence was high, and my performance helped me to blend in as if I was the owner of the damn place. That was the first night that I sat in the chair three down from the right and met Tony.

I was a few drinks in when Richard had sat down next to me wearing a dark, navy-blue suit while holding his briefcase. Immediately I was intimidated by him, which is unusual for me to feel. I know how to stand my ground and I keep my guard up unless I’m at home, but this feeling was different. My palms began to sweat, and I rubbed them on my dress. I looked over at him and he was already staring back. He gave me a big smile and I nervously picked up my drink, unintentionally chugging it. I had never seen such radiance come off of a person, not even Steven. Hell, Steven couldn’t compare to the confidence and class that beamed off of Richard.

I sat at the bar for another ten minutes until my anxiety kicked in.

What are you thinking? Sure, you can find someone attractive, but you have Steven waiting at home. I need to stop drinking. He’ll know if I come home smelling like booze.

I was ready to leave, but as I looked over and saw him looking my way again after having ordered another round, I couldn’t resist. My curiosity got the best of me. I wanted to know more about what a man like him does to appear so charismatic.

“Seems as if we both like to drink alone,” he said.

“Only because I have to,” I replied.

“We can change that if you’d like?” I stared at him, and my eyes smiled. He moved closer and extended his hand.

“Richard.”

“Melanie.” I took his hand in mine.

From what I remember he bought me multiple drinks that night as we laughed and learned about one another. The next thing I knew I woke up in a hotel room bed with him by my side. I thought my life was over. Thankfully, Steven is a late sleeper, and I was able to get home and change before he had woken up. It was like nothing had happened. But that wasn’t the case. I tried my best to be quiet, taking my heels off before unlocking the door to our apartment. I stepped across our hardwood floors like a ballerina, sneaking into the bathroom. My makeup was smudged, my hair was badly knotted, and my head was pounding.

I thought about Richard ever since that day and went back the next week on Friday at 7 o’clock, in hopes of seeing him again.

I did.

I don’t feel bad or ashamed doing this — being the woman who cheats on her husband. Steven doesn’t give me the attention that Richard does. Not once in the past year have I been intimate with him, and it’s not like I haven’t tried. The older I get the more worried I am about time, but he doesn’t understand. Richard, however, sees what I see. He’s divorced with no kids meaning that he has no other commitments. It’s fun being able to pretend to be someone else for once. Finally, I have excitement in my life. I already told Richard about Steven, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Richard is a few years older than me at 50. He’s told me that when he was married, he had very similar thoughts to the ones that I have now. Though he never actually did go through with his desired actions.

It makes me feel better to know that I’m not crazy for having these thoughts. I always thought that if someone wanted to cheat on their significant other, then they were selfish and crazy and didn’t love them anymore. In my case, that isn’t true. I love Steven; he’s my husband. But I can’t love him in the way that I love Richard. The same routine every night: get on the metro then take a cab home, shower, eat dinner quietly at the table, and sit in bed together. He talks about his day which consists of going on walks and working on a computer for a few hours while he cleans our home for the rest of the night. I comment on the work that I’m doing at the office, and then we go to sleep.

I’m tired of the never-ending constant. I need change. And Richard is my change. He makes me feel something that Steven never has. He makes me want to live and experience this different life that I long for with him. He makes me feel young again, as if there is no fear in me.

Richard and I have a routine that we plan to continue to follow every time we meet up, which we have established is now once a week on Friday nights. I tell Steven that we have mandatory company bonding nights every week that are paid, so he has no suspicions. I arrive at the bar first at 7 o’clock, as I did just now, and he follows through about ten minutes later. He doesn’t want to keep me waiting, but we can never arrive together, in case anyone is watching, which could be possible since I’m so close to the office. We have four drinks each and by the time our glasses are empty, we’re laughing about God knows what as I forget about everything else in my life.

I grab my coat while he takes my bag and his briefcase, and we walk a few feet apart from each other towards the elevator. Richard makes the reservation in advance, so I never talk to the staff at the front desk except for the occasional “hi, how are you?” and “thank you.” Our room never changes. It’s on the top floor, which is the 10th here. The room number is 1060, which is at the end of the right wing and also happens to be the biggest suite in the hotel. The walls are a light grayish blue. In the room, a king size bed, a full kitchen with a dishwasher and cabinets filled with dishes, a flatscreen tv, and a luxury spa bathroom. The door has seen us stumble through multiple times and he makes me feel alive again for the night.

In the morning, we make coffee with the machine provided to us in the room and talk about what our plans are for the weekend as we sit in the soft cotton robes that they provide for us. Once our mugs are empty, we change and exit together into the elevator, standing as close as possible to one another, soaking in our last moments of each other. As soon as the double doors that lead us into a different world open, we part ways. He goes right. I go left. Back down the street towards the Metro. Back to my reality and back to Steven. I’m left waiting and anticipating for the next seven days until I can see Richard again. Some days I look at Steven and imagine him as if he were Richard. I can’t help but to think what life would be like if it were Richard by my side every day and not him. Would I be happy? Sad? Would I miss Steven and his messy kitchen sink and freshly folded laundry? Would I want Richard as a partner and not just the other man? These questions run through my mind almost daily. I guess I will never know for sure. When I go home, I wait and tend to my old life, longing until I can escape myself again and live the life that I long for.

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