7 Tales of Sex and Betrayal

—
by —

Copyright 2013 Zita Weber
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Author’s Note

Between the sheets

But he
says he loves me

Chloe

Dear Ted,
Dear Tina

Reflections

Suspicion: 1978 style

Suspicion: 2008 style

Author’s Note

In this collection of short stories, love
and betrayal are the main themes. What happens when love goes
wrong? What does betrayal mean? Can you forgive an infidelity?

These stories explore ideas about being
human and in love – the temptations of lust and the consequences of
betrayal. It’s never an easy formula. It’s always much more
complicated than people think. Enjoy reading about how these
characters navigated through their love and what they did about
betrayal.

Between the
sheets

He was snoring as he always did after
drinking too much. Joanne listened from the verandah and thanked
her lucky stars. She could enjoy the warm balmy night without his
demands. The overwhelming fragrance of exotic orchids and
bougainvillea soothed her and she began to hum a favourite tune. It
was an old tune now, of course. She smiled as she recalled being
told by her mother that identifying with particular music dates
you. Well, she didn’t mind being dated, she was in her prime.

She had never had an issue with her age. The
local women wore their age with pride. With age, they told her,
came wisdom and respect. Had she been living in a western context,
she would be getting a very different message. The times she’d
visited her family back in Australia she’d felt distressed and
disoriented and couldn’t wait to get away. On her return to what
she now considered home, she felt exhilarated to be back in a
culture that valued the basic things in life. Yes, she’d decided,
the modern world was not for her. That culture had lost its way and
she no longer felt comfortable there.

She felt good here. She loved the country,
its climate and its people. Before they’d arrived, she’d been
warned about the creepy-crawlies. At first, she’d been
apprehensive, but now she felt at home and she loved every little
thing about the place. Everything had been exciting when they
arrived. Dave had been warm and generous and they had explored the
new culture together. They clung together for support, each
reminding the other of home and security.

Joanne smiled as she remembered how they had
made love on the dark wood bed. Its intricately carved fruit and
flowers headboard was the dark contrast against the snowy white of
the pillows and sheets. It had been such a novelty. Back in
Australia they had thought that their futon was as exotic as they
were going to get.

In their new surroundings their lovemaking
had matured to the point where Dave would observe the preamble and
even pleasure her beyond her own expectations. When they had met,
his lovemaking was abrupt and unsatisfactory, but she’d encouraged
him to become more adventurous and to be a considerate lover. He
owed his technique to her tutelage.

With time, they both began to feel
comfortable in their new home and Dave’s interest in her had
diminished. As the plantation manager, he was an important man.
With increasing annoyance, she watched his ego grow and his habits
change. He was no longer the man she had married. He began to
swagger, just a little at first, but within a few short years, he
had reinvented himself as master of all he surveyed. At first, this
transformation was amusing, but lately, she’d caught herself being
irritated by his manner. Although still a physically attractive
man, she found him an unattractive human being.

Rumours of his affairs reached her.
Dismissing these as malice or at best, sensational stories about
the boss, she believed they had a charmed life. But the rumours
became louder and she couldn’t close her ears to the possibility
that he was unfaithful to her. Stories were circulating about his
dalliances with servant girls and even some of the women from their
social set. His denials were vehement and she had too much pride to
pry any further. Their everyday life was smooth enough to not
bother too much about the small detail.

It wasn’t until she caught him with one of
her friends that everything changed. Coming home unexpectedly, she
found Dave in bed with Frances. She found them in the marital bed,
he was stroking a curious, proprietorial finger around the centre
of her left breast and she was making soft, cooing sounds. For a
moment, Joanne had stood stock-still and taken in the scene. Then
she laughed. It was too much of a cliché to be taken seriously. For
years, she’d recall that image, the two of them huddled together,
not knowing what to make of her laughing her head off. It still had
the power to bring a smile to her face.

Practical to the core, she didn’t make a
scene and decided that her life wasn’t to be disturbed for the sake
of her husband’s folly. She threw her considerable energy into
befriending the local workers and learning from them. Their local
knowledge was fascinating and she admired their strength and
resilience. She began teaching English to those workers who were
interested. She threw herself into her activities and got much
satisfaction from learning as well as teaching.

Occasionally, she’d find their wedding photo
turned around to face the wall. She never got to the bottom of
which of the servants was responsible, although she had her
suspicions. It was both touching and amusing that someone was
making a protest on her behalf. Once Dave had found his favourite
jacket had inexplicably developed burn holes that were so obvious
he had to throw the jacket away. He was livid because he’d been so
attached to the jacket and although he interrogated all the
servants, no-one was able to say who had done such a loathsome
thing.

Meanwhile Dave started to drink, moderately
at first, then regularly, and now almost constantly. The more he
drank the coarser he became with his staff and with her. More than
anything else, it was his attitude to the servants that upset her
the most. He was particularly cruel towards Pepie, their general
houseboy.

Pepie was friendly, eager to help and did a
good job of overseeing the other servants in the house. It was
Pepie who had taught her about the country. He had taught her which
insects to admire and which to be wary of. She owed her beautiful
garden to Pepie’s knowledge of native plants and when to plant
them. She smiled as she now watched him watering the garden.

“Joanne!” It was a barely audible whisper.
“Joanne, come quickly!”

The voice was hoarse, but soft, as if to
keep it from screaming. It was Dave’s voice coming from the
bedroom.

Joanne walked quickly to the bedroom where
she found Dave lying still, his sweating body covered only by a
cotton sheet. He stared at her with desperate eyes.

“What’s the matter?”

“A spider,” he whispered.

“A spider? Where?”

“With me. Here, between the sheets,” Dave’s
voice was shaking.

She made a move as if to lift the sheet, but
his terrified whisper stopped her.

“No! Don’t touch it. Don’t move anything at
all.”

“Why? Dave, take a hold of yourself, it’s
probably nothing.”

“A tarantula.”

“A tarantula? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

Gone was his normal bellow. It was replaced
by a muted desperation.

“I saw it crawl under the sheet.”

Joanne took the edge of the sheet in her
hand and said, “If I just lift this end of the sheet
carefully...”

But his panicky voice interrupted her. “No,
don’t. I can feel it...it’s crawling up my leg.”

Looking down, sure enough, Joanne saw
movement beneath the sheet. A small white mound was inching its way
along his body.

“Yes, I can see it. It does seem big enough
for a tarantula Dave.”

She got no reply. Dave’s whole body was
rigid with terror and his face purple as he strained to hold his
breath.

“Now, just relax. Try breathing very
gently.”

His eyes were screwed up tight in an effort
to avoid moving, but he acknowledged her suggestion by visibly
releasing his breath, slowly, breathing deeply in and out.

“That’s good. The spider seems to have
stopped moving.”

He nodded slightly. “It’s on my stomach.
It’s not moving...can’t you do something?”

“What can I do? You won’t let me lift the
sheet.” She thought for a moment and said, “I know. I’ll get Pepie,
he’ll know how to handle spiders.”

“No!” he snapped and stopped suddenly for
fear of upsetting the spider. In a calmer voice he added, “I don’t
want the servants to see me like this.”

“Don’t be silly Dave. This is a matter of
life and...”

She stopped just in time, but saw the fear
in his eyes at the thought of what she hadn’t said. Suddenly he
jerked. His body stiffened. The spider was on the move again,
circling his stomach. Dave’s contorted face gave away his
agony.

“Has the spider bitten you?” asked Joanne
anxiously.

“No,” he replied hesitantly. “At least I
don’t think so. But there’s a burning sensation.”

“That’s probably from the hair on its legs.
I think that happens when the spider is frightened. Whatever
happens, you mustn’t move. Keep still. It mustn’t bite near your
heart.”

Although he wanted to ask why, he was
frightened to hear the answer. The only thing to do was to lie back
in his sweat and wait.

Joanne sat and watched the small white mound
resting on his stomach for ten minutes. She noted his increasing
desperation, his eyelids, though closed were flickering
strangely.

“Dave? Dave, I’ve got to do something. I’ve
thought of a plan.”

He opened his eyes and she saw the mixture
of hope and desperation. “What is it?”

She bit her lip and answered nervously, “I’m
going to try to kill it. Squash it.”

A few seconds passed before the message sank
in.

“You mean squash it while it’s lying on my
stomach?”

“Well, yes.”

“You can’t do that! Joanne, what if you
missed?” His eyes and voice pleaded with her, but she had made up
her mind.

She was already standing over him, staring
at the sheet-covered mound, concentrating on the exact spot she
must hit to end his agony.

As she raised both hands, for extra impact,
he panicked and lifted his arm to stop her. His sudden movement
prompted an immediate reaction from the spider. It happened almost
simultaneously.

As her hand came down on his stomach, the
spider was on the move. He screamed with fright as he felt the
hairy legs on his chest. There was a sharp bite near his heart.

Lifting his shoulders up and gasping for
air, he held a hand out to her. A short struggle to breathe, a
choking sound was followed by his body collapsing back onto the
bed.

His face looked strangely calm in a way it
never had in life. Although she knew it was no use, she ran from
the house and yelled out for someone to fetch the doctor. Later on,
she’d have difficulty recalling the exact order of events. It was
like that dissociation feeling she’d read about, when people are
there without being there. It happens all the time when you’re
doing routine things like driving a regular route. You may not
recall anything about the actual trip or whether you ran a red
light or not. But that feeling of being absent whilst present is
also possible in traumatic circumstances such as she experienced.
She’d read that it’s a way for the mind to protect itself from the
shock of the events. There had been so much commotion that she
could only remember standing next to the doctor by the bed.

“You know, I warned him about all his
drinking,” said the doctor after examining the body. “His heart
couldn’t take it, not in this climate. I’m sorry Joanne.”

“We might have saved him, if only I could
have got you here sooner.”