You know, if your wife was there now, said Eileen, she would take your tie off for you.
Are you wearing a tie?
No.
What are you wearing?
He glanced at himself in the mirror and looked away again, turning back toward the bed. The rest of the suit, he said. And no shoes, obviously. I take those off when I come in, like a civilised person.
So the jacket comes off next? she said.
Taking off his jacket, which involved switching his phone around between his hands, he said: That would be the usual order of business.
Then the wife would take that off for you and hang it up, said Eileen.
How nice of her.
And she would unbutton your shirt for you. Not just procedurally, but in a loving and tender way. Does that get hung up as well?
Simon, who was unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, said no, that would just go back in his suitcase to get washed when he went home.
After that I don’t know what’s next, said Eileen. Are you wearing a belt of some description?
I am, he said.
Closing her eyes, Eileen went on: She takes that off next, and she puts that away wherever it goes. Where do you put your belt when you take it off, as it happens?
On a hanger.
You’re so neat, said Eileen. That’s one thing the wife loves about you.
Why, is she a neat person herself? Or she loves it because opposites attract?
Hm. She’s not really sloppy or anything, but she’s not as neat as you are. And she aspires. Are you undressed now?
Not quite yet, he said. I’ve been holding the phone the whole time. Can I put it down for a second and then pick it back up again?
With a shy selfconscious smile, Eileen replied: Of course you can, I’m not holding you hostage.
No, but I don’t want you to get bored and hang up on me.
Not to worry, I won’t.
He put the phone down on the nearest corner of the bed and finished undressing. Eileen lay with her eyes closed, the phone held loosely in her right hand near her face. Wearing just a pair of dark-grey boxer shorts now, Simon picked the phone back up and lay down on the bed with his head on the pillows. I’m back, he said.
What time do you usually finish work? said Eileen. Just out of curiosity.
Around eight. Probably more like half eight, lately, because everyone’s busy.
Your wife would have a job that finishes a lot earlier than that.
Would she? said Simon. I’m jealous.
And when you got home she would have dinner waiting.
He smiled. Do you think I’m that old-fashioned? he asked.
Eileen opened her eyes, as if her reverie had been interrupted. I think you’re a human being, she said. Who doesn’t want to have dinner waiting for them if they’re stuck at work until half eight? If you’d rather come home to an empty house and make your own dinner, my apologies.
No, I don’t love coming home to an empty house, he said. And as fantasies go, I don’t really object to being waited on hand and foot. It’s just not something I would expect from a life partner.
Oh, I’m offending your feminist principles. I’ll stop.
Please don’t. I want to hear what the wife and I are going to do after dinner.
Eileen closed her eyes again. Well, she’s a good wife, obviously, so she will let you do a little bit of work if you must, she said. But not until late. Then she wants to go to bed.
Which is where you are now, I take it.
Indeed I am.
Smiling luxuriously to herself, Eileen went on: Did you have a good day at work or a bad day?
It was alright.
And you’re tired now.
Not too tired to be talking to you, he said. But tired, yes.
The wife is attuned to all these little subtleties, so she wouldn’t have to ask. If you’ve had a long day and you’re tired, I think you’d get in bed around eleven and the wife
would give you head. Which she’s really good at. But not in a vulgar way, it’s all very intimate and marital and all that.
Holding the phone in his right hand, Simon used his left hand to touch himself through the thin cotton cloth of his boxer shorts. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but why am I only getting head? he said.
Eileen laughed. You said you were tired, she said.
Ah, I’m not too tired to make love to my own wife.
I wasn’t disputing your virility, I just thought you’d like it. Anyway, I can get things wrong, that’s alright. The wife would never get it wrong.
It’s okay if she does, I’ll love her anyway.
I honestly thought you liked oral sex.
Grinning now, Simon replied: I like it, I do like it. But if I only had one night with a fictional wife, I think I’d like to cover more ground. You needn’t go into detail if you’re reluctant.