She likes a lot of things about him. Ever since she met him, way back when.

His sexy voice, the neat appearance, and the friendly laid-back way of talking to her when she answers the phone for one of the many calls to her husband. His best friend, from down home.

But, when he starts addressing her as "Lady," the word warm and sensual in his mouth, it confronts the feeling of being invisible. The way her husband likes her.

During a call when the husband is out of town, the friend invites Lady to meet him. He wants to tell her something. She is too curious to protest.

They sit by the water on a long bench. An autumn evening. He remembers to bring a shawl for her and a thermos of hot tea, imported, he said, for both of them.

As she sips the tea from an heirloom cup, she relishes his presence, the sound of the water, and the easy quiet between them. Eventually, she envisions the gentle taking of her nectar, freely offered, coupled with his generous portion, giving ecstatic release.

“Lady?” His voice coming across the divide brings her back to reality. The sweetness in his eyes pulls at her solar plexus. She inches closer.

“Yes?” Anticipating the words to come, she wants to speak for him.

“I have been wanting to tell you something . ” He takes his time. She likes a man who takes his time, giving her time. Slow and steady.

She dares to encourage, seeing his reticence. “What is it?”

“I can’t contain this any longer. I think you must already know, don’t you?”

He cups her hand in his. Coquettishly hiding her face behind cascading hair, she fumbles for an answer.

“I imagine I have known for a long time.”

As he strokes her fingers, one by one, he whispers the unforgettable. “ I’m crazy about you. But, I love him. And he loves me, Lady.”

Flipping the expensive weave out of blazing greyish eyes she screams.

“What did you just say to me?”