[Rogue]

I stay a little longer than expected in Lisa’s room. Our favourite photo of us together rests on the dresser, that day at the pier, with the wind blowing so strong our hair was a mess. We have certainly not been as happy as we were then, only 4 weeks prior to our wedding. Those huge smiles on our faces showed a belief that the perfect marriage was on the way. By now, as I stare at it, my assistant is surely rushing my requested shopping and hitting the road to Harry’s house. I sit up off the bed and the footwear is placed back in the closet. In my own, my best suit is picked out, with the loafers collected from the floor. Once I am dressed, I find everything else I need in the bathroom, deodorant, hair gel etc. I’ve already shaved this morning but some cream is required. I take care of myself. Women desire me as much as they did twenty years ago, my body is still in good shape while my ace of clubs gives me the confidence to get anyone I want. I say my goodbyes to Katie and the babysitter and return to my car. I only get as far as putting the keys in the ignition when I feel the urge to telephone my wife. With a press of the right speed dial, she’s soon on the other end, but I do not begin with a hello.

“I forgive you…..”

“Christian? What do you mean?”

“I just wanted to tell you, I’ve been doing some thinking and….I still love you, I think we can get past this together”

“Oh honey, that’s wonderful, do you want me to come home early and talk about it? I just have to pick up Joey from his friend’s house and….”

“No, we can’t see other yet, that would ruin it. I’ve to meet a client, the one I told you about this morning, might be a little late tonight."

“I don’t understand Christian, why does the meeting have to happen first? Will you be home for dinner?”

“Bye, I love you”, I finish.

I hang up the mobile and watch her name vanish on its screen. It is folded over and stuffed back in my jacket pocket. I’ve spent so long here the sitter is pulling back the curtains, wondering what I’m up to. She receives a little wave for her troubles, as I steer the car off the path and head for town. It was a good idea to leave early with traffic bringing me to a standstill on a main road. Later, a damaged vehicle accompanied by a toe truck on the side is revealed as the culprit. I reach the restaurant and give my keys to one of the monkeys outside. It is not quite 8:00 yet so the newsagents across the street can kill some time. As I scan the paper headlines, and pick one up, a taxi pulls up to the curb in front of the store. Though it is dark and difficult to see from here, the woman stepping out at least resembles Harry’s daughter from the photo. She looks both ways, and even with the passing cars, I expected to hear the clicking of those stiletto’s in the ground. I take a moment to text Lisa a question, and in that time, my assumption is that young Tess will have been asked to take a seat.

“Dr. Miller, how are you sir?” Gabriel asks as I stroll through the doors. He has already reserved two seats for me, even though I didn’t specify over the phone, and he asks if it is a “Ms. Williams” I’ll be dining with this evening. I look over my shoulder to see the lady herself waiting nervously, playing with her hands a little. It seems she overheard and has already sat up, cautiously stepping towards us.

“Hi, I’m…..”

“It’s wrong…..fix it”, I interrupt, privately, leaning in a little to do so. She is taken aback, examining her body and dress to find the problem. I rest my chin in my palm impatiently.

“Look, maybe this was a bad idea….”


A lean, dark-haired man who looks to be in his late 30’s or early 40’s comes into the restaurant. After a brief discussion with the maitre‘d, he turns to look at me. My heart in my throat, I put on a smile and rise to introduce myself. “Hi, I’m…”

His look freezes me in my tracks. “It’s wrong. Fix it,” he says, glancing down with icy disapproval from my head to my feet. Bewildered, I look down at myself. The dress he sent had been neatly pressed, there were no runs in my stockings, my hair and makeup were perfect. I look at him, confused. He was leaning on the small entry table, resting his chin in his hands. “Look, maybe this is a bad idea.” Panicked, I remember that glance at my feet.

“No, please……I’ll make it right.” I ask a passing waiter where the ladies’ room is and once there I put my black sandals in my bag and put on the pumps. Thank God my mother had insisted I bring them!! After a glance in the mirror to make sure my lipstick hadn’t smeared, I rush out to rejoin my “date” for the evening.

His face instantly relaxed when he saw me, and his face was transformed by a boyish smile. “You must be Tess,” he said. I extended my hand for a handshake, but he flustered me by raising it to his lips. “I’m Christian Miller. Thank you for meeting me, my dear.” We waited only a few minutes. Dr. Miller, perhaps realizing I needed a few minutes to gather my scattered wits, chatted and smiled until we were led to our table. He waved the waiter away and held my chair himself, making sure I was comfortable before taking his own seat. The busboy pours water for us, while Dr. Miller continues to chat.

“Thank you again for agreeing to have dinner with me. May I call you Tess?”

“If you want to. You certainly seem to be a man who knows what he wants,” I say. I’m still stung by his peremptory orders when we met and I give the vague compliment reluctantly.

The man gives me a wry smile, leans over to point at my bag, and says, "Somebody must have known that already." I realize that he is helping himself to a good look at my legs while he does so, and I become even more uncomfortable. This charming and powerful personality has taken the upper hand from the moment of our meeting - and he knows it.

The waiter comes and hands us our menus. I open mine and the prices take my breath away. Our family could eat for a week for what it cost for one simple dinner! “I think I’ll have the pork chop,” I say faintly, picking the least expensive entry on the menu. “Tess, I’m paying for this. Please order what you want - don’t look at the prices." I look over the menu in some confusion. It's written mostly in French. "Would you like me to order for you? I eat here frequently.” I nod my head and Dr. Miller orders the recommended special and a bottle of wine that cost more than I make in a week. While he orders our dinner and discusses options with the waiter I look at the man across from me. He is strikingly good looking, with his dark hair well cut and short, piercing blue eyes, a strong jaw and a slightly cruel twist to his lips. He has a tall and slender but powerful body and is wearing a well-tailored suit of rich material. His hands are well kept with strength in them, befitting a surgeon.

He turns to look at me, recalling me from my musings.


Harry’s daughter, not far off her 21st birthday, is unnerved by my complaint and struggles to find the reasoning behind it, even touching her lipstick at one point. One could say it is right under her nose, being the strappy sandals she has incorrectly chosen for our date. By now, Gabriel has left us to ourselves, but finally something clicks in her mind as a waiter walks by with some champagne.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where the restroom is?”

I know ladies think make up and a bathroom mirror can solve everything, but I’m not sure about this one. I wait for her in the same place, signaling to the Maitre ‘D that things are still up in the air when he checks on me again. A couple of minutes later, I see the ladies’ door swing open and Tess’ patent leather heels stepping out. She has returned in the complete outfit provided to her and is just as stunning in it as I imagined. My look of discontent is replaced by one of satisfaction and I acknowledge her name for the first time. I surprise her by taking her outstretched hand to gently kiss instead of shake. I introduce myself and thank her for joining me.

First impressions of people are made in the first few minutes, and I make a decision to have this take place alone, to an extent, rather than among the routine of conversing with busboys. We discuss the little things, such as her transport to the restaurant, and are eventually guided to our table. I step in front of the waiter and pull the lady’s seat out for her. She allows me to call her by her lovely first name and adds that I “seem to be a man that knows what he wants.” Don’t I know it; the remainder of this evening will prove no different. I lean down to tap her handbag, surely containing the ugly sandals, and give a disguised thank you to whichever parent put the pumps inside before she left. With a view under the table, I take the opportunity to stare at her gorgeous legs a moment. She awkwardly brushes back her curly hair until our face to face stance is restored.

One of the staff hands us two tall red coloured menus. I watch Tess above the edge of mine, not paying much attention to the selection at all. She has slate-blue eyes, framed by blonde ringlets, with a hint of baby-doll pink colour on her lips. Her face is smooth and innocent, and the dress hugs her petite figure. She has silky legs which are accentuated by the four inch shoes on her size three feet. When she chooses one of the cheaper meals in pork, I remind her that I am paying for this bill in its entirety. Suspecting that she is finding difficulty with the language, I order the special that the waiter mentioned and a $490 bottle of wine.

“And your Chateau d'yquem, 1995 please, thank you.”

Once he is gone, I notice Tess studying me and I turn to her. She is obviously preparing to say something that has probably been on her mind since she found out about this arrangement.

“Dr. Miller…..”, she begins.

“Christian”

“I just want to make sure we’re clear, nothing is going to happen here, Christian.”

“Tess, I’m married. Married 13 years.”

“Happily?”

We’ve had our ups and downs, like most couples, I explain. Reaching for the wallet in my back pocket, I take out a picture of the family four, Lisa, Joey and Katie with me at a holiday resort last year. She leans across to view it as I tell her that the kids are by far our greatest accomplishment. I didn’t think I’d make a good father, but I’m now glad I am because I love them more than anything. She searches my eyes, perhaps for sincerity. Just then, my phone beeps, and I put the photo back inside its compartment. She wonders if that could be my wife, and what she would think of me dining with another woman instead of being at home. “See for yourself”, I answer, with so much confidence, that I let her read the text message before I do. I turn the phone around and place it between the many knifes and forks surrounding her.

“My wife knows I enjoy the company of beautiful women.”


He looks at me appraisingly, and I realize that I need to let him know that I’m not interested in more than dinner. I take a deep breath and start in.

“Dr. Miller…”

He interrupts me. “Christian.”

I hesitate, but then go on. “I just want to make sure we’re clear. Nothing is going to happen here, Christian.”

He looks me straight in the eye and says, “Tess, I’m married. Married 13 years.”

Worse and worse! Does he think I’m just an easy conquest?

“Happily?” I ask him in a challenging tone.

He explains that like most couples, they have had good and bad times. He pulls out his wallet. He takes out a picture of a smiling family – himself with a pretty woman on his arm and two excited young children. There is water in the background and they are obviously on vacation. He talks easily and with great affection about his children, saying they are his greatest accomplishment, how he didn’t think he’d be a good father and how much he loves them. His face softens as he talks about his children and I watch a transformation in this man. His cold blue eyes warm as he expresses his love for them, and he becomes less imposing and more human. I can’t help but like him at that moment.

I hear beeping coming from his pocket, startling in the hushed atmosphere of the restaurant.

“Is that your wife?” I ask.

“Yes, it is.”

I feel compassion for the pretty woman in the photograph. What does she feel? What does she think he is doing?

“What would she say if she saw us right now? Would she mind that you are here having dinner with me instead of spending time with her at home?”

He turns the phone around immediately and sets the phone down for me to read the text message written on it. “See for yourself.”

I lean over to read the message, from “Lisa”, which said "Joel's, 8 o' clock! "

“My wife knows I enjoy the company of beautiful women.”

I stare at him in amazement. I wonder if his relationship with “Lisa” could possibly involve that much trust or if she is just blind. Could any woman be content to allow her husband to wine and dine other women?

“Christian, even if you weren’t married, I wouldn’t and couldn’t get involved with you. I have a boyfriend.”

"Oh yes, this boyfriend of yours. What is his name?"

“Tom. We were supposed to be having dinner tonight.”

He makes an unconvincing apology for asking me to change my plans and asks how long we’ve been together.

“About a year.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s starting out in a law firm.” I’m starting to get uncomfortable. Why does he want to know all this?

“Were you two celebrating some particular occasion?” The last thing I want to do is to tell this man my hopes and dreams of a possible engagement. I mumble a vague negative and start fussing with my silverware.

"So what did you tell him you were doing tonight?"

I pull out my cellphone, open it and turn it around, in conscious imitation of what he had done earlier.

“I told him the truth. See for yourself.”