Polly Ch. 01

[Author's note: this story is in four parts. Yes, there's something unusual in the way Polly attempts to process the world around her (check the rosa-blanca.ru). Does it excuse her behaviour?]

---

YOU ALWAYS REMEMBER YOUR FIRST TIME

You want to see a photo? Here, take a look. It's a great shot of us all, Erica's birthday I think. We must have been at least two bottles in by this point, because Annalise has that stupid smug grin. Kara's no better, losing her shit about something or other on the end as Val digs her in the ribs. It's a great shot of the five of us, taken as I recall by the hot guy who was clearing glasses, snagged by Erica's call to come over and do her bidding.

Erica's always been like that, and the glamour-model looks mean that she rarely encounters any resistance. In fact, her entire life is just about frictionless, drifting from one thing to another in her little summer dresses, her perfect blonde locks, those long eyelashes. Her husband is a builder by trade, thick set with rough hands and a great smile, always in jeans, always in a t-shirt that's seen better days, sandy hair tousled in a way that demands tidying, a hand running through it. Erica's constantly running her hand through it.

Kara's dark, buxom, shorter than Erica by half a head but still taller that the rest of us, a fitness trainer for a living with no sign of the three kids apparent on that flat, tight stomach, as if she'd squeezed them out like orange pips between bench presses. Her husband's the same, the manager at the gym. Kara keeps telling me how they go running together. Given they're early thirties with three kids and energy to burn, I'd say that they're active in other exercises too.

Val's always been able to hold her drink. She's stocky, brunette in a bob that keeps the hair out of her face because she's got shit to do and it doesn't involve messing around with her hair every thirty seconds. She's the kid-herder, given practice from her two boys who have always bounced off the walls while their fucking useless father looked on. I wouldn't have put up with that, but Val leaned right into it. She's a force of nature, extending her influence to our kids when we're in the park or down the beach. Kara doesn't mind Val taking the lead like that. It's respite, I guess.

Annalise is fair, slim, newly single, blonde, but don't be sucked in: the carpet does not match the drapes. I know because we do a swimming class together after school drop off and I've seen her in all her glory. That sounds crude of me. Maybe I should apologise. Or maybe you should toughen up. If that's enough to tweak your delicate sensibilities, my little wallflower, I guarantee that we will not be friends by the end of the story. I guarantee you a hundred percent that you'll regret starting this.

Second from the left, looking straight at the lens, that's who my eyes are drawn to whenever I look at this shot of us all. Neither fat nor thin, neither tall nor short, with a glass raised almost to my lips, there I am, frozen forever in that moment in my summer dress, my mousey blonde hair gathered back in a butterfly clip, the only one seeming to notice that we are observed as the others laugh. A husband with a high paying job in the same insurance company that I left to raise two kids, giving up my career to become a mother, sitting there in bare legs and strappy sandals.

That's me. I'm Polly. You're going to want to remember that.

---

We're at dinner at a local place, just the four of us. I'm in a little black dress, sitting opposite Erica's husband, Harrison. Erica's next to me, opposite my husband Mark. Mark came straight from work in a suit and tie, his dark hair neat, smiling at something Erica said. She's in a dress too, dark blue against her pale skin, hair teased into a French twist, little wisps of blonde framing her lovely face, her lips the colour of merlot. Erica laughs, so I laugh, but I catch a glance at Harrison, sitting there in his shirt and trousers, looking uncomfortable. We're talking about the upcoming elections, about who's going to get in, who's worth voting for, and I can see it's not his field of expertise. He looks across the table at me and I flash him a sympathetic smile.

Mark's talking about his work, trying to play it down in a self-deprecating way, telling everyone that insurance is too boring to be the subject of dinner conversation. I tend to agree. I know Mark's playing it down, though; I know he just got promoted. He slips it in almost as an afterthought and Harrison reaches for his beer. The restaurant is new and quite expensive, above the level that they'd normally choose, but I'd booked it anyway. I don't want to sit in my jeans and eat burgers.

The main course arrives, and I nudge Mark to organise another round of drinks. We have babysitters, which means we should make the most of this. I top up Erica's glass and then my husband's, smiling as they banter. Harrison empties his glass and I nod to him.

"Do you want to keep on that, or switch to wine?" I ask.

"Uh, yeah. I guess, wine's okay."

"Red, to go with steak? Or white?"

I pick up both bottles.

"Red," he says.

I pour his wine, then position the glass in front of him with a little smile. He nods gratefully. Erica seems oblivious. She's talking about herself again.

"Talking of which," I interject, "What do you think about giving the kids phones?"

Erica blinks at me, derailed. It doesn't matter, I have more interesting things to talk about.

"As in?" she asks.

"What age do you think it's appropriate? We're kinda getting to that point."

"The age they don't drop them," Mark replies. "They're expensive."

I shrug, saying, "I'm thinking hold off as long as possible. I know Val's got one for her eldest, but I worry, given all the pressure on them these days with social media."

"You worried about them oversharing?" Erica asks.

"Yes. More than that though, I'm worried about them doing stupid things and there being a permanent record of it."

"Like bad haircuts? Questionable clothing choices?"

"That and everything else. I mean, imagine if we'd had phones, if our friends all had phones, when we were that age? Imaging becoming a teenager with everyone having a lens in their back pocket to immortalise your awkward moment forever?"

I smile at everyone, as if pleased with myself for making the point, and take a sip of my drink.

"I guess," Mark replies, "Though I really don't think anything would have been worth a picture, not from when I was that age."

"Why, darling? Were you quite boring?"

Mark stiffens just a little, but smiles back at me, replying, "I was circumspect. I didn't go looking for trouble if that's what you mean."

"So, there would be just endless pictures of you doing homework?" I prod.

"And athletics. I was a wholesome kid."

"And smart too. Top of the class, weren't you?"

"I suppose."

I grin at my husband, replying, "Come on, you were the class nerd. First in Mathematics, first in Physics, always beavering away."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Harrison shift in his seat.

"Erica, how about you?" I ask, turning my attention to her.

"Oh, god no. I'd be a wreck if there'd been pictures of everything back then," she gushes.

I can tell she's slightly tipsy, waving her glass around as she talks. I pick my moment carefully.

"So, if we did a search on you, what would we find?" I ask, blithely.

Erica hesitates for a second, then grins amiably. I see the pause, and I know I've got her.

"Let's see," I say, getting my phone out of my purse.

"Polly, no, god. What are you doing?"

"There's something on all of us out there. What do you reckon for you?"

Erica laughs, drinking her wine, but her eyes follow my fingers as I tap her name into the search bar, along with a few more details. The screen refreshes, listing out results.

"What came up?" she asks, coyly.

I make a show of scrolling down the page.

"School fair, that was last year, uh, wow, did you run the Classic?"

"Yeah, does it tell you my time? That was five years ago, or more."

"How about this? Oh."

I stop, my finger hovering over the entry. I sense Erica stiffen.

"What?" Mark asks.

I look up at Erica and smile. Harrison leans forward too. Erica's expression shifts.

"This one can't be you, can it?" I ask, tapping the screen.

A picture comes up of a young blonde girl in lingerie, curled suggestively around a chair. I place the phone down on the table so she can see it. It's also visible to our husbands. Erica picks the phone up hurriedly, frowning. I can see it in her face, her cheeks flushing subtly, then her lovely blue eyes meet mine.

"That was a long time ago, Polly."

I take the phone from her hand, looking through the rest of the images. I pass it casually to Mark.

"You look fabulous," I reply, "I wish I'd had a body like that, back then."

Erica regards me, elbows on the table, glass poised at her soft, red lips. A smile spreads across her face.

"I'm a little jealous," I confess.

Erica's smile widens, and she seems to relax a little more.

"A long time ago. I did a bit of modelling after school. I don't know how those got online."

"Maybe you have a secret fanbase."

I switched my attention to my husband, holding out my hand.

"Seen enough, darling? Can I get my phone back?" I ask.

Mark passes my phone back to me and I put it face down on the table. Her pictures are still on the screen. I look across at Harrison.

"No lingerie shots of you?" I ask him.

"No. You're safe there."

"Did you know about those?"

"Yeah."

I nod, breaking eye contact, replying, "Sorry, I didn't think there'd be anything. That was embarrassing."

"Don't worry," Erica tells me, "It's all in the past."

---

After dinner, we're walking back home. I hang back while Mark and Erica talk, walking next to Harrison.

"Sorry," I tell him.

"For what?"

"Embarrassing you. I didn't know I'd find those pictures."

"It's okay," Harrison shrugs.

"It's not. If someone showed me pictures of Mark humping a chair I'd be mortified."

Harrison didn't reply.

"But you knew, right? You said you'd seen them before."

"I have."

"You don't seem very happy about it."

"That's life, Polly. It's from before I met her. It's not awkward."

I watch his face as he talks, the way his eyes shift from me to the back of his wife. I nod towards them.

"It is awkward. I didn't like Mark seeing photos of your wife practically in the nude, I have to confess. It's got to be hard knowing those shots are out there, and I guess they're out there forever."

"It is what it is. I know she did some assignments back then. I didn't know that they were out there for someone to find, though."

We walk along in silence for a few moments. I touch his arm, and he turns to me.

"What's up?" he asks.

"It's just, you hear stories, of young women, of modelling assignments."

"Such as?"

"You know, getting hired to do waitressing at parties, getting told how much to dress up. Or, how much not to dress. I guess you've talked about all that though."

A shadow flickers across Harrison's rugged face, and I feel a little thrill.

"If you ever want to talk," I murmur.

He regards me for a moment, then nods.

"Sure."

Up ahead, our partners are deep in conversation, fuelled by wine and good food. Behind, we walk in silence, Harrison brooding. I notice the way he watches his wife, his eyes following her movements as she leans in to share a laugh with Mark.

We arrive out the front of their house. Mark shakes Harrison's hand and then kisses Erica goodbye. I do the same, pecking Erica on the cheek, then I turn to Harrison.

"Thanks for a nice night," I tell him, "I enjoyed catching up."

I lean in, giving him a kiss on the cheek too, pulling back with a little smile.

They head up their path to their front door, Erica turning to give us a wave, Harrison stiff by her side. They go inside. I allow myself a little smile, then turn back to my husband, linking arms with him and resting my head on his shoulder.

"Awkward," I murmur, as we walk down the street to our house.

"What is?"

"The photos. Harrison wasn't happy."

"I guess."

"You were though. I saw you looking at them. She was hot, wasn't she?"

"I guess," Mark repeats.

"Come on, confess. Or would you like me to show you again, give you a better look?"

Mark's hand squeezes my arm.

"You're enough for me, Polly."

He gives me a quick kiss.

"Let's get home."

We stroll together in the dark, lapsing into an amiable silence. I knew what comes next. We'll get home, pay the babysitter, go upstairs. We'll check on the girls, then undress and get ready for bed. I'll give him that little look and because we've had a few wines he'll grin back and ask me if I'm sleepy or not. I'll consider his question and ask him what else he had in mind. He'll take me in his arms and kiss me, leading me to the bed where I'll lay down and look up at him invitingly until he gets between my knees, naked and hard. I'll whisper something to him and he'll kiss my body, working between my legs for a few minutes before rearing up, hovering above me, poised. He'll meet my eyes and then enter me, thrusting manfully until we both come, me on my back with my eyes closed, lost in the moment.

Fantasising that the man inside me is Harrison.

---

I have to confess that the photos took some finding. The last bit, the posting them online under a fake account and then engineering it into conversation, that was easy. Erica had told me about her modelling days, of course. It only took three wines. She was desperate to let it slip, in the way that people get sometimes when they have a juicy little nugget to share. She made it so easy. Actually going down to the library, finding the magazine archive and working my way through back issues of the fashion magazine she'd told me about took the best part of a day but I think I did a decent job with the scan.

I pop over for coffee the next day, knocking on Erica's front door just after school drop off. We do this a lot, and once again I'm following her down her hallway to her beautiful kitchen. I pass the wedding photo and steal a glance at it. Erica is younger, but her figure hasn't changed much, even after kids. It's Harrison I look at though, in his tuxedo, freshly shaven for once, his big hands around her waist. It gives me a little thrill each time.

Erica's kitchen is beautiful, with the smell of fresh paint still in the air.

"Harrison did a good job," I remark.

Erica looks up from the coffee machine and nods.

"Yeah, he's got good hands."

"Good hands?" I smirk and Erica laughs.

"And a good eye," she says.

My fingertips drift over the white marble surface of the island counter. I can't help what comes into my head.

"Stone top. Bit cold though, don't you think?" I reply.

"In what way?"

The coffee machine is hissing.

"Oh, you know. Sitting on it. Lying on it."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Don't be coy. It's a brand-new kitchen. You're telling me it didn't need christening?"

Erica gives me a half-smile and busies herself with the coffee cups. She brings mine over to me, setting it down on the countertop.

"You have a filthy mind," Erica tells me.

"And?"

Erica breaks out into a little grin.

"Yeah, it was a bit cold," she laughs.

"You dirty, dirty slut."

"I try."

I pick up my coffee and take a sip. This is delicate work.

"Would he put one in for me?" I ask, "We're talking about redoing the kitchen. I like what he's done with yours."

"I can ask, Pol. He might not get to it for a while though."

"How come?"

"He's got a full extension booked in, they're taking the back off the house and want to push out another few metres, a place on the coast. He's going to have to be there a couple of weeks while they get the foundations down and the framing done. Good money though."

"After that, then?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll ask. He's supposed to get our bedroom done too, but work's pretty busy at the moment."

"Builder's houses," I reply.

"Yeah, builder's houses are never done," she concedes.

"What are you think of doing?"

It's an innocent question, and I know Erica very well. There's no way she'll pass up a chance to talk about it.

"Come and see," she tells me with a smile.

We take our coffee with us, drifting through her lovely house to the master bedroom. Everything's on one level, on a wide, flat block that Harrison got the jump on through a friend in the business. He built it all himself. I've been in the master bedroom before, but it always gives me that little glow, entering the inner sanctum, the place where Harrison's nude body wraps around Erica's in the night. I can't help looking at the bed and imagining it.

"So, we're thinking about pushing out a bit, to give us enough space to extend the ensuite and put in a walk-in wardrobe."

Erica's wandering around the room, waving her coffee cup as she lays out the plans. I lean up against her vanity table, and her necklaces tinkle on their stands. I'm not really listening to her as her eyes go wide with the excitement of explaining how much more space they'll have, how good it's going to look. Instead, I'm thinking about what she's already told me and a plan is coalescing. It will be intricate and difficult, but it's like the old saying: she who dares wins. I feel a little tingle deep down.

Erica concludes her show-and-tell and I nod approvingly. She walks out of the bedroom, so I follow her and we switch topics to something else. Behind, on her vanity, one of her earrings is now missing.

---

[Next chapter: Polly knows what she wants. Is she going to get away with it?

Follow me for updates to this and my other stories. If you like what you read, please leave a comment or a star rating. Constructive feedback is always welcome. If you want further adventures, or to check out my other stories, my story page is here]