Pete, my chef d'equipe, is cheating on his wife with a woman he met on the Amtrak. It started innocently -- they shared a cab home one night after a storm shut down the train at Roseville. The evening after that, the woman -- Natalie -- took the seat beside him again. The third evening, they got off at a stop just outside the city and shared a hotel room for a couple of hours. Easy as that.

Easy for Pete, that is; impossible -- unfathomable -- for me. I like to tell myself it's because of my post: that a governor simply cannot do such things; that a life in the public eye precludes even the contemplation of anything requiring moral flexibility. But the truth is, I simply don't know how to go from hello to horizontal with a woman in less than, say, five actual dates. I haven't got that kind of game. Never have had, never will have.

When Pete met Natalie, he's quick to claim, sex was all that was on the agenda. He's married, she's married; the fact that sex was all either wanted was what had initially made the relationship so safe, and so honest. Until that same honesty -- which neither of them had ever found with anyone else in their lives -- gave the thing staying power, and made it complicated. Now Pete talked about her a lot.

"It's being desired again," Pete said one lunch hour, when we'd scored the quiet table at the back of Babur. He put his fork down, leaned against his side of the table. "Not that Pam doesn't want -- I mean, things at home are good; I'm lucky, but...with Natalie..."

I waited, patient, for him to find the words. When you talk for a living like I do, you learn to love to listen. "Yes?"

"It's just good, Hal. Good for the soul. I feel like I've stolen a second helping of something I finished my fair share of long ago."

I smiled. "I think you've got to cut me off. I'm starting to feel like a voyeur."

He laughed. "It's my fault. I shouldn't be so free..."

"No. Not at all. We're friends. What would I do if I couldn't live vicariously through you?"

"I dunno. Cruise the Amtrak?"

I smiled wanly. "No can do."

"I know, guv'nor."

Don't get me wrong. I'm not coming from a high moral place. I'm a man like any other. Some days, I swear, I could fuck every woman I see. I could enjoy each and every one. But I closed that door the day I threw my hat into the ring.

The greatest thing about the idea -- the one that had Pete squirming in the limo seat across from me, two weeks after the flood crisis -- was that it came not from him, but from her. Natalie.

Sweat was literally beading on his brow. He cleared his throat. I waited for him to continue.

"And?"

"And..." he wiped his palms on his pants. "Hal, you've known me for seven years. You know I don't talk. What you say to me doesn't go any further."

I nodded. Of course I knew it.

"But she knows that you know about her. And the other day I was saying...well...that I don't envy you your careful life. That you can't have someone like her."

"And she said?"

He looked me in the eye. "She said maybe you can."

The plan was three for supper. Pete and I were on the road again, in the northwest part of the state. We would order in, and eat in his suite. Natalie would drive up and join us.

If I didn't like her, she would have had supper with her lover and the governor; a pleasant evening, a night to remember. But if I did...

My hands shook a little as I loosened my tie. I slid it off in front of the mirror, watched the grey silk slip through my hands like a dropped lifeline. The comfort of my persona. The convenient excuse for a life of restraint. I dropped my cufflinks into a clean ashtray; I rolled my sleeves. I poured a double scotch and rapped firmly on the door to Pete's room.

She opened the door herself.

Natalie had olive skin, which caught me by surprise, although it shouldn't have. I knew her mother was from Sri Lanka, her father from Baton Rouge. She had long dark hair. One lock of it kept falling across her face as she ate, uncurling its way from behind her ear and tumbling across her cheek as she bent forward. She had good table manners. She ate slowly, waited until she was done chewing to answer a question. But there was nothing stiff about her. One time, when she thought I wasn't looking (I'm always looking) she speared an endive and touched it to Pete's lips, just for the pleasure of hearing the crunch of the delicate leaf between her lover's teeth. She smiled at him and I felt my own lips part, hungry. Oh yes, I thought. I like you. Yes.

I found myself staring at them, trying to read even one sign of the nerves that I myself felt. But Pete was at ease; he was my go-to guy, my trusted friend. And when Natalie spoke, her voice was steady and rich. When the conversation required it, she let her brown eyes meet mine.

We never talked about it. Not one word. The deal was done in a single glance: a question in her eyes, a formality. I could see that she knew the answer but I gave it anyway, for the honor of accepting her extraordinary offer. Yes I will, my lovely girl. And thank you.

She smiled back, stood, and called room service to clear our meal. I busied myself with some snifters and brandy, my back to them on purpose. I knew her mind but wasn't positive of his. I thought I'd give them a moment.

Pete sat at the edge of the bed to tune the radio. I heard her move across the room, heard the bed creak as she lowered herself to his lap, heard him moan softly as her lips left his. They were less than six feet away.

I realized I was holding my breath and forced myself to exhale, inhale, exhale. The porter came in and took an eternity loading his cart. I was hard, obvious in my thin wool trousers. I stood awkwardly, trying to casually keep my back to him and them at the same time. I was grateful at the excuse to go lock the door; except it meant I had to walk directly back towards them.

When I turned, her eyes were on mine. We took three steps each. I felt like I was on a treadmill, drawn forward by a commitment already made, a line already crossed. She put her fingertips on each of my shoulders, stood on her toes like a dancer, and kissed me lightly on the mouth. And then she waited.

I looked past her, to Pete. He stepped forward in answer, and his hands moved to the zip at the back of Natalie's skirt. He pulled it down and she leaned back into his arms, letting the skirt drop to the floor as he kissed her ear, then lifted her hair to kiss the back of her neck.

She wore silk stockings and a garter belt; for me, I knew. My taste, not Pete's. I knelt and lifted the edge of her blouse, looked for the ties at the sides of her panties that I knew would be there: two little bows to untie so that the panties come off and the rest -- stockings, heels -- stay on. A tiny detail from a rambling fantasy, disclosed once, years ago, the hour late, the bottle empty. This is why, if I have my way, Pete will always work with me.

I left the bows intact. I put a hand on each ankle, trailed my fingers upward. She stood perfectly still, smiling. Her arms were over her head, entwined with his. His chin was buried in her hair.

Her panties were silk, bubblegum pink, eye level. As my fingers stroked her thighs and bottom, I watched a shadow begin to bloom on the pink silk, a little heart-shaped watermark. I pressed my nose to it. She smelled of sleep, like a rumpled bed, pulling me in. I pulled the ties and the slip of fabric dropped away. I opened her with my tongue. She gasped. I felt Pete's eyes on me.

I licked her once more, my tongue wide and flat, and she crumpled to her knees, giggling. "Oh!...I can't. Not standing up. I'm sorry..."

We knelt together in a heap between the two beds, laughing, then kissing. Pete sat on the bed behind her. She guided me to my feet, pulled the tails of my shirt free, worked the buttons expertly, then pulled her own blouse over her head. Her breasts were small; plum-coloured nipples visible through black lace. She had both of her small, cool hands around my cock. Pete watched.

Natalie guided me with her hands, sliding me further back on the bed. I reached up, unhooked her bra, the fabric catching for a second as I swept it across her nipples. She took my chin in one hand, turned my head so I could see myself in the headboard mirror. Then she knelt between my legs.

I watched her work; long strokes first, her tongue trailing all the way down to the crease of my thigh. I'd never watched someone blow me before. Her tongue swept lightly across the skin below my testicles and I had to force my legs still, my thighs flat, so they wouldn't block the view.

Pete was watching too, his hand on his belt now, his pants sliding to the floor. But by then I was deep in her mouth, and the effort to keep my eyes open was too much. I closed them, let my knees draw up, let my pelvis rise to meet her lips halfway on each stroke.

And then Natalie gasped, breaking the seal for a second, and I looked down to see Pete behind her, a hand on each of her hips, pulling her backward. Her lips slipped, a tight rosebud sliding down around my own glistening cock as he pulled her on to his. I grabbed handfuls of her hair, animal, unwilling to give her up. Her eyes widened, but she didn't let me go. Pete's next thrust eased her forward and I came suddenly and hard, hollering, eyes open, seeing nothing. He pulled her back again and I slid on the satin bedspread, landing on the floor between the beds.

Pete's a big, strong man. In one smooth motion he lifted and turned her, forced her onto him where he sat. Her hair covered his face like a curtain. They were oblivious to my presence. He held her narrow hips in each of his big hands, forcing her down as he thrust. They were inches away, I could see his cock disappear inside her. I willed myself hard again, I wanted to take her back for myself, but it was too soon.

And then it was over. She struggled for a second under his rough grasp, her legs painfully wide, escaping just before he came, spurting all over both of them and me. She laughed at the mess, the feminine timbre of her voice shocking in the testosterone-charged room. She lay back and looked into his eyes, ignoring me. She ran her fingers through his hair. He kissed her tenderly, circled one nipple with the tip of his tongue. But when he spoke, it was to me. "Guv'nor?"

"Yes?"

He traced a finger across Natalie's thigh, leaving a glistening trail. "You wanna come help me clean up?"

Yes, I thought. Yes I do. Thank you.

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