Not Habitual

She’s sat at the bar when he enters, perched on a barstool her legs crossed, one foot gently beating time to the jukebox. She’s drinking alone.
Rodrigo approaches, careful not to invade her personal space.
‘What’ll you have sir?’ askes the barman.
‘Same as the lady here.’  
She looks up, raising her glass ‘good choice.’
‘So, this is where you hang out when you’re not modelling, eh?’
She laughs, shaking her head at his cheesy chat-up line ‘Modelling? I wish!’
She accepts a drink, casually eyeing him. He’s a talker, Monica is a good listener. He tells her about his job, his divorce, that he’s in town on business; it’s clear he’s lonely. He’s about her age, fit and handsome. She decides he’ll do nicely.
Rodrigo glances at her left hand, there’s a white patch where a wedding ring has recently been. ‘What about you, Monica?’ are you married, got a bloke?’
‘Kinda married, sort of, you might say…It’s a bit complicated...’
‘Kinda? Like stuck with an older man or something?’
‘She grimaces ‘yes, an incredibly old man I’m afraid.’
He’s curious and starts to press her. She holds up her hand ‘Look, Rodrigo, I don’t make a habit of this, I can only get away very infrequently.’ She strokes his hand, smiling ‘we both know what we need so let’s just enjoy the evening, OK?’
His eyebrows arched and his head tilted quizzically. He’s curious, sure, but he hasn’t had sex for three months. He keeps his peace. They dance. Another drink then they dance again. She’s sensuous, writhing around him like a python her eyes lustful. They leave the bar arms around each other’s waist, smiling.
*
Back in his hotel room, Monica is eager as Rodrigo slips off her blouse and jeans. She responds, fiercely tugging his belt free, whimpering with anticipation.
Their first coupling is wild and passionate, then they do it twice more but gently, subtly. Rodrigo is a skilled lover, arousing her to near delirium before allowing her to climax.
They fall asleep entwined.
As the window lightened to a new dawn, Monica rose on one elbow and looked at her sleeping lover, a tear forming. After their first wild session, Rodrigo’s lovemaking had been so tender and considerate. He was the most handsome, gentle man of the five she’d been unfaithful with, and her heart ached at parting. But leave him she must. She quickly dressed, gasping as she dropped a shoe.
‘Where are you going, Monica?’
She cringed inwardly, smiling weakly, ‘I have to get back before I’m missed, Rodrigo.’
He rises swiftly and stands between her and the door, ‘last night was incredible, Monica, I must see you again, please, I….’
‘I can’t Rodrigo, I told you already, please, let me go.’ she steps towards him hoping he will let her pass.
He grabs her wrist, his face contorted. ‘Please,’ he pleads, ‘give me your number, a trusted girlfriend’s number, anything…’
‘No, Rodrigo, I can’t. Please, let me go.’
His face sets hard, ‘no, I won’t until you promise to see me again.’
A distant church clock strikes the three-quarter hour, she starts to cry, her hands shaking, her lips trembling. ‘Please, Rodrigo, let me go now and…and I’ll see you at ten a.m. she blurted, at the pavement café across the road from St Marks, I swear.’
‘You swear?’
She fingered a small gold crucifix around her neck. ‘I swear.’
Reluctantly, he releases her.
*
10 a.m. Monica watches Rodrigo from across the street. He’s sitting at a pavement table, an untouched coffee before him, anxiously glancing at his watch. As the last chime of St Marks clock fades. He rises, looking anxiously into the face of each passing woman.
Monica takes a deep breath, it’s a terrible risk but she must keep her promise. She crosses the road ten metres up the pavement from him. She walks up to, then past him giving a faint smile as she does so. He gives her a curt nod then continues searching the street.
Monica breathes a deep sigh of relief and hurries on. She’s kept her word.
Turning the corner, she shudders as a chill wind buffets her. Pulling her wimple more closely around her head, she hurries back to the convent.