Ladies' Night

scenarios unspooled through her imagination. Ben, passed out, or even dead, at the wheel of his car, an unknown assailant lurking nearby. Should she retreat to the house, find some kind of weapon, even call the police?
“Don’t be an idiot,” she murmured to herself. “You’re a big girl. Just go look in the garage. You live in a gated community, for God’s sake. The only crime here is dogs pooping on the grass.”
She tiptoed toward the garage, skirting the electronically controlled metal doors, heading toward the side door, trying to remember whether or not it would be unlocked.
Luckily, it was. The knob turned easily in her hand, and she stepped inside the darkened space, her hand groping the wall for the light switch.
And then she heard … heavy breathing. She froze. A man’s voice. The words were unintelligible, but the voice was Ben’s. Her hand scrabbled the wall for the switch. She found it, and the garage was flooded with light.
A woman squealed.
Grace blinked in the bright lights. She saw Ben, sitting in the driver’s seat of the Audi. He was bare-chested, his right hand shielding his eyes from the light. His hair was mussed, and his cheeks were flushed bright red.
“Grace?” He looked wild-eyed.
And that’s when she realized he wasn’t alone in the car. Her first instinct was to turn and run away, but she was drawn, like a bug to a lightbulb, to the side of that gleaming black sports car. The top was retracted. She looked down and saw that distinctive mane of flame-red hair.
J’Aimee, her loyal, invaluable assistant, was cowering, naked, making a valiant effort to disappear into the floorboards of the car.
“What the hell?” Grace screeched as she yanked open the passenger-side door.
“I’m sorry, Grace, I’m so sorry,” J’Aimee blurted, her eyes the size of saucers.
J’Aimee’s clothes were scattered on the floor of the garage, and, come to think of it, that was Ben’s shirt—his expensive, pale-blue, custom-tailored, monogrammed, Egyptian cotton shirt that Grace had given him as a birthday gift—that was flung over the Audi’s windshield.
With the passenger-side door open, Grace saw, at a glance, that her husband was nearly naked, too—if you counted having your jeans puddled down around your ankles as naked.
For a moment, Grace wondered if this was some bad dream she was having. Hadn’t she just been asleep a moment earlier? This couldn’t be happening. Not Ben. Ben loved her. He would never cheat. She shook her head violently, closed her eyes, and reopened them.
But this was no nightmare. And there was no mistaking what she’d just interrupted. Suddenly, she felt a surge of boiling hot rage.
“Bitch!” Grace cried. She clamped a hand around J’Aimee’s upper arm and yanked her out of the car in one fluid, frenzied motion.
“Ow,” J’Aimee whimpered.
Grace flung her against the side of the car.
“Stop it,” J’Aimee cried. Her face was pale, with every freckle standing out in contrast to the milky whiteness of her skin. For some reason, Grace, in an insane corner of her mind, noted with satisfaction that J’Aimee’s breasts were oddly pendulous for such a young woman. Also? Not a real redhead.
“You stop it!” Grace said, drawing back her hand.
“Jesus!” J’Aimee screamed. She raised her arms to cover her face, and for a moment Grace faltered. She had never hit anybody in her life. She dropped her hand and glared at the girl.
“Now, Grace,” Ben started. He was wriggling around in his seat, trying in vain to surreptitiously pull up his pants. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Don’t…”
“Shut up, just shut up!” Grace shouted, her eyes blazing. For a moment, she forgot about J’Aimee. She flew around to his side of the car, but before she could get there, Ben had managed to slide out from under the steering wheel, zipping up his pants as he stood.
“How could you?” she cried, raining ineffective punches around his head and shoulders. She was aware that her high-pitched shrieks sounded like the howls of a lunatic, but she was helpless to stop herself. “You? And J’Aimee? My assistant? You were screwing her? Under my own roof?”
He easily caught her fists and held them tight in his own. “No!” Ben lied. “It’s not what you think. Look, if you would just calm down, let’s talk about this. Okay? I know this looks bad, but there’s a logical explanation.”
“Like what? The two of you snuck out here to the garage while I was asleep and you decided to have a business meeting in your car? A clothing-optional meeting? And suddenly, J’Aimee decided to give you mouth-to-penis resuscitation? Is that the logical explanation for this?”
“Calm down,” Ben repeated. “You’re getting yourself all worked up…”
Grace saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye and looked over just in time to see J’Aimee scoop up her clothing and make a run for it.
“Oh, no,” Grace said. “You’re not getting away from this.” J’Aimee darted out the door, and Grace went right after her.
“Stay away from me,” J’Aimee cried, running in the direction of the house. “I’ll call the police if you come near me … It’s aggravated assault.”
“You don’t know the meaning of aggravated,” Grace shouted. She flinched when her bare feet hit the lawn, damp from the automatic sprinklers, but ran after J’Aimee, who was surprisingly slow for a young woman unencumbered by clothing. She picked up her speed until she was only a few yards behind her former assistant. She reached out to try to snatch a handful of J’Aimee’s hair, but her prey danced out of reach.
“Don’t you touch me,” J’Aimee cried, backing away. “I mean it.”
But Grace was quicker than even she expected. She managed to grab J’Aimee’s arm, and the girl screamed like a stuck pig.
Lights snapped on at the house next door. A dog began barking from the back of the property.
“Get away,” the young woman screeched, dropping her clothing onto the grass and windmilling her arms in Grace’s general vicinity. “Get away.”
Now they heard the low hum and metallic clang of