Dear Editor

but right up until the point that the other Darth Vader revealed himself at the bottom of the stairs, she had believed she was kissing Eric. She thought those were Eric's hands, Eric's mouth, Eric's… Oh, who am I kidding, she groaned. It could have been anyone and I would have loved it. It was that exciting. She was ashamed of herself to admit it, but it was true. Had she known it wasn't Eric, obviously, she would have slammed the door in his face. Had he forced himself into the room, she would have put her defense training to good use, kicked him right in the—oh dear, right where he had pressed up against her. She couldn't honestly deny that she had enjoyed that immensely.
But you thought you were enjoying Eric, not a complete stranger! She felt guilty and wasn't exactly sure why.
And then, after the big reveal, he'd walked out the door! What had he been about to say? He looked vaguely familiar, someone in her building maybe? Where had she seen him? On the elevator? The lobby? Something about mail nagged at her memory. Great, she thought. The most passionate man on the planet is an entry level mail clerk with no future, taking advantage of lonely single women with good jobs, hoping to get a little on the cheap.
He had taken advantage of her. Taken liberties no man should take. A girlfriend, sure—and she'd thought that was the case! She wondered briefly if she should complain to Rita and Gary then dismissed the thought. She had been right there with him, egging him on. "Yes! Yes!" Jessica's cheeks burned at the memory. What would Mom say? She'd probably be on Bathroom Guy's side.
Righteous indignation washed over her. Eric wasn't passionate, but he was stable. She could depend on him. And now, thanks to Bathroom Guy, she could hardly look at him. When he could pull himself away from Rita's sister, it turned out, he had joined her on the couch at the party.
"Are you okay, Jess?" He'd looked at her with genuine concern, straightening her mask, not guessing, of course, why it was still a little off kilter.
The drive back to Eric's apartment had been awkward and quiet. Instinctively, Jessica had kept her head turned away, her eyes closed. Inside his neat duplex, she'd waited while he changed into sleep pajamas and handed her his costume to return to the rental store. When he saw that she was still in costume, he'd frowned. "Aren't you going to stay?"
"Not tonight," she'd said, heading for the door.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing! I just want to go home."
Eric had not been pleased. "I went to the party like you asked. I didn't want to go, but I went, and now you're upset about something? You're leaving? It's late, I know. But I sleep better with you. Stay."
The tension had only increased when he kissed her goodnight. It was a perfectly good kiss, but she had not responded the way she usually did, leaning in, forcing him to make it longer and sweeter. Instead, her lips remained closed. She turned her chin slightly without even realizing it, his lips only glancing hers in the motion.
"Goodnight, then." And he had let her walk out. No curiosity, no demands for an explanation. No anger. They'd been dating all this time, and Jessica suddenly realized that she'd been doing all the heavy lifting.
She could make this right. She could make the romance happen as she'd made it happen almost every time. Turn around and melt into his arms, and all would be forgotten and forgiven, her momentary lapse a thing of the past. She could go back to instigating whatever passion existed between them, or she could get in her car and drive away.
Staring blankly at the rain outside her car, making the turns and stops like a robot, Jessica saw herself in her mind's eye, standing on the sidewalk Friday evening, looking back. Eric had already closed the door. This wasn't a great neighborhood at this hour—what neighborhood was, for a woman alone? He hadn't even thought to walk her to the car. That summed up the relationship nicely, in a way. He slept better with her, so he wanted her to stay, but if she chose not to, well then, that was okay too.
All through the fitful night, through the next two fitful nights, Jessica had fussed at herself for being too hard on Eric. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with him, he just wasn't that guy. It was that simple. And she would never see the guy again. Burning her bridges with Eric didn't seem like wisdom, but if one passionate encounter with a stranger left her feeling like this, what did that say about her true feelings for Eric? It wouldn't be fair to him to just go on like nothing had happened. But how could she explain it to him? She didn't understand it herself. It's not like she had cheated on him—she had thought it was him.
Jessica pulled into the first vacant spot she saw in the building's garage, grateful that she didn't have to park out in the weather. She'd grab a coffee in the lounge before going to her cubicle, but no one would notice she was a few minutes late. The ebb and flow of everyone was much more fluid here than at her previous job.
The magazine had been sold to a new owner just after she was hired. Things were still in flux. No major shake-ups were anticipated, but without a formal announcement yet of some kind, everyone knew that in the journalism business, anything was possible. When Maureen went on vacation, it was rumored that she had taken a severance package, as Jessica had told her mom, but so far, things were running smoothly. Tenser than usual, Jessica guessed, but so far, so good.
Jessica was rummaging in the refrigerator for creamer when Donna exploded into the lounge. "Finally! I could hardly wait until