February Sucks - Another Version

I snorted at her. If she really believed that shit, nothing I could say would make any difference anyway.

"So, 'friend,' what was your role in all this? You didn't really need to go to the restroom, did you? My wife gave you the signal, right? She told you to stall me and keep me out of the way long enough for her and Asshole to make their getaway?"

"Yes, she asked me to do that, because she didn't want you to embarrass yourself by making a scene while Marc was here. She also asked me to make sure you remembered that she loves you, and she will always come home to you."

Yeah, I'd remember exactly how much she loved me tonight, for a long time to come.

"More like she didn't want me to embarrass her as she walked away from her husband to spend the night with an asshole jock. I don't suppose it occurred to you, 'friend,' to remind her that she had a husband and a marriage, and she might lose them over this?"

Dee looked me in the eye. "No, it didn't, because I know she won't lose you over this. You're too good a man to let that happen. I told her how lucky she is. She's lucky because the man that every woman in the room wanted, wanted her; but she's even luckier that she has a husband who loves her enough to get past his hurt feelings and not make this a bigger deal than it should be. You know she'll be willing to do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes, to make it up to you."

"What if it isn't possible to make it up to me? What if there's no way to make this right?"

"Jim, I know how much you love Linda, and how much she loves you. This doesn't have to be a big deal. It's just one night, a one-time experience, compared to all the years and all the love you two have together. It isn't a big deal, unless you make it one. I know she'll come home to you, and I know, eventually, you'll be fine." Dee spoke gently but confidently.

It was all I could do not to grab the stupid woman and shake her until her teeth rattled for spouting such nonsense. She must be living in some sort of alternate universe if that's what she really thought.

"So, if Asshole had picked you, as you wanted him to, you'd have done the same thing?"

"I would." She flung her answer into my face. And then she added, "In a heartbeat."

"Does Dave know that?"

"No, and he doesn't need to, because I don't think it will ever happen," she said softly.

"Maybe I should tell him."

"Jim, please don't. Don't think that way. I know you're hurting, but that won't help. Please come back to the table. Let us take your mind off of it for a while. You haven't danced a single dance with me all night, you know." She smiled invitingly at me.

"I wanted to dance with my wife, but thanks to you and her and Asshole, that doesn't seem to be an option, now does it?" I turned my back on Dee and stalked back to our table.

The talk at the table stopped abruptly when I appeared. The averted eyes told the tale: all of our friends now knew that my wife and Asshole were at that very moment making a cuckold of me.

"Uh, Jim, are you going to be okay?" Dave asked hesitantly after he seated Dee. I wanted to tell him what Dee had said and ask him if he would be okay, but I couldn't force the words past my throat. I guess I hadn't gotten over being the good guy yet. I would have to work on that.

"It depends on what you mean by okay." There were a couple of nervous giggles.

"I mean, yeah, that was a shitty thing to do, but you two are going to make it, aren't you? You're not going to divorce Linda over this, are you?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't," I responded coldly. There was a gasp around the table.

"Why are you all acting surprised?" I continued. "We all know how we feel about cheating: once and done. We established that long ago."

"But Jim, it's Marc LaValliere..." Jane interposed.

"So what? I don't care who's fucking her. If it isn't me, that's that."

"Jim, what about your kids? We all know how much you love them, and how much they need you. Think of them before you do anything." Jane's kids were about the same age as mine and were best buds.

"You mean, like my wife is thinking about them right now?"

"Well, that's why you got a sitter, so you wouldn't have to think about your kids." I think Lois meant it to be funny. It fell as flat as it deserved.

"Come on, Jim, it's just one night," Jane now spoke up again. "It's an opportunity she'll never have again. You wouldn't divorce Linda over one night."

"Why not?" I glared at her. An uncomfortable silence followed.

"Jim, try to think of it this way, maybe it will help." Lois was trying to sound sympathetic. "What if the cover model from the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue was here tonight? Say she picked you out of everyone here to dance with, and then she offered to spend the night with you. Can you honestly say you wouldn't be tempted? Can you honestly say you would turn her down?" The pleading look in Jane's warm brown eyes made her look like a particularly winsome puppy dog, and was usually quite effective in getting her what she wanted. Not tonight.

I stood and looked down at Jane. "Yes, I would be tempted, but I would turn her down. You see, I have a wife that I love very much, and I don't want to hurt her. At least, that's what I'd have done before tonight."

There was another one of those deafening silences. I looked around the table at each of my former friends, all of whom were siding with my cheating wife. At that moment, I sincerely hoped never to see any of them again.

"You are all dead to me," I said and I turned on my heel and walked away from the table.

I felt I had to do something, even if it was irrational. I went back to the bar and flagged the attention of the same pretty bartender I had spoken to earlier. I put a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and said, "Can you give me the address of Marc Lavalliere's home?"

She looked at me for a minute with the same sympathetic look in her face that I had seen earlier. She pushed the money back to me.

"I know what happened to you tonight and I'm so, so sorry. Marc has done this before and it is never easy to watch the husband's reaction. But to answer your question, yes, I know Marc's home address. I've been hired a number of times to cater parties there. The trouble is that he lives in a gated community with guards at the gate who check everyone who enters. There are several celebrities and sports figures who live there and they take their privacy very seriously. In other words, you will never be able to get in. It might be just as well for you to go home and try to think rationally about your options and your future."

I noted the bartender's nametag. Her name was Brigitte. "Thank you, Brigitte," I said.

I pushed the twenty back across the bar to her. "Keep it. That's probably the best advice for the dollar that anyone has ever received."

As I walked the block and a half to the hotel, my anger was compounded by the deepest sadness I had ever known. Linda and I were supposed to be making this walk together, holding hands, chaffing our friends about what they were going to get up to once they got to their rooms, and being chaffed in our turn. She was supposed to be holding my arm that way she does, and pushing her face into my coat sleeve when the conversation got too risqué. Instead, I was alone. Alone, I rode the elevator, trying not to remember what Linda and I had gotten up to in other hotel elevators. Alone, I entered what was supposed to have been our room. Alone, I faced the wreckage of our special night.

I turned on the light, and shut the door behind me. Suddenly, I was weary beyond the telling. I dropped my winter coat on the floor and slouched toward the bedroom. Laid out in the middle of the bed was a frilly bra and panty set that I hadn't seen before. They were dark blue, darker than her dress, edged with black lace. In my mind's eye, I could see her modeling them with that combination of love and sensuality in her eyes that was all her own, that had been all mine until tonight. I took the lacy little garments tenderly into my hands, as if holding them might bring her back to me. It didn't work. I wept.

Humiliation suffused my soul and mixed with the anger and sadness. My wife, my lover, my best friend, had been taken from me by another man. He had casually, easily, plucked her from right beside me, as if he had every right to do so. He didn't care what she meant to me; all he saw in her was a pretty fuck toy for the night. And she had just let him! I didn't matter enough to her to inspire even the slightest resistance. It was as if she, too, thought he had a right to her, stronger than whatever right I had earned by almost ten years as a faithful loving husband. Yes, it was supposed to be just one night. And the next morning, I supposed. So what? And what would he, and this night, leave in her heart and mind and senses? What could I ever do that would compare to, let alone compete with, the city's hero, the handsome stud, Marc "The Asshole" LaValliere?

At that time, for some reason, I had an overwhelming need to be with my children. Perhaps I thought that, at least, I still had them. I hastily packed my clothes. I thought of packing Linda's clothes, too, but decided not to render her that courtesy. She could pick them up when she was finished with the Asshole. I did pack the frilly bra and panty set she had left behind. For what reason, I didn't know.

I checked myself out of the hotel. I told the pleasant young woman behind the desk that my wife would be staying until the morning. Linda and Asshole could figure out how Linda could get her stuff and check out on their own. She probably wouldn't show up by checkout time, anyway.

The desk clerk looked worried as she asked if the accommodations had not been to our liking. I stared at her for a moment, trying to make sense of her question, then realized that couples who rent a mini-suite like that usually don't check out only a few hours after they checked in.

"No, the room was fine. Things have just... changed."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. Her professionally cheery demeanor returned once she knew that her hotel was not at fault. She must have seen this sort of thing before; it didn't seem to worry her much.

Before I left the lobby, I telephoned Mrs. Porter and told her I was coming by in forty-five minutes to pick up Emma and Tommy. She was surprised, of course.

"It's eleven-thirty, Jim," The kids are in bed asleep. Are you certain you don't want to pick them up in the morning?" she asked.

"No!" I said curtly. "I will pick them up tonight. Please have them ready to get in the car."

"Don't worry, Mr. Carlisle. I will have them ready to go."

Having something to do distracted me somewhat from my problems, but then I had a chance to dwell on them again during my drive to Mrs. Porter's home. I had four distinct emotions twisted around in my gut: Anger, humiliation, deep hurt, and a sense of great loss.

I was distracted again from my problems when I picked up the kids. They were both very groggy. Mrs. Porter had them wrapped in their warm bathrobes while still in their pajamas. They asked sleepily where they were going and where was Mommy. They didn't wait for an answer before they were asleep in the back seat. I left Mrs. Porter with a sizeable tip in addition to her full overnight baby-sitting fee, and got in my car.

"At least I have them," I thought to myself.

On the drive home, I contemplated, for the first time, how I was going to handle seeing Linda in the morning, knowing that the Asshole had fucked her all night long. I was half afraid that I would slap her black and blue the minute she walked through the door. I wondered whether or not I would end up crying in front of her. How could I possibly go on knowing that she had made a cuckold out of me, even an unwilling one.

These jumbled thoughts and feelings stirred in the back of my head as I carried, first Emma, and then Tommy, from the car and put them on our large sofa in the darkened family room. They woke slightly and then went immediately back to sleep. I decided not to move them, but rather let them sleep there until morning. I retrieved my bottle of Captain Morgan spiced rum (100 proof) from the bar and sat down in the dark between my children. I began to think about tomorrow, the future and my alternatives.

Dee and Linda as well as the rest of my former friends, apparently, expected me to accept this picadillo in our marriage and go on as if nothing had changed. I guess the thought of fucking the Asshole, for Linda in actuality, and Dee and the other ladies vicariously, had made them all delusional. Still, I didn't know how I was going to deal with Linda face-to-face.

It seemed to me that only obvious choices I have are to (1) accept the humiliating role of being a cuckold for the rest of my marriage for the sake of the children or (2) salvage my pride by divorcing Linda, becoming a single dad and having only limited access to my children.

I tried not to feel sorry for myself, but at times, I wept quietly. Emma woke up a one point and asked me why I was sad. "Is it because Mommy isn't here?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "It's because Mommy is someplace else."

Emma hugged me, curled up with my arm around her and fell asleep again.

It was early morning and I was still sitting between my sleeping children when I came up with a solution that suited me. The spiced rum had not had the effect it usually did and I still felt clear-headed. I went upstairs and started to pack. The more I packed, the more I was happy with my alternative action, even though it would not solve my problem in the long run.

I packed all the clothes I thought I would need for a long trip. Further, I included the computer gear I needed for work: Laptop, printer/scanner/fax/copier, and my Wacom 27-inch drawing tablet. I was a computer graphics expert and if I was going to be away for as long as I thought I might be, I needed the computer equipment as a home office. My company frequently gave me contract work that I could do at home. When I had time, I would inform my boss that I wanted nothing but work I could do remotely.

My former friends—and I suppose, my soon-to-be ex-wife—seemed to think that somehow, the one-and-done attitude we'd all had toward cheating didn't apply in this case. They were wrong. It didn't matter who was fucking her; it wasn't me, and that was that. They would just have to live with their disappointment.

I finished packing the car as the sun was coming up. Next, I had to explain to Emma and Tommy why I was going to be away for a while. I decided that I was going to call it a vacation, a vacation without Mommy.

I sat at the kitchen table for an hour or more, drinking coffee and trying to decide how I was going to deal with Linda when she returned home. I could foresee loud arguments, recriminations and even physical abuse if things got out of control. I didn't want that. I didn't want my kids exposed to that.

Neither did I want to hear her excuses for doing what she did.

I decided to say very little between the time Linda arrived home and the time I left. She might look at it as the silent or near-silent treatment, but it was the best way to avoid prolonged conflict. When I got my head on straight, I would return to deal with Linda and my marriage.

Although I was making it up as I went, I intended to stay in contact with Emma and Tommy while I was gone. I wanted them to feel as if I was close to them in spirit if not physically. I would write to them and send pictures as often as possible. They were too young to have their own cell phone, e-mail account or Facebook page. Any electronic communication would have to go through Linda's g-mail account even though I addressed my letters to the kids.

The biggest conflict I had in my mind were the two obvious alternatives: Divorce Linda and be faced with being a single-dad with limited contact with my kids, or learn to live with being a willing cuckold the rest of my life while Linda enjoyed the memory of her night of lust. I looked at my sleeping children. I knew I couldn't face them if sometime in the future they were to find out that I allowed a stranger to fuck their mom and I willingly accepted it.

I made breakfast for myself. As I was putting my dishes into the sink, my eyes fell on our refrigerator door. Tommy's crayon picture of his family was done in the typical style of a four-year-old. He'd taken the trouble to get everyone's hair and eye color right, though, even his sister's, and there was no mistaking the happiness and love felt by the artist. What would it do to him if I let his mother and the Asshole rip his family in half? What would happen to my girl Emma?

I knew that Emma and Tommy were nowhere in Linda's thoughts at that moment. I wasn't either. She deserved to lose us all, but to give her what she deserved, I would have to ruin the world of my two young innocents. I could never do that. If I couldn't, then what? I had no idea.

While my children sleep late, I sat down at the kitchen table and wrote a letter to Linda describing how things would be after I left and how I would still provide money to our joint account to run the house. It did not mention her night away from the family. I told her that I wanted no contact with her whatsoever for the foreseeable future. However, I would write my kids often. Further, I would call home to speak to Emma and Tommy every Sunday at 6PM. She was to put the kids on the phone without trying to engage me in conversation.

It was about 1PM when I heard a sports car with a loud engine pull into the driveway. The kids had lazily been watching Frozen all morning and were still in their pajamas.

"Mommy's home!" shouted Emma.

The kids started for the front door and I was barely able to intercept them before we all made it to the porch. We stood in the shade of the porch and marveled at the cherry red Ferrari convertible in the driveway. The Asshole exited his side of the car dressed in slacks, a pullover sports shirt and sandals. He crossed to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for Linda, who waited for him to show this gentlemanly courtesy. Once she stood up, the Asshole embraced her and she put her arms around his neck. They kissed passionately.

Emma pulled away from me immediately and ran down the porch steps and over to her mom. "You shouldn't be kissing that man, Mommy!" she yelled. She grabbed Linda's dress and started pulling her away from the Asshole.

Linda suddenly realized that she was surrounded by her children. "What are you doing home?" she exclaimed.

She quickly disentangled herself from the Asshole and, as she did, Tommy started pushing the Asshole away from his mom. "Go away. Go away," he said in a voice that seemed so commanding for a four-year-old child.

Linda gathered her children around her and turned to the Asshole. "It was wonderful, but you had better leave now."

As the Asshole turned to get back in his car and as Linda started toward the house, they both saw me standing on the porch with my arms crossed and an angry expression on my face.

The Asshole couldn't help but smirk at me as he pulled out of my driveway. He peeled rubber in the street and, as he did so, he held up his hand with his index finger extended.

Before entering the house, Linda stopped and in an angry voice and as if it was my fault, she said, "You shouldn't have let them see that."

There were a hundred things I could have said to Linda at that time, but I knew it would just start to lead to an argument and recriminations, all of which I wanted to avoid for the sake of the children. So, I reminded myself of my plan to say very little before I left on my "vacation".