Transcription
Of all the rotten luck, or was it an act of Fate? I'd only just arrived at the motel, not 5 minutes before, in fact. After months of being talked into it and weeks of battling my own conscience, I was finally going to do it. Finally going to have an affair. No, that's not the right phrase, but what is the right one? My conscience just wouldn't accept the words "cheating" or "infidelity." They made it sound like something sorted or cheap. It certainly wasn't cheap. On Jane's advice, I'd booked a corner room in a good hotel, plus the room next door. "She said I would be making a lot of noise and would need the privacy." That cleaned out my newly opened bank account, the one with my work address as my contact, that I diverted a portion of my annual pay rise to. Every payday, even as I thought about appropriate words, my mind shied away from the subject. My conscience was still troubling me.
After 6 weeks, I'd finally convinced myself with 's help that what I was doing wasn't the usual sorted affair. No, the usual affairs were one man and one woman, with the odds being that the guy wasn't as skilled or as well endowed as the husband, with only the prospect of the excitement of cheating differentiating it from marital love. No way was that worth the risk. This was different, very different. One woman, me, and two guys. They were pre-approved and pre-tested by my best friend Jane. Both well, well endowed and, if you believe Jane, very skilled. That is what finally broke through my defenses. Even without Jane's vivid descriptions of what I was in for, my own imagination would have ensured my excitement enough to cause me to dehydrate. Hell, even setting up the untraceable bank account made me excited. Like I said, I just got to the hotel room and introduced myself to John and Paul. They didn't muck about, I'll give them that. I was in heaven. It was everything I dreamed of.
Then my bloody phone rang with my husband's ringtone. God, why now? I couldn't ignore it, though. Pushing the guys away, I answered. Dave was sick and was coming straight home. He wanted me to pull strings to get him a doctor's appointment as soon as possible. Just one of the perks of marrying a doctor's receptionist, I suppose. I promised I would do what I could and said I'd see him at home. That left me with a huge problem. I was in a hotel, 15 minutes from home, wreaking of female excitement. He was on his way home from work, 25 minutes away. Making my hurried excuses, I grabbed my bag and sprinted for the lifts. Once in my car, I rang work and got an appointment for an hour. I beat Dave home by 4 minutes. He really didn't look good. My next problem was how to avoid getting in a car with him in the enclosed space. He would smell me for sure. I'd only found time to fix my smeared makeup. Hell, this affair business was stressful.
Dave solved this problem by suggesting he went alone, so he minimized the chances of infecting me. Typical Dave. We killed time by talking about our days, as usual. I told him that I'd been home relaxing since finishing at 1 p.m., waiting for Jane to come around for our usual afternoon run. All the time, I'm sitting there nervously. I know Dave possessed a keen sense of smell. He'd commented on my various odors before. I sat as far away from him as possible, ostensibly to avoid his germs. I experienced another minor turn when Dave asked me if he could take my car, as it was easier to drive than his monster. I couldn't think of a reason why not quickly enough. I handed over my keys and he left. I worried that he would notice the temperature gauge in my car and expose my fresh lies. Then, of course, there was the small bag in the trunk with a change of clothes and my toiletries. Damn, for less than 5 minutes of enjoyment, I was certainly paying a high price in mental stress. One thing was for sure, if I got through this, I wouldn't be doing it again. No amount of excitement was worth risking my idyllic marriage. It took me too many years and too many loser boyfriends to find such a good man. Still, the memory of that kiss was a powerful force. No, I had things to do. First, an excuse for the warm engine. I found Dave's keys and quickly drove to the local deli. As I was standing in the queue at the checkout, I asked myself what other clues I may have left behind. As usual, I fingered my wedding and engagement rings in my nervousness, or the place where they usually were. With shock, I remembered I'd taken them off and left them in the ashtray of my car. The car that Dave was now driving. Suddenly terrified, I drove home and quickly put the chicken soup I'd bought on the stove to warm. Grabbing an egg from the fridge, I cracked it and put a little of the white on my ring finger. From experience, I knew my raw egg allergy would make the skin red within minutes. I examined my handiwork and, when satisfied, washed my hand.
Next on the agenda was burying my undergarments deep in the laundry basket. They were soaked. Once again, I experienced an involuntary but very pleasant flashback. Hopping in the shower, I detached the flexible head and turned the dial to jet. What can I say? In less than 5 minutes, my body was very, very clean. Out of the shower and dressed, I turned the stove off and wondered where Dave was. He'd been away nearly an hour. Even as I thought that, I heard my car return. Dave staggered in and lay on the couch. It wasn't an act to play the loving wife. I did love this man with a passion and had since shortly after meeting him 7 years ago. Dave was what I, and the people I'd asked, considered eye candy. 6'1", muscled, and very easy to look at. After being introduced, we'd talked for hours, and I was pleasantly surprised. He wasn't nearly as dumb as men of that physical caliber normally are. In fact, he was obviously very intelligent and going places professionally. What staggered me most was the fact that it was obvious he was interested in me. With the slightly pessimistic self-image common to women, I'd thought he was out of my league. That was the first of many meetings, as he pursued me with alacrity. It was very complimentary. We didn't consummate our relationship for 2 months. Dave said he thought we were at the beginning of something very special and had all the time in the world to do it just right. Ours was at a very romantic ski chalet when he organized a trip to the snow for us. It was well worth waiting for, too. His combination sent me to heaven. His stature next to my 5'6" daintiness gave me a delicious sense of powerlessness. We never did go skiing. His proposal 7 months later was not unexpected but very welcome. I made sure to warn him that I had malformed ovaries and doctors advised me I might have trouble conceiving. Dave didn't reconsider for a second. He, in turn, warned me that he had a bit of a temper. It was normally fully controlled, but every now and then he lost it completely. He related a story from his younger days when he was walking home from a bar, passing an alley. He'd heard a scream and, on investigation, discovered a woman being assaulted by three men. He'd pulled them off her, then placed himself between the woman and her attackers. They made the mistake of pushing the issue. 5 minutes later, two of them were unconscious and one had fled. One of the former had his jaw broken in three places. The other one died that night in hospital. Dave said he had no recollection of the fight, just a memory of a red rage. Luckily, the woman's statement cleared Dave of any wrongdoing. Her story that Dave simply put himself between her and them and acted in self-defense when they took offense to this ensured a verdict of death by misadventure was returned by the coroner. We also both discussed our values, including our views on fidelity. Unsurprisingly, we both valued it high on our lists. Dave told me the story of how his ex-fiancée cheated on him and how hard he'd taken it. I was his first serious girlfriend since her. We married and are in the middle, living happily ever after. A little over a year ago, I'd gone off the pill at age 33, and we'd had a very busy and pleasant time since trying to make a baby. Our lack of success wasn't overly worrying yet, and I was thoroughly enjoying being one satisfied lady. A month ago, at a party, I'd whispered in his ear that I was ovulating. He'd made our excuses quickly, and we'd left. It took us 2 hours to get home with two stops at different dark cul-de-sacs, once in the back seat and once in some bushes on our picnic blanket. Oh yes, I was in heaven. I'd even surreptitiously considered going back on the pill just to make this fantastic time last forever. But I was looking forward to a family as much as Dave. If our children inherited Dave's looks and my brain, they would rule the world.
"Hello, this is your conscience speaking. You went to a hotel today and met two non-Daves." "Oh, shut up." I thank the god of Fate for saving my marriage today. What the hell was I thinking? Like most people, I didn't recognize the power of excitement-driven hormones to override all logic circuits. Now, after a powerful shower head and the extremely unsexy environment of my husband's sick bed, I really couldn't understand why I'd even attempted to stray. I fed Dave some chicken soup and mopped his brow. With a full stomach, he could take the first of his meds. I took the opportunity to ask if we had any cream for dermatitis and pointed out the red patch on my ring finger. I escorted him to bed and tucked him in before 7:00 p.m. Going back downstairs, I quietly retrieved my rings from my car. Thank God, they seem to have been undiscovered. I might not have to use the dermatitis defense at all. That only left two potential exposure points to cover. At Dave's insistence, I made up the bed in the spare room. The doctor said he was contagious. I went back to the lounge to relax. Jane didn't answer her phone. After her divorce last year, she spent a lot of time in noisy bars making up for lost time, she said. My conscience asked me if she was really my friend. Would a friend plant the seeds in my head that led to my near miss of today? Until January, I'd never considered infidelity. It just wasn't me. I'd finally found the man of my dreams and wasn't going to do anything to spoil that. As I'd often discussed with Dave, I hated cheaters, not so much on moral grounds, but on the hurt and damage it did to the innocent partner in the relationship. So what happened, happened to lead me into a hotel room on the brink of, well, let's be frank, cheating? In a nutshell: Jane. Jane and her husband were acquaintances until 18 months ago. Then, in short order, my two best friends left town, and Jane and her husband mutually agreed to call their marriage quits. I saw her looking lonely at a party and so talked to her. We were pretty much inseparable after that. Just about every weekday for the last year, Jane came over, and we went for a run in the local park, then back to my place for a gossip. For the first few months after her separation, Jane was quiet and seemed to be working on her ex to consider giving it another go. Then, about a year ago, there was a step change when she rejoined the swinging singles scene. She kept me entertained with her various conquests over our coffees. She never described anything near as good as an average session with Dave, and sometimes, when we were all together, I would catch her looking at us longingly as a couple. She once jokingly suggested a three-part with Dave and me. I burst that bubble pretty quickly. As healthy, mature people, Dave and I often shared fantasies. He possessed a kinky imagination but always drew the line at a third wheel in bed. Final end of story, no discussion. She would often invite me to go to bars with her. If she promised to behave herself and go home alone, I would agree. It just felt really wrong to accompany her if she was on the hunt. I didn't want any rumors impinging on Dave's absolute trust in me. In fact, these nights out were the subject of several of our "state of the union" talks. Early on in our marriage, we recognized that poor communication were the downfall of many marriages, so we'd begun a habit, every month or so, I suppose, of sitting together as a couple for what became jokingly known as "state of the union" talks. We discussed the rules at the first meeting: we could and should raise any issues that bothered us in an atmosphere of complete honesty and with no fear of recrimination. Over the years, several small, niggling issues had been discussed and neutralized. One was me telling Dave that he snored when he slept on his back. For the next month, he slept on his side with a pillow tucked where it prevented him from rolling onto his back. After a month, sleeping on his side was a habit, thus snoring, the cause of many a divorce, was never an issue for us. In turn, Dave raised that he was slightly uncomfortable with me wearing revealing clothes when I went out socializing without him. I started dressing more conservatively. When our friends found out about our state talks, many of them pumped us for details. We were happy to help them out. Our last talk had been 6 weeks before. Jane had cast doubt on my absolute faith that Dave had never strayed. Verbally, I shot her down, but a seed had been sown in the back of my mind. Was the unanswered question of why Dave chose me? I was honest enough to know he could have done better. That is exactly what our talks were for. The next night, I initiated a discussion with only a slight nervousness. I told Dave what Jane said and asked him if he'd ever been tempted since we'd been together. Without any apparent rancor, Dave told me that though he'd been propositioned many times and even felt an animal temptation to do it, he'd never seriously considered it. He then thanked me for being open enough to ask. As I was on a roll, I asked why he chose me over all the other contenders. His answer wasn't really an answer at all, but was so Dave. He pointed out that he never asked himself questions like that for really important decisions; he just went with his gut instincts. On first meeting me, his gut told him this was his life partner and the mother of his children. Christ, I could hardly walk the next day.
So what happened in January? The two snakes in the grass entered Jane and, by extension, my life. At a New Year's Eve party, two smoothies that plied her with drinks and, at the end of the evening, offered themselves to her as a package deal. With her defenses low, she'd taken the risk and agreed. For the next month, I was bombarded with stories of how fantastic it was. Was I listened with interest, recognizing for the first time that my friend was describing something better than I'd ever experienced? Much better. Eventually, I made the mistake of telling Jane this fact. By that stage, she'd given up one-on-one intimacy as it was no longer stimulating enough. She managed to find two new guys willing to share her once every two weeks or so, and in between those, entertained a few regulars. Once I'd let my inner thoughts slip, the gentle pressure started from Jane. Every time she had a session, she would lay it on thick about how good it was. This went on for about a month, then she slipped into a casual conversation that she thought all women owed it to themselves to be spoiled rotten by multiple men at some point in their lives. I recognized she was suggesting I give it a go and brushed her off, pointing out that she had nothing to lose while I was putting everything on the line. I shared my contempt for cheaters who destroyed their partners by their selfish, shallow actions. Looking back on it, this conversation just gave Jane the ammunition to refine her attack. She now knew squarely where to aim: nomenclature and consequences. Over the next months, she convinced me it wasn't really cheating. Intimacy with one man was cheating. Straying with a man who was a threat to a marriage was infidelity. Meaningless fun with two married guys was my birthright and absolutely no threat to my marriage. Like a fool, I didn't shut her down but continued to argue logically. I pointed out that even without the threat of falling in love with another guy, my marriage was just as dead if my extramarital fun was discovered. Why didn't I shut her down? Simple, I loved talking about it and got really, really excited experiencing it vicariously through Jane. Dave had a lot of fun as a result of those conversations, too. Several times he complained about being attacked as soon as he got home. Funny, he never seemed to struggle that much. An overheated marshmallow could have put up a better fight. At the rate we were going, that baby would make an appearance soon. Sensing she'd almost got me convinced that a three-part wasn't cheating and justifying further conversations as improving my love life with my husband, Jane changed tactics. If my main objection was on the damage an affair did to relationships, then no harm was done if Dave never found out. I laughed this off at first but didn't object when Jane offered to do some research for me. The whole subject just made me so excited and led to some mind-blowing sessions with Dave. I certainly didn't recognize that love with my husband now just left me that little bit unsatisfied. After all, you can spend thousands of dollars working up a Ford, but it will never drive like a Lamborghini.
3 weeks later, presented me with the results of her research. "Her guide to not getting caught," she called it. I thought it might be fun, so I went along with it. For the next week, sometimes we were so engrossed in it that we didn't even go for our regular runs. Venereal diseases and the husband finding out he wasn't the father of any children the couple bore were both covered by the wife taking protection along. Jane did stress that the woman might get so carried away with the excitement of the mind-blowing experience that she would have to be super vigilant to make sure the guys always use them. The husband coming home early was covered by meeting in hotels paid for untraceable and always answering the phone. Jane again pointed out this may be difficult. In the heat of the moment, behavioral changes could be combed by vigilance and a friend constantly critiquing the woman on her actions around her husband. Being seen somewhere she shouldn't be by her husband or friends was always a killer. Jane suggested that choosing a hotel near a shopping center the wife had every right to be visiting would get around that. Someone else could do the booking, and a basic disguise and a bit of stealth should guarantee the safety of the rest. Physical signs of intimacy could be negated as a giveaway by the woman leaving ample time to thoroughly clean up afterward. She could even set an alarm for the time that all activities must cease. The husband finding undergarments was a non-issue. The purpose of them is to put the participants in the mood. Jane assured me that would be completely unnecessary. I had to agree. Overheard conversations and intercepted communications were easy as well. Jane offered to do all the organizing so there would be no record on my phone or email. If she booked the room and did all the organizing, then I just needed to turn up. Any communication between her and I would be done verbally over a coffee. Her last suggestion for potential downfall points was equally easily combed. The guys could brag all they liked, their wives could do all the investigating they wanted, and if Jane gave me a false name and I went along with it, no one could trace me. I don't know when Jane changed from using terms like "the wife" and "the husband" to using "Stephanie" and "Dave," but it certainly happened. Alone, I wondered if Jane had accidentally forgotten one flaw or whether it was deliberate. From the basic research I'd done, the major problem for me was giving the game away by guilt. That's what the final 6 weeks' soul-searching armed me for. 6 weeks to convince myself that when I did the deed, it wouldn't be cheating. Having casual time with two married men completely anonymously was absolutely no threat to my marriage. Oh yes, I said when my constant state of excitement from Jane's stories and my own desire sealed my decision. Just once in my life, I was going to drive a Lamborghini. Jane made sure of that.
Jane was ecstatic when I told her the news. The next week, we narrowed it down to one of the days I only worked till 1 p.m., and she gave me the choice of which of her regulars I wanted. She read through her catalog, and I picked John and Paul. She then laid out a smorgasbord of ideas for me to choose from. She would remind them not to mark me in any way and threaten to cut them off if they didn't comply. In the end, she convinced me to keep it fairly straight and to leave some excitement for later episodes. The week of my first experience was unexpectedly hard. No, my conscience wasn't troubling me, but my excitement was threatening to give me away. Between Sunday and Thursday, I made love with Dave twice in the lounge room. As soon as he got in the door, I was forced to tell him it was because I was ovulating again. Yes, this was definitely going to be a win-win for Dave and me. I had to force myself below the speed limit going to the hotel and practically sprinted from the shopping center car park to my rendezvous. I was going so fast that my wig almost flew off. I was impressed with Jane's choices. As soon as they walked into the room, that's why Dave's phone call was such a cataclysm. None of the ways I'd almost been caught today were on Jane's list, which hardened my resolve to ditch this stupid, self-destructive idea. Insidiously, the memory of that kiss hammered my resolve. In the dimly lit lamp, after peeking in on Dave, I returned to the lounge but chose a different couch, one out of the direct line of sight of the stairs. The next day, I woke just in time to make Dave some breakfast and make sure he took his meds before rushing to work for my Saturday morning shift. Jane is uncontactable during her workday, so I left a text with her saying I would talk to her on Monday. Arriving home, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Dave was recovered enough to have made lunch. At 3:30 p.m., Jane sent me a text asking how I'd gone yesterday. I replied, reminding her of our rules. I nursed Dave for the rest of the weekend. Perhaps it was hypervigilance on my part, but Dave was definitely looking uncomfortable, like there was something on his mind. That's why, after cleaning up the dinner dishes on Sunday, I wasn't surprised when he asked me if we could have a state of the union talk. The timing was so coincidental that my heart raced. I still steered us away from the kitchen table and onto the couch. That way, I could snuggle up to him and avoid eye contact. That was my Achilles' heel, and I knew it. Once seated side by side, Dave put his arm around my shoulder. This familiar posture put me more at ease. I desperately reminded myself not to tense up, whatever was thrown at me. Typical of Dave, he launched straight into it. "Steph, we've always agreed to talk about the little things that bother us so they don't become big things." "Of course, sweetie, what's on your mind?" I replied. "Why didn't you answer the home phone when I rang here Friday?" he asked. "I had the stereo going, Dave, and didn't hear it. Luckily, I had my cell still in my pocket and felt that vibrate," I replied. "Okay, so when you told me you'd been home all afternoon, but your car engine was making those clinking noises like it had just stopped when I came in the garage." "Thank you for my forward planning. As soon as you rang to say you were sick, I rushed out and bought some chicken soup," I replied. "Okay, thanks for that," he answered. I knew I hadn't flinched, but something about the way this conversation was going made me very uncomfortable. Perhaps it was just paranoia. I glanced down at my arm lying in Dave's lap. I could see my pulse throbbing in my wrist. Pretending a nonchalance I didn't remotely feel, I turned my wrist to hide it. "Steph, why were your rings in the ashtray of your car when I went to get some change for the parking meter?" he asked. "Well, as I was driving home from work, my ring finger started really itching. I took them off to stop it itching. I didn't want to put them on another finger in case it spread. Whatever it was, it was just a bit of dermatitis. See that cream I put on has cleared it up already. I sterilized my rings last night. Look what brought all this on," I answered. Dave asked again, "Remember last week when I came home and Jane was still here? You stopped talking and looked really guilty about something. It just worried me for some reason." "You know us girls, always talking about some secret or another. I can't even remember what that conversation was about," I replied. I twisted out of Dave's arms and firmly straddled his lap, putting a hand solidly on each side of his face. I looked him in the eye. "Any more questions?" I asked. "No, you've answered the one I had," he answered. "What a strange way of putting it," then I started. "Well, I'll ask the one you didn't feel comfortable asking for you. Since I met you, have I ever made love to or danced the horizontal tango with another man?" "The answer is no," he returned my gaze. "You don't mind me asking?" he asked. "Not at all," I asked. "You asked me something similar a while ago, so why should I object to you doing it? Besides, if I saw you without your ring and the other stuff, I'd be asking the hard questions too. That's what these talks are all about, lover." I went to kiss his lips, but he turned his head. With the word "contagious," after kissing his cheek, I went to relieve my bowels. As I sat there, I just kept repeating, "Never again." Shortly after that, Dave retired to our room and suggested I stay in the spare again. I lay awake for several hours, just relieved that I'd managed to fool a good man, but cursing myself for making it necessary.
The next day, Dave felt well enough to go to work. I texted Jane that our runs were back on and left. Also, when Jane arrived that afternoon, she was obviously too excited to run, so we sat down for a chat in my kitchen. "Well, Steph, was it as fantastic as I said it would be?" she asked. I related my sad story of woe to my friend. She looked as crestfallen as I'd felt when I first got Dave's call. When I got to the bit about calling it all off as not worth the risk, she went silent for a long time. When it became uncomfortably long, I tried to break the tension by asking how her weekend had been. When she smiled and started talking about her latest group experience, I stopped her. "No, Jane, I don't want to hear about that. What else did you get up to?" Again, the crestfallen look. After it became clear we'd forgotten what else to talk about, we went for our run. The following days were much the same. Several times Jane tried to raise the subject of intimacy, but I'd learned my lesson. Over the next two weeks, Dave and I made love several times. I noticed that I was feeling way less excited than I usually did when we did make love. It left me increasingly unsatisfied. Despite having the same number of excitement, the reason was obvious. I'd seen a Lamborghini in the driveway one day but hadn't got to drive it. The next day, the Ford was back. It took the full two weeks for my resolve to weaken. It was a Monday night. Dave had been forced to leave Friday morning to fix a problem at one of the plants in another state and was due back that evening. Maybe the lack of intimacy over the weekend contributed to my weakness. Jane was obviously very excited about something, and this time I didn't shut her down when she wanted to talk about her weekend. She told me a story that almost had me excited. As an added thrill, Jane had taken to wearing her old wedding ring when she went on the hunt to pretend she was cheating, to pretend she was me, I suppose. On Saturday night, she'd gone back to a guy's place with his friend. Jane said she got so excited that she fainted. "Oh, Steph, I'll tell John and Paul to do that to you. It is so good." Consequently, I left Dave alone that night when he got back, which was a shame, as this was the day that I actually was ovulating. I woke in the middle of the night and noticed he was gone. When I quizzed him in the morning, he said he'd had trouble sleeping. The next day was more of the same conversations with Jane. I kept my resurrected resolve for the first half hour, but she kept chipping away at it. Eventually, her stories of being spoiled rotten by two hunks caused me to answer, "Maybe." When she asked if I wanted her to reschedule, shortly after this, Dave came home. Normally, Jane didn't like to still be there, but we'd lost track of time. Jane was sitting at the table. I was at the coffee machine. Dave strolled in, said hello, then kissed me. After breaking off, he apologized to Jane, saying he just loved me so much and couldn't help himself. Jane looked green with envy. To further apologize, Dave insisted Jane stayed for dinner. He then spent all night touching and holding me, which made both Jane and I uncomfortable. Overall, it was not normal behavior for Dave. We went to bed as soon as Jane left, and Dave spoiled me. I must say, it certainly dispelled any subliminal fear I'd had that Dave was being a little emotionally remote from me. When my alarm went off the next morning, Dave had already gone to work, leaving a note that something had come up. That day was another early finish for me. Showering off the sweat and the smell, I prepared for Jane's regular visit. She came over with her normal street clothes on and a scarf around her neck, despite the mild weather. When I quizzed her, she said that her neck was stiff and sore and she was keeping it warm. She certainly looked tired and quite down. We chatted about nothing for a while. I kept waiting for her to perk up and talk about a schedule, but she didn't. After a while, I was forced to raise it. "Are you feeling all right, Jane? I expected you to come armed for excitement today. In fact, I've been thinking about it. Next Tuesday works for me. Can you tell John and Paul about that ring trick?" No, Jane had stood and shouted. Then she slowly sat down again. I noticed she suddenly looked quite pale. "No, Steph, I really don't think you should do it. I was wrong to even suggest it to you." "What the hell has got into you, Jane? You spent months getting me all excited about it, now you're telling me not to," I asked. Jane spoke next, while looking down at the tabletop. "I was wrong, Steph. I should never have suggested it to you. When I saw how Dave kissed you and cuddled you the other day, I realized that I couldn't be a party to splitting you up. I just can't." "Please, but Jane, I won't be caught, so you won't be splitting us up," I asked. "I can't guarantee that. What you have with Dave is a one-in-a-thousand marriage. You were right all along. It would be stupid to risk it, no matter how clever you are, you can still be caught," Jane replied. "Hey," I echoed, "my ex-husband and I didn't split amicably. Steph, he came home early one day when I wasn't there. He rang me to ask where I was, and I stupidly said at home. He was waiting for me when I got there, all messed up, and threw me out. There hasn't been a day when I haven't regretted my actions, but you've almost won the deal, Jane. You got the house, alimony, and a fantastic love life," I pleaded. "No, I go out and do crazy things just to distract myself from the sad loneliness that I feel. I would swap all of those in a heartbeat for one night of cuddling with my Pete," Jane answered. Jane broke down at that point. I went and hugged her until the sobbing subsided. "But you made it sound so exciting, Jane," I asked. "Yes, well, sometimes it is. Other times, it is just bloody awful. Sometimes the guys just use you and can't give a thing about your pleasure. One time, about 2 months ago, I was practically torn. I managed to escape before the other guy took a turn." "But, but why did you try to get me involved then?" I asked. "I just don't know, Steph. I've done a lot of thinking in the last few hours. The best excuse I can think of is that I wanted to share the shame. I don't feel particularly good about my lifestyle. Besides, even with all the excitement, the novelty is starting to wear off. I thought if I could get you involved, then I could get off on your stories, just like you got off on mine, without having to live with the shame of the actual acts. But I was wrong, Steph, very wrong. Please don't do it. Don't ruin your life like I did mine. And please don't ask me to line you up with John and Paul. It won't be happening now." By this stage, Jane was looking at me with pleading, passion-filled eyes. I'd no doubt she firmly believed what she was saying. It gave me no choice but to promise that I wouldn't do anything to damage my marriage. She looked extremely relieved. After that promise, we spoke for another half an hour on neutral subjects. I did notice her eyes darting around the room as if looking for something. At one stage, she even stood up and picked up the phone base and all, turning it over, she examined the bottom and then put it back. Eventually, well before Dave was due home, she glanced at her watch and then left. In her wake, I was more than a little confused.
Life over the next 4 months settled into a similar routine that we'd had before Jane started telling me about her adventures. I knew she still went hunting, but when I quizzed her about it, she only wanted to relate her bad experiences. More than once, she made me promise not to risk my marriage. Socially, we became inseparable, except when Dave was there. She was obviously avoiding him. I put it down to either guilt at what she'd once tried to do or her avoiding the pain of seeing a happy couple interact. The only change I saw in Dave was his new habit of disappearing into his study for a while shortly after he got home every night. Other than that, he was absolutely his old self. Love with Dave was noticeably lacking its old passion. As the memory of Jane's stories faded, it took much more effort to fire myself up. My downfall was almost a perfect storm event. Dave was once again called away for a weekend. I'd already agreed to go out with some work friends on Saturday night. With Dave not available, I asked Jane to come. She readily agreed. She rang me up on Saturday afternoon, however, and told me that her mom was sick and she couldn't make it. She actually begged me to stay home that night. When I told her I was organizing it and had to go, she made me promise to think of the risk to my marriage and begged me to behave myself. I readily agreed. I had no intention of risking my marriage, but it was no risk if Dave didn't find out, was it? She knew that it was her that convinced me, after all. Towards the end of the evening, I went somewhere quiet and rang Dave on the hotel number he'd given me. We chatted for 10 minutes, then I rang off, telling him I was going to bed. I'd previously diverted the home phone to my cell, thus assured he was a 2-hour plane journey away and wouldn't ring and wake me up. I went back to the girls as usual. The married ones had left early, leaving me with the two single girls who were in the mood to party and soon went their own ways. Jane had told me about her technique months ago: ignoring dance offers from solo guys. I zeroed in on groups. Before long, I had two targets identified. Both were younger than me, and both sported wedding rings. Finally, well before the bar closed, I worded up one of them. He spoke to his friend, and before I knew it, they were in a taxi on our way to a motel with Karen. Both sent texts to their wives saying they were going to a private party after the bar. It was everything I'd ever dreamed of. Two sets of hands undressing me, caressing me, spoiling me. I was in heaven. When the guys left 2 hours later, I was exhausted, and I had a huge smile on my face. I grunted goodbye and went straight to sleep, waking to my alarm at 5:00 a.m. I left the motel before it was light, returned to my car, and went home. I slept most of the day. Dave was due back again at 6:00 p.m. Monday. I couldn't wait for Jane to arrive so I could tell her my first story. I was sure she would be happy with the precautions I took. I hardly gave a thought to Dave finding out. My guilt was so small, he would never detect it. I could hardly sit still when Jane arrived just after 3:00 p.m. She immediately picked up on my excitement. "What's up, Steph?" she asked. "I did it!" I roared. The color drained from Jane's face, and she said in a quiet, doom-laden whisper, "What?" "I went with two guys Saturday night. It was even better than you described it." "Jane, you stupid woman, you've killed me," she answered. She jumped up and made for the door. Stupified, I intercepted her and stared into her obviously terrified face. "What the hell is going on, Jane?" I asked. When it was obvious she couldn't get away, Jane slumped against the bench. "He knows, Steph. He's always known," Jane answered. "Who knows?" I asked innocently. "Dave, Steph. He knows everything," Jane answered. "What? How?" I asked. "The first time you tried and he almost caught you, he told me that you'd shared one of your state of the union talks and you denied everything when he confronted you. He said, 'Put his arm around you and felt your heart pounding in your chest. He knew you were lying.' I've really got to go." "Not until you tell me everything," I answered. My heart was again producing that roaring noise in my ears. I had a flashback to the night she was talking about. The cold way that Dave said, "You've given me your answer." He came and saw me in the middle of the night a couple of weeks after your first attempt. He told me he'd set up recorders everywhere after he caught you lying. He hadn't said anything till then, as you seemed to be determined never to do it again. Remember, it took me about 2 weeks to talk you back into it? Well, that was the night I answered the door, and he grabbed me round the throat and almost choked me. I could see the rage in his eyes. He told me that as I'd talked you into it, I now had to talk you out of it, or he would kill me. He warned me not to change any of our habits and only talk about it face to face, like we'd always done. If I tried to warn you or go to the police, he would kill me. Then he punched me in the stomach. "Steph, just to show me he was serious." "Oh, come on, Jane. Dave wouldn't hurt a fly," I replied. "Are you sure, Steph? How long did I have to wear that scarf to hide the bruises? What about that guy he killed?" Jane answered. "That was an accident, was it?" Steph. "Are you sure?" Jane asked. The look in her eye told me. "Didn't think so. Did you know he beat up his first fiancée and her lover, Steph? Then threatened them so they didn't report him?" Jane asked. "No, he wouldn't do that," I replied. "He did, Steph. I went and saw her," Jane pleaded. I felt the color drain from my face also. Jane used my distraction to make for the door. Halfway through, she threw over her shoulder, "I'm sorry for getting you involved, Steph. Take my advice, run away, far away." As her car screamed off down the road, I sat down and panicked. Which one was really Dave? The mild-mannered man I knew, or the violent, avenging one Jane described? I had a horrible feeling I knew. I tried to look through his eyes. I could imagine the disappointment when he'd first found out, the relief when he discovered that nothing happened, the listening as Jane hammered at my resolve, the cautious optimism as he tried to show me how much I meant to him, while all the time monitoring our conversations. His visit to Jane certainly explained her abruptly strange behavior. All of a sudden, I remembered her bizarre search of the kitchen that day. I stood and picked up the telephone. Just as she'd done, I couldn't see anything. I searched the rest of the kitchen. It took me 20 minutes to find it: a small electronic box behind the cookbooks on a shelf. I picked it up and remembered what it must have recorded. Less than an hour ago, I desperately examined it, looking for an erase or a play button. There was nothing but an on/off switch. 5 minutes of planning later, I had an idea. I would pretend I'd found it while spring cleaning. That afternoon, they do say that the best means of defense is attack. I would tell him I was devastated that he'd invaded my privacy and demand he erase it. That would work. It had to. I realized I was dripping sweat in my nervousness, so I went for a shower. When I came back down, Dave's briefcase was in the lounge. "Dave, honey, where are you? We need to talk." "I'm just in the study, Steph. I'll be out in a tick," he replied. I turned on the coffee maker and put the bug right in the center of the table. Swallowing my nervousness, I tried to work myself into a rage. All of a sudden, there was a huge bellow from the study and a mighty crash. On reflex, I headed to the study door and looked in. Dave had his back to me and was kicking his overturned desk. He still had a pair of headphones around his neck. Suddenly, I realized why he went into the study every night. The bugs must be transmitted to a central recorder. He'd already heard my confession. I was busted, and he was lividly out of control. As I watched in horror, he spanned again and stepped to his safe, the one he kept his target pistol in. I finally recovered enough to run, pausing only to grab the keys. I jumped in my car and added my own to Jane's rubber tracks on the road. I rang Jane. She was half an hour out of town already. I pleaded with her to stop and wait for me. She reluctantly agreed. When we met up, we drove for another hour. We withdrew the daily maximum from an ATM on all our accounts, then ditched our traceable cell phones in a bin and bought disposable ones. Then we headed off in a completely different direction. 2 days later, we parted ways. We just were a constant reminder to ourselves that we'd destroyed each other's lives. Before we parted, we came up with a plan to stay in touch. When we both settled down, we would keep our disposable phones in safety deposit boxes. At 11:00 a.m. on the first day of each quarter, we would ring each other. We would never tell each other where we.
lived in case one of us was discovered and live completely separate lives. So how long ago was that again, Madam? That was 11 years ago, and this is the first time I have been back to town, officer. So that makes you what, 45? he asked. I saw the skeptical look he gave me and felt I had to defend myself. Yes, I know I look older. 11 years of looking over your shoulder, never being able to contact your old life, and constant guilt does that to you. Oh, so you finally found some guilt, did you? Yes, but mainly for Dave. I was the second long-term partner that he had to stab him in the back. The chances of him leading a normal life after that were zero. What about Jane? he asked. Well, we rang each other on the first day of the next quarter. She wasn't traveling very well at all, as she'd left town very quickly. She didn't have any work references. She didn't come out and say it, but reading between the lines, she was hooking to make ends meat. I didn't hear from her after that. 2 years later, I had some spare cash, so I hired a private investigator. He managed to trace her phone to a lawyer's office. All they would tell him was it was part of a deceased estate. They wouldn't tell him anymore. And I said no when he asked if I wanted to dig further. What was the point? I know what happened. And what exactly do you want from the police, Madam? he asked. Well, I got back to town just now. My mother is dying. Can you send someone with me to Dave's house and warn him of any retribution? I just want to say goodbye to my mom. If he wants to kill me after today, he can. I've had enough. I'm not going to run anymore. Haven't you got a husband or a boyfriend that can go with you? he asked. Are you kidding? Leading a life under a false name, too scared to make any friends because you know you'll have to leave within a year, doesn't lead to healthy friendships. One guy was special once, about 7 years ago, but when I told him why I was so scared, he disappeared pretty quickly. Okay, Madam. It's highly unusual, but what the hell? It's a slow day.
I jumped in his Cruiser. We drove down Jane Street. On the way, her house was gone, replaced by some units. What happened there? Did they pull the old house down? he asked. Number? It burnt down. Oh, 10 or 11 years ago, I replied. I had tears in my eyes when we pulled up in front of my old house. According to the telephone directory, it was still Dave's. Reluctantly, I got out, followed by the policeman. He undid his holster and stood to the side of the door while I rang the bell. The familiar chime just reinforced what a waste of time the last 11 years had been.
The door was opened by a child. Despite being only about eight or nine, he was unusually tall with blonde hair and good looks. Hello, I'm looking for David Brown. Mom, there's a lady here looking for Dad. While I waited for the child's mother to arrive, I watched two other smaller children play in the lounge. Finally, a slim woman about 5 years younger than me and quite beautiful appeared over her son's shoulder. She saw me and hustled the child back into the lounge. Hello, Mrs. Brown. I'm— I know who you are. What do you want? she asked. I just wanted to apologize to my husband. And I can assure you that my husband doesn't want anything to do with you. Seeing you will just make him sad again. Please leave, she replied. Well, just tell him I'm staying at my mother's place and just to come over there and get anything out of his system he wants to. Why would he want to see you? she asked. Well, I know he has been looking for me for 11 years, I answered. I can tell you that I have known him for almost 11 years and been married to him for over nine. I can assure you that he never said anything to me about trying to find you. I handle the family finances, so I know he has never hired a private investigator. Since his promotion to CEO 9 years ago, he hasn't even left town without me. I'm sure you are mistaken. She looked at me as that news sank in. Had my last 11 years of constant movement and frequent name changes really been all for nothing? I couldn't accept that. I remembered the two times I'd moved just because I was sure I'd glimpsed his truck. Is that all you wanted? I have to go back to making dinner. It's the cook's night off. I just nodded as I looked past her to a life that should have been mine. A tear escaped each of my eyes. If it's all the same to you, I won't even tell Dave you were here. He really loved you, you know. He waited for a year for you to come back. After it was obvious you weren't, I convinced him to divorce you for abandonment. Telling him you're around will just open up old wounds that took me a lot of effort to close. Please respect our privacy. As she shut the door, the friendly policeman put his arm around me and helped me down a path I couldn't even see through my tears.
I never did see Dave again. Two weeks later, I ran into Jane's sister. She told me about the note that Jane sent. Forced by desperation into selling herself, she'd turned to to cope. One night, faced with the shame of her new life and living with the constant fear of avenging Dave, she wrote her final letter.
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