Transcription
Herb held her hand over the table. It was clear to her that he was in love with her, but she wasn't sure she felt the same way.
She thought life would change when she left Tom, her first husband. He was a good man, a good provider, a passionate husband, and a courteous lover. He just became, well, he became boring. It wasn't his fault. He was forced to raise three children, pay bills, maintain a house, mow the lawn, and trim trees. His job as a high school teacher also occupied his time, after nightly concerts and before school rehearsals, trips, dances, and all the other things that kept him away from her all these years.
Twenty-five years. For a quarter of a century, she loved him and watched him transform from the wild rock and roll guitarist she fell in love with into a music teacher in a suit. And that, he was so unique, so stylish, so full of life and talent. She loved his taste, his sense of style from the very first meeting. The '70s were not a time when stylish men were in fashion, unless paired with a disco queen. Tom wasn't a disco fan. He wasn't a music snob, but being an amazing trumpet player and guitarist, he was picky about what he listened to. He listened to jazz and classical music most of the time, but had a passion for classic rock. He dressed the same way, in a classic style that was not in fashion, but would be considered stylish by any generation. This man knew how to wear a suit.
She loved his body. He took care of himself, running almost every morning and lifting weights almost every night. The first time he hugged her, his power surged through her body like an electric current, making her knees weak. He could easily sweep her off her feet, even years after they had married and she had acquired some middle-aged baggage on her hips and waist.
She loved his face. His rosy cheeks flushed easily as he looked at her. Light brown curly hair that just begged to be held, and piercing blue eyes that sparkled with joy when he looked at her. He was so smart, so well-read, and so passionate about his beliefs, from religion to politics to his favorite sports teams. She knew that the passion would be as strong as the love of his life, and that made him even more attractive.
The first time she saw him, his orchestra was playing on the main stage during her college's spring festival. His voice was mesmerizing, his guitar was incredible, and his movement on stage. This man knew how to dance. When he soloed, he practically made love to the guitar, waving it around on his side of the stage in such a way that women of all ages craved him to play them too. This passion was visible on his face. He sang songs that he himself wrote, and their lyrics revealed a deep capacity for love.
But she could not get closer to him after the concert. He was surrounded by a crowd with many women vying to meet the band. She felt uncomfortable in the crowd. They always made it to their van and left as soon as she got closer. She took a sip of her rum and coke, remembering how much she wanted to meet him.
Herb squeezed her hand tightly, bringing her back to him. The waiter was clearly waiting for her dinner order. She didn't look at the menu, and there was no need to. Monty's had been her favorite restaurant for many years, and she knew the menu well. She ordered and went back to her memories, while Herb began asking the waiter a dozen questions before ordering.
Monty's was the first place she and Tom were together. She was sitting at the bar waiting for her friends to show up when a man popped down on the bar stool next to her. She followed a band with a guitarist who was her current dream man. Concert, club, and festival scenes framed her images of him, which were now stored deep in her mind and available for her mental pleasure at any time of the day or night.
She still didn't talk to him. The band enjoyed huge regional success, and fans followed them wherever they played. She had heard that they sometimes came to Monty's to play a set or two, just for fun, on a Monday night when the stage at the popular restaurant club near campus wasn't busy. For four weeks in a row, she had been showing up with friends in the hope of hearing from and perhaps meeting him. It seemed like her friends had finally gotten tired of supporting what they now considered an obsession, and she was sitting alone today.
She barely noticed the man who sat next to her at the bar and ordered a beer and a hamburger. But her ears perked up when the bartender asked him, "Are you guys playing tonight?" She turned her head in his direction when he replied that he was alone and wanted to do a solo set, just for fun. Realizing that he was nearby, the object of her obsession, she turned the bar stool around and turned to him. The bartender nodded in her direction, attracting Tom's attention. He smiled, and she froze. He introduced himself, and she began to tell him how long she had wanted to meet him. She was his biggest fan.
Looking back, she realized how stupid she must have seemed. She was just another fan to him, pursuing him for what? An autograph? Dance? Songs? Nights in his bed? She didn't want any of this. She just really wanted to meet him, and that's what she finally got. He was so sincere and friendly, she immediately felt at ease and comfortable, and they chatted over dinner like old friends. They had dinner, and he sang the part. She listened to him talk about music. During the break, he sang another part. She listened, and throughout the next break, he talked to her. He walked her home like a true gentleman. He called the next day and asked her to come hear him in concert on Friday. She trembled on the phone, knowing that she was already in love with this man.
"My darling," her thoughts went back, back to Herb. He laughed at the fact that she had her head in the clouds. She made small talk with him until dinner was served. He was a good man and fun to be around, but she couldn't help but compare him to Tom, and he didn't live up to him. The men she dated after the divorce were somehow deprived of what Tom had.
He didn't tell her that Friday night's concert wasn't with his band. He gave her a ticket for dinner and ordered dessert and coffee to warm up before he paid the bill and left. She finished and crossed the street, heading towards the Symphony Hall, wondering what the night had in store for her. It was not the best place for an aspiring rock guitarist. She entered the hall and took her place just as he entered the stage door with a trumpet.
Over the next hour, she saw him in a completely different light. The rock guitarist left. Here he is, a serious classical musician, playing trumpet with a world-class orchestra. And this man could wear a tuxedo.
They began to spend time together. He studied music at the conservatory and financed his education by playing the guitar. He often played with the symphony orchestra as an assistant and on a per diem basis when they needed additional wind instruments. She studied to become a teacher at the university. They both spent more time getting to know each other than they did at school, and were married before the end of the year.
"How do you like fish?" Herb brought her back to the present, and she replied that her fish was very tasty. She had to put thoughts of Tom out of her head. It wasn't fair to her companion. She had been divorced for six months, and it was time for her to move on.
She left Tom, hoping to find a surge of excitement, a surge of energy in a life that was becoming increasingly boring and mundane. She managed to start a conversation with Herb, but she didn't really believe in continuing.
She remembered the first years of her marriage with Tom. It was very difficult to get a job as a symphonic trumpet. There were many competitors. He managed to have several successful auditions, but they were not intended to fill positions, so he had to re-audition after the entire season ended. Their first six years of marriage, three of which he was essentially unemployed, rushing to gigs to pay the rent. She tried to change his goals, and in the seventh year of their marriage, he took on a job as a high school teacher. It provided good benefits and a decent salary. After some time, he supplemented this salary by playing guitar in clubs and giving occasional trumpet gigs.
In his second year as a teacher, their first child was born. She persuaded him to spend more time at home, and he gradually stopped playing guitar with the band. The trumpet concerts also ceased, as his practice schedule left little time for practice, and his lips lost the stamina that allowed him to continue working with the symphony orchestra. His tuxedo remained wrapped in a plastic bag from the dry cleaner, and his crisp casual clothes had been replaced by the cheap suits she bought him. He sold his van and replaced it with a practical hatchback that was more economical to run. He never complained about her subtle manipulations. They were sacrifices he was happy to make to ensure the well-being of his wife and daughter.
Their two sons were born one after another in the next two years after their sister. They bought a small house in the suburbs, and she immediately asked for a white picket fence for it. He worked hard, and soon his school orchestra became known as one of the best in the state. He still ran, although not every day, and now more to clear his mind than to stay in shape. Now he played the guitar as his therapy, but on an acoustic one. His electrical and amplifiers collected as much dust in the basement as a tuxedo in the closet. They had three children, a dog, and a white picket fence. The American dream.
She smiled. She found it difficult to carry on a conversation with Herb. Her thoughts kept returning to boring old Tom. Tom carried all those bags and umbrellas to the beach. Tom ran to open the door for her. Tom held her hand those nights in the delivery room, sharing the labor of the baby's birth. He was always there. Yes, good old responsible Tom, always willing to make a ridiculous, elaborate meal instead of a hamburger. Damn, this man who can cook like that! He was a good provider. He even stopped skiing when she told him it was too expensive, when three kids were eating up their family budget both at home and away from home, and outgrowing clothes as soon as she bought them.
She smiled, remembering how he refused to buy a new suit so that he and the children could have nice new clothes. Unsurprisingly, he began to look less chic in his shabby suits. She lazily finished dinner, smiling at Herb at strategic points in the conversation so he wouldn't suspect she was distracted.
The orchestra was getting ready to perform, and she knew he would dance with her all night. Tom loved to dance. He took her to dance lessons before they went on a cruise because he really wanted to dance with her on the dance floor. She loved it, but then he tried to get her to keep dancing after she injured her leg. The following summer, he was ridiculously sullen about her not going to the dance anymore, but she just wasn't ready for it, and she resented his disappointment.
As the children grew, their educational activities shaped the family calendar: sports, theaters, dance classes, and clubs. And the family's minivan fell to Tom, while she ran the house like a general. By the time the children reached middle school, she began to seek new experiences, joining book and bridge clubs and volunteering at the local hospital. She dated writers, the husbands of bridge partners, lawyers, and businessmen, and doctors who seemed so charming compared to her husband, a music teacher in a shabby suit. He lost the sparkle in her eyes, and she soon began to lose interest in lovemaking. She knew he was upset, and she knew it was wrong of her. He was a good man and deserved a good wife. She just wanted something more than their ordinary world, more than living in a minivan.
They began to move away from each other. The children were away at college, and although they lived in the same house, they lived separately. She didn't know what he did every morning when he left early, but she didn't care. He always came to her at night and followed the routine established throughout his life. She began to look at other men. They looked good. They awakened feelings in her that she hadn't felt since she followed Tom in hopes of meeting her own rock star. Oh, they looked good. She never cheated on him and was proud of it, but she also did not give him what a wife should. And he spent all his time at school or in the basement workshop, or wherever he went so early in the morning. He wasn't surprised when she left. She told him that she needed more from her life. Their life was boring. She was already tired of the picket fence; it needed to be repainted. She's tired of the minivan. She was tired of his boring suits and boring work. He let her go. He wanted her to be happy and did not want to stay where he was not welcome. He gave her the house in exchange for keeping his pension. Her job provided her with enough income to keep her from asking for child support. He only took his personal belongings and furniture which were passed down from his family. Of course, he had earned the right to keep the family jewels, and she was sad to part with the anniversary ring he had given her on their 15th anniversary. He had it custom-made to match her wedding rings. For it, he used diamonds from his grandmother's rings which he inherited that year. Here, he bought wedding rings with his inheritance from his grandfather. So when he asked, she tearfully gave him all three.
And yet, her life remained virtually unchanged, if not for his absence. The house seemed empty without him and the children, but she got used to it. She moved furniture from the bedroom into their old home office and lived entirely on the first floor. She couldn't afford to sell the minivan, but repairs were quite expensive. She cursed the long driveway. That snowy winter, Tom always shoveled her away, but she was never ready for such work. Maybe she could hire the neighbor boy to do the job. She made a mental note that she would also need to find someone to cut the grass this summer.
She went on dates quite often. Dan was there and took her skiing for the day. He was terrible, and she spent the entire day remembering her walks with Tom. Tom loved to ski and was very good at it. He trained her perfectly, and she was able to overcome even the steepest slopes. She remembered and deeply regretted that she had made Tom stop doing what made him so happy. "Damn, look at how this guy comes into the corner just like Tom did before. Here I am, waiting for George to get up and start shaking off the snow, and this guy is tearing up the slopes like we used to. He looks a lot like Tom. Wait, is that Tom?" She never caught the mystery skier, but later spotted him in a parking lot driving a shiny new four-wheel-drive SUV.
George admitted that he loved the symphony and asked her to go with him. Dinner was wonderful as they discussed what they were about to hear. He seemed knowledgeable and remarked that he loved late romantic plays and the way their composers experimented with sound. Today's piece featured backstage brass that would be placed throughout the auditorium. The dinner was wonderful, and the concert was wonderful. She was beginning to think she had found a man worthy of a second date when George dozed off. His snoring attracted the attention of the head usher, who asked them to leave at intermission.
Later, as they sat at the coffee shop next door, George sipped his "wake me up to take me home" espresso while she skimmed the program for the concert she'd have missed. She noticed Tom's name among the trumpeters off stage, and he had just passed her on the sidewalk outside her window. "Oh, this man could wear a tuxedo. Would you like to dance?"
"Herb," led her back to the table. "Of course, Herby, with pleasure. Sorry, I guess I got distracted today."
"Dance is just what you need." She danced with Herb, but her thoughts wandered again. She thought about her date with Alan. They worked together, and he had been hunting her for weeks to get her to let him cook her dinner. The wine was wonderful, the music was elegant jazz, which she loved. Tom taught her to understand jazz, cold train ballads. He could tell her all about his every unique ability, tell her what Coltrane did with his variation solo, or he could dance with her in silence. Allan served chicken marsala. Nobody made chicken marsala like Tom. Herb stepped on her foot. Tom never stepped on her foot and always made sure no one noticed when she often trampled on his foot. Why is this man occupying her thoughts so much? Damn it. She left this boring, and here she could not tear her thoughts away from him. And why is this singer so similar to him?
She finished a series of dances with Herb. He truly was a good man and a great dancer, despite what her aching toe told her. Perhaps she was the one who made a mistake and is now in pain. This meant double meaning to her. Has she ever made such a mistake that it hurt so much? Later, she was the one who stepped on Tom all the time. Poor guy, he didn't deserve this. Damn, this singer sings his song alone with a guitar that sounds too similar. "You said I still have a lot to learn." She immediately recognized the old jazz standard that Tom loved so much and often hummed to herself when they argued and quarreled. She loved listening to this song when he sang it. It was a very personal way of telling her that he was sorry that they had fought before either of them actually uttered words of apology.
"Please don't think I'm trying not to study." Her heart sank. The vocals were interspersed with the same guitar chords that she had heard so many times in her house when she was his only listener. "Since this is an ideal place to learn, teach me today." It had to be him. She had her back to the stage and not even realizing the fact that her beau was in the middle of a sentence that she completely ignored. She turned her back to him to look at the singer on stage.
Starting with the first letters of "love," he looked good. The man looked good in a crisp white shirt with a dark green t-shirt peeking out from under the open collar, dark blue jeans, and an olive corduroy jacket completing the ensemble. Leave it to him to pair simple pieces with a suit jacket to look stylish without looking over the top. This man could make jeans look good too, and he could actually wear a suit. Right down to the last letters of "love," he must have started running again. He must have started in the mornings when he disappeared before school. He was toned, and his chest looked firm and full. "I just felt the energy emanating from him like that first day when he hugged me. Help me find the secrets of love." "Oh, come to your mother, baby. I still have many secrets to find." She thought to herself. She hadn't realized how much she missed him until that moment, and never before had she desired a man so much. "Teach me today."
She was completely oblivious to Herb's attempts to get her attention. She was completely focused on her husband, hell, her ex-husband on stage, singing this song that meant so much to both of them. Beautiful song, beautiful voice, smooth guitar vibes, and such strong memories. "The sky is a chalkboard above you." Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought about how she had belittled his profession all these years. His children loved him. Her parents loved him. His work with them was wonderful. The damned husbands of her club friends and the doctors at the hospital could take lessons in school and glamour from him. She was the one who made him wear those suits in the first place, and they were shabby only because they were cheap and old. She saved money by buying him clothes, rummaging through clearance baskets while she bought her own from stylish boutiques. What an ass she was.
If a shooting star flies past, the orchestra joined him for this chorus. The rising sounds of synthesized strings enveloped his voice in a rich, velvety accompaniment. Now she was openly sobbing. "I would use this star to write 'I love you' in the sky a thousand times." She felt Herb moving behind her. She turned around and saw him putting on his coat. Along with the check, he left a $100 bill on the table. "Happily, dear. I hope you can bring him back," he whispered to her. "Goodbye. One thing is not entirely clear, my love." She turned around, waiting for her favorite part. "Does a teacher really have to stand so close to my beloved?" Every woman in the house looked at him with the same look. She had already seen this look on his female fans in the old days when they played in his band. It was a look of pure lust. She knew how they felt, and she was sure she had the same expression on her face if she had a mirror to check. "Graduation is almost here, my love." She loved the way his voice always rose above the written melody of that phrase, improvising in a range that made the most of his fine high tenor, bringing the phrase to a natural climax. She felt like she could climax with that line too, if only she could leave him alone, away from those damn drooling in the club. "Teach me today." Jealousy coursed through her veins as they craved her man. They won't have any of this. She'll rip their eyes out if they get close. Wait. She left him. She divorced him, and he allowed her to have her own way. Doesn't he want her enough to fight for her? She is aging gracefully. Okay, she carried a couple pounds more than in her fan girl days, but oh my God, she gave him three children. She ran to his house. How could he expect her to retain the magic she had when they were young?
A young woman walked to the front of the stage with a tenor saxophone to take a solo. She knew he loved that guitar solo. Why was he giving it to that this usurper? Damn it, this girl was a fox. She's almost as tall as Tom and so skinny. Just look at that flat stomach sliding into those thigh-hugging elastic pants. Look at that bubble butt and those long skinny legs. Pointy riding boots. He always thought they were sexy. Nice big firm breasts. Well, they should be firm. She can't be older than 22. Oh, he always loved long blonde hair, and she has it, shiny and smooth right down to her waist. Look how he looks at her. Her thoughts froze. She thought she would trade it in for a new model, and then she started dating guys who were so boring that she couldn't even bring herself to go to bed with them. It's been six months since she filed for divorce, and she's been waiting six more for it to be final. A whole year without sex because her dates couldn't compare to dating this boring man who is now somehow got my magic back. Magic wasn't a strong enough word. Hell, he was magnetic, charismatic, hot, sexually wonderful.
The young woman's solo ended. Tom raised his key and shifted his voice into high gear. His voice came through loud and clear on the final chorus, and the sound engineers rushed down to lower the mic level before it overwhelmed their speakers. The girl remained in front. Her sultry sounds of the sax joining Tom's voice in a sensual duet. Damn, they had sex, and with sound. Tears in her eyes clouded her view of the two and cast a romantic haze over what she now clearly saw as a May-December couple. She had enough and ran out of the room. She grabbed her coat and asked the woman at the counter to order her a taxi. While she waited, she noticed a poster introducing Tom as the evening's headliner. Through her tears, she could only read his name, but she felt that he should remain in her memory, a reminder of that night and how stupid she had been to refuse him.
The taxi ride was the most humiliating moment of her life. The driver realized that she was crying and wanted to be left alone, so he handed her a box of tissues and said nothing. It was lonely in her house. She went upstairs and carefully picked up the artifacts of their lives that the children had left in each room. Although she dusted the bedrooms, they seemed old and musty. The master bedroom was too quiet, the echo of a squeaky mattress protesting vigorous lovemaking. A vision of him donning his threadbare suits. She opened his empty closet and imagined it full of tuxedos and tailored suits. She imagined guitars hanging on an empty wall with an amp underneath for his late-night practices. She sprayed an old bottle of his cologne that was left on the dresser, one of the few things he left behind. She dreamed of spending a weekend in the mountains, skiing all day and making love all night.
She suddenly realized that it was her. She was the one who made him so boring. She made him stop skiing. He sacrificed two potentially brilliant careers as a guitarist or a symphony trumpeter for the security that teaching brought to his young family. He refused this willingly, sacrificing everything for love, and in the end, she abandoned him. But he never saw anything wrong with it, never expressed regret. He quietly left it and became the best high school band director in the state. He made her look spectacular, and she couldn't see it. He took the children everywhere. They did not need anything. His minivan made growing up luxurious, and she gave it up. Their children were now wonderful adults, and now that she was out of his life, he was back playing his music, dressing well, and hell, driving a luxury SUV to go skiing. I bet he finally bought either that Porsche or that classic Veta he's always wanted. She pictured Tom in a well-appointed apartment with a dozen sports cars in the garage, cooking his fresh chicken marsala to this pretty young blonde on the deck overlooking the water. It made her cry, and until she fell asleep.
Morning comes too early when sleep passes slowly. She woke up to the singing of these stupid birds. Why should anyone be so happy when she is so unhappy? How happy will she be to sing again? She opened the window and screamed at the birds, "Hey, be quiet!" Coffee should help. She went to the kitchen and made a full pot of tea. Sure, she would need more than a cup or two. While it was brewing, she grabbed a newspaper from the porch and threw it on the table. The first picture caught her attention. It was Tom and the blonde saxophonist. The photo made her jealous, but before the tears began to flow, she saw the headline on the newspaper.
"Tom Jackson, an alumnus, provides funds for flood victims in Adams County." Her gaze returned to the article. Her eyes quickly drying and her vision becoming crystal clear. The article had a similar headline: "Benefit concert raises $165,000 for Adams Middle School flood relief drive." She read about the concert. Tom invited some of his most successful alumni to play with him at the club to raise money for victims of the recent floods who were still dealing with the aftermath. It was a three-day event where children collected donations and local businesses gathered to help these poor people who suddenly became homeless. They raised enough money so that families could buy clothes and begin rebuilding their destroyed homes. The saxophonist was quoted in the article: "Jackson's most notable alumnus, Sarah Davis, who had stopped working on her new album, her first since winning a Grammy, made the trip from New York to join the man she describes as her favorite teacher and greatest inspiration in this noble endeavor. I adore this man. I lived in this area when I was a child. He helped my family. If my saxophone can help him half as much as it helped me growing up, I'll be here by his side."
There was no need to read further. She mistook deep adoration and respect for lust. She completely misinterpreted his response. There was no lust in his response either; it was pride. She finished her coffee and walked up the steps to take a shower. She hadn't showered in the master bedroom bathroom since he left. She was in no hurry. She slowly dried herself with a towel and was just combing her wet hair when the bell rang. She put on a thick terry robe and went down the steps to open the door.
"It was Tom." "Hello." He stood so confidently, jeans and a sports shirt under a brown leather jacket. The combination of the smell of leather and his cologne that she had sprayed herself with last night was enough to almost make her faint. "Hi, Tom. I was just getting dressed. Do you want to come in?"
"Yes, thank you." As she softly closed the door behind him, he walked past. "I saw you last night at the club and saw you leave upset. Are you okay?" She nodded that everything was fine, but her face gave her away. She didn't think he would still be able to read her like a book, but he knew something was wrong. "Did Herb Stewart say something wrong? I saw him leave before you, and I just threw some money on the table when your back was turned to him. I know it may be none of my business, but I still love you enough that I can't stand by and watch some guy hurt you."
She started crying, and this time he completely misunderstood her. He started screaming and raving about how he would deal with Herb, how you deserve nothing but the best, blah, blah, blah. She didn't hear a word he finally said. "I still love you," and it was too loud in her ears to hear anything else. His speech slowed enough for her to calm him down. "Herb has always been a gentleman. I don't know why he keeps pursuing me. I've been lukewarm at best towards him, but he keeps trying."
"Well, you know that the sea, as they say, is full of fish." "Yes, I know, but I keep throwing it back." Tom grinned and said good-naturedly, "Yeah, I've been in her place." "Oh no, I'm so sorry, that's not what I meant!" she exclaimed, horrified that she had misspoken. "You look good, Tom. You know, I really like this song." "Yes, sorry about that. If I had known you would be there, I wouldn't have included her on the list." "Somewhat fortunate on my part." "Oh no, baby, I was so happy to hear that. It brought back so many memories." "Yes, you wasted a lot of time." "I consider myself guilty." "No, baby, it's not like that. It was wonderful. It brought back exciting memories, memories that gave me time to feel guilty and will probably stay with me for the rest of my life."
"Do you remember why I left you?" "Yes, I know. I'm bored. Boring jobs, crappy cars, bars, dirty clothes, and all that. You were right. I have become a routine. I took you for granted and immediately got bored with you." "Oh no, baby, I was mistaken. I was so wrong. I made you look up from your guitar, from your symphony, from your tuxedos and nice suits, from your skis, and into a shitty minivan. Then I gave up all those wonderful years when you raised children and took care of my family, telling you that I was bored with you. I took from everything that made your life rich, and then I abandoned you for being so boring. Meanwhile, you were leading this exciting life, teaching kids how to win Grammy Awards and create such beautiful music, and I couldn't see it. You put me in the dream home I asked you for. You sent our kids off to college. You were there in sickness and in health, and all I saw were my friends' husbands in fancy cars driving to their jobs. I thought it was so glamorous. Then I started going on dates, and the only men who wanted to spend time with me were fat, bald, and boring. I couldn't ski down the slope without being stopped by some fool who keeps falling. Didn't go to a concert where my beau was awake. Didn't find a guy who could dance decently, sing along to a tune, or cook a decent marsala. I'm alone in a house full of the ghosts of you and the kids. Can't cook, don't eat at home to avoid my own cooking, can't afford to shovel the driveway when it snows, and when I'm done with it myself, I come and there's no one to warm me up, make me hot chocolate, or rub my sore shoulders. I'm going to have to mow my own lawn this summer, and damn, Tom, no one compares to you. Nobody. And then, when I finally realized it, you came back with all your magic, trumpet in the Symphony Hall tuxedo. You know I love you in a tuxedo, singing with the orchestra in the club. Your face in the newspaper. Women drool over you, lust after you, and I'm jealous in the house without any right. If you're bored, then please kick me, baby, please forgive me and come home. Please come and bore me for the rest of my life. I miss you so much. I was so wrong to cheat on you. I was so wrong to leave you after I did this to you. Please."
He had heard enough and raised his hand to stop her. "Teary, honey, this is very difficult to digest and quite unexpected. The truth is, I never stopped loving you. I waited for you to at least tell me what was really going on in your life. You left this matter in the hands of the lawyers and never looked me in the eye and told me what was going on. I had a feeling that sooner or later you would call me."
"Have you been waiting for me all this time?" He nodded. "You play, you spice up your life, and get in good shape. You look great. You live well. It's unlikely that you're missing out on anything."
"Do you want me to believe that you've been waiting for me all this time?" "Yes, I always promised myself that someday I would return to those things that I really valued. When the children graduated, knowing that they were learning and needed me, I decided to give up these things. Raising children was fun, much better than what I gave up. Glitz and glamour are highly overrated. Now I'm free to live my golden years, although I hardly feel like a golden old man. So I've been skiing a lot this winter, even going to the Alps over the Christmas holidays." She swallowed because she had always dreamed of visiting the Alps and had missed this trip. "I bought an SUV to make it easier to get to the local hills and even bought an apartment right on the mountain in Stowe." She loved Stowe. "I thought an SUV would also come in handy to tow the yacht this summer, but my condo has a slip available, and I moor it there and can actually see her from my living room."
She couldn't believe her ears. Condominium on the water with a boat in tow. She loved to sail. He saw the question in her eyes about this place. "Yes, he could definitely read her mind. Oh, I should invite you sometime. I love my home. The house has a large kitchen and spacious living room overlooking the bay, three bedrooms upstairs, one with a small terrace, and since I have the last unit, I can play my music all night in the back room without waking up the neighbors. I have room for an SUV and my car in the garage."
"Let me guess, you finally bought a Porsche?" "Yes, I couldn't resist, but I also bought a small hybrid for my daily driving. I keep my Porsche and antiques in the garage." "I rent nearby." "Antiques? Yes, you know that I always wanted to have the same old car as me. In the end, I bought it. Hey, I drove it here today. Let's take it out of town. We can stop for lunch and have plenty of time to talk and catch up."
"I would like that." She followed him to the car. "Here it is, a '59 Veta, a fiery red car with a shiny white leather interior." He treated her as if they had never been apart. She was with him again, and he focused all his attention on her. He looked into her eyes, as always. He spoke to her in a soft voice, without a hint of anger or resentment. Lunch was wonderful. They went to a small seafood restaurant and sat in the sun. He ordered his favorite chowder and swordfish steak. He always knew what to order and never hesitated. Same old Tom. How does he always do this? How could she think that someone who read her the way he did was boring?
They continued north to the park they loved to go to when they were younger. They walked up a hill to an old logging road that provided amazing views of the surrounding countryside and the sound all the way to Long Island. It was an idyllic day, and she wondered why she had left him in the first place. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word, reminding her at every turn of the energetic young man he had been when they first met. He talked about the symphony, the graduating students who returned to play, and the wonderful careers they had in music as professionals. He told her how much he wrote, and that some of his songs had been bought and recorded by famous singers. He paid off his entire share of their debts before the divorce, bought cars with the advances he received, and traveled every chance he got. They talked through the beautiful sunset, and by the time they got home, she was sure she wanted him back.
He accepted her offer to have a cup of coffee. She never made coffee once inside; she could not stand it and began to pour out her thoughts on him. She was devastated at leaving him and only realized how much he meant when she realized he was actually gone. She begged him to give her another chance. She swore to him that she had not been in a serious relationship with another man, had not had any sex, and had not enjoyed kissing on the few dates that had gotten this far. "Why is it so important to tell me about this? I want you to know that I have always loved you, that no man can compare with you, that I have never given myself to anyone. I'm yours if you want me."
"If it's that important, then I'm not sure you'll want me." He stopped and looked into her eyes. "Although it's true that I was waiting for your call, I didn't stop having sex." He described feeling lonely and how he sought a relationship once the divorce was finalized. He told her that he had never even thought about cheating on her, but once he was free, he had an incredible appetite for relationships with women, and that included a hunger for a lot of variety. He started running in the mornings, even before she decided to leave him, and went to the gym almost every day to swim or lift weights. He took off his wedding ring the same day he received his divorce notice, and the women at the gym noticed he was missing that same day. Word of this also spread throughout the faculty, and although he was reluctant to start a romantic relationship with a colleague, dinner invitations immediately began, which were now forever part of hangouts with single friends. The level of flirting increased dramatically, and suddenly, open blouses and short skirts became common, even among women he considered conservative. On the day the divorce was finalized, his friends threw him a party where he was rubbed and groped from all sides, both in the bar and on the dance floor. That night, he resumed his sex life and soon found himself in the company of a lovely, lonely woman almost every night for a week. His music began to quickly pay off, and having money and good cars only strengthened his image. He began to dress well again, as he no longer had family needs to put first. The condo followed suit, and he hosted several parties and get-togethers there, never forgetting to entertain one special lady for much longer than the rest of his guests, often until breakfast the next day. He brought to life many of the fantasies they so playfully talked about. He didn't even want to think about starting a serious relationship until she was ready for it.
Her eyes were downcast. She understood everything, but something hurt terribly. She freed him for this, and knew that she would have no rights when they were no longer married. Somehow, she believed that he would always be there when she left him, devoted to her only, for her. She left him for something more exciting, and not only did he find his old magic that made him excited, he didn't hesitate to use it. This changed everything. The first time he fell in love with her, they were both young and inexperienced. Now they are older, wiser, and more experienced lovers. And now he went where she had never been allowed in their married life. Tom withdrew from their exclusive private life to indulge in pleasures of which she did not approve, and she let him go to do so. For the first time, she realized that a new lover was easily aroused, not because he was better or even good, but because there was a thrill of meeting someone new.
"Tom loved it. How could he be excited to be around her again? Look, I can imagine that this seems strange to you, but I'm not going to hide what I've been doing for the past year. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I know what happened in my recent past. I know that the present holds a lot of uncertainty. I don't want to fall in love with you again, only to be dumped after a year or two. I need some guarantees before I can erase this uncertainty from my mind. I need to protect myself. You cleaned me out during the divorce, yet I was lucky enough to restore both my life and my fortune. Any kind of repetition for us would mean an ironclad contract, giving me a guaranteed key of preserving the wealth that I have accumulated in the event that we separate again. This must be the price of you leaving me the first time."
There was a lot to think about. He knew it, and kissed her forehead before walking out gracefully. He promised to call her the next weekend, but also told her not to be surprised to hear about his date, since he really enjoyed it and wasn't going to stop until they made a decision. She knew that the bouts of jealousy she was experiencing were unjustified. She let him go. No, it was a lie. He was the one who let her go when she unceremoniously left him after many years of a happy marriage. What was she thinking? And now she found herself embroiled in a fight for the only man who had ever made her happy.
He called the next day to invite her to dinner on Saturday night. She spent a week worried about their meeting, but not understanding what he wanted to do. Who was he dating? Were they younger, more beautiful? She replayed the film of their life together in her head over and over again, searching for the key that could unlock the secret of his return. He was very frank with her, and not in a way that scared her off, just frank. She left him because of emotional unrest, and no one else interested her. However, he was a real playboy, and she was ready to do whatever it took to get him back.
On Friday, she went to happy hour dinner with fellow girls. The news that she's trying to reconcile with her ex has caused so much commotion at work this week that their usually small table has been filled with an all-female military cabal of conspirators. In their opinion, Tom has already been caught. The conversation moved from what she should wear to a game of "what if," and for this, the women tried to extract any juicy bits of gossip from her, preparing her for any eventuality. The conversation on sexual topics flowed along with the wine. By the time she was ready to leave, she wondered why Tom hadn't left her for another woman. The girls convinced her that she dressed too conservatively, that she was too vanilla in the bedroom, and that she was too reserved to win Tom back. She and Carla were the last ones at the
table when she noticed Tom and his companion. This woman was simply stunning. She was tiny but looked tall in those me heels. She has a figure with a pair of luscious, pert breasts that would make any man stutter, drool, and stammer. The short, tastefully tailored skirt revealed long legs that invited you to dance, and not only on the public dance floor. She was great. She was hot.
I suddenly remembered a past happy hour group conversation. Her shoes were always fairly flat, the hems covered the knees, and the neckline never gave a hint of cleavage. Her underwear was practical and comfortable. His daughter teased him for a long time about her grandmother's pants, and Tom often called her outfit, along with the long flannel pajamas that she loved so much, armor.
She looked around at her current outfit: old-fashioned and baggy. She remembered all those nights when Tom wanted to make love to her, and she completely rejected him. She thought about those nights when Tom wanted something special and realized that many nights he caressed her, kissing her body as she squirmed in climax. But she rarely touched any part of his body below the shoulders with her lips. She thought about how patient he had been when she was pregnant, when she had hurt her leg, and other times when she had not been ready to make love. How could she be so selfish as to leave him, calling her life with him boring?
She started crying bitterly. Carla noticed this and hurried to console her friend. Between sobs, she pieced together a picture of a lonely, insecure woman who had taken the love of a good man for granted and now wasn't sure she could get it back. But Carla's words became less comforting when Tom took to the dance floor, twirling his sexy young partner to the sounds of a hot Latin band performing. This man always knew how to dance. "Damn, Carl, I'm a bovie!" and he moved on to leading roles. "Darling, tomorrow morning at 9:00, I want you to be ready. You have a date with this man tomorrow night, and I will personally make sure you are ready. The be movie is my ass, and you are an Oscar waiting in the wings."
True to her word, Carla knocked on the door promptly at nine. SWS, they spent the morning at the Day Salon, making sure every bit of skin was exfoliated and moisturized, while hair was combed and nails buffed to a shine. Lunch was served in the boutique while the salon staff milled around her. She left the spa a completely different person. Of course, she also managed to absorb a lot of Carla's advice on how to win a man and felt fully trained in the art of massaging both the male ego and body. Finally, the highlight came when the women returned home, and they spent an hour with ice cream cones, lollipops, and a bunch of bananas in Carla's crash course.
Tom reached out to knock on the door but stopped abruptly when he saw a note inviting him to enter. She called up to him and said that there were snacks on the coffee table. "Okay, I stacked the deck. He loved seafood, so I expected him to have shrimp and his favorite Belgian Alay in a bucket of ice." In fact, I had not yet prepared. I was waiting impatiently, and when I saw that he had arrived, I ran upstairs so as not to seem alarmed. "Oh, the games we play, right?" I wanted to make a way out. It was like prom night.
Tom definitely noticed my appearance. My little black dress hugged my figure perfectly, sexy but with dignity befitting a woman my age. I never showed that much cleavage, but my breasts were still nice, and my hemline was high enough above my knee to say, "Flirt with me," without saying, "I'll sleep with you for a price." I wore a string of pearls he bought for Christmas on a whim last year and matching drop earrings he bought for his last anniversary. Black stockings adorned my sexy legs, but the real message was sent with the high stiletto heels that said, "You might get lucky today, stud." He complimented me, and it was a little awkward that our kiss lasted so long. I was pretty sure he was going to walk me back to the bedroom. Damn it, it had been so long, and the promise of making amends and bringing back the love of my life had me throwing myself at him, ready to drag him up there and ravage him. He looked so good. This man can wear a suit. Oh yes, he can. Yes, he can.
Why the hell do I think I should bring him back? The dinner was delightful. He doted on me, and I devoured his attention. Alive, a small Japanese restaurant, candles, soft music, and this tie was the exact same color as his eyes. He took me to a small jazz club where everyone knew him. He even sat on guitar for a couple of songs, managing to look me in the eyes as he soloed. He played so passionately that I felt as if he was making love to me right there with his music. He brought me home and kissed me on the porch, saying good night. I had to invite him for a cup of coffee. He complied, but as soon as the door closed, he reminded me that my coffee-making skills were below the required minimum. "True," I agreed, "but I'm really good at making breakfast." I pressed my lips to his. He stayed for breakfast.
I liked the food, although not as much as the day before. I made sure he knew I wasn't a be movie or a warm-up or a flip side. When I said I had a plan, that also applied to the bedroom. I could no longer lay claim to the novelty of his new flame, but I knew it inside and out. I knew what he liked, and I knew what he wanted that I didn't give him. I knew where to scratch with a familiar hard object that only a wife could wield. It wasn't the first time I had been satisfied with his manhood, but I had never been delighted and of course expressed disgust at the thought of tasting him. During the climax, he didn't mind my eagerness and responded by squirming under my control. When it became obvious that he was about to reach the finish line, I let him. When he tried to break free, I didn't let him, remembering this part of Carla's training clearly. Suddenly, I wanted to try it more than anything else, and I enjoyed it. We both came to the finish line several times that night, and the next morning, we spent breakfast and lunch making love again.
When he was about to go home, I stopped him to say the last word. "I need to apologize. There had to be a better way to spice up our lives, and I chose the cowardly route of leaving you. I know I can't turn back time or make it up to you, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. I don't want to date other men anymore. No one can compare to you, so why try? I will never stop berating myself for thinking that anyone could compare to you. Somewhere in my up brain, I thought going out and having sex with other guys would make me feel good, but every time I found myself in an intimate situation, I found myself missing our love. I never got around to sex because I never felt like I wanted it. I just kept feeling you in my heart. How ironic. I left you for a wild love life and couldn't bring myself to go through with it. You had no interest in looking beyond our marriage and started an active love life. Tom, if you never pester me again, I will always remember last night as the best night of my life, the night you came home. I will always be there whenever you want. Dinner? Certainly. Dancing? Certainly. Card game? Yes. Take a ride out of town? Please. You can make love to me or come here quickly or me until I lose consciousness. I'll be there for you from time to time, regularly, or all the time. I am yours. You suit me in every way, and I want you in every way. I have no right to expect anything, so this is an offer, not a request or demand, and this is an open offer. Take me into your life as much as you want, as much as I want. Well, yes, what if this never happens? I made this mess myself. What if this is forever? I will make you happy in every way, and you will never regret it. What if it's somewhere in the middle? I'm not stupid. If I have to share with you, I will. I'll be jealous, but you'll never see it. I had the right to be exclusive to you and gave it away. This is a difficult decision. I need time, but you will definitely see me more, more often."
Tears welled up in my eyes as I hugged him, knowing that there would be at least some place for me in his world in the future. He called me later that evening and asked me out on a date in 3 weeks. He also made a couple of lunch dates but said he had a lot going on and needed to give up a real date for a while. However, the lunch dates were amazing. Thus, we managed to meet seven times. I was very excited, but I suspected that he had something else up his sleeve, so I avoided talking about Tom and I with my children.
And the night of the date was approaching again. He told me to dress casually. He wanted to cook me dinner and then go to the movies. I arrived at his apartment and noticed that the table was set for six people. Tom always cleared the table immediately after eating so that the kitchen did not become a cluttered workshop for homework and arts and crafts but was a table for family meals. When the children left for college, he continued to rearrange their cutlery, insisting that they always needed a place at the family table. "Tom, I can't believe you're still setting up seats for everyone, including little Tommy's fiance. Tell me, have you always prepared a place for me before?"
Before he could answer, the patio door opened, and little Tommy walked into the room. "Funny name." At 6'4", he looked down on both me and Tom. Julia's hand was in his as she walked in next to him. "Yes, Mom, he always did that. At first, we teased him, but he stubbornly stood his ground and insisted that this is our family table, and as our mother, there will always be a place for you." Julie broke the awkward emotional silence with a giggle. "So when I leave you for a nicer guy, there will still be room for me?" "Not really, Julie." It was the unmistakably ringing voice of James, my youngest son. "First, you must give birth to to a grandson. Family is not just a legal thing; it's a blood thing. You can't just get married; you have to earn it. So you two will have to either have a baby or you will become a widow." Hm. Tommy thought about the choice: to have a child or become a widow. Which should I choose? We all laughed as he threw Julie over his shoulder towards the stairs leading to the bedroom. He didn't go far, as my daughter was on the way down. She inherited my love of going on stage. "Hi, Mom." "Hey, hey, the whole gang's here. Wait a minute, what is this? I love you guys, and I'm glad you're all in town, but today I have a date. How can I have fun with your father while you're here to distract him?" "You will find out after we eat."
We hadn't even touched the table settings when he led us out to the patio for a grilling feast. Grill, wine, conversations, and pleasant memories flowed like a river. We all helped clean up, and then Tom served dessert and coffee. "I invited you all to a family meeting today." Julia stood up to apologize. "Sit down, young lady. A plate on this table entitles you to full participation in the family, including meetings. We had a very difficult period last year, and it's not over yet. There have been some drastic changes then, but it looks like it's time to settle things down. I need you all to be witnesses." He stood up and looked at the children but stood with his back to me. "Your mother made it clear to me that she loves me as much as I thought all these years. She did leave me, and I still have strong feelings about it, but it's just between the two of us. I have a proposal to reconcile these two feelings, and I have printed it in a letter so that she can review it alone or with me." He turned to me and handed me a sealed manila envelope with the inscription: "Open only when you really want it." When he turned back to the children, and I didn't notice, he put his hand in his pocket. I thought long and hard about this. She took me by surprise when she said she missed me and wanted any part of my life, any Ry. I gave her. As I was thinking about this, I noticed something obvious: her place was still taken. So soft, this handsome man. He turned around, knelt down, and took his hand out of his pocket. His deep blue eyes froze me, and then his voice melted me. When he spoke, nothing like "Will you marry me?" or "Be my wife?" could compare to the perfection of his proposal. "Please come home." Yes, there were hugs and tears all around, and I felt like the world had become right. We had fun with the children until dawn and went to bed completely exhausted. No, we didn't have sex that night, and our lovemaking consisted only of a couple of sweet goodnight kisses and a sound sleep in each other's arms. We knew we would have time for sex later, and believe me, we made up for lost time and then some. I think that absence probably makes the heart grow fonder. H.
We got married on a quiet Wednesday evening in our church with only the children as witnesses, but that was only after I had signed the prenuptial agreement that was contained in the envelope Tom gave me when he proposed to me. It read: "I agree that I love Tom KS with all my heart and if I am ever found to be breaking my second marriage vows to him, I relinquish all rights to my property, my dignity, and my body hair. Thus, I will be forced to leave my house naked with my head and body shaved onto the front lawn and taking nothing with me. I also agree to make a fool of myself as I leave by hopping on one leg alternately singing nursery rhymes and squawking like a chicken before my departure. I agree to alert the media and arrange for coverage of the event. I understand that none of this will ever happen, so I readily agree, fully understanding the value of the phrase 'till death do us part.'"
I was wearing a white dress, not a symbol of virginity or purity, but a symbol of starting over with a clean slate. He was wearing a new suit. "I know you've heard this, but hey, this man can wear a suit." I giggled at the prenuptial agreement. "This person can tell a joke." "I signed." "Do you promise?" "I promise." "Do you promise?" "I promise." We kissed.
I'll tell you about my honeymoon. Come to think of it, no, I won't. You should have seen it. Subscribe to our channel so that your second chaff doesn't cheat on you and go ahead and listen to the next story, because this story is nothing compared to the next one. If you're under 18, don't even think about listening to the next one. Listening to the next one. Listening to the next one. Listening to the next one.