99 comments/ 101246 views/ 20 favorites Michael Metcalf Longden By: Matt Moreau Michael Metcalf Longden: less than beloved of the gods? Note to the readership: I have noticed, in recent times, that many commenters have criticized the undeniable truth that I mostly use similar—they are never exactly the same—themes and plot lines in my stories. Hmm, guilty. Not apologetic at all, but definitely guilty. Why do I do it? Simple, I like the theme. The ideas are not all original either, and any number of LIT and SOL authors follow the same script. That said... I have also noted that some of my most virulent detractors still never fail to read my stuff. I am still waiting for anyone—I mean anyone—to tell me why. Since none have so dared, I am left to conclude that they, my detractors, don't know why, and/or that they secretly love my stuff and can't get enough of it. I find this curious. I am always writing, and if it matters, I am about to seriously launch into a new genre—romance—which I tested the waters with in Beauty and the Beast some little time back. Interesting result with that one. The score was high and the comments and letters were almost universally favorable (score 4.38; 19 letters; and 14 comments); but, that said, the downloads for B&B were the lowest I have ever had per any story that I have written (currently 9,700 after five months). John and Chloe, my latest LW formulaic story, after just eight hours, reads out at: 3.62, 23 comments, and 9,000 downloads). Makes one wonder. So, while I am about to makes some pretty major changes on the one hand; I will still be doing the LW stuff as well. I just hope that those out there who hate me keep reading. Though, I would, at some point, sure like to know why. I bettin' it'd be a kick. My best to all, especially to those who threaten, cajole, and insult me. Matt ****** My name is Michael Metcalf Longden, no relation to the famous jockey—well, that I know of. The gods hate me. No, that's not a misprint, not a typo, not a mistake of any kind; and, I do mean that they hate me, and I mean they "all" hate me, all of the Olympian gods. Evidence? Oh I have evidence. Boy, do I ever have evidence. ****** It had been a long day at the plant, but at least it was a TGIF situation. I work for WESTCO mfg. I do electrical installations. WESTCO fabricates houses believe it or not, and they are selling like hotcakes. And why not? They go for half the price of brick and mortar places and they are just as durable and good. But, it can be hard work, especially if schedules are not being met, and that is exactly what's been going on these last weeks. I came in through the back door, and collapsed onto the couch hoping to get a little TLC from the little woman. What I got instead rocked my ship for damn sure. "You look tired, Mike. You okay?" she said. "I am, and yes," I said, responding to her concerns. "Mike, can we talk? Would that be all right?' she said. I had the feeling that this was not going to be one of those conversations that made my day, but I nodded in the affirmative. "Sure, I guess so," I said. "Mike, I want a divorce?" she said. Suddenly I was no longer tired, well I was, but I was also alert as hell! "What the fuck?" I said. "It isn't working for us, Mike. You know it. I know it. Hell, half of our friends know it," she said. "I still love you on some level; I do. But, I can't go on anymore; It's like were just free-floating, aimlessly, from day to day, with no end in sight. "Who the hell is this 'we' that says it isn't working for us, and what do you mean by that, Florence Longden, nee Bromley? I've never given you any reason to think, that I thought, our marriage wasn't working! Is something going on here that I've been missing, Flo? Is there!" I said. "Mike, it isn't working. There's no spark there anymore. You're always working at the plant. I'm always working at the salon, mister Fielding's. We're just aging with no real future worth looking forward to. Mike, I think it's time for us to end it, for both our sakes," she said. "You've got a lover, don't you, Flo. Tell me straight, that's it isn't it Flo. Good lookin' woman like you. Sure you do," I said. "Who is he, Flo? Who!" I said. She bridled at my rising tone of voice. "It doesn't matter, and it doesn't alter the fact that our marriage is dead and has been for a long time," she said. "Who is it Flo? Who's been fucking mama bear in my bed?" I said. I could see her gathering herself; she was about to go on the offensive. "It's Mark Fielding. But, I was thinking about this long before I hooked up with Mark. "Look, I'm not going to be asking for anything. Mark will be taking care of me. You can have the house and everything in it. I only ask that you make this as easy as possible for us, and not make any waves. I'm concerned about the children and their reactions. I am trying to not hurt you anymore than is necessary, Mike. I know this is a surprise. But frankly, Mike, you've just got to man up and deal with it. "You're young enough to find yourself another woman, Mike. Do it, and get on with your life; and, let me and Mark get on with ours. Okay?" she said. I was fuming and bitter and angry and all kinds of—well—jealous. "Deal with it? Man up? Well, fuck you, you cheating whore!" I grabbed my coat as I stalked out and away from the only woman I have ever loved. I wanted to kill the both of them. Here we were at our common age of forty-three looking to be starting over. And our kids, Nell and Christina, off at college and graduating soon: Nell this year and Christina next. What were they going to be saying? Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be nice. Either they'd back her, or they'd back me; and either way there was going to be conflict. I was at the stage of life where I was wanting to travel some with my wife, have some fun—well deserved fun in my opinion—but now the rug had been pulled out from under me, and I was flat on my ass with no woman to share my—our—dreams with. And yes, we'd had dreams Flo and I. Well, cancel those! I needed a drink real bad. Sinbad's would do just fine; they liked me there; better than my wife did apparently. "Yeah, Jimmy, I need one and I need it bad. A double: some of that blue label Smirnoff," I added. "You look down, kinda desperate, guy. Problems at home?" he said "You could say that. Marriage just cratered. I'm here on a mission. A mission to forget. Think you can facilitate my aims here, good buddy?" I said. "That's what I do best," he said. "He pointed to a picture of himself behind the bar with a tag under it that spelled it out: The Great Facilitator. He'd gotten the idea from former President Reagan's unofficial title of The Great Communicator; well, that's what he told everybody. The night dragged on, and after a very short time I was just draggin'. "Last call," he said. I'd been sitting there except for potty breaks for the past five hours. It was 1:00AM. "You okay to drive? I can call you a cab." "Yeah, I'm okay, Jimmy. It's only a couple of miles to my place. I'll be okay," I said. He looked dubious, but he didn't push it. I appreciated that. Well, I did until five minutes later. "Get out of the car, sir," said the uniform. I looked at him through what I knew were tear streaked eyes. Yeah, yeah, I'd been cryin' so shoot me in the ass. I got out. "You been drinkin', sir?" he said. I decided to be straight with him. I'd read somewhere that lyin' to the cops was a sure fire way to piss 'em off. "Yes sir, some," I said. He did the breathalyzer thing with me. I'd never done that one before. Shouldn't have done it this time; well, what choice would I have had anyway. He didn't cuff me, but he did put me in the back of his cruiser. I asked him about my car. He assured me it would be taken care of. It was only a week later that I discovered what he meant by "taken care of." It cost me five hundred; that on top of the $1,100 fine and seventy-two hours in the slam. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. I sat cooling my heels in the station along with half a dozen other perps waiting for someone to lock us up. The woman across from me was a nano-thread from breaking loose with the tears. Hell, I could relate; I'd been cryin' off and on half the night. "You okay, girl?" I said. As if I could have done anything to help her out regardless. She ignored me, well, at first she ignored me. I just nodded when I realized she wasn't going to respond. "No, I'm not all right," she said, finally. "They busted me, and the family will without a doubt soon be disowning me, and I have no money, and no one to call. So no, I'm fucked and have no hope. All right!" she said. "What's your name? I said, not unkindly. I offered her my hanky; it was the only thing they hadn't taken away from me. "Mildred Lake," she said. "Profession? Prostitute. Actually this was my first day on the job. Two guys screwed me, rather badly. Made myself a couple of hundred. The third one was a cop," she said. "Oh, and surprise-surprise, they confiscated all my money." "Bad day for me too," I said. "Anyway, wish you luck." "Yeah, well same to you," she said. The big uniform came for us and we were transported to the lockup. I was informed about my arraignment and told I could ask for a lawyer or just take my chances with the judge. I opted for the latter. So far I'd done everything wrong and my latest decision just continued the tradition. I didn't see the woman, the Prostie, after the door slammed on the van that transported us. I wondered what happened to her. Oh, and in case anyone is interested, no, I did not call my soon to be ex-wife to help me. What would have been the point? The humiliation would have been worse than everything else put together. This is one I had to handle myself. The uniform had been straight with me; I was arraigned the following morning, pled guilty, and got what I deserved. I had the money for the fine, but there was no bailing me out of the seventy-two hours; I had to serve 'em. The neophyte prostitute was right behind me in court. They offered her bail, and no seventy-two hours for her. Well, hers was a victimless crime, I guess. "I don't have any money, your honor," she said. She looked real sad. The judge was talking to her. "Hmm, no priors, but no money for bail. Well, young lady, I'm torn, I'm going to go light on you, but you best not be found in this room again. Am I understood?" he said. "Yes, sir," she said. "Ten days," he said. I leaned over to ask my appointed lawdog a question. He looked at me kinda funny, and shrugged. He was her lawdog too. "Your honor," he intoned. "Mister Longden will put up the lady's bail," he said. The judge, the prostie, and the clerk all looked over at me as though I were some kind of alien. "You know this woman, mister Longden?" said the judge. "Barely, just met her here; well, at the police station last night," I said. "I got the money; I'll pay it." "Okay, so ordered," he said. And the gavel sounded. The lady mouthed me a thank you as they led me out. ****** They let me out Monday morning. They told me about my car and where to bail it out; five hundred was the tariff. Talk about overkill, but I was in no position to whine about it, and, I had been driving drunk. I left by what I supposed was the back door. She was there, my wife, talk about humiliating. There she stood: tall, tawny-haired, dazzling figure, and dressed to kill; I wondered who it was for. "Mikey," she said. "What have you done?" were the first words out of her mouth. "What do you care? You dumped me," I said. I took out my cell; I had to get me a cab; she watched me with interest; I suppose it was interest. "What are you doing?" she said. I gave her my get out of my face look, and she just sighed. "I'm getting me a cab to go get my car if it's any of your business," I said. "And, who the hell told you I was here?" "Save your money. I'll drive you over," she said. "And, to answer your question, a friend of Mark's told him, and Mark told me; the friend is the desk sergeant." she nodded toward the building behind me. "Fucking wonderful. And no, I do not want you to give me a ride. Got it!" I said. "I don't want the only one I ever loved—you—tantalizing me with her looks, her smell, her voice. No fucking indeed. Just get away from me, Flo. I really don't want to be around you!" I think she was starting to cry, but that may have been more wishful thinking on my part than anything else. "Oh, Mikey," she said. "Okay, just remember, I'll be around if you need me. Oh, and I moved out of the house these last couple of days. So you can do what you want with it," she said. Now, I started to tear up. Our house had been where all of my—our—now shattered dreams had been formulated. Jesus it was sad. She noticed my tears and started to reach out to me, but pulled her hand back. "I'll be selling it. You'll get your half when I get it done," I said. "Now please leave me alone. Go back to your rich lover! Go fuck him. Just leave me the fuck alone. Okay!" I said. She turned and left. I knew for a fact she was tearing up now. Well, hell, maybe she felt a little guilt for what she'd done to me. How fucking appropriate. ****** I'd always been among the first to arrive at work in the morning, but since I'd lost my inspiration that was no longer the case. I mean what was the point. I'd worked my ass off to set us up so we could live well, and now—well—there was no "we" anymore. Jesus that hurt. "Mike, the boss wants to see yuh," said Amos. Amos Crabtree had been my friend since the eighth grade. And, delivering the message to me, he could not look me in the eye. "Amos?" But, he was gone. I headed on up to Bill Shuler's office. He was shuffling papers, and not looking at me. Kathy shooed me as soon as I'd arrived, but once in, there appeared to be considerably less urgency than I had been led to believe was the case. Throwing the last of his no doubt vitally important papers down in disgust, he looked at me. "Mikey, Mikey, Mikey what am I going to do with you," said Bill. It was not a question. "Sir?" I said. "Mikey, I know you're going through a bitch of a period right now, but Mikey, we still have a factory to run. I need all of you guys to focus. You know we're behind. Mike, we've got to get you to perform up to your usual standards; hell, my job depends on it as much as yours," he said. The message was clear: I'd either shape up or I'd be gone. Fuckin'-A! What social life I was having pretty much revolved around my usual seat at Sinbad's. Being at best a prime example of mister average, the ladies were not lining up to chat me up. But, the upside to it all was that Jimmy and I were becoming fast friends. I usually got a tad extra in my drinks than the average patron and it was appreciated. I hadn't heard word one from Flo since that day behind the lockup. I thought about her hourly; hell, I thought about her virtually every waking minute. Her image was the one thing indelibly imprinted on my conscious mind. I guess this would be a good time to describe us. Me? I'm maybe five-seven, one sixty, brown hair, brown eyes, and in pretty fair shape; the factory was partly responsible for this last. Flo? She's a shade taller than me at five-eight, one-twenty, light brown hair, Brown eyes, and also in excellent shape. Oh, and her shape was pretty much wonderful. But, now, she was someone else's wonderful. Every time I thought about her I wanted to cry: I needed her. The bad news? She didn't need me. It wasn't supposed to work this way. No damn it! I was constantly running our last conversations together through my head. She'd told me to go out and find me someone who would make me happy. What she didn't realize, or if so she was trying to minimize it, was that I could never replace her. I'd invested in her too deeply, too completely to cavalierly entertain thoughts of another woman. I needed her and only her. Still, all of the above being true, I was looking for a little companionship if only to ameliorate the blow my ego had sustained—the ruinous blow to my ego. I decided to do something different. The bar scene wasn't working for me. There were women there on the prowl right enough, but evidently none of them were on the prowl for someone like me. I hadn't been to church in a long time, but here I was in front of the St. Martin's rectory. I had an appointment with Reverend Kohl in five minutes. I waited in my car: it wouldn't do to seem to eager, I told myself—read I was chicken to go inside because it would mean that I'd have to talk to the man, and as much as I needed to, and I did; I didn't want to. Finally, I headed up the steps. The door opened before I could knock. An elderly lady, the housekeeper I guessed, smiled benignly at me. "Right this way mister Longden," she said. "Pastor Kohl is expecting you." I nodded and followed her down a corridor and into a well-appointed office. "The pastor will be with you in a moment, sir. Please have a seat." I did. I leaned pack in the padded chair and closed my eyes. Why was I here. I hadn't been a regular in church since high school. Christmas, Easter, a few other times each year with Flo, and that was about it. Yet, I felt that I knew Pastor Kohl well. The door swung open and the big silver headed man strode in—strode in. He almost fell into the swivel chair behind the too large desk and eye'd me. "I'd ask you how you're doin' Mike, but I'm afraid I can guess," he said. "She's told you?" I said. While it is true that I was a sometime churchgoer, my wife was more a true believer, went to church every Sunday and often to church do's during the week. It was no surprise that she might have said something to Reverend Kohl. "Yes, 'fraid so. More, it was in various church activities that she actually got to know the other guy on a personal level. They work at the same place, I know, but evidently he hadn't made a move on her until they became part of the activities here. Let me hasten to say that I knew nothing of the romantic side of things until a couple of days ago. It was the same day you made your appointment to see me," he said. I realized I was shaking my head. "Figures," I said. "When you called you mentioned that you'd wanted to talk to me about some personal problems. That still the case?" he said. "I don't know reverend. Yes, I guess so. I'm sick at heart and lost. She actually told me to go out and find myself another woman, like she'd found herself another man," I said. "And have you?" he said. "Not really. I spend some time at Sinbad's looking for someone to talk to, but no luck and really no interest on either my part or that of the women there, if it comes to that," I said. He nodded. "A bar is not necessarily the worst place in the world to find companionship, Mike, but probably not the best place overall either. And, wherever you might look it really doesn't matter a whit if you really aren't into it. Women can sense that a man is needy and really carrying around a lot of baggage. Most of them, the ones looking, have the same kind of baggage," he said. "I don't know reverend; I really only want her back. It's been real hard not having her around. I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown if the truth be known. I need her real bad. But, she ain't around, and I'm just kinda floundering. It's affecting my work to the point where I might lose my job if I can't find a way to get by it: I mean being dumped," I said. He nodded. "Mike, I know you. I know you're in love with your wife. All of those years? Your children. The emotional investment in her and in your family. I know it's tough. But, it happens. I know what you're going through. And I know that nothing I can say today is going to still the turmoil in your heart and soul. In time you will be able to deal with it, at least to some degree. But, in the short term, I can say with some certainty that it's going to be bad. Michael Metcalf Longden "What I will promise you, is that I will be here if you need an ear, or even a shoulder," he said. "I thank you for that, reverend. I'm gonna be more of a regular in church from now on," I said. "Mike, for what it's worth. When Florence came in the other day, she made the point that she still loved you on some level, but that she had fallen head over heels for this other guy. She feels awful for what she's done to you, and by inference to the children. She actually came to me, not to confess her indiscretions. She came to me to see if I could advise her on how to soften the blow that she's laid on you. She's worried about you," he said. I nodded. "Really?" I said. I was beginning to tear up again. Seemed like I was always doin' that. "Yes. She's sick about it, Mike, but like you—in a sense—she doesn't know how to handle it," he said. "I've prayed about it Mike. You know, that the Lord would see his way clear to do right by the two of you. And no, I am not condoning what Florence is doing, not at all. But, in my line of work condemning someone for being, well, maybe foolish is the word, isn't in the job description," he said. We talked for some little time more. In the end, the man advised me to go slow, to talk to the kids, to make no immediate plans, and to try to not be too angry. All easier said than done of course, but I did appreciate his support. And, I did get some ideas from his words, some direction if that was the way to say it. I would go slow and talk to the kids and avoid doing anything stupid. I finally had my thinking cap on, and I was employing it. If I could get my woman back, I would. If not, I was not going to be throwing myself off the balcony. The next step? That was yet to be determined. ****** FLORENCE: "You thinking about him again," he said. I looked over at the tall, dark, and handsome man who had become my lover and my future husband. "Guilty," I said. "I wonder how he's doing. You know, laying it on him like I did; well, it was quite frankly, cruel." "Flo, he'll be fine. He's a man: a tough, strong man. He'll be fine. Yes, he's going to miss you. Any man would. But, he'll adjust, get over it, survive. He has to. Flo, it's the way of the world," said Mark Fielding. "When we return, maybe we could up and have a sit-down with him if you think it would be a good idea. You know, make him realize that you still want to have a relationship with him on some level. I mean you do have two children together." She eye'd him. "I don't know. Maybe we could try. It might be worth a try. "Jesus, Mark, I just hope he can hook up with another woman. Someone who will treat him right. Better than I have for damn sure," I said. "I'm sure he'll find someone sooner or later, Flo. But for the next two weeks we're on this cruise. This is our time. Okay? I want you to be happy. And, I'm betting that Mike would want that for you too," he said. I snickered. "You know, you're right, he would. It's the kind of guy he is," I said. I loved how he put his big strong arms around me. He did that now, as we gazed out over the blue Pacific. Mazatlan would come into view in the morning. Mark was right. This was our time. Mikey would have his day too, I'd do my best to see to that, somehow, but not for the next thirteen days. ****** Nell was sitting across from me. "Yes, daddy, mom came up to see us. I guess the day after—well—the day after..." she started. It was all I could do to keep from breaking up in front of my daughter. "Where's Christina?" I said, breaking in on our, her, train of thought. "She's coming. Be here in twenty minutes or so," said Nell. I nodded. I'd called the girls for the inevitable little meeting to hash out the thing that needed hashing out. How we would be seeing each other in the future was my main concern. I was about to lay it on them, and it didn't look to be something that they were going to take all that well. But, it was a non-negotiable thing as far as I was concerned. "Hi daddy," said Christina plopping down in the seat next to her sister across from me. She was eighteen minutes early. "Hello, baby," I said. The next minutes were spent talking about everything but the elephant in the room. But we finally got around to it. "Daddy, mom is in the wrong in this. But—well—she is our mother," said Nell. "Yes, daddy. Neither of us like it, but I guess there isn't much we can do about it," said Christina. "Girls, I don't expect you to cut your mother off. But, I will not be around when she is. I can't be around her boyfriend either—ever! That's ironclad, girls. So, I'll call to set up times when I can see you guys. All I ask is that she not be there when I come by. Is that okay with the both of you?" I said. "And one more thing, please. I would appreciate it if you would not talk about me to her, nor about her to me. She's decided to cut me off from her; and well, it's been real hard on me. Real hard!" I said. "Daddy, what about Christmas and the other holidays and graduation and everything. And when Nell and I have babies and all of that; and we will someday," said Christina. "There's just going to be times when you and mom have to be there at the same time." I had a sinking feeling that I couldn't shake. "Girls, if they are there; I won't be. If I come expecting them to not be there, and they are, I will leave immediately. I cannot be around that woman—my woman—knowing she is cuckolding me with that man. You have no idea how badly that hurts me. If that makes me some kind of back-assed wimp, so be it. Now, am I clear!" I said, a little more forcefully than maybe I needed to. "The two of them looked at each other then back at me. "Okay, dad, if that's the way it has to be. It's going to be hard for us, but I suppose we understand," said Nell. Christina nodded her reluctant agreement. "Good," I said. ****** Sinbad's should have been named Singood's. It sure as heck was good for me. James Pierson was my main man; boy was he ever. Who the hell needed a woman's shoulder to cry on, I had Jimmy. I decided that he was more than enough. But, a horrible thought crossed my mind! What if Sinbad's closed! All I needed was maybe fifty more years of comfort from Jimmy and that fellow from Tennessee, Jack Daniels. It's all I needed, and I was sure I'd be good. I made a mental note that if I continued going to church as I had the three weeks since my meet up with Reverend Kohl and my girls, that I was going to add in a few extra prayers to ensure that Jimmy not die before me. What the heck, the way I figured it, God owed me for letting my heart get trampled underfoot by my wife and her lover. All I was asking for was a little surcease from my mental and emotional agony. Was that too much to pray for? Hell no! I told myself. The only days I missed being in attendance at Jimmy's were Sundays. The evenings during the week saw me limit myself to a couple of JDs on the rocks. Friday and Saturday nights there was no limit. I was being careful ever since the warning I got from the boss to straighten up and fly right. I did need the job. Flo had honored her decision to give me the house. And, I had decided to keep it and live there. But, that decision was a mixed thing. The mortgage was large. And, now I had to make the payments with no help from her. I had been served, at work, and the deal about the house was indeed in the divorce documents—just wanted to make sure I was being clear here. Sinbad's did have one very bad weakness, however, they allowed damn near anybody to come in. And, they did, come in that is. I hadn't seen her until it was too late. I was seated in a booth at the side of the place near the front. She slid in beside me, him, across from me. I was literally trapped. And, I was frightened: frightened that I would start bawling again. "Hi Mikey," she said, brightly. "How are you?" She covered my left hand, my free hand—my other was holding my drink—with hers. For a moment I was speechless. "How am I? You actually asked me that?" I said. She frowned, but it was an empathetic frown. "Mikey, you and I, we will always have a relationship. I mean we do have two babies together don't we?" she said. "To answer your questions in the order asked, Flo: one, I was fine till a moment ago, and two, so what if we did have children together; it didn't help keep us together did it. So if you will kindly get out my way, so I can leave, I would appreciate it," I said. "Mikey, please, just a moment or two of your time, okay?" she said. "Not with him here," I said. I don't care if I have to climb over the table to escape; I will if I have to." She frowned and this time there was no empathy, more like frustration. She nodded at her lover. He rose and headed for the bar. "Okay?" she said. I just nodded without saying anything one way or another. "Mike, I know you got the divorce papers. I kept my word to you," she said. "I am not out to screw you over, really. I want happiness for you, for the both of us, Mikey, really. I need you to be happy." "No chance of that, Flo. To be happy a man has to have his heart and soul in one piece. Mine are broken and trampled in the dirt. So, you lose out on that one. Well, and that seems fair to me. I lose the love of my life, and you lose your hope that I'll ever be happy again. Like I said, seems fair to me," I said. "Mikey, you have to get over me. I know I hurt you real bad. I—I—didn't know how not to. And oh my God how I wanted not to! Believe that one Mikey. I mean it. "Mikey, I know you spoke to the girls. They told me. Mikey, please lighten up on your requirement that we never be together with them. Please! That will be so hard. Please. Okay?" she said. "No. And, I will tell you why, Flo. I dream about you every night. I dream about making love to you almost every hour of every day. I have nightmares of you spreading for him, cuckolding me. Can you even begin to imagine how that makes me feel? "I come here every night, Flo, to try and make it so I won't hurt so bad. It helps a little. But really? Not all that much. Seeing you, smelling you, talking to you or hearing you talk to others: it would kill me, kill whatever shred of emotional sanity I have left. So no, I will not voluntarily be around you ever again. The memories are hard enough to deal with. Making new ones that include the man who made his cuckold would destroy me. I don't need it," I said. She was actually beginning to cry. "Jimmy, I had no..." she suddenly stood and almost ran from the table and out of the bar. "So what did you say to that woman that made her run outta here like that," said the woman who had just taken a seat in my booth across from me, the one most recently occupied by my soon to be ex's boyfriend. "Mildred? Mildred Lake?" I said. "The one and only," she said. "Buy a girl a drink?" "Okay. Sure, I could use the company," I said. "And to answer your question. That was my soon to be ex. She wants to have a relationship with me because of our children. I said no. She thinks I am being unreasonable. Hence, her dramatic leave taking." "Really, you turned down her peace offering?" said Mildred. "Yep, really," I said. "So, anyway, Mildred, as one convict to another, how have you been?" She smirked. "Not too bad. Still poor. Still looking to make a buck. Can't seem to find any work that I'm qualified for; and still again, hope springs eternal. And no, I gave up spreading for strangers," she said, "too risky." I nodded. The conversation had hit one of those silent times; we had both, apparently, run out of words. She looked at me and smirked. "Can I buy a vowel?" she said. I laughed. "No, no," I said. "It's just, well, I barely know you in spite of our exciting time together, a couple of months ago." "Well, sometimes a stranger, and I'm almost a stranger, is easier to talk to than someone who might be a little too close to things. Know what I mean?" she said. "Yeah, I guess that's so," I said. "Anyway, it's past the dumping stage now; she's divorced me. Got maybe four or five months to go. I've met with the kids; they know my position on everything. Talked with my minister; he was of some little help; he's a good guy. And I guess you saw the latest episode in living color; I mean her running out of here. Tune in for the next installment of Mikey and Flo—and Flo's cuckolding loverboy." "Mike? I can call you that, right?" she said. "Of course," I said. "Okay. Mike, can I ask you: do you want her back? I mean would you even take her back after what she's done to you?" said Mildred. She'd stopped me with her questions. The way she'd phrased them made me think. My soon to be ex had crushed my very soul. She'd cheated on me with a miserable excuse of a human being. She'd gone ahead and divorced me and indirectly insulted me in the doing of it—that by telling me I could have the house implying she was going to be getting something far better because her new man could take better care of her than I ever could. And, what really got to me, was her actually expecting me to go along with her soft pedaling, if not wholly accepting, what she'd done to me. So did I really want her back, or just wish I could find a way to overcome the unutterable humiliation she'd laid on me. "I'm not sure," I said. "I mean since you put it that way." "You wanna get your self-respect back?" she said. I snorted. "Like that's going to be happening any time soon," I said. "My humiliation over the way she did me, I mean the in-my-face "deal with it" attitude of the woman. Now that I think about it, maybe not. I do know that I still don't ever want to see her again. "Oh my, you do have it bad," she said. "Have what bad?" I said. "Humiliation-itis," she said. "You need to do something about that." "Yeah, well, if you've got the cure please feel free to let me in on it. I'm dyin' here," I said. "Why did she dump you?" she said. "Do you know? Really?" "His money. He's handsome enough too, I suppose. He's taller than she is; I'm not. I'm just a poor old electrician doing the hand-to-mouth daily bread thing," I said. She smiled. "Okay then, I do have the cure. Get the money. Prove his height advantage is really a drawback. And, handsome-yourself-up," she said. "Right, and just how would you suggest I go about achieving those three little miracles?" I said. She only smiled. "You in this for as long as it takes, or do you just want to whine and cry for the next several years," she said. I gave her a look that pretty much answered her question. "Well, then good," she said. "This is what we're going to do." "We? We're gonna do," I said "Yes, you need a manager," she said. Again my look did my talking for me. "Look, Mike, I wasn't always a failed prostitute. I've been to college. Didn't graduate, but I did three years at FSU. "Really," I said. "Yes. I was an assistant to Dr. Philbert Weintraub. He was a tenured guy in the Psyche dept. I learned a lot there, helped him with his research, I did," she said. "Research? What research?" I said. "He wanted to know what it took to become a virtuoso in any discipline, in anything—an expert if you will. He found out, and I know what he found out: and, as a consequence, how to help you with your little problem," she said. "Oh really?" I said. "Yes, and you don't wanna know, not yet; it would only intimidate you. But we're gonna put his findings into action. I will tell you that you are looking at two to three years in terms of how we're going to go about this; I mean how we are going to adapt his findings to our needs; how we are going to completely alter the thinking and perspectives of your soon to be ex-wife. That's why I asked if you were in for the long haul or if you just want to be like every other dumped on loser," she said. I was snorting again. She was really beginning to piss me off. "Three years! I'll be forty-six!" I said. "You'll be forty-six anyway. You can either prepare yourself for the coming battle or you can prepare yourself to remain what you are," she said. "And that would be?" I said. "A loser in the making," she said. "So, are you in or out?" I leaned back in my seat. I wasn't sure of this woman, but she spoke with such authority that I was inclined to have confidence in her. Three years? I guess if I took her up on her offer to be—what—my manager, I would know soon enough if she was full of it, or, unlikely as it seemed at the moment, somehow in the know. In the know about things that I had no ken of. "In," I said. "But, at some point I would like to know why you didn't finish college: why you are out here on the opposite coast trying to be, and failing to be, a woman of the evening." "I'll tell you now. The usual, dumped on by my fiancée. Pride in the toilet. A need to get away from all of the well-meaning, but hopelessly inadequate, cadre of friends and family. The lady of the evening thing, well, that was a matter of chance and, I'll admit it, desperation and self-pity," she said. One thing that did result from my conversation with Mildred Lake was that she moved in with me. She claimed that she had to, "to keep me on the stick and moving forward," was the way she put it. Yeah, yeah, I know. Looked like she was just out to use me. But, the truth was that I was using her. Even if whatever she was about was bogus, I was pretty sure that I would be getting more than she was out of the deal regardless. The fallacy of my latter conclusion would soon be brought home to me. That, just as the former—her skills at rebuilding the current me—would prove to be more than true, and that much to my overwhelming wonderment. ****** I caught her going thru my closet. There was a lot of room in their now, now that Flo was gone. For me just another melancholy reminder of my—our—former lives together, mine and Flo's. I did notice that Millie'd hung her things—few as they were—in there, but they nowhere came near equaling the tonnage of my wife's wardrobe. "Something I can help you with?" I said. She never even turned around to acknowledge my interrupting her. "No, no. I got it okay," she said. "If you want to be useful go get me some large garbage bags, okay?" she said. It was then that I noticed the pile of my clothes off to the side. She was stripping the closet of my clothes and dumping them on the floor. "What in samhill are you doing," I said. "Getting rid of about ninety percent of your wardrobe," she said. "What the fuck?" I said. She turned, finally, and tendered me an exasperated expression. "Look, Mikey, you have to trust me. I could spend all day telling you what I'm about: what you are going to be experiencing, and gonna be doing over these next two to three years, but that would be a waste of my time because you wouldn't understand, or, understanding, believe me," she said. "So, just go with the flow. Okay?" I shook my head, but I shook it in surrender. And, I didn't know why I surrendered, not really. Progress with Millie, I liked that name better than Mildred, was slow, but I had determined to be patient, at least up to a point. One thing that had changed in my life, but that had nothing to do with Millie, was that I was now a regular churchgoer. Reverend Kohl and I talked from time to time after services and the like. He was empathetic with my situation and I appreciated that. My divorce to Flo had another month or so to run before it became final. I was sitting in church feeling a little down, as I usually did, when I was thinking about the past, when it happened. I was about ten rows back on the far left side of the pew when they slid into the pew at the other end. I didn't notice them at first until the person next to me moved closer to me allowing the new arrivals space. It was then that I glanced in the direction of the newcomers. It was Flo and her asshole. She finally saw me and her look paled. I don't know what my look said to her, but it felt a lot like hurt. I sat for a moment and then got up and hurried out. The goddamn woman found a way to kill me again even while I was in church praying that I could somehow resolve things with her. I was actually on the verge of crying—again—even before I hit the church doors. Jesus! why couldn't I get over the bitch! I did glance back and saw her watching me with a wrinkled brow. I think that for once she was as embarrassed as me, and maybe even a little hurt too. I sure as hell hoped so. I had to do something to get away from that woman. I thought about my options for the next couple of weeks while Millie and I followed a routine that was getting me to become something I never thought that I could become, never even thought about trying to become: a dapper dude, and a ballroom dancer! Michael Metcalf Longden She had followed that up, her initial efforts to dress me and train me in the way of civilized manners and such, with dancing lessons from a real pro, a Filipino guy, who had more rhythm than Britney Spears on crack! She added to those, lessons in formal freakin' etiquette. Etiquette for chryssakes! What did a blue collar asshole like me need to know about which fork to use when dining with the President! I sure as hell didn't know. But, all said and done; she was rebuilding me. I had to think that her prof at FSU would not have had the slightest clue, or interest, in her interpretation of his work—his findings as she kept referring to them. But then, what did I know. Just before the divorce was final. I decided to take a week's vacation time; I needed to get away to try and stop thinking about the end of my world, my marital world, Flo's and my world. I headed for the mountains. Always good, the mountains, for thinking and clearing one's head. I made a reservation for myself at the lodge in Running Springs and packed to go. Millie understood, and in fact encouraged me to take a little time for myself, a break from our mostly six hours after work "rebuilding of me" routine: dancing, weight training, martial arts—and always—etiquette. I should say here, that my fourteen hour days—counting work and Millie's idea of schooling—had helped a good deal in helping to keep my mind off of my imploded marriage. Hell, after the first few weeks of Millie's efforts, I'd actually begun to resuscitate my cratered ego; not an easy task. The ride upstate was cathartic; I was more than looking forward to the next several days. Flo and I used to go up at least once a year; we were always able to decompress at the lodge. Days taking long walks, evenings at the cozy little bar or sitting by the fire in our mini-cabin; it was always good. It would be again. Maybe I could even hook up with some single gal wanting to dance a little to the romantic piano music that the bar featured on Friday and Saturday nights; well, Millie's dancing friend had gotten me to realize that I could do a few things on the dance floor without my feeling like an out of place klutz. Well, you had to know it would happen: the ruination of the well laid plans of mice and men and me—well, and anyway, I was a mouse of that there was no damn doubt. I arrived on Friday afternoon, checked in, and set up in my little cabin. It was already partly set up and ready for occupancy when I arrived. They'd even set up the fireplace with log and kindling ready to go, appreciating the truth that I would at some point be wanting to light it up. I spent the first evening initially in the bar trading lies with the bartender, Herman Goldberg, and the later part of the evening in front of the fireplace reading the latest thriller. I was in the little store picking up a couple of things I'd forgotten at the house when I bumped into him. I was just backing up from the counter when I turned and bumped into him. He, he was at least six-four, literally forced me to drop my grocery bag spilling everything out onto the floor. "Damn I..." I froze in my tracks. It was him, the asshole. I stared at him for a long moment. She came up from behind him and her mouth dropped open at least a foot. "Mikey! What? How..." she'd run out of words too, at least for the moment. I started to walk out. I didn't even take the time to pick up the groceries from the floor—twenty-seven dollars' worth. I just wanted out of there. But, I didn't get far. She grabbed me by the arm, with surprising force, and pinned me against the wall just inside the doorway. Her face was no more than eight inches from mine. "Mikey, I didn't know. I mean it," she said. I nodded. She looked back toward the asshole and nodded toward the mess on the floor. He got the message and began collecting my stuff. "Mikey, I'm sorry. But, we're here, you and I, can we talk for a minute or two?" she said. "Whatever," I said. "Mikey, you need to stop this jealousy thing or whatever it is. We, you and I need to get on with our lives. Our new lives. I know you still have feelings for me; heck, I still have feelings for you too. It's just that our marriage; well, it was time, Mikey; it was time. I know I hurt you—for which I am more than truly sorry. Again, I just didn't know how else to handle it, the breakup. But, please, can we be friends, at least that" she said. The big man was done collecting my stuff. He handed them back to me never having said a word; that, at least, was something for which I could be thankful. I did not want any words to pass between him and me. That would not have been good. I took one last look at my soon to be ex and headed out without having answered her. I heard her call after me. "Mikey, please..." But I was gone. Outside the store I dumped the groceries in the trash bin and headed for my car. I went back to the cabin, packed up my stuff, and headed on home. I bawled the whole way. I had images of her cuckolding me all night in our used to be favorite vacation place. Him and her, screwing up a storm while I—while I..." ****** Getting back to the house was good for me. I was still hurting a little from having had to yet again lay eyes on my former woman. But, Millie gave me a peck on the cheek, a supportive peck, and I had a visitor—Nell. "Daddy, you look good," said Nell. Have you lost weight?" she said. "You've done something to yourself." "You can blame my friend, Millie, here for anything about me that's not the old me," I said, nodding in the direction of my main anchor in my months of travail. "Millie and I have met, Dad. I came down to see you. Christina will drop by next week. Anyway, Millie and I have talked. But, she didn't say word one about the new you," said my daughter. "What's goin' on, Nell? You and Christina decide to take turns coming to see me?" I said. "No, no, nothing like that. She had a project that's due is all. "Anyway, Millie, so you are helping my dad be—what—different?" said Nell. "In a way, I guess," she said. "We're doing some things. It's going to be a long process, but he and I have a thing going, and no it's not sexual thing. But, we do have a kind of project of our own. Nothing too radical, but, like I say, it is a project, a long term project." "Yes, and it's a lot of work," I said, grimacing. "So where have you been, Dad? I just got in an hour ago. Millie said you went to the mountains, but I guess not since it's only been a couple of days," said Nell. "No, I went there, but it was..." I hesitated too long; the two women picked up on it. "Daddy, what's wrong?" said Nell. "Yes, Mike, I sense something too," said Millie. I sighed. "Your mother and the asshole were there. It wasn't good," I said. So, I came back," I said. "You talked with her didn't you, dad," said Nell. "For a minute," I said. "It was nothing. We ran into each other in the little store there. At the lodge." "Daddy, did you get into it with him?" said Nell. "No, no, he was there, but we had no words, not him and me. Just your mother and me," I said. "Daddy, why did you come back. If you needed a break, like Millie told me earlier, you should have stayed there. Mom wouldn't have bothered you; I know it. We, her and me and Christina, have talked," said Nell. I gave her a look. "No, Dad, we weren't talking about you, just how we would have to be working around seeing you at different times than her. She had to know about your conditions is all. But, she told us you'd talked about it with her already and she promised us not to bother you. So, I know you could have stayed at the Springs and not have been bothered with them being there too," said Nell. "Yeah, that would have been cool. I mean with me nearby knowing that they were in another cabin screwing. Yeah, I would have really been able to relax thinking about that," I said. "Daddy, it's only sex not the end of the world! Men!" said Nell. "Nell, your dad is still kinda hurt is all. The time will come when everything will have calmed down some. I know it," said Millie. "I sure hope so," said Nell. "Me too, if it comes to that," I said. We all talked for some time, killing a bottle of Sherry between us in the process. Nell finally said her goodbyes and Millie and I headed upstairs. At first to our separate rooms, or so I thought. But, I thought wrong. She had evidently decided, finally, after these last months that it was time to take our so far platonic relationship to the next level, a sexual level. She pulled me along to her room. "Time for you to fuck me," she said. And she said it so matter-of-factly that I had to wonder at her motivation. But, it had been so long since I had been inside a woman, that I had not only no intention of resisting, I couldn't have even if I'd been so inclined. "She undressed my unresisting-self as if practiced in the art thereof. Pushing me back onto the bed, she began to slowly undress herself. As her bra fell away, she fell onto the bed on top of me; only her panties were between us. She began kissing me, at first gently, then with more gusto. She stopped. "Take my panties off," she said. I started to do her bidding, but she stopped me. "No, with your teeth." I smiled. It was my first real smile since Flo abandoned me. "Okay," I said. As I pulled and tugged at her undies with my teeth, I smelled her woman's body and saw for the first time her bald mons and felt the heat of her inner thighs and swollen pussy lips. A woman in heat is like nothing else in the world. I kissed her secret place and licked her. She actually became squishy as I did my duty. "Do me," she said. "I'm ready." "Yes, ma'am. My pleasure," I said. I mounted her and poked at her slit. She had to reach down and guide me inside of her. She was slippery; I popped in with very little difficulty. I began fucking her, at first slowly and then faster. I blew my load just as she began pushing back against my thrusts doin her best to cum herself. I think she made it; I sure as hell did." We lay beside each other. "Not half bad," she said. "You ex didn't divorce you because of your penis or your skills. I'm sure of that." "Yeah, well, I'm not so sure about that," I said. ****** And then there was serendipity. So far the stars had been aligned in such a way as to maximize my misery and, maybe too, Flo's frustrations. Add to that, that if any asshole in the history of Western man had had luck on his miserable side, it had to have been Mark Fielding: he had my woman. All of the above being true and it was; it was all about to change, and that in dramatic fashion. Fielding's salon #4, the one incidentally that Flo was based at—she did work in others from time to time—was actually close to where I spent the majority of my week nights, Sinbad's, maybe a quarter mile or so away. That said, it was also next door to Cash &Carry Grocers, which I passed every night as I walked myself the mile and a half it took to get me home—which was also something that Millie encouraged. The street was almost always quiet this time of night: it was after midnight. As I passed the alley behind the grocers, I heard a ruckus. Three punks were hassling an older man, a tall man, a man I personally knew and hated! Mark Fielding was getting the hell beat out of him. The toughs were all big. Me wading in would get me killed too. I dialed 911 gave them the quick message and started to run toward the little knot of mayhem screaming at the top of my lungs into the now dead phone, but they didn't know that. The toughs stopped their beating on my cuckolder, and gave me a look. They saw me apparently talking on the phone, as I continued to hold the phone to my ear to make the baddies think I was talking to the police. It was decision time for them. They ran. "I went to the down and damn near—but not quite—out salon owner and checked him for serious injuries. He'd live. I waited for the cops and the EMT guys. They arrived in just under four minutes. They took my statement and I continued my walk home. Fielding and me never spoke to each other, but he recognized me well enough. I felt kinda good. It wasn't much, but it's more than what I'd had before I'd saved the asshole. Yeah, I felt pretty good. ****** It was Sunday morning and I was getting ready to go to church. The knock on my door was not expected, but I did have a date with Millie after church. I guessed she was just early. I answered the door. "You!" I slammed the door in her face. Oh, I may have been a pussywhipped, whiny, undersized wimp; and, in spite of Millie's efforts, I'd probably never be much else, the way I figured it; but I didn't need to have such shoved in my face by my tormentors every chance they got. I went back upstairs, and continued getting ready for church. I was still in my underwear and talking to myself when I felt a presence. "Mikey?" said my ex. I stood there in my underpants staring at her. "Florence! Why? How?" I said sounding like an oaf. "I—I—still have my old key," she said. "I had to see you. You saved..." "Florence, please get out! Please. I'm not dressed! Please leave. You're grateful; I get it. You're welcome. Now, get out!" She looked down. "Mikey, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just—I'll go," she said, and she did. ****** "You walked in on him in his underpants?" he said. "Yes, and I'm not sure which one of us was the most embarrassed. Anyway, when I noticed him starting to get an erection, I got out of there as fast as I could. He didn't need any more humiliation from me for sure. I literally ran down the stairs, almost broke my leg in the process," she said. He smiled. "I have to go see him. If he kicks me down the stairs like I deserve; well, at least I'll feel better, I mean even if he doesn't feel better," said Mark Fielding. "Flo?" he said. "What?" she said. "I tapped my cop friend. I've had Mikey checked up on. I think he might have a girlfriend. And she's a looker. Not in your league, but cute I guess you'd have to say," he said. She gave him a look that was half disbelief and half relief. "Who is it?" she said suddenly all ears. "Just some woman," he said. She nodded. "I have to hope that's so," she said. "You know how crazy that sounds to me? I really do wish that for him. He deserves to be happy, and Mark so do we. I just fell out of love with the guy. He's a good guy for sure, but I would have been bad for him over the long haul; he didn't and doesn't need that, none of us do." "No, that's for sure," he said. "Anyway, I will be going over there tonight. And, before you say it: yes, I know, I run if it looks like it might get physical." "Yes, and I mean it, Mark. I really really mean it," she said. ****** The day had been long for me. Millie was out getting some stuff for dinner. Earlier in the day I'd spoken for a moment with reverend Kohl. I was just keying the lock when I was startled by a voice just behind me and to my left. "Mike, got a minute," he said, he being Mark Fielding. I looked him up and down. "I'll give you and the whore credit; you've got nerve, the both of you. No freakin' doubt about it. And, you, you personally, you got to have reinforced concrete huevos for sure," I said. "But, to answer your question: no. Fuck off, asshole. You've got the woman, so be happy with that. And, I would more than appreciate it if neither you nor she ever cross my path again. Seriously!" "Mike, she would not have been good for you. Not over the long haul. She would have cheated on you serially, and you would have discovered it, and that would have been even worse than it is now," he said. "You don't know that asshole. You don't know that at all. What the future holds, nobody knows, nobody," I said. "You still don't know. Hell, she could end up back with me for all anybody knows." "Mike..." "You're here for a reason, mister Fielding. I'm thinkin' it's maybe because not all is sunshine and lollipops in cheatersville. She put you up to this? She thinkin' I might relent and give her what she wants? Huh? Be good buddies with the two of you? Huh?" "No, no, it's nothing like that, Mike. She just wants you to talk to her, forgive her; well, and yes, I guess be friends with her if not her and me," he said. "Mike, you're right about things not being all that happy around our place. But, it's because she wants to make it up to you, make it right by you. "Mike, she doesn't love you—well—that way anymore. But, she does love you in other ways. Really, Truly," he said. I'd finally gotten the door lock to unlock, and I was standing in the doorway. I looked him up and down, once more. "Fuck you," I said. "Never come here again. Never!" I said. I slammed the door in his face. Less than a minute after I'd slammed the door, there was a knock. I'd started to sob, and the knocking brought me back on center. I stomped toward the door, and literally threw it open. "Millie!" I said, my anger subsiding exponentially with the realization that my savior was here. She smirked. "I saw him leave. Had a word with him actually. You two have it out?" she said. I snickered. "You could say that. Wanted me to make everything all right for her, I mean her relationship with me; he wanted me to make it right," I said. "But, not the way it used to be," I take it" she said. "Not even," I said. "If she needs to feel good, it's gonna be without me in the mix that's for damn sure." "Get me a beer," she said. "That I will?" I said, smiling. I got her the lager, and we settled in at the dinette table. "So what did he say," said Millie. I looked at her. "He said the woman loved me, but not 'that' way, was the way he put it. She wants us to be friends. Like that's ever going to happen," I said. "But, I have a question for you," I said. "'kay," she said. "What you and he talk about? As far as I know he doesn't know that you and I are an item. But, he likely does now," I said. "He introduced himself, offered me his hand to shake. We shook, and I said I had to be getting inside. I never gave him my name or said anything of consequence," she said. I nodded. "Mike, the man's a cheater, just like her. But, he doesn't come across as a bad man in other respects. I'm of the opinion that it was just a case of her falling out of love with you and into love with him. It's the way the stars aligned. You might want to lighten up just a little, and give her offer some thought. You and I have each other now, and we're going to be fine. I'm not saying that we will ever be sharing a barbecue with the two of them; but, on some level a vague but not unfriendly relationship might be in your best interest, our best interest actually. "Mike, I'm thinking of your sanity; which I have been deathly afraid, on more than one occasion, that you've been in danger of losing," she said. "I don't know, Millie. Yes, you and I will be fine. But, friends with them? I don't know. If I thought that they would be laughing at me behind my back for wimping out..." I said. "Mike, I don't think that that would be the case. I think, quite the opposite, it might put them in the position of having to prove themselves time and time again," she said. "I think she'd be afraid of pushing you back into that corner that she is apparently is so ashamed of having pushed you into in the first place," she said. "Mike, it comes to me that she's already in that place, maybe him too. They need—that's need, Mike—to find a way to show you that they respect you. That, in their minds, would give you the opportunity to mend some fences with them. I mean if they want to which I think is the case. The cheating, the sex between them, it was never a case of disrespecting you, not for her, I don't think; they were simply overcome with lust. And, her words to you so long ago; they were stupid, and, there is damn little doubt about it; and, she knows it, and she is desperately, has desperately, done all she could to get around them, unsay them. No, we're the ones with the problem," said Millie. Michael Metcalf Longden "Our problem? Maybe, I just don't know. The bottom line is I just don't trust her," I said. "But, I'll think about what you said," I said. "Good, you need to," she said. Suddenly, I had a thought. I decided it was time. "You know maybe it is our problem. Yes, yes, maybe if we did give her, them, the chance to show that they aren't just sorry because that would never be enough. Not for me. I do want them to respect me. That's the problem, as you say, yes it is. But until I give them the chance they never will be able to. Will they? But how to do it?" I said. "Come on," I said, " we're going out." She looked at me funny, but she grabbed her purse and let me lead her out. "Sooner or later we'll think of something. I know it," she said. ****** It turned out that the confrontation that day in front of the house with Mark Fielding was the last I saw of the dynamic duo for the next two years. I heard from reverend Kohl that they had moved to another part of the state, ostensibly because of business matters relating to Fielding's salons. I had gotten a couple of Christmas cards from her, but apart from that nothing. Oh, and I had not responded to the cards. Millie and I did get married, finally. But, the man she married was not anything like the man who'd married Flo Bromley all those years ago. No indeed, my new woman had trained me, rebuilt me, and pampered me well beyond anything I deserved. I won't say I never thought of Flo; I did. But, the melancholy was gone. So was any desire to be reunited with her—I mean what, and give up what I had now! Not happening. But, the world turns on its axis, and each time it does it has to return from whence it had first begun its journey. We arrived at the Excalibur at 7:00PM. The serious dancing wouldn't begin until after 9:00, but we wanted to eat first and listen to some music and talk and just generally get into the mood. We greeted, and were greeted by, the various couples we knew from our dance classes and some of the bistros we'd frequented over the past many months. Tonight would feature a contest; it would be our sixth since deciding to take my rebuilding to the next level more than a year gone now. We were feeling good. She saw them first. "Dear," said Millie. "What?" I said. She let her eyes wander in the direction of the door where the signing in for the contest was continuing. "Jesus! Somebody's got to be kidding. Did I say that the Olympian Gods hated me!" I said. Millie looked me askance. "Huh?" she said. "Look, Mike, this is what we've worked for all of these months, these last couple of years. Yeah, they're here. So what. Their bad luck." "Their bad luck?" I said. "Sure. Look at him. He's six-four at least and maybe 250 pounds." "So?" I said. He's big. So what?" I said. "Think about it. You know the answer as well as I do," she said. Suddenly it began to dawn on me. He was "too big." My smile cued her that I had finally gotten it. "Exactly, he will most definitely not be in the money. Guys as big as him can't dance all that well. They're too klutzy to really be any good, and will likely be running out of gas even before they finally die in the Samba," she said. I had to agree. Moving that much tonnage around would be okay in the fox trot, maybe even in swing if they didn't get too imaginative. But the Samba? The Argentine Tango? Not him, nor a bus load like him. "Yeah, this might turn out to be a really good night," I said. "I just hope they don't get blown out too early. I wanna go up against them in the hard stuff." She smiled. "You wanna go over and greet them. Kinda let them known that the hatchet is buried?" said Millie. "Or, we could do what you used to do, and hightail it outta here." I looked at her and smirked. "Now, Millie, I may have been a pussy in the past, but no more. Sure, let's go surprise 'em," I said. She stood and reached for my hand. The two of them were so engaged with each other that they didn't see us until we were practically in their armpits. "Mikey! I mean..." she started. "Yeah, kind of a surprise for us too. I mean to see you here," I said. I stuck out my hand to a very surprised Mark Fielding. He took it, but tentatively. And, no, he didn't try to crush mine in his grasp; I thought that significant. "Good to see you?" he said. And, it did sound more like a question than a statement. "And you too," I said. And you too, Flo. You look very nice," I said. "Thank you?" she said. It was another question. "Mikey, you look different—a lot different. Good different, really." "May we sit for a moment," I said. Millie was already pulling out a chair. "And—uh—yes. Well, Millie and I..." "Sure? I mean sure, sit," said Flo. "Mikey? Are we...?" "Yes, we're okay, Flo. I found the woman you long ago suggested I look for, and she has made my life the best it's ever been, and no that's not a swipe at you. You and I were younger then; mature love is the best," I said. Flo nodded. "Okay," she said. "And you and I?" said Mark, seemingly finding his voice. I gave him a hard look but let it slide into a smile. "Well, hot damn. Maybe down the line..." "Yeah, yeah, we'll get together at some point," I said. I looked over at Flo. She seemed to have the jitters. "Mikey..." "Yeah?" I said. "The girls—I kinda invited them to come tonight. Mark and I are here to enter a dance contest. Well, it's only our second time; but, well..." "No problem. Not anymore. It'll be nice to see the girls. Well, anyway, you all have a good time," I said, rising. Millie, not rising immediately, smiled. "We're in the contest too," she said. "We've been taking lessons too. Should be fun." Flo gave her a look. "Yes, well that's great," said Flo. The surprise in her voice was barely disguised. She gave me a look that literally screamed disbelief. My turn to smile. "Okay, well, we'll let you folks alone for the next while," I said. This time Millie did rise amd made to come with me. She nodded, I nodded, and we walked off. I was inwardly concerned about Nell and Christina showing up. I wondered how it was going to work out with the both of us, Flo and I, in the same place at the same time with the girls there. I half expected an invitation to join the four of them, that is once the girls did arrive. But, thinking about it, Millie and I had not extended an invitation to them, so maybe they wouldn't either. We'd no more than settled back into our seats than the girls came half running half walking to the table the maître de pointed them to. They had not seen us, Millie and I. Clearly they were late. They were still standing trying to say something when suddenly Nell's head snapped around and spotted us. Their mother must have said something. There was a flurry of words and Christina broke off and came to us. "Dad! Millie! You're here. And, mom's here. I mean at the same place and the same time. Did we, Nell and I miss something? Are you staying?" she said. "Yes we're staying. No you didn't miss anything. We're both entered in this dance thing tonight," I said. Christina gave me a look. "Dad? Do they know you can dance? I mean..." "We told them we were entering the contest. So yes, they know," said Millie. "Dad—Millie—you know what I mean. Do they know that you can dance, I mean really D-A-N-C-E!" said Christina. "I don't know what you mean, baby," I said. They know we're in the contest, so I guess they must. Right, Millie?" Millie nodded. "And, you don't want Nell or I to clue them. Would that be a true thing?" said Christina. I shrugged. "Wow! This is going to be interesting," she said. Millie tapped my forearm, "Nell is coming over," she said. I looked up just as Nell pulled up a chair and sat down. "Okay, dad, give," she said. "Mom, said you had made kind of peace with them." Nell inclined her head in the direction of her mother and her man. "You could say that," I said. "Wow! I never would have believed it. But wait, there's more to this than that isn't there dad," said Nell. Christina's hand went to her mouth. "Dad—you and Millie—you're sandbagging them aren't you!" said Christina. "No. They know we're in the contest. Same as them," I said. "No, dad, they may know you're in the contest, but they have no idea what you and Millie can do, do they?" said Nell. I shrugged. "Girls, your dad and I have worked hard to do some things. I know, you know, how long and how hard it's been for him to get some measure of his ego rebuilt after everything that happened. What your mother, or her man, knows or doesn't know has nothing to do with anything. We came here to dance, and we had no idea they would be here. "But, they are. We wish them well. We will do what we can to do here in a little while. And, unless your dad starts crying again like he used to—every time he saw your mom—well, we'll probably do okay, and, that's the long and the short of it," said Millie. "Girls, you are your mom's guests tonight. You should probably be getting back," I said. "Dad, would it be too much to ask that you join us?" said Nell. "Yes. We're not at that stage yet," I said. "I was making up new rules on the fly. Moments before I might have accepted the invitation, but I wasn't sure I could keep it together if I had to be in close proximity to the two of them. Burying the hatchet did not necessarily equate with becoming bosom buddies with them. "Okay, dad, I guess we understand," said Christina, "but, the invitation's open." "Okay, and thank you girls," I said. The two of them rose and headed for their mother's table. "You think they'll clue them?" I said, turning to Millie. "Doubt it. But who knows," she said. During dinner I caught Flo looking in our direction a couple of times, but her glance didn't linger. It seemed almost practiced. The band had been playing some slow stuff during dinner, but now it was time for the games to begin. I saw the MC heading for the mike. We knew John Burroughs. He'd MC'd two contests that we'd been in before. He'd even resented us with our highest achievement to date. We'd gotten the silver that night two contests back. We'd also finished third twice. No, we weren't chopped liver any means. ****** "So, your daddy can dance a little, then," said Mark. "Yes, we know he took lessons," said Nell. Christina just smiled. "Mark," said Flo, "No matter what, I do not want to beat him tonight, him and his girlfriend. He needs to get a little back of what I took from him, what the both of us took from him." "I was thinking the same thing. It'd be little enough for sure. But—maybe—their actually good. I mean..." he said. "Maybe, but we're not taking a chance. We did pretty good in that first one; you know, finishing in the middle of the pack like we did. I'd be happy to be knocked out early this time if you want to know. But, we can't just throw the game here. Otherwise he'd know we were feeling sorry for him, and he'd hurt worse than he has until now: show him we have no respect for him. Know what I mean? Jesus, I sure as hell do not need that," she said. "Mom, you know, dad might appreciate it if you were just to not make an issue of so many things. You're divorced. Divorce always leaves hurt feelings and people in its wake. Just do your best mom. Show dad and Millie at least that much respect," said Christina. "Yeah, mom," echoed Nell. "Girls, you just don't understand," said Flo. "Mom, it's you that don't understand. Our dad is no loser. You didn't want to married to him anymore, and no swipe at you Mark, but he was and is a lot of man. He's got a lot of talent. I know he's going to be just fine tonight, thank you very much. Nell and I are both sure he'll give you and Mark a run for your money," said Nell. "True mom, I know it's true what Nell says," said Christina. Their mother smiled. "You know, girls, your daddy is lucky to have two daughters like you. And, I'm just as lucky as he is. "Okay, we'll give it all we've got tonight. You're right the both of you. Treating him like a sure loser is not right, not even. Mark, we're going to go for it. And, I can bet you my ex is saying the same thing to his woman even as we speak," said Flo. "So, really, that's the way you want to play it," said Millie. "Yes," I said. "Okay, I think you're nuts, but I guess I can understand your reasoning," said Millie. "Ladies and gentleman time to get it on!" said the MC. Everyone there knew the game. They wasted no time hitting the floor to warm up. The band played a medley of different dance tunes, moving from a moderate fox trot to a fairly lively boogie. Then it was money time. There was to be nine dances. Scored by a panel of five judges, two of whom we knew. After each set of three a number of dancers would be eliminated. After the third round of three five finalists would remain. Well, you had to know it, both my ex and her new man were still in the mix after the first round, as were we. I was feeling good. The second set included the samba; I felt good about our chances; I was in a lot better shape than when I'd been married to Flo—a lot better. We made it through, but surprise-surprise, so did Flo and Mark, though they were huffing and puffing. This was getting good. I got a look from Flo as we left the floor for the break: it was clear she was impressed with my skills, and that made my day. We'd all have ten minutes to pee and get our breath back before coming back for the semi-final eliminations: fifteen couples remained in the mix. I noticed Flo and Mark talking animatedly: they were apparently ecstatic about their current placement. And then we were back at it. The rumba, Argentine tango, and the waltz were chosen dances and in that order. Flo looked good, but clearly her partner was almost out of gas. I nodded to Mille as we toured the floor. We put the plan in motion. We moved close in toward Flo and Mark, pushing them for all we were worth; kinda like the team members on the Tour de France creating a suction tunnel for the team leader. Mark somehow groused out a second wind and gave it his all; it was clear he wanted badly to win; Flo was okay too following his lead. Us? Me and my girl? We weren't even breathing hard—but—we faked that we were, that was the plan. The Argentine was harder—much harder, Not the athletic side of it, but the complicated movements. But again, we literally dragged Mark through it; he had a huge grin on his face; he'd done well. He gave me a thumbs up at the end, and I returned it. There was a two minute break before the waltz. The waltz went well. Mark was able to get through some fairly advanced moves. Me and Millie? We just cruised through it mostly basic stuff if well executed and in time. We all waited for the announcement. I held her hand. Thank you, dear heart," I said her. "This was important to me. Maybe it'll lead to something." "I know," said Millie. "I'm pretty sure it will." The awards were awarded. The speeches were short. All in all a good show. The four of them came to our table. "Mikey, you and Millie are really good dancers, said Flo. Sure are," said Mark. The girls stood back smiling. Nell had a look on her face that was part thank you and part knowing. Christina wouldn't even look at me. "Thanks Flo. Yeah we felt good about tonight," I said. Next time we'll be the ones to make the finals." "You know I wouldn't be surprised," she said. "You sure are different anymore. I mean you really are a good dancer, you too Millie." "Ditto that from me," said Mark. We gabbed for a few minutes and then parted. We lagged behind. Christina was the last one of the four to exit and before she did, she looked at us. I read her lips. "Whatever dad," she said. Millie laughed. "You didn't fool the girls, Mike. Not even. They are way to savvy to fall for our little stunt," she said. We gave them the chance to treat us with respect, well, me. Lettin' them have that fifth place statuette was just the right thing. Dontcha think?" I said. "I guess," she said, and then she laughed again. "But, we ain't laying down again. Got it mister?" "Got it, momma. I got it," I said. ****** EPILOG: Over the next year plus there were four more dance contests that Millie and I entered; Flo and Mark were entered in two of those. Yeah, that's right, you guessed it; we, Millie and I, were in the money in all of them. Flo and Mark did garner a fourth in the second of the two we were there to witness; we got the silver in that one. Millie and I still haven't come in first, but it's just a matter of time. Okay, okay. We do not—how shall I say it—actively socialize with Flo and Mark. But, we do attend the girls' dos together, and we did have dinner a couple of times with them without the girls. I guess you could say that we're vaguely friendly. But, the truth is that every once in a while, it hits me again, all of the bad stuff. But, with Millie's help I'm coping. Flo and Mark do respect me, I think. But, really, can on ever be sure about something like that. I'm here to testify that such is a real hard nut. But, what the hey, I could be wrong. Helluva thing.