73 comments/ 44910 views/ 33 favorites An Unfaithful Wife: Brad's Story By: carvohi An introduction and a couple admonitions: By way of introduction this is one of several stories, maybe three or four, involving infidelity without my concomitant effort to reconcile the spouses. Something else will happen. No mayhem, just something else. Also, it's in two parts, but it's all here, no sequels. A couple admonitions are in order. First, the sex here is minimal. Second, anything that smacks of the political is just for the purposes of this story so don't get in an uproar. Third, if you're a skimmer stop now. You'll only be wasting your time. Last, if you've read anything I've written before you'll very quickly recognize who the heroine is. I don't care. It's my story and I know who I like. You don't like her, then write your own story. Well, here goes... ***** "An Unfaithful Wife: Brad's Story" By Carvohi Prologue: My oldest son called me the other day. He said he needed to talk about a problem he was having. He's been married just under three years and he's afraid his wife's been fooling around. Since I've had some experience in these matters he's confident I can help him. I think I can. To be sure this hasn't been something I've thought about in a long time, but he's my son and his mother and I had our problems. It wasn't recent; in fact I had to ponder way back to the 1990's to come up with anything. I'm proud of my boy. I'm proud of all my kids. If he needs his dad's advice, I'll try to share what I have. Think I'll just sit down and try to go back; kind of refresh my memory. Maybe I'll jot down some notes. I want to be ready for him when he gets here. Now let's see... ~~v~~ Part One: First Love. I'd met the woman who I'd thought was my one true love back in high school when I was in the tenth grade. Her name was Carol Manning, and believe me, she was the cat's meow, long blond hair, not big but a well-proportioned body, and brilliantly flashing blue eyes. She was easily one of the most popular girls in our class. We were the same age. Every guy was after her. Me? The names Brad Wernicke I was kind of skinny, a little on the tall side, gangly I guess. She wasn't interested in me at all. Couldn't blame her; I was shy, socially backward with girls, not especially athletic, and with no distinctive artistic or musical attributes. The first time I saw her was at her sixteenth birthday party. Her boyfriend at the time was a high school dropout two years older than her, a real jerk named Vernon Smithers. Everyone's met the type; worked on cars all the time so his fingernails were always grimy with body putty, lifted weights till his head looked too small for his torso, greasy black hair, and spent most of his spare time on the 'corner' glaring and snarling at the younger guys. He always had the same line. If anyone dared glance in his direction he'd glower and say, "What're you looking at?" He had just two outstanding advantages; he had a part-time job, and he had a car. I hated him. So she was at her party prancing around in this corduroy jumper with suspenders; white knee high stockings that made her legs look more naked than they really were, low heeled shoes that accentuated fantastic calves, jiggling tits, hair waving all about, and just smiling at everyone. I swear she looked like a goddess. She saw me. I was way across the room. I hadn't even been invited. I'd come with another guy who knew her. Man, she didn't know me from Adam, but she looked right at me, she smiled, and just sort of glided through the crowd and got right in front of me. She put her hands up around the back of my neck and touched me so softly with her fingertips that my whole body shivered, then she leaned forward and kissed the living shit right of out me. With that done, she stepped back, giggled, took the thumb and index finger of her right hand and gently pinched my cheek. Last, without a single word she did a one-eighty and walked back to her boyfriend. I saw him. If he'd had a gun I would've been dead. Oh yeah, I had an enemy, but I didn't care. I'd fallen desperately and hopelessly in love. She must have known too because she ever so slightly tilted her head and looked back at me before she turned back again to her boyfriend. She must have said something about me, because he glanced in my direction and hurled over one of those, 'I'm so much better than you' predatory smiles. Carol reminded me of that girl in the movie "Foot Loose"; she might not have been to bed yet, but she sure must have been kissed a lot. She was way out of my league. I recalled Mrs. Warheime, my English teacher, she was a Dickens fanatic. It was like Carol was Estella and I was Pip; she was the unassailable beauty, and I was the dirty little boy. It didn't matter. I didn't care. I had to have her. I'd do whatever it took, but I had to make her mine. Well, one by one, guy by guy, I slowly managed to out maneuver all my competitors. By the time we reached graduation there was just she and I. Oh, and it helped a lot that her parents made her stop seeing Vernon. Graduation came; we got our diplomas, and took off for the beach. We were old enough, and together we finished what we'd started. I was a virgin. I thought she was too. We made mad passionate love in the back seat of my rusty old Ford. Of course we used a rubber. I ejaculated too soon, and though she pretended, I knew she hadn't gotten anything out of it. I made up for it later. We had all summer. She surprised me a little; she knew all about fellatio and cunnilingus. One of the really great things about my old car was that it had a bench seat in the front. We'd go riding around on these old country roads. I'd turn the radio up real loud, and she'd lay down with her head on my lap. At first she'd just softly blow her warm breath on my crotch. I'd start to get hard, and she'd pull down the zipper to my jeans or slacks, pull out my Johnson, and kiss and nibble on it while we rode around. Then I'd pull off on the side somewhere, push the seat back as far as it would go, slide over to the middle, she'd straddle me, and we'd go at it. Afterward we'd sit up side by side and talk about the future. The whole time we talked she'd use her fingers to scoop up the juice and loose semen from my penis and put it in her mouth. Sometimes she'd go back down on me and lick me clean with her tongue. She said she liked the taste of my semen. Talk about glory days. September arrived and it was college for me. I wanted to become a school teacher; a math teacher. Carol wanted to be a nurse, an RN. I went to the local commuter's college, and she got a room in one of the dormitories at one of the big downtown hospitals. For the next four years we had our ups and downs. In addition to classes I had to work, and Carol was close to twenty miles away so we didn't get to see each other very often. I think I also got a few doses of maturity from my home life. First, my dad collapsed at his work one day, massive brain hemorrhage. They had him in intensive care for days all wrapped in ice. They had to open him up and scoop out some of his brain tissue. That left a dent in his head. The company he worked for gave him a small severance package, and then let him go leaving us all high and dry. Dad was a cripple, and spent the rest of his life sitting in a chair. Sometimes mom had to help him with his food; he'd get mad and garble out a bunch of barely understandable cuss words, or he'd just sit there with tears falling down his cheeks. He could have sued, but he wasn't the litigious type. He was proud too, so he never put in for any kind of government assistance. Mom had to go to work, and I had to help out with my siblings. I had; and still have a younger brother and younger sister. Without my dad's strong hand little brother, Todd, went through a spell of trouble. He missed time from school and his grades went right down the toilet. Mom had to go to the police station once to get him out. Little sister, her name was, is, Susan, she was a real heartache for a couple years. I guess she was a lot like Carol; Susan got too pretty and too popular too soon and that attracted all the wrong guys. Mom and I had a tough time keeping her on the straight and narrow. I had to surreptitiously follow her around in my car a couple times to make sure she stayed away from one guy who was way too old for her. Todd and I caught up with him one night, we had a long talk, and the guy agreed to stay away. It was a good thing too, because Todd liked to fight. Poor dad just helplessly watched. It was pathetic; Dad had been such a powerful man, a real role model. He'd kept us all together. I did the best I could, but I was never the man he'd been. It was mom who broke my heart. Dad was a fixture in a chair and mom still had 'her needs'. There was a small tavern a couple blocks from our home, and mom started sneaking down there so she could 'hook up' every now and then. Sometimes she'd get home late from her job and tell us it was because of 'mandatory overtime'. Other times she'd get home her regular time, clean up, put on something pretty, slip out the back door and be gone for two or three hours. Dad knew but never said anything. He was a proud man, and I knew what she did really hurt him. I think in the end it helped kill him. Dad died while I was still in college. His death affected mom in the most profound ways. Even though he was a cripple and even if she was doing awful things she really loved him. After he died she cried all the time, she never did anything but work, she stopped eating, she lost all interest in everything, and she just moped around our house. I suppose her guilt and loss nearly killed her. It's true 'you really don't know what you've got till it's gone'. Back to Carol and me; we broke up a couple times, but managed to get things back after what was usually a brief interlude. I never thought about it back then, but looking back now I realized our 'separations' were most likely times when she thought she'd found someone else to 'play' with. I never did anything like that, she was all I ever wanted, but I had my suspicions about her. I mean I cared. I just lied; it did bother me. I was being faithful. I wanted her to stay loyal, but we weren't married, we didn't get engaged until the spring of my senior year, and I couldn't prove anything anyway. About the proof thing; I guess I went a little over the top one time. I didn't 'own' her, I couldn't 'make' her be faithful, but once in my junior year my suspicions got the better of me. We were 'on the outs', and I was pretty sure she was up to something. I kept calling trying to talk to her, trying to make up, but her nursing school girlfriends all intercepted my calls. They'd yell at me and lecture me about how I wasn't being fair, and that though Carol really loved me, she needed 'time away' sometimes. They'd tell me she was there in the dorm, but she was so sad and unhappy that all she did was cry and confess to them how mean I'd been to her. I'd never been mean to her. I mean it; I'd always been a little insecure when it came to Carol, it was tough being a mortal in love with a goddess. I started driving down to the city to see what, if anything, was going on. I didn't accomplish a thing. Carol had a car, but she kept it in one of those big 'private' garages. The only way I could've found out if her car was gone would have been to park my car and walk through all the levels. The only other thing I could do was sit outside the hospital in my car, or drive around it, to see if I could catch her. The only thing I managed to do was drive myself crazy. But I loved her so much! Gee it was awful; dad was home trapped in a chair watching mom go in and out while I was driving around not knowing anything. I wondered sometimes who had it worse. I think dad did. ~~v~~ I finally graduated and got a job teaching high school math, and Carol got something at a pediatric clinic not far from where we grew up. We got married, had a nice wedding, and we were finally on our way. A few months in and Carol got pregnant. Our first was a boy so we named him after me. A couple years after that a little girl showed up. We named her Bridget after Carol's mom. With two kids in the family Carol decided, rather than get her tubes tied, she'd go on the pill. Me, not anxious to get snipped, I went along. It never occurred to me back then her decision not do her tubes might someday lead to trouble. Life went on, and it was good. We bought a small 'starter' home in a quiet older neighborhood. Since we had her mom to pick up the slack Carol never missed much time from work with the pregnancies or child care. Carol stayed at the clinic and got into supervision, while I got a couple promotions, eventually to principal, and transferred to a newer larger high school. The whole time we were always close. By that I mean, no long out of state meetings or seminars. Every now and then I'd be called away for a few days and once or twice Carol got a chance to add to her education by over-nighting at one of the big hospitals in the city. What I mean was 'I was there and she was there' so there was never any of the old, 'you're never around' or 'we hardly see each other' excuses. Just the same trouble came. Long about the time junior was in the sixth grade I guess I sort of knew something just wasn't quite right. It wasn't sexual, and I could've sworn our 'regular' conviviality hadn't changed much, but I was sure something just wasn't what it was supposed to be. What was it that sort of raised my eyebrows? I guess it was the little things, things I'd seen with my mom. Carol always liked nice things, but I thought maybe the hem lines were a little shorter, the blouses looked a little flimsier, and maybe the heels were a little higher. I never said anything. Another thing sort of nagged at me. We'd always talked. We'd talk about the kids, about vacations, and about our long-term plans. Well the kids, vacations, the bills, household needs were still on the table, but we stopped talking about the long-term. I mean Carol was still looking days and weeks ahead, but anything a year or two years away just stopped getting any playing time. Sounded stupid I guess, but we'd done some camping. We'd gone from a tent to a pop-up, and for a while we'd been investigating trailers. Carol had been talking about saving vacation and comp. time for a long drive across the country. For a while she seemed excited, and then it just stopped. I would still bring up things like the Grand Canyon and Monument Valley, but she'd stopped participating. I'd mention something, maybe ask her a couple questions, and she'd kind of stammer and dodge around it. She'd like nervously nod, agree, and then come back with a remark like, 'yes, but the thing of it is...' or, 'of course yes, but right now is not a good...' When she talked like that I noticed she'd never look at me. She wasn't looking ahead like I was; maybe she had 'other plans'. This was before the widespread use of affordable cell phones, GPS devices, or laptops, and the internet was still in its infancy so modern notions of electronic surveillance were still just a little over the horizon, at least as far as I was concerned. There weren't going to be any private investigators either. For one, for me the idea of 'spying' on my wife was anathema and second Carol managed the money. Does that set off any alarms? It should. Carol managed the money. We had a checking account but I never used it. We had one credit card we both used, and besides, most things were still being done with cash. Oh I used the card for gas and trips to the lumberyard, but food and other items were done with greenbacks. Carol did the shopping, bought the kids clothes, and handled the bills. Every now and then I'd ask, "We all right?" And Carol would always answer, "We're good." It wasn't the money, not at first that set off the real clarion calls. I was a principal and that meant things like PTA, and sports. Fall meant Friday night football and after-school soccer and hockey. Winter was basketball and volleyball, and spring time meant baseball, lacrosse, and track. Of course, I couldn't get to every game, but I was expected to be around for most of them, and that did leave Carol home alone with just the kids every now and then. I had to rethink this a little. There were a few occasions when I had to be away. There were times for Carol too. For me there were the "Middle States Commission on Secondary Schools" and also the "Southern Regional Educational Board". These two organizations were chartered to establish temporary committees that made periodic visits to participating high schools. Being a principal it meant me having to occasionally participate as a specialist, sometimes in administration, sometimes in mathematics, in visitations to various schools. These visits could take as long as a whole week away from home. Carol, being a supervisor, also had to make occasional trips away from home. I never believed any of these trips turned into anything. Maybe I was wrong. I'll never know. Still, Carol was home alone with the kids, or was she? Two doors down was Jenny McFurdle; sixteen and ripe and ready to babysit. I suspect something started in the fall of junior's sixth grade year. Bridget was in the fourth grade, and I had Friday night football. Carol was good about what she did; no clever was more the operative word. She had her colleagues, and I had my football. It was too easy. I might hang around school and stay for a game, or come home, grab a bite, change clothes and take off. Sometimes, if the weather permitted I'd even take the kids. Believe me taking the kids to a football game was great for them. They got to hang out with older kids, and there was always a bunch of junior or senior girls more than willing to butter up the principal by playing nursemaid. Either way, Jenny McFurdle or high school girls it was good for me, good for our kids, and 'good' for Carol, just for her in another way. ~~v~~ I didn't want to drag this out with my son so I planned to lay things out as clearly as I could. I remember I found out there seemed to be two kinds of affairs, one was the sneaky little tryst, and the second the ill-famed 'exit' affair. The 'crapper' in all this was it was possible for a dirty little 'tryst' to evolve, or devolve, into something worse. Here's what really sucked; I was essentially a 'school teacher', while Carol worked around doctors, it made a difference. Doctors for the most part are wonderful people. They help people. Teachers do too, but doctors save lives. There's clearly something that could complicate things. Both teachers and doctors are all pretty well educated, but doctors, as I've already said deal in life and death, or at the very least sometimes serious medical concerns, and they're always looked upon with great deference. Teachers get a degree of respect too, but not like doctors. This difference can be disastrous; especially if someone's family is on the line. Backing up a bit; my dad had worked in a warehouse, and Carol's was a plumber. In short we both came from working class backgrounds. Doctors in our families were held in high regard, very high regard. As a professional I worked with kids. Carol's colleagues were doctors. I was dazzled by the purity of innocent young minds. Carol was dazzled by self-assured 'god-like' creatures in white who were seldom, if ever, wrong. Regrettably for me and my family one of these dazzling creatures just happened to be a doctor who specialized in the treatment of children's cancer. For sure, no math teacher turned principal, regardless of the complexity of the quadratic equation, could ever compete with the surgeon who saved the lives of little boys and girls suffering from ailments like leukemia. An Unfaithful Wife: Brad's Story I never believed Carol was the calculating type. I guess I was wrong; in fact I was decidedly and indubitably wrong. I met Dr. Maynard Gilmore once; it was at one of Carol's professional activities. I liked him. I thought he was an affable trustworthy kind of man. He wasn't married, divorced I later heard, but that meant nothing at the time. After a dozen years of marriage and two kids I trusted my wife. I believed in her. I was a fool. It wasn't like I seriously suspected any kind of infidelity, emotional or otherwise. I didn't look around for any signs. They were there. I did notice, but honest, I never suspected a thing. It turned out to be Carol's stupidity, or more precisely her carelessness, that upended everything. So I was hitting the football circuit, either with or without the kids every Friday. Then came winter and it was basketball. Carol had been good, but something was going on. She'd gotten through football season without a giving herself away, but basketball games were seldom on Friday's. Oh there was a Friday or two, but most of the time they were late afternoon matches held on Thursdays. Somewhere along the way I kind of figured something out because Carol wasn't keeping to any kind of reliable schedule. Carol kept her Friday's, but now often as not she was in and out on other nights. I was often home when she got in from her 'brief' visits with her colleagues. I recall now there'd been a kid. A senior, who had to retake his Health class, his make-up was scheduled for two days a week, Mondays and Wednesday. Normally health was a three day offering. This kid got the idea he could skip Monday, and the teacher might think he only needed one hour. Well the kid started skipping Mondays. Then he got careless, he started showing up on Mondays and skipping Wednesday. The teacher got suspicious, checked the September records, and the kid got called on it. He paid with some detention and three days of Health the rest of the year. Believe me, on the night when the shit finally hit the fan it wasn't the alcohol on her breath, it wasn't the indifference in her attitude about our long-term plans, it wasn't the blind rush to get by the kids and me when she came home from that night with her friends, it was her attire. Carol had always been something of a 'clothes horse'. She always had to have the latest styles, the nicest blouses, the prettiest dresses. Her hair always had to have that special coif, her nails always 'just so, and her makeup just that certain special look. So why that night had she come home so 'campy'? Why was her makeup so skewed? Why was her hair so mussed? And what were those stains on her skirt and blouse? I let it go the first time or two. Honest, I never noticed, or pretended to never notice at first, but pretty soon I got my signals right. Finally I asked her, "Carol what's with you on these nights you get home late?" She looked at me kind of dumbfounded. I could tell she was drunk. She replied, "What do you mean?" I said, "Look at yourself; what have you been doing? Where've you been? You look like you've been in a mud wrestling contest." She responded, "Just with some friends." Irritated, impatient, I asked, "Really? Like who?" She told me. She rattled off several names, including a couple doctors, one was Maynard Gilmore. I asked her, "Well pardon me Carol, but you don't look right. What gives?" Like I said she was pretty drunk, not falling down, but certainly off her oats. Everyone knows alcohol impacts a person's self-control. They become more unguarded, less inhibited. She went over the line. She stood there in our living room. The kids were in bed, and she said, "For Christ's sake Brad. You know. I know you know." I said, "No Carol I don't know," and in all honesty I didn't. That's when she dropped the bomb, "Me and Dr. Gilmore. You know." I did then. I felt like someone had just walked on my grave. I had to hear more, "No Carol. What do you mean you and Dr. Gilmore?" That's when she started to cry. She sat down and said, "I'm sorry Brad." My first reaction was this couldn't be happening. But it was. It was like in Dickens; an hour before it had been 'the best of times' but not now... She sobbed a few times then said, "Dr. Gilmore and I. Well we. Brad I'm sorry. We're in love." My world had just come to an end. I was locked in the lunette. The blade was descending. My head was falling in the basket. It's funny the things that fly in a person's brain at times like that, I remembered once reading after being beheaded a person retained some semblance of consciousness for up to seven seconds. Thinking back, that had been my seven seconds; imagine, seven seconds from life to something else. I had no idea what I was supposed to say or do. Something just kind of washed over me, it was like this powerful electric current, a brief overwhelming surge, and then she, I went dead. I knew. I just knew. It. The thing that had been us, the 'we' was over. I said, 'You're leaving me." There I'd said it. Just like that. I'd said it, and I knew it was true. No preliminaries, no build up, no mystery, no nothing, one minute I was married, had a wife, had a family and a home, and the next...nothing, the abyss. Looking back now I know it was a lot worse. I was a total wreck at the time, that night. I remember I never cried, or begged, or pleaded, but I remember how I felt, and it was bad, awful, but not as awful as it was going to get. Carol sat there, hair a mess, blouse wrinkled, breath horrid, and what were certainly semen stains on her skirt, and she said, "Yes Brad I guess I am." I remembered she tried the 'let's show some sympathy' shtick. Christ I'd seen teachers play the same game with kids year after year. It was old hat to me. She sat there, she regained some composure, just some I say considering she was still pretty high. She said, "Brad I love you. I've always loved you. I'm just not 'in love' with you anymore." That got me. What an old joke. Me, our marriage, it had become a cliche. I stopped being stunned and got thoroughly angry. No it wasn't anger; it was rage! It was blind fury! It was time to strike back! I remember I looked around the room and the first thing I saw was her curio cabinet. Well that had to go. As I got up and started for her precious little collection of reliquaries I shouted, "You fucking cunt bitch!" I got to the cabinet just ahead of her. She knew what I had in mind. She was just a microsecond too late. I grabbed one of the side doors and yanked as hard as I could. It was a fragile antique, an heirloom; the damn door came right off. My hands were inside grasping at her 'Precious Moments', 'the Waterford Candlesticks', the 'Swarovski Vase', her grandmother's old knick-knacks. They were all flying everywhere. I broke every god damn thing I could reach, and I did it with malice, profound malice. Carol was screaming and crying, pleading with me to stop, but I'd just begun. It took just a few seconds to destroy the curio, then it was on to the television, the stereo, and the pictures. I smashed everything! I espied the dining room wall cabinet, the good china, the husband and wife dolls under the plastic dome, the special gifts, the crystal wine glasses. I charged. She followed. I pushed her away, and destroyed everything. On the wall I saw the 'picture'. Everybody has one; the picture of the happy bride and groom all decked out in their marital attire; that went across my knee. I tore the picture out and ripped it to shreds. I threw it like it was confetti. I shouted, "Hurrah! It's over!" Then it was off to the kitchen, and the fucking trinkets she had all over the god damn kitchen, her little children's objects. I was no longer angry. I felt nothing. I didn't care. Everything had to go. I picked up one kitchen chair after another and smashed them against everything I could reach. I lunged down, pulled out the daily china and started throwing it in all directions. I broke off the goose neck faucet. She was following me; crying, begging. She didn't get it. Every little doo-dah, every piece of furniture, every dish, every glass, they were her? I opened the refrigerator and everything inside was soon outside. The milk, the iced tea, the left-over chicken, the half and half; it all went everywhere. I'd become a mad man! Then it all stopped. Standing in the portal between the kitchen and the dining room were my two kids. They looked terrified. Bridget said something. I think she said, "Daddy." I collapsed on the last unbroken kitchen chair and started to bawl, I mean I blubbered like a little baby. Carol hustled the kids back to bed and came back downstairs to the kitchen. I was still crying, but not her. No, Carol didn't cry. Carol was in full skank mode. She stood across from me and in cold blood said, "You should leave. Pack a suitcase and just get out." I looked at her, then around the house and at the wreckage. She was right. I knew if I stayed there another minute my kids would be without a mother and I'd be in prison. I went upstairs and packed an overnight bag. I was surprised at how controlled I was. All the disbelief, the denials, the tragedy had simply disappeared. I just needed to be gone. I moved out; first a motel room, then a small apartment near our house. I was sad, sure. I was desperately unhappy. But I was a man. I'd get beyond this. My dad had put up with a lot more. I could do it because I was my father's son. ~~v~~ As I thought to tell these things to my son, what with close to twenty years separating that night from the present I wondered, even now, how I could've been so calm in the days that followed. My son told me how scared he and Bridget were that night. He said Bridget cried for days, but I already knew all that. Carol didn't wait, and she didn't pull any punches. Her great confession occurred on a Thursday night. She got a restraining order. She found a lawyer, a mean one. I was served the following Friday. At least, the very least, she didn't try to have me served at work. I thought how to explain to my son the several nightmarish weeks that followed. I got a lawyer. Carol had hers and we all met at her lawyer's office. Though the animosity at that meeting was poisonous we still managed to work out a pretty fair settlement. First the animosity: I still wanted to know why, but she didn't have an answer. She said she'd fallen 'out of love' with me, and she needed to 'move on'. I asked her why she hadn't come to me. I said maybe if she had we might have worked something out. I told she'd been the only woman I'd ever had, and I couldn't imagine myself ever being with another. That's when she got me; she got me right between the eyes. I can't remember her exact words, but their impact played on my soul for years. She said I no longer met her needs. She'd outgrown me. She told me I was boring, life with me had become tedious; I was a pathetic nobody going nowhere. She said she needed filet mignon and I was hamburger. She really poured it on. She told me she couldn't believe I was still a virgin when we got together at the beach. She told me her boyfriend, Vernon Smithers, had already 'got her', and even later while we were dating. Jesus! Vernon Smithers? She told me she'd only taken up with me because her parents had made her break up with Vernon. She said she sort of liked me but never really loved me; that I was just somebody her parents thought was appropriate. She said I was comfortable to be with, but there'd never been any passion, not for her. That hurt, that really hurt. It was like Carol was reading my mind; she just sat there and smirked. Carol said she couldn't believe the whole time we were in school, me in college and her in nursing training, that I hadn't done anything. I told her I hadn't. She told me she'd made it with four or five guys every year all through nursing school. I told her I didn't believe her, but she really had me on that. She started naming the men, the dates, and the places. They all roughly seemed to coincide with the times when we'd had our brief falling outs. She told me I'd been a fool all the way down the line. I admit it I was totally crushed, and watching her tell it I could see she was enjoying every minute of it. I supposed the revelation of just what kind of person she was turned out to be far worse for me than the actual separation and divorce. Still I sensed there was something else going on with Carol that day in the lawyer's office. Her comments were all too pat, like they were all rehearsed. Everything she said was probably true, but I remember thinking, even while she was having her rant that it could all be 'pay back' for the house and the curio, but it could be more too. A couple time she'd take a breath and in the interim she'd say, 'you need somebody better', 'you need someone you can count on'. Yeah, I remember thinking there was more than just anger about the house, there was guilt and not just guilt about her affair with the doctor. I was just too upset at the time to see it. Carol had her demons. But to think; all those years, all the things we'd done, the years of scrimping and saving, the talks we'd had, the dreams I thought we'd shared. None of it had meant anything to her. I had been a stop gap, a thing to be used. Coming to that meeting I thought I hated her. By the time she finished I knew better. I looked across the table at her and I felt nothing. She was dead to me. I think she saw it in my eyes. The settlement: I was pleasantly surprised at the settlement, at least at first. Carol wanted the house, and she got it. We'd just refinanced our mortgage. We'd put more money down, and we'd gotten the interest and payments down pretty low. Carol evinced a wry grin about the house; she'd set it all up that way just before her confession. She'd planned it that way. Carol had always handled the money. I'd never thought to investigate or confirm what she made. Was I surprised! She actually earned just slightly less than me. Our savings we divided evenly, but what did it matter; most had already gone into the house. She was generous with child support, and she asked for no alimony. Of course there was a price. I could've gone after her and Gilmore at work. Interesting supposition; I could have cost them their jobs. Gilmore would've suffered a small setback, but his skills were such that he would have quickly recovered. Carol on the other hand would have been scorched. But if she were scorched I would have been too. I thought to let her keep her job. Let her keep her new lover. I just wanted to get out. She was good with the kids too. She could've really hurt me with them. With my devastation of the house and the fact that I'd pushed her she had all the ammunition she needed to destroy me. She had the proof. I knew that; she'd mailed me pictures of what I'd done. Yeah, when it came to the kids something of the 'old Carol', the Carol I'd loved came through. I'd get every other weekend, and one school night each week. She promised not to set up roadblocks. I figured things would be tough at first because I'd need a decent place to stay, but I thought I'd eventually work that out. There was just one more wrinkle, and it turned out to be a big one. I'd pretty much ransacked the house. Carol wanted repayment for all the personal losses she'd incurred. I agreed, and it turned out to be substantial. I agreed to it because I'd caused the physical damage. Last, she agreed to split the legal fees. Excepting personal property and our cars all other assets, such as they were, got divided evenly. Our Denouement: I remembered at the close of the meeting I reached my hands across the table toward Carol. She pulled her hands back. I said, "I want to thank you." She looked confused. She pulled back even further. She kind of looked at me in a quizzical kind of way like maybe she'd forgotten something, like were there assets somewhere she missed? She said, "What for?" Then I said, "Carol our marriage may have been a fraud and maybe everything I thought we'd built is just ashes in the wind but I still want to thank you." She looked surprised. I went on, "I want to thank you for twenty of the happiest years of my life. I want to thank you for all the dreams I thought we once shared. I want to thank you for our two wonderful children." I stopped and took a sip of water. I wasn't thinking about the kids and how we'd always be connected by them. No I thought this might be the last time I ever saw her. I concluded, "I know we're done. Our lives together are dead, but I still have my memories. Carol I'll always remember you. I loved you once and I'll always remember you as that beautiful girl who'd once made all my dreams come true." She started to cry. I had to get up and leave. I walked away a broken man. My wife, the woman I'd loved with all my heart had turned out to be anything but the perfect person I'd imagined. All my illusions were gone. Then it got even worse. ~~v~~ I got to see the kids, and she sure didn't interfere. What she did do was begin to fill the kids with all kinds of venom. Now I'd been stupid, out of control, and I'd torn the house apart so that was always there. Carol proceeded to turn every good thing we'd ever done into something bad. She soaked them with half-truths and quite often outright lies. They were young, only eleven and nine; it was easy for them to believe the things she said. It didn't take long, and soon they started finding reasons to not see me. It didn't make sense. Carol was still angry, and I couldn't fathom why; she'd gotten everything she'd wanted. I not only lost my wife and my family; I was losing my kids too. Then a bunch of small mercies started to take shape. Number one I needed a decent place to stay. I had no money with which to buy anything, but my mom had been beside me all the way. What did I know? Mom and dad had been life-long savers. Mom talked to my brother and sister and got them to understand and even help a little. Between the three of them they came up with a small down payment, and I was able to buy a second floor condominium. It had three bedrooms, one full bathroom equipped with a hot tub, and a second with a toilet and basin. Plus the condo was part of larger configuration that came with a sport's gym and a substantial outdoor pool. No it wasn't a real house, but it was damn close. My kids might find ways to keep from seeing me, but when they did it wouldn't be to some tacky rundown apartment. Then came small mercy number two, and it was Carol who inadvertently supplied it. Just a few months after our divorce she married Dr. Gilmore. Good news? Yes! Good for me and the kids. Suddenly good old mommy had a new life; she got too busy to care for her kids. My kids started to see another side of mommy none of us knew was there, but they started to see a few new choices too. They could get regular visits from Jenny Mcfurdle, and soon from other babysitters when Carol and her new man settled on a new home, or they could opt for more time with their dastardly father. They took dastardly dad and his pool and his sports gym and of course regular visits to dad's high school. The kids were young, but they weren't dumb. Carol, through her indifference was hurting them. I saw the pain. I was only too ready to wipe their tears away. Then Carol gifted me with an even better, no, the best blessing. She got pregnant. So at last I thought I knew why she'd avoided getting her tubes tied. All along she'd been looking ahead, looking to trade up. Did I believe that? I wasn't sure but Dr. Gilmore wanted kids of his own, and Carol was only too happy to oblige. So within two years of our divorce I was seeing my kids more than Carol was, and since they'd bought a new house the kids needed to change schools. Guess what? Yes! We flipped on the kids. Carol took the alternating weekends and one day a week. I got my kids all the rest of the time! My life was changing, and for the better! An Unfaithful Wife: Brad's Story ~~v~~ There were other things that weren't so good. One was work. I was good, real good for a long time. No one knew what was happening. Oh sure, they noticed on the rare occasions when Carol would have made an appearance that she was absent, but no one, well almost no one knew the truth. Of course it didn't hold up. I'd become a ghost at work; the truth about my failed marriage leaked out. What did I expect? My kids were with me at all the games. The students at my school were nosy. Yeah Mr. Wernicke's wife had left him for some doctor. It got like a Robert Louis Stevenson novel; Dr. Jekyll disappeared and Mr. Hyde moved in, and with that came the commensurate loss of respect. Certainly another bad thing, one very bad thing was the question of my self-esteem. Carol had not only broken my heart; she'd successfully lied to me and withheld her true nature from me for nearly twenty years. I wondered if that was really true. It was hard to accept, but still I guess it was true, or I was just too blind, or just too stupid. I had to get even; make up for my stupidity. Oh I wasn't going to get even with Carol; that ship had sailed. But I had to prove something. I mean was I a man, really a man? There was only one thing to do, and for those first six months or so I did it. I hit every tavern, every bar, and every night spot in the region. I found women, I dated them, I fucked them, and I left them. I hit on every woman I saw. I made a complete ass of myself. Oh I got a lot of pussy, and I never caught anything, but it didn't mean anything. The more I scored the more unhappy I became. For sure I hit a lot of night spots that were frequented by Carol's friends. I never planned it; it just happened. By then I'd redone my whole wardrobe and bought a new car. I was in the gym or at the pool all the time. I'd trimmed down and muscled up. Sooner or later it had to happen; some of Carol's nurse friends saw me out with a big breasted blond. They saw me doing things I'd seldom done with Carol; things like dancing and partying. Word got back to Carol. Oh she never called, and I never saw her when I was out or anything; the kids brought me the news. Carol was furious! I wondered; why was she furious? Why should she even bring it up to the kids? I mean, what was her problem? Hadn't she won? Hadn't she gotten what she wanted? These were just more questions for which there were no answers. Part Two: Salvation comes with red hair and freckles. I guess I was killing myself, and I know it showed up at work. How did I know it showed up at work? I knew because it took another woman to reveal it to me. ~~v~~ I had to admit I'd always noticed Ms. Fitzgerald. She had the 'look'. She stood about 5'2", dark reddish brown hair, freckles, skin like buttermilk, green eyes, and she behaved like the classic 'Dorothy' right out of "The Wizard of Oz". Well she sure looked different from Carol. And I mean almost everybody, including me, liked her. That everybody included the kids at school; well the kids didn't just like her, they loved her, they were wild about her. Not everybody liked her though. She had her detractors. I wondered sometimes if a few of the nastier teacher's distaste for her didn't have something to do with jealousy. Silly thought; of course it did. On another level an objective look at her was to see a woman more flat chested than most of the youngest girls, about as curvy as a two by four, and with a voice that sounded like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. Just the same nearly all the boys got starry eyed when she walked by, and the girls, well the girls were in and out of her classroom like yellow jackets. Me, I left her alone. She taught history, to me one of the most boring subjects in the curriculum, but she made it seem interesting. She supervised the school store, and she ran an after-school music program where she taught banjo to some of the worst slackers in the school. ~~v~~ I recall how my first post-divorce interaction with Ms. Fitzgerald came about. I was at my desk in my office with the door open. I did that a lot. People generally were afraid of me; not afraid as in I'd hit them, but afraid because I was the principal and I could fuck with schedules and such, not that I really ever would. So Carol had left me, and I guess I got to be something of a miserable hard ass at work. But I had an excuse, I was in pain. There I was at my desk, feeling proud, powerful, and admittedly insecure when tiny little skinny assed flat chested Sheena Fitzgerald passed by my door. She looked in, and she must have seen or sensed something. She stopped, she turned, and she came in. Closing the door behind her she walked toward my desk. I didn't realize it yet, but my life was about to change again. Ms. Fitzgerald came in, sat down, and started to talk. "Brad," she said, "I can see you're troubled. I want to help." What was that? I was her boss, her principal, and she used my first name! I replied, "Ms. Fitzgerald," emphasizing the Ms., "I'm just fine. Now is there anything I can do for you?" She smiled at me. Then she started in on one of the more interesting litanies I'd ever heard, "Mr. Wernicke, Brad," she said, "I'm almost thirty-two years old. I'm not one of the prettiest girls around, and I have the sex appeal of a slug. I have a five year old daughter with a deadbeat dad, but I know I can help." I thought, 'pretty good warm up.' After all I was basically a teacher, and getting the old 'whine and moan, you don't know how bad it's been for me at home' has always been pretty standard fare from kids who wanted something. I tried to stop her but she wouldn't let me. She was too busy throwing strikes, she said, "I can see. Brad you're stuck. You're in a hole and don't know how to get out. Believe me I've been there..." I stood up, moved around from behind my desk, and started toward the door. Holding out my right arm as if to herd her out of the office I said, "See here Ms. Fitzgerald..." She wasn't about to stop. I should've known better, I'd seen her in action with her students. She was the original 'energizer bunny'. She started to move into the arc of my outstretched arm, "Mr. Wernicke everyone knows what happened. Everyone else is sorry, but I'm not. I've decided you need my help. I've seen your kids. They're a couple of cute little munchkins and..." Jesus! She was scaring me! I dropped my arm and retreated a step. Undeterred she continued to move in on me. I thought I saw a chink though; she reflexively put the index finger of her right hand to her lips. I knew the sign; it was either a subtle sexual move or an unconscious sign of indecisiveness. Yeah, I got it; a blatant sexual signal or subliminal message of uncertainty, either way I was about to reclaim the advantage. Before she got out another word I stopped, stood stiffly, and said, "Ms. Fitzgerald your personal...," I could smell her perfume, and she kept smiling. I tried to shut off my olfactory system, "family history is of no...," She was wearing one of her customary, self-regulating uniforms, a sexless heavy tweed business suit. I tried to keep my eyes focused on her face; she kept batting her eyes. I sort of tried to finish my sentence, "importance to me except...," This close not even the heavy tweed of that bulky coat could conceal her delicate and exquisitely feminine features. This was nerve wracking. I might have to write her up for this, I tried to finish, "how they might..." She put her tiny hand to my chest and gently pushed. 'Christ,' I thought, 'she had such small hands, those petite little wrists and that clear nail gloss!' I leaned back against the front of my desk. With a quiet vehemence I tried to reassert my position, "Ms. Fitzgerald this is..." She placed her fingers to my lips. Not hers! Mine! I thought, 'Great Caesar's ghost; such temerity, how impudent!' I put my hands on her shoulders. Big mistake! Such tiny, soft shoulders! I was covered in perspiration under my sports coat. I knew I was blushing. I said, "Ms. Fitzgerald! Stop! Please!" She stopped. She took one small, very delicate, almost intimate, step back. "Starting tomorrow," she said, "I'm putting you at the top of my list. You'll see. I want you to be my friend, my best friend. I mean to have you that way." She reached up and pretended to pick some imaginary piece of lint from the lapel of my sports coat. She beamed up at me; it was the sweetest most adorable smile, pearly white teeth peeked through almost irresistibly kissable lips. Then she stepped back, uncertainty replaced confidence. "Tomorrow," she said, at last she turned and left my office. 'Wow,' I thought, 'where did that come from?' ~~v~~ It took me several seconds to recover my aplomb, but recover I did. What had I just experienced? It was obvious; it was one of three things. First, she sincerely believed she could become a friend. Second she was responding to some teacher bet, some dare, or third, she was a wanton, a whore, and she saw me as another conquest. I concluded it was either door number two or three. I knew what I had to do. She had to leave. I had to get her the hell out of my school! I walked around and sat back at my desk. Dr. De' Shields, Mrs. Ariana De' Shields was my supervisor. I picked up the phone. I'd call Ariana and arrange to have Ms. Fitzgerald transferred. She was just a history teacher; history teachers were a dime a dozen, she'd be gone in less than a week. I called and got Mrs. De' Shields secretary. She advised me Dr. De' Shields was out of the office, she was tending to a problem at another school. 'Shit', I thought, I had an idea where she was. They were having problems at Westwood High. She'd intimated just a few days ago on the phone changes were imminent at Westwood. On the QT she mentioned transfers were coming. Westwood was a toilet, I knew their principal and he was an incompetent, half the staff there was incompetent. I reflected on school system policy. All school systems did it. Principals, and I was one of them, never went to the wall to fire a teacher, it was just too damn difficult. There were just too many variables; what with race, sex, age, seniority, unions, politicians, relatives of politicians, coaching jobs. We just transferred them over and over. Eventually these 'lemons', it was called 'the dance of the lemons', all found themselves at the same school. At the time Westwood was the 'lemon hole'. Ariana had all but offered me the post. No way! Absolutely no way was I leaving Oak Crest, my school, for Westwood. If I talked to Ariana about Sheena she might just as readily move me as Sheena. I didn't want to go there, and I sure couldn't let them send Sheena to a place like that either. Why the lazy wolves there would tear her to shreds! Besides if I managed to get Ms. Fitzgerald moved I might end up with some loser. I thanked Dr. De' Shields secretary and told her my call had been strictly social. I'd get back later. I told her to not even bother tell her I called. Putting down the phone I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd stupidly forgotten every public school teachers and administrators 'prime directive'; 'competent people were always expected to be able to handle their problems without crying for help'. I'd have to handle my problem myself. ~~v~~ The next day 'Ms. Typically Tweed Business Suits Sheena Fitzgerald' came in dressed in a pale green blouse of the thinnest softest, 'most seductive', fabric imaginable. The color matched the emerald in her eyes perfectly. The dark green and black miniskirt, the black nylons, and black spiked heels got the expected reaction, not just from me, but from every single person in the school. Oh yeah, I got it. Ms. Fitzgerald was a whore on the make. Women; they were all the same. Every time I turned around she was in or near the main office, 'my home ground'. It was patently obvious to me what she was up to, and I had to admit she had me at a disadvantage. Worse, at the end of the day as I was stepping to my car to leave she accosted me and insisted I help her carry some boxes to her car. When I did and was finished she stood on tip toes and touched me on the cheek. I immediately thought of Carol. Sheena told me she hoped to meet with me Friday afternoon after school. She said, she'd be at the Denny's near our school. She said she'd be waiting outside. I told her she was mistaken to think I'd be there. I told her I could lose my job. She told me I could only lose my job if she complained, and that was never going to happen. She told me I needed someone, and she thought she could help. I told her she was crazy. She only smiled. That had been on a Wednesday. By hiding in my office I got through Thursday and Friday without any direct contact, but it wasn't because she hadn't tried. I sneaked a peek out every now and then. I had to admit, as skinny as she was, she was most decidedly pretty, a tasty little morsel; nothing like my ex-wife. Well it was wintertime. Friday was a cold blustery day. I was sure Ms. Fitzgerald wouldn't be foolish enough to think she could stand outside on a cold parking lot and think I'd come. Just the same, only out of curiosity I decide to drive by. She was there. She looked cold. This was ridiculous. I pulled in the lot, got out of my car intent on giving her a stiff lecture while I walked her to her car. I got out, walked up, and started to say, "Ms. Fitzgerald..." She smiled, waved, and started toward me. Oh foolish me! I'd stupidly parked so that my car was on the opposite side of the restaurant's front door. To get her to her car we'd have to meet someplace at that damn front door. She reached me, took my arm, and started to herd me toward the door, she laughingly said, "You look like a 'Grand Slam' to me." The 'Grand slam' was my favorite Denny's menu item. I grumbled, "I can't stay long, maybe just a coffee." By then she had her arm locked in the crook of my elbow, "We'll see," she said. School 'affairs' have gone on since the first school opened in Colonial Massachusetts, but they've almost always been conducted with at least a modicum of discretion. Over the years I'd caught a few. I recalled once I'd gone into the English department's book-room to obtain a copy of their tenth grade course of study. Upon entering I found one of our young female teachers on her knees in the process of delightedly taking my English department head's penis in her mouth. I remembered I'd expelled a firm ahem; they'd looked up, saw me, broke apart, quietly straightened their attire, and disappeared out the door. Nothing was ever said. I wondered, 'Was that what Sheena was after,' some tawdry affair? Yeah probably; I couldn't imagine anything else. Sheena and I sat at a table opposite each other at Denny's. I warned her, "This is just a 'one off'. I only stopped because I couldn't let you stand outside in the cold." Her eyes fluttered, I thought, 'Who was she kidding.' She said, "No you wouldn't, that's because you're a gentleman," she shifted in her seat and went on, "You know I've had the biggest crush on you ever since you came to Oak Crest. My husband had abandoned me and our daughter just weeks before you came. He crushed me in the divorce. I don't mean the money; it was the way he treated me, the things he said. I saw you with your children. You were so wonderful. You were so happy. I'm so sorry, but I could tell almost to the day when your wife left you. I don't know the details, but I do know what happened." She reached across the table and took my hand, "Please let me help." If anything, Sheena wasn't being discreet; she was announcing her intentions openly and honestly. I had my doubts; maybe she wasn't playing the strumpet. Just the same I felt like I needed to set her straight, "Ms. Fitzgerald I appreciate your interest...your empathy, but I want to warn you I don't see you as a sexual person." She rocked back and laughed, "My god I hope not. No one else ever has or will. No, I just want us to be friends, we're already kindred spirits. I've already been through it. We can swap stories. I know I can help." I rocked back then. First, I knew and saw my 'asexual' comment hurt. Second, I knew she was lying; half the men and most of the boys at school wanted her. Then third I wondered if I wanted her 'help'. I decided, 'no' I didn't, but I did want to keep seeing her. It occurred to me, I liked her, and not as a woman, not as some potential sexual conquest, but as a person, just a person. I corrected my comment, "I didn't mean I didn't think you're pretty. You're very pretty. In any other circumstance I'd certainly be interested, but we're colleagues. I have a school to manage. Yes, I think we can be friends, but let's be professionals too." She smiled and nodded, "Let's set up a 'play date'. I can bring my girl, you bring your kids, and we can talk." I noticed she had really long eyelashes and the way she had her hair pulled back I saw she had on earrings shaped in a semicircle with I guessed tiny emeralds in them. She had small round pierced ears with tiny ear lobes. A velvety wisp of reddish hair seemed have drifted down to cover a little of her left eye. I felt like I needed to reach over and push it back so I could see her better, but I didn't. I said, "OK, pick a day and time." Sheena looked to the ceiling then at me, "Not this weekend. How about next Saturday? You decide what and where." I said, "No you decide." She said, "No, you're the man, you decide." I hadn't heard anything like that in years. I tried hard to keep my chest from puffing out too much, "All right. Next Saturday. I'll let you know the where and what next week." Together we stood up, shook hands, and I walked her out to her car. She owned a VW; a far cry from Carol's preferences. We shook hands again at her car. I helped her in, stood aside as she started up and pulled away. I watched her as she drove off the lot. As soon as she pulled away I started to have second thoughts. I checked my watch. I had to hurry to get home before my kids. Later that night after I'd put the kids in bed I very stupidly got out some old pictures of Carol and me. When she left she'd taken no pictures of me, only a few of our kids and she'd left me with our wedding album. I don't know why I did it, but I looked through the old pictures. It was so sad. I don't know why, but I cried. I knew I'd have to cut things off with Ms. Fitzgerald before anything developed. ~~v~~ The very next Monday I was on morning hall duty when Ms. Fitzgerald came in from the lot to get her morning mail and homeroom roll book. I guess the expression on my face gave me away; she saw me and withered. Her bright cheery face turned an ashen grey. I chickened out. I covered my face with a smile and walked straight toward her, "Good morning," teachers and students were all about. I made no pretense at discretion. Loudly and deliberately I proclaimed, "There's a skating rink a few blocks from my condo. We could take the kids skating, and afterward have lunch at my place." Teachers, students, and staff were walking by. They heard every word, but they pretended not to. I knew by the end of the day everybody in the building would know Ms. Fitzgerald and I were keeping company. Ms. Fitzgerald looked uncertain. I was sure my first face had disturbed her, now she just didn't know. She replied, "I never learned to ice skate and my baby..." I very deliberately reached out and touched her hand, "Outstanding! I can be your teacher." At last she really smiled, but I could still tell she wasn't quite sure, she replied, "All right. Let's do it." Coincidentally it was the first week of the month. Most principals used that first Monday for faculty meetings. I preferred the first Tuesday; Monday's were bad enough as it was. The next day, that Tuesday, when we met in the cafeteria I sort of surreptitiously nodded to the table nearest me when Sheena came in. She took the hint and sat up front. I was determined not to hide anything. People would gossip anyway. I wanted everyone to know this was about friendship; it wasn't some dirty affair.