I hate my life, she thought. It shouldn’t be like this. I don’t have to have barrels of fun every day, but I have to live in a tolerably clean environment and share a bed with someone who doesn’t smell like manure.
After dinner and dishes, while the dishwasher ran, she bathed Jason, read him a story and settled him into bed. When she got back to the kitchen, Joe’s tray, complete with dirty dishes, sat on the counter, ready for her to clean it up. But the dishwasher was full. She rinsed them, left them in the sink and went to her room.
Since those breathless kisses with her old boyfriend, Marty had been determined to be a better wife. She’d kept up with the house and meals, tried very hard not to complain or nag, though she didn’t do so well at that. Today had been long and hard—difficult clients, petty drama among some of the beauticians in the shop, a double booking that had her scrambling with no time for lunch. Her legs ached, her head throbbed, her hands were raw from chemicals. And she’d come home to that disgusting smell.
Here were her options: she could shower off the grime of the day, crawl into bed with one of her romances and a watchable rerun on the bedroom TV, or…or something else.
She showered, fixed her hair, applied her makeup and put on some of those new clothes she’d bought a few weeks ago—the low-slung pants, the tight shirt that showed off her cleavage and the high strappy heels. She sprayed on some perfume.
When she walked into the family room, Joe was nodding off in front of the game. This was so standard. He’d have a big meal, a couple of beers, maybe a couple of bourbons, get all cozy and comfortable in front of the set and by the third quarter he’d be asleep. He wouldn’t shower or shave, wouldn’t sit at the table with them. She couldn’t watch the big TV because whether he was asleep or not, it was his. So this was a preseason game. Fall. Boating would go on hiatus and football would start. There would be a game every Monday, Thursday and Sunday night, and all day on the weekends. Joe was pretty senior at F.D.—he’d bid his schedule to be off for the games so he could either watch them at home wearing the smell du jour or go to the bar. This was going to be her life for the next several months until the Super Bowl—either alone with Jason while Joe worked or coming home to a mess, a smelly husband and an anger that was rising in her to unpredictable proportions.
She thought about leaving the house and just letting Joe wonder, but she couldn’t do that. There had to be a transfer of responsibilities, so she woke him. “Joe,” she said, shaking him. “Joe…”
“Huh,” he roused. “Huh?”
“Joe, I’m going out for a while. Jason’s in bed asleep. You’re in charge.”
“Huh? Where you going, babe?”
“I’m going out for a glass of wine,” she said.
“Oh? With the girls?”
“Yeah,” she said. “With the girls.”
He stroked her arm a little bit; he smiled through his stubble. “You gonna be home kind of early? Because it’s been a while…”
“Sure,” she said, showing him a fake smile. “You just shower and shave and I’ll see you a little later.”
“It’s a deal. I’ll have it up for you,” he said. “I mean, I’ll be waiting up for you.”
“Sure,” she said.
Marty drove around for about a half hour, then she pulled into a strip mall parking lot and called Ryan from her cell phone. “Hi,” she said. “Did I wake you?”
“Course not. What’s up?”
“I’m out,” she said. “I had to get out of the house for a while. Want to meet for a drink?”
“Sure,” he said, and she could hear him stifle a yawn. “Tell me where and when.”
“How about the Red Lion Inn? I can meet you in the bar….”
“Gimme a little time,” he said. “I was just watching the game.”
“And you’d leave the game?” she asked, smiling to herself.
“You’re damn straight. See you in about a half hour.”
That gave her way too much time to think about what she was doing. She got to the Red Lion quickly, found a place at the end of a long bar in the shadows and asked for a glass of wine. There was no way she could rationalize this into something that was okay. It was dead wrong; she shouldn’t be seeing Ryan, even for a drink, even for a talk.
But the right thing to do was even worse. She should tell Joe she was through, that she just couldn’t envision her life like this for another fifty years. It was going to get a lot worse before it got better. If she thought another few years would set them right, put them back in touch with each other, she’d gut it out, keep trying. But the opposite was going to happen. He was going to get worse and she was going to get meaner, and older. If this had to be done, she had to do it now, before she was well into her thirties or forties, bitter, angry and exhausted.
This was the one thing she never thought she’d do—step out on her husband. After all the times it had been done to her, knowing the hurt and feelings of helplessness, she was meeting the same man who had cheated on her so many times! It was sheer lunacy.
Before it was too late, she asked herself, Can’t I live with most of it? There was a list in her mind that she’d been over many times, and she considered it again. She could give up going out for an evening that was meant for them as a couple and not a sporting event. She didn’t mind that Joe wasn’t a good dancer; she sure liked to dance, but she could get by without that. She could get used to the RV and there were things about boating that could be fun. It would be okay to never have a reason to dress up again. The domestic stuff… Maybe if he’d just pick up after himself a little bit, a tiny bit, she could handle the rest—all the cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundry. Because there were good things about Joe. For one thing, he loved her completely, would never look at another woman, and they looked at him plenty. He was an involved father, a good provider. She could deal with the stubble, but he had to be clean. Okay, if there was one day a week that he let it all go to hell—wore the worst old shorts or sweats in the house and reeked like an outhouse with B.O. —one day a week, she thought, I could do that. I just need to feel more valuable than the ball game once in a while, just important enough for a shower.
Because this was wrong, so wrong…
And then she saw Ryan walk in and everything inside her seemed to swell. Look at him, she thought, a smile coming to her lips. He was home in front of the same game her husband was watching, yet he walked in wearing a crisp shirt, tailored pants, clean shaven, his light brown hair groomed, that dimpled grin sparkling. He wasn’t even married or living with a woman, yet he was put together. Neat and tidy. He saw her, walked right over to her, slipped an arm around her and kissed her temple. “You look so hot,” he whispered, sitting down next to her. “What’s going on?”
“I needed to get out,” she said with a smile and a shrug.
“Trouble at home?”
“Nah. I just didn’t have anyone to call—the girls are all tied up,” she lied. “And you know what I thought would be really fun? I haven’t danced in years. Literally years.”
“I could spin you around a little bit. Then you have to tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “Because I don’t want get in the middle of anything complicated. You know?”
“Aw, don’t worry about it. Everything’s fine.”
“You cool with this?” he asked.
“This?”
“Me and you? Just getting together?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Then grab your wine and let’s go downstairs where there’s music. How about that?”
“I’d really like that,” she said, grinning stupidly.
He held her hand while they went down the spiral stairs to the nightclub, the dance floor, and it was like a date. I’m going to do this one time, she thought. I’m going to dance and laugh and not think about things—and then I’ll go home and, by God, I’ll handle it.
And that’s what she did; she danced with Ryan three, four, five times in a row. Then they went to the bar, he o
rdered up a beer and excused himself for a few moments. She asked for an ice water while she waited and when he came back a slow song came on and they hit the dance floor again. He pulled her into his arms, held her close, swayed with her, his big soft hands running up and down her back, over her butt and hips, pulling her against him. Tears sparkled in her eyes. It had been too long since she’d felt like this, like a woman and not a mean, demanding bitch.
He kissed her neck as they danced and said, “Marty, do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“Yeah, I have an idea,” she said. “But I have a very good memory—anyone does that to you.”
“Let’s find someplace quieter,” he said, ignoring the jibe. “More private. What do you say?”
“I can’t, Ryan. I can’t go that far, you know that.”
“Sure you can, or you wouldn’t be here.”
She laughed. “Tempting,” she said. “But no, thanks.”
“What do you have in mind, then?” he asked.
She pulled away a little. “Just a little dancing…”
“But see, now that I have my arms around you, I’m starting to get all those old feelings. And I think you have ’em, too, or you wouldn’t have called me….”
Oh, I have them, all right, she thought. I don’t want this to ever end.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“Your house?” she asked.
“Can’t,” he said. “A guy from work is staying there for a couple of weeks. And besides, it’s a mess. Come on,” he said, and then he took her hand and pulled her along.
He led her into the elevator. “Where are we going?” she asked.
He grabbed her to him, covered her mouth in a searing kiss that took her breath away and said, “Surprise.” He pulled her out of the elevator and down the hall to a hotel room, where he slipped a plastic key card into the lock on the door.
“You got a room?” she asked, floored.
“A room with a hot tub,” he said, grinning.
When he opened the door to a beautiful, large room with a huge bed, she stood in shocked wonder for a second. To her shame, her first thought was that she’d wanted something like this forever. If Joe had done something similar, even once a year since they’d been married, she might’ve been able to get through the rest. But this attractive, clean-smelling, sexy man was not Joe, and she wasn’t supposed to be here. “I just wanted to dance a little,” she said quietly.
In two seconds he had her lying down on the bed and was working at getting his hands under her shirt, his mouth all over her. For a moment, she thought about it. Once, she thought. I could do this once, just to see if there’s a live woman under all this anger….
He pressed himself on top of her—making sure she knew he was erect and ready—while kissing her, fondling her. It had been years, but she hadn’t forgotten an inch of him. “I’m still in love with you, baby,” he whispered against her lips.
“No,” she said. “No, you’re not….”
“I never got over you. And I don’t think you ever got over me, either. I think we’re meant to be together.”
“Maybe,” she said breathlessly. But no one knew better than Marty how much it hurt when someone cheated on you. It had happened to her with this guy a dozen times and it was like a knife. She went into her marriage swearing to herself it would never come to that with her; if her husband ever became not enough, she’d at least end one relationship before starting a new one.
“I can’t do this, Ryan,” she said. “I can’t. I won’t cheat on my husband…”
“Oh, you will. You’re almost there….”
“No,” she said and pushed at him, pushed him off. Tears instantly came to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. She choked on a sob. “I shouldn’t have called you, it was a mistake….”
“What the hell?”
She got up and adjusted her clothing. Tears ran down her cheeks. “I’ll make it up to you,” she said. “I swear, I’ll make this right. But not tonight. I have to clean up the mess at home. Then…”
“What mess? You’re going home to clean house?”
She laughed and cried at the same time, looking at his stunned face as he struggled to sit up on the bed. “In a way,” she said. “Thanks, Ryan. You helped me figure out what I have to do. And when I’m free and clear, I’ll call you. I don’t think it’s going to take that long.”
“Aw, Jesus,” he said, running a hand down to his crotch, giving the poor unloved thing a sympathetic rub. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re not serious.”
“They won’t charge you for the room,” she said, grabbing her purse off the chair. “Just tell them you decided to go home and didn’t use it.”
She got out of the room fast, before she could change her mind. Thinking he might follow her and try to persuade her, she took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, and she took them fast. She got across the lobby at a near jog, then to her car before hearing him, seeing him. She started the car and left the parking lot.
Then she cried. Oh, God, she thought. I never thought I’d even consider that!
Her tears were dry by the time she got home, replaced with a sense of duty. Purpose. She wasn’t going to have that life she almost stepped into—with a husband and child at home and a lover on the side. Oh, she hoped to have a lover—and a glimpse of something promising, maybe—but not until she’d taken care of business.
The house was dark when she let herself in. He’d left on the light over the stove for her. She crept into the bedroom and looked down at him, asleep in their bed. No shower, no shave. Poor Joe, she thought briefly; he could have changed everything by cleaning up for her return. But he didn’t want to change anything.
She went into the master bath and gathered up her things—makeup, hair dryer, fluff and buff essentials. She took them all to the bathroom down the hall and went to the guest room, took off her clothes and crawled in the bed. Sleep didn’t come easy; she tossed and turned and every once in a while a sob escaped her.
She got up in the morning and showered, getting ready for work. When she came out of the shower, he was standing there, frowning. “When did you get home?” he asked unhappily.
“About eleven-thirty,” she said.
“And didn’t sleep in our bed?”
“That’s right,” she said, wrapping the towel around her. “I’m done sleeping in that bed with you. I’m done camping, watching football, going to sports bars, cleaning up after you and getting sick from the smell of your unwashed body. I’ve had it and I’m through.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked angrily.
“And I’m also done talking about it,” she said. “I hoped that if I kept talking, eventually you’d hear me, but it’s useless. You’re deaf. You’re hopeless.” She turned on the hair dryer, drowning him out, and concentrated on her hair.
Julie went with Billy to the doctor, signed the paperwork for the vasectomy and then to the credit counselor. He was a tall, skinny guy with a very sympathetic smile, warm eyes, and she was comfortable with him right away, but she didn’t want to be doing this. She had an epiphany—people avoided getting this kind of assistance because the cure felt worse than the disease. Going over every detail of your private financial life was more invasive and embarrassing than putting your feet in the stirrups.
He had a list of his own he used to compare to theirs, to be sure they hadn’t omitted anything. “Haircuts?” he asked. “Beauty shop?”
“I cut Billy’s hair,” she said. “And the kids’. And my own.”
“Hmm,” he said, checking it off. “What about entertainment? The occasional night out? Pizza? Movie?”
“No,” she said. “The only thing we ever do is get together with family or friends. We potluck—everyone chips in. We might pick up a bottle of cheap wine and a twelve-pack of beer—fifteen bucks, tops. I included it in with groceries. It doesn’t happen often.”
“This is a very low clothing budget
,” he said.
“I get kids’ clothes on sale or sometimes at the thrift shop. I hardly ever buy anything for myself unless it’s a pair of shorts or jeans at Costco, and Billy wears a uniform or old jeans to the shop. That’s about six days a week, so he’s gotten by real cheap.”
“Vet?”
“Hardly ever. Tessie is durable, thank God.”
“Got the phone and Internet down about as low as you can go. Good that you have that—we’re going to talk about that. But the co-pay at the pharmacy and pediatrician is kind of high….”
“I figured on the high side—three kids. One gets something, they all get it. And I figured out a prescription co-pay is sometimes cheaper than over-the-counter stuff.”
“Gifts? Birthdays? Anniversaries? Special occasions?”
“We don’t do a lot of that,” she said. And she felt instant, biting sadness. Her brother and sister-in-law, mom, dad and best friends were given things like cheap stationery when no one wrote letters anymore, bath stuff on sale, a fancy candle, coasters, junk. She and Billy had been exchanging crap the Goodwill might reject for years. She didn’t even have an engagement ring. “We’ve been strapped so long, no one expects too much.” But the families and girlfriends hadn’t cut back on them. They always received very nice if not lavish presents. And they spoiled the kids a little, knowing their parents wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
“Okay, Julie, let’s go through some of the things you might’ve lumped into that grocery budget. You have an idea, offhand?”
“Sure. I’ll try. The occasional gift, something to take to a family or friends’ gatherings—chicken, salad, a bottle of Two Buck Chuck…”