Born that Way

"I'm so glad you're happy, babe," I told her. "Tomorrow we can start talking about wedding plans and . . ."

"No!" Susan said emphatically, "I don't want to wait. No big Hamptons wedding, no engraved invitations, no parties. Tomorrow! Let's go down to City Hall tomorrow and get married tomorrow!

"But your parents," I protested.

"No," she repeated, "I want to do it now. It'll be great, Peter: engaged tonight and married tomorrow. It's just perfect. Don't worry about my parents, they'll get over it."

So that's how on Thursday at noon we came to be at the Manhattan Marriage Bureau. What we learned, of course, is that getting married in New York requires waiting in lines and lots of paperwork, even though they now had computerized kiosks to make the task easier. After completing all the questions and paying our $35, we found out about the mandatory 24-hour waiting period. But this didn't dampen Susan's enthusiasm one bit. "This is even better," she said. "We can get married tomorrow afternoon, and Missy and Briana can come and be my bride's maids."

She had the bit between her teeth now, and there was no stopping her. In truth, I didn't mind at all. I would have been glad to participate in whatever ceremony would make Susan happy, but if she was willing to forego a formal wedding, so much the better. I had no immediate family who would be hurt not to attend my wedding, and I knew my friends would be just as happy to read about the news on Facebook. But I did make a special point of calling Mickey and Beth, and they both promised to come.

Thus on Friday afternoon, having taken a half day off from work, I arrived at the Marriage Bureau dressed in my best suit and tie, with Mickey and Beth along to serve as witnesses. We got there a few minutes early, so I had the pleasure of seeing Susan make her entrance. It was obvious that she was not one to stand on tradition: instead of white she wore a black dress that was sexy and sophisticated, and she had on a large hat that came down over one eye. Briana and Missy flanked her, each wearing identical off-white dresses. How they managed to coordinate their outfits I'll never know, but to me and probably many of the other onlookers, the three of them looked as though they could have been in a music video as easily as a wedding.

The ceremony itself was very brief; after all, the Clerk's office had a schedule to keep. After we had solemnly sworn to forsake all others, I kissed my new bride and the deed was done. I heard a loud "pop" and saw Beth holding a bottle of champagne she'd brought along. I was surprised to see tears in her eyes, but I guess all women cry at weddings, even lesbians.

We had to get out of the way to let the next couple get hitched, so we moved out into the hallway. No one had thought to bring champagne glasses so we all just drank from the bottle in celebration. As the excitement was dying down, Mickey walked in with the keys to the Zip Car he'd picked up for me. We all walked outside to Worth Street where the car was illegally parked, and I helped my new wife inside. As we pulled away from the curb, Susan blithely tossed the bouquet of flowers out the window and into Beth's startled arms. "I guess that's one old superstition that won't come true," I laughed.

Niagara Falls

As I headed west toward the Holland Tunnel, Susan turned in her seat to face me. "Where are we going?" she demanded.

"Just be patient," I told her, "it's another surprise."

I'd already had her pack a bag for a short honeymoon, but I wouldn't tell her where we were going. I was determined to surprise her again, since she liked them so much.

We headed north on I-81 and drove all the way to Syracuse before turning west on I-90. It wasn't until we reached Buffalo that Susan realized where we were going.

"Omigod," she said, bursting into laughter, "we're going to spend our honeymoon at Niagara Falls!"

She'd guessed right. I had felt that the only way I could top the cliché of proposing marriage on top of the Empire State Building would be to honeymoon in the self-styled "honeymoon capital of the world."

Susan loved the idea; she couldn't wait to tell Missy and Briana where we had gone. But she was even more delighted when she learned where we were staying. I had gone on line to search for the perfect spot, and I felt sure I had found it.

When we pulled up under the heart-shaped neon sign that read "Lovers' Rest," she laughed out loud. And when the oily bellman unlocked the door to our room, she could hardly contain herself. It was the honeymoon suite, complete with in-room Jacuzzi and a huge heart-shaped bed covered with pink satin sheets. Later, when she had stripped down to her French-cut panties and dived on top of me in that kitschy bed, she burst out laughing again when I flipped the wall switch and the bed began to rotate and vibrate. "It's perfect," she screamed, "absolutely perfect," just before I made her scream in a completely different way.

Despite having only a long weekend, we had a wonderful honeymoon. We actually got out of that ridiculous bed long enough to see Niagara and Horseshoe Falls, even getting drenched riding on the Maid of the Mist under the spray. Although Niagara Falls is tacky and over-commercialized, the surrounding area up toward Lake Ontario is quite lovely, and we enjoyed driving through the countryside.

Manhattan

We were tired but happy as we made the long trip back to Manhattan. When we got back to the apartment, we left our bags unpacked and tumbled into bed. After a long weekend of honeymoon sex, sleep was the only thing on our minds. "Good night, Mrs. Morrison," I whispered, cradling her head in my arm. "Thank you, baby. What a wonderful surprise," she murmured as she drifted off to sleep.

By the time we awoke the next morning, Missy and Briana had already left for work. I had deliberately arranged to take another day off, not only to rest but also to get my clothes and other possessions moved. As I brought a load into the apartment, it seemed like a good time to broach a potentially tricky subject with Susan. "When are Missy and Briana going to move out?" I asked.

"Why would they want to do that?" she asked.

"Well," I stuttered, "you know, now that we're married, I just assumed that they . . ."

"Oh, no," she said, "I couldn't ask them to leave. Where would they go?"

I had no ready answer for that.

"But wouldn't they be uncomfortable with us living together here?" I asked, groping for a persuasive argument.

"No," she said dismissively, "you and I have been practically living together for months and it hasn't been a problem. Besides, the three of us have been together since we were in college. We can't stop now."

I wasn't very happy with her answer, but I decided to hold my peace. It was clear to me that while Susan loved excitement and surprises, she didn't particularly like change. I felt my best hope was that she'd change her mind over time; either that or we'd eventually move and the problem would take care of itself.

The idea of living with two nubile women in addition to my wife in a New York apartment might seem like an adolescent boy's dream, but the reality was a different story. Basically, the two of them acted as though I weren't there. I don't mean they were rude or hostile, just that they went about their daily lives as though nothing had changed. It wasn't unusual for them to parade through the apartment in their underwear, and although I enjoyed the scenery, they gave no indication of any seductive intent. It was more like I was a new piece of furniture to which they had rapidly become accustomed. We would have cordial conversations over meals; otherwise, I was largely ignored except for some occasional whispering and giggling among the three of them. I noticed that often happened the morning after Susan and I had made noisy love.

I had expected there to be fallout from her parents once they found out what we'd done, but Susan wasn't concerned. I listened as she called them the evening we returned. "Mummy, guess what I did last weekend," she said blandly. It was clear from the half of the conversation I could hear that Mummy and Daddy were not pleased, but Susan wasn't cowed. After half an hour, she hung up the phone, saying, "I love you too, Mummy."

"Well," I asked, "how did they take it?"

"They were upset," she admitted, "but they'll get over it. They can never stay mad at me."

As the weeks and months passed, Susan and I quickly settled into our new lives together. In truth, the new routine wasn't that different from the old one – only our marital status had changed. I continued to make frequent flights to the West Coast, but now my work status had changed. I had been promoted to team leader in the network security group, and I felt pretty good about my career.

I tried to keep in touch with Mickey and Beth, although inevitably I didn't see them as often as before. At least I had been able to help them when I moved out. One of my workmates was in need of an apartment and I steered him to my old place. He wound up moving in a week after I had moved out, so Mickey and Beth weren't hurt financially by my abrupt departure.

If there was any stress in my life, it centered around my desire to keep my bride happy and amused. As you might imagine, it's not easy to keep coming up with new and unexpected experiences. Our heavy work and travel schedules didn't help, and the intervals between surprises inevitably increased. Nevertheless, when I was able to pull one off, Susan took an almost visceral delight in it. My little surprises clearly appealed to her impulsive nature, and the pleasure she took in them encouraged me to keep trying.

We were nearing our one-year anniversary, and I definitely wanted to do something special and unique as part of our celebration, but coming up with something appropriate was proving difficult. I was coming back from the Coast on a red-eye flight, and since I can't sleep on airplanes, I used the time to think about what I could do that would really knock Susan's socks off. The fact that she would be expecting something made it just that much more difficult.

My flight had been delayed due to a massive storm system moving through the central U.S., so I didn't arrive at JFK until the next morning. I was completely beat, so I called the office and told them I was taking the day off.

When I reached the apartment, it was empty; all three of the girls had already left for work. I dropped my bags on the floor and collapsed on the bed. But despite my exhaustion, my internal clock wouldn't let me fall asleep, so I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, my mind still searching for some way to surprise Susan. Suddenly I had an idea. Wanting to check it out, I started to pull my laptop out of my bags when I noticed that Susan had left her personal computer on. Usually, she's scrupulous about shutting it down when she's through using it, but I guess she must have been checking on something this morning before leaving for work and forgotten to do so.

I touched the mouse and the screensaver disappeared to reveal the Google News window. "That's my loyal wife!" I thought. I switched to Google Search, but the search terms I used didn't turn up anything helpful. Without thinking, I clicked the Close command. I suddenly found myself looking at the other window that Susan had left open. I was startled by the familiar logo at the top of the screen: EyeContact. Why would Susan be visiting the EyeContact page, I wondered?

Under the EyeContact banner was a display box that read:

Thank you for renewing your annual membership in EyeContact. We look forward to connecting you to more exciting prospects who match your interests and desires.

I sat there stunned: this couldn't mean what I was thinking. Surely she wasn't still looking for other men!

I quickly opened her Recycle Bin to see what I could find. It was empty; she'd cleaned it out recently, perhaps even this morning.

I went back to her browser and clicked on "Show all downloads." As I'd expected, the screen was clear. If there has been any downloads there, she'd obviously cleared them to the Recycle Bin and then emptied it.

But I knew Google's Chrome browser very well, and I knew hitting "Clear all" doesn't actually delete the downloads. So I went back and opened the Windows Downloads folder – and gasped. It was filled with profile after profile from EyeContact. She'd downloaded dozens of them. I displayed them in date sequence. A quick glance told me there was a new one approximately every two weeks.

I switched to file names view, and the profiles were sorted alphabetically. Sure enough, there was "Morrison" in the M's. I clicked on it and saw the picture Beth had snapped of me almost a year ago.

I returned to the date-sequence view. The earliest profiles went back to before I had met her. To my horror, the most recent one was dated yesterday! I opened it, and a handsome red-headed stranger stared out at me. I started to close it when I noticed that this contact lived in Boston rather than New York. Susan was scheduled to fly to Boston tomorrow!

A part of me kept urging calm. There had to be some innocent answer, some reason why this didn't mean what the other part of me – the part that was sick and in pain – feared was true: that my beautiful bride was dating other men.

I thought for a moment I was going to be physically ill. My stomach rolled and contorted, and if I had actually had to vomit, I would not have been able to get to the bathroom because I had no strength in my legs.

Gradually, however, calm descended on me and my stomach settled. I regained the ability to think, and I began to consider what to do next. In my heart, I knew the answer, but when I confronted Susan, I wanted irrefutable evidence.

The first thing I did was to pull a flash drive from my briefcase and copy all the profiles stored in Susan's Downloads folder; then I transferred them to my own laptop. Next, I put Susan's computer back exactly as it was when I came home. Then I booted up my own computer and used it to research detective agencies. Finally, I straightened up the apartment so there would be no sign that I had been there.

Out on the sidewalk, I made a call to the detective agency I'd found. Yes, they told me, one of their operatives would be glad to meet with me.

When I got to the agency, I was vaguely disappointed. I had halfway expected someplace slightly sleazy and smoke-filled, with detectives with names like Spade and Archer. Instead, the reception area I entered would have been appropriate for a law firm, and the detective who came out to meet me was a well-dressed woman.

Despite her corporate appearance, Ms. Martin's calm, professional demeanor reassured me, and I found myself telling her the whole story. She took copious notes, and when I mentioned the latest profile, she took the flash drive from me and copied the files on it to her own computer. She also copied Susan's profile, which I still had on my laptop.

Finally, she looked up from her notes. "So, Mr. Morrison, what exactly would you like us to find out for you?"

I had already decided. "For right now, all I really need is to know what Susan does in Boston tomorrow night. If my suspicions are right, that will be sufficient. If not, we'll go from there."

She nodded. "Very well, we should be able to have a complete report on her activities for you by tomorrow afternoon."

As I left the agency's offices, I was impressed by their professionalism. I also appreciated the fact that Ms. Martin had neither drawn any conclusions nor tried to palliate my fears. Her approach was entirely business-like; the facts would speak for themselves.

From the lobby of the building, I called Susan, and was grateful when I got her voicemail. "Hey, babe, just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be stuck in Mountain View for a couple of more days. Hope you have a safe trip to Boston; I'll see you Friday afternoon. Love ya." That last lie did not come easily.

Then I made one more call. "Mickey, can I come see you guys?"

I don't know what my face looked like, but when Mickey and Beth saw me, they ushered me to the sofa and Beth put her arm around me in a comforting way. Then it all spewed out: what I'd found, what I feared, and what I'd done about it. Mickey was horrified and disbelieving, but Beth just shook her head. I knew she'd never really taken to Susan, and I guess, in hindsight, she'd been right.

We discussed possibilities and made plans until the two of them had to leave for work. Everything, of course, was contingent on what the detective agency found. But while Mickey still gamely held out hope, Beth had no doubts, and, sadly, neither did I.

It turned out their other roommate was out of town, so I crashed in his bed for the night.

The next day I got up and went to work as usual. It felt odd to walk the old route and ride the same subways after so long a time.

I got a call from Ms. Martin at the detective agency early in the afternoon. She told me I could come pick up their report that afternoon if I wished. I told her I would be there at 3:00 sharp.

As I rode up the elevator that afternoon, I felt waves of conflicting emotions. One moment I felt like a patient headed into surgery. The next moment, I felt the wings of hope on my face, urging me to believe that this was all some sort of stupid misunderstanding on my part. I didn't have long to wait to find out which was correct.

Once I was seated in Ms. Martin's office, she reached into her desk and pulled out a printed report bound in one of those do-it-yourself covers. "Mr. Morrison," she said without preface, "I regret to inform you that your suspicions about your wife were merited. Our Boston operative kept your wife under observation from the time she came down the hotel elevator yesterday morning, throughout her business day, and then back to her hotel after she left the office."

I flipped open the report and saw a photo of Susan in the hotel lobby. She was wearing one of her business suits. The time stamp on the photo read 6:30 p.m.

The detective was still speaking. "She then went up to her room, apparently to freshen up and change clothes. Approximately an hour later she returned to the lobby, where she was met by her companion for the evening."

I turned the page and saw Susan emerging from the elevator in a halter-style dress with a deep v-neck. "That's a lot of cleavage for a business dinner," I thought glumly.

When I turned the next page, I saw her dinner companion. It was the same red-headed man I'd seen in the EyeContact profile. He was kissing her cheek in a friendly greeting.

"The operative followed them to a restaurant, where they proceeded to have several drinks and then dinner," Ms. Martin continued. "From there they went to a nightclub, where they had more drinks and danced for several hours."

The photo on the next page was dark; it had clearly been taken in low-light conditions. Nevertheless, there was no question that it was Susan and "Red" dancing, and they had been caught in the middle of what looked to be a passionate kiss. I also noted with interest that Red's right hand had slipped down to cup Susan's ass.

"From there," Ms. Martin calmly recounted, "they caught a cab and returned to the hotel, where they proceeded to Susan's room."

The photo showed a portion of the interior of an elevator. Although the door was in the process of closing, you could still see enough of the couple inside to recognize them. They were locked in an embrace, and I noticed that Red's hand was well up under Susan's skirt. The time stamp read 11:45 p.m.

"The next morning," the detective said, "the lady's gentleman companion came down the elevator alone and caught a cab about 7:30 a.m. Mrs. Morrison descended approximately an hour later. She checked out of the hotel and took a cab back to the office where she was working."