Born that Way

There in the last photo was Susan, dressed smartly in a woman's business suit, being helped into a cab by the hotel doorman.

I looked up at the detective. "So you have no actual proof of what went on in the room than night?" I asked.

She looked at me calmly. "We are very thorough, Mr. Morrison. For a substantial gratuity, which you'll find itemized on your bill, we were able to gain access to Mrs. Morrison's room while she was at work yesterday. We planted a motion-sensitive spy camera in the room. After Mrs. Morrison checked out this morning, we were able to retrieve it. You'll find a CD-ROM with a recording of the evening's activities in the back of your folder."

I flipped to the end of the booklet and started to pull the CD out of its sleeve, when Ms. Martin reached across the table and stayed my hand. "Mr. Morrison, we strongly advise our clients not to view a video like this one. You already know what transpired in the room; the video won't really add to your knowledge. What it will do is create emotionally charged images that you won't be able to forget. Please believe me: this is one of those cases when a little knowledge is better than a lot."

I removed my hand. I'd have to make up my mind whether or not to watch the video later, but I felt the truth of what she was saying. How much more did I want to suffer?

We sat there silently for a minute, then she spoke up. "Mr. Morrison, after receiving confirmation of a spouse's infidelity, a surprisingly large percentage of our clients is willing to consider reconciliation. Do you think you might be so inclined?"

I didn't have to think about my response. "There's no way. In the first place, we haven't even been married a year and she's already sleeping with other people. How can I forgive that? In the second place, this wasn't some spur-of-the-moment affair. She picked this guy out and contacted him. And worst of all, I know good and well he wasn't the only one. There were thirty-seven profiles on her computer, and I'll bet she fucked every one of them!"

Ms. Martin wasn't fazed by my outburst. "I understand, Mr. Morrison. If I were in your shoes, I'd feel exactly the same way. But I had to ask." She paused. "Now let me ask another question: do you have legal representation?"

"No," I shook my head, "I guess I hadn't gotten that far yet." The truth was I didn't even know any lawyers.

"In that case, I would be happy to refer you to an attorney with whom we've worked many times in the past. He's honest and reasonable. He also has the advantage of being located in the same building."

I figured the detective agency must get some kind of commission or finder's fee for every client they steered to the attorney, but, frankly, I didn't care. I was on a mission, now, and I would have to hurry. "Can you get me in to see him today?" I asked.

I returned to Brooklyn that evening with my personalized folder stuffed in an envelope, along with the business card of my new attorney. When I got to the apartment, Mickey had already left, but Beth had the night off, so she got to hear all the details. When it came to the CD, I was still ambivalent about whether or not to watch it. Beth surprised me: she volunteered to preview it and then advise me. She disappeared into her room with it, closing the door behind her.

I had washed up and changed into jeans and a t-shirt when she reappeared. I was startled to see tears in her eyes. She put her arm around me and said quietly, "Don't watch it. I can tell how badly you're hurting now – this will only make it worse."

I decided to take her advice. There was no question what I was going to do; now my only concern was to focus on the details and get them right. I didn't want any distractions.

When Mickey got back, the three of us talked some more about what I had in mind. I would have to rely on the two of them to get everything organized and attend to the details, but they were already talking about it like it was their plan and I was just along for the ride. They seemed to take what had happened to me very personally, and that really touched me.

Columbus Circle

I went back to Susan's apartment on Friday afternoon, my bags in my hand as though I'd just gotten in from the airport. When I unlocked the door and walked in, the three miss-keteers were huddled on the couch, whispering and giggling. As I came into the room, Susan jumped up, ran across the room and jumped into my arms while Briana and Missy snickered.

"Ooh, baby, I've missed you so badly," Susan exclaimed, kissing me wildly. Then she pulled back and eyed me slyly. "You do know that this weekend is our anniversary?" she asked.

"How could I forget?" I replied calmly. "And before you ask, yes, I do have a surprise for you. But you're just going to have to wait until Sunday to get it."

Susan was so excited she actually shivered. "Ooh, I can't wait that long. C'mon, baby, at least give me a little hint. What have you got planned?"

"Nope," I said firmly, "my lips are sealed. You'll just have to wait."

The rest of the evening went normally, except that Susan kept whispering to Missy and Briana as we relaxed in front of the television. I guessed either they were speculating about what Sunday would bring or they were drawing comparisons between Red and me. Either way, I ignored them.

When it was time for bed, Susan wanted sex, as she usually did when one of us got back from one of our trips. But, given what I'd learned about her activities while she was in Boston, I decided I would never touch her again. So when she began to rub herself against me, I firmly pushed her away.

"No, baby, not tonight. And not tomorrow night either. It's all part of the surprise – you're just going to have to be celibate until Sunday."

I think she was shocked by this turn of events, and I knew she was frustrated because she was always really horny when I got back from California. Yet the desire for her big surprise pulled equally at her emotions, and she eventually lay back and fell into a restless sleep.

Saturday was an equally frustrating day for her. She must have charged Missy and Briana with getting some clue from me because whenever Susan wasn't around, one or the other of them kept volunteering to help with the surprise any way they could. But I calmly told them that everything was well in hand and no help was needed. (I devoutly hoped that that was accurate.) Then I piqued their excitement further by informing them that they were going to be a part of the surprise. That set them to chattering wildly, and when Susan returned, they couldn't wait to tell her this new development. She in turn could hardly sit still, acting like a little girl on Christmas eve.

That night I did nothing to give them any hint or any satisfaction. Rather than going out, I suggested we order take-out, and, unwilling to leave me alone lest I make some arrangements while they were gone, they reluctantly stayed with me.

As we got ready for bed, I sensed that the conflict within Susan was reaching a breaking point. She was still eagerly anticipating her surprise, but she was also growing increasingly horny. She did her best to tempt me, but I stayed firm. "Come on, Susan, you know you don't want to spoil the surprise." That stopped her, and she sulkily rolled over and went to sleep.

The next morning I knew I had to reveal something or I would have faced a rebellion, so over breakfast I gave them some instructions. I told them we had to leave the apartment at 12:30 sharp. No special clothing was required, no bags needed to be packed, and we would all depart in a single cab. Having revealed these preliminaries, I left them in fervent speculation while I went downstairs and out on the street to make a quick call to Mickey. He assured me that everything was in order. "Just be there on time, and relax and enjoy the show," he told me.

At 12:30 I herded the three of them downstairs. The doorman found us a cab and I slipped him a $50 tip. He was startled, but I liked the guy and I figured I would likely never see him again. The three girls slid into the back seat of the cab and I sat up front with the driver. This allowed me to lean over and tell him our destination without the three Miss-keteers being able to hear me. That set off an uproar that I ignored with a smile.

Even with the traffic, we actually got to our destination a few minutes early. The girls got out of the cab in some confusion as they stared up at the imposing figure of Christopher Columbus towering over them. "Why are we at Columbus Circle?" Briana asked. "Is this where the surprise happens?"

With a smile on my face, I led them over to the base of the statue and had them sit on the wide steps on one side. Columbus Circle was filled with tourists and passersby, some taking photos, some strolling around enjoying the sunny weather. Just then, a man stepped up, reached behind the three girls and placed a large object on the ledge above them. I recognized it: it was as an old-fashioned boom-box.

He flicked a switch. Suddenly, a rhythmic drum beat began to issue from the speakers, startling the girls and attracting the attention of many of the people in the Circle and beyond. As the beat continued, a number of passersby began to cluster in a circle that stretched all the way around the monument. I didn't hear the cue, but they suddenly began to dance as one, performing a modified version of the Rockettes' famous Radio City Music Hall routine.

Then the drum line transitioned into the hit song, "The One that Got Away." I saw Susan clap her hands in excitement. Katy Perry was one of her favorite pop artists, and this was Katy's current top ten hit.

As the dancers pranced, strutted and kicked in front of Susan, Missy and Briana, Katy's sweet voice sang out the chorus:

In another life

I would be your girl

We'd keep all our promises

Be us against the world

The tourists were clapping and cheering as the apparently spontaneous entertainment continued. The three girls sat there grinning and laughing. I knew that Susan was loving this; she always enjoyed being the center of attention.

As the dancers continued to dance around the statue, one of them emerged from the side behind the girls bearing a poster with a picture of a man, which he displayed, first to the crowd, then to the girls. "Was this the one that got away?" the crowd wondered. Then another dancer emerged with a poster with another male face, followed by another and then another.

Susan was laughing uproariously at the performance, but Missy suddenly frowned and leaned over to yell into Briana's ear, pointing at the pictures being whirled before them. I guess she had just recognized one of the "dates" whom Susan had enjoyed. In fact, all the faces held aloft by the dancers were the profile pictures of Susan's EyeContact selections.

The next poster to emerge caused even more consternation from Susan's friends. Briana began to tug and yell at Susan, gesturing to get her to look at this latest poster more carefully. Suddenly, Susan's head snapped up as she understood what Briana was saying. She began to shift around to try to get a better view of all the photo blow-ups that the dancers were carrying. Her agitation increased dramatically when she spotted the final one: it was the red-headed man she had spent the night with in Boston earlier that week.

As the song transitioned into the bridge, the line of dancers continued to dance and high kick, each holding their posters aloft for all to see.

All this money can't buy me a time machine (no-oh)

Can't replace you with a million rings (no-oh)

I shoulda told you what you meant to me (whoa-oh)

Cause now I pay the price

At that moment, all the dancers threw their posters down on the ground. Then from behind the statue emerged Mickey and Beth, jointly holding a single poster with pictures of Susan and me. When they reached a point directly in front of the three seated girls, whose faces had turned pale even in the bright afternoon sunlight, Katy Perry's voice swelled into the chorus again:

In another life

I would make you stay

So I don't have to say

You were the one that got away

The one that got away

As the chorus repeated, Mickey and Beth each tugged on their side of the poster, and it suddenly split in two, separating my image from Susan's. Then they dropped each half to the ground.

The crowd was confused. The dancers had stopped and the performance appeared to be over, yet the boombox was still playing the last line of the chorus, seemingly in an endless loop. And instead of the laughter they expected to see from the three girls who were clearly the focus of the performance, they were crying and holding each other in obvious distress. A couple of people started to clap, but they were hushed by others around them who wanted to see what else might transpire.

As the last line of the song continued to loop, the circle of dancers parted and I walked forward briskly. I went directly up to Susan, and as she looked up at me with tears streaming down her face, I handed her a copy of my petition for divorce. "Susan Devereaux Morrison, you have been served!" I shouted.

As I turned to walk away, Susan leapt up to try to follow, but Mickey turned and scowled at her, and his six-foot-five frame intimidated her so that she sank back sobbing on the steps as her girlfriends tried to comfort her.

But the last word belonged to Beth. She marched up to Susan with a fierce look on her face. "You bitch," she yelled. "You had a good man, but now, thank God, he's the one who got away!" The music died, the dancers melted into the crowd, and the rest of the watching passersby milled about in embarrassed silence. The only sound was the crying from the three girls sitting humiliated at Christopher Columbus's feet.

Mickey led Beth and me to the cab he had waiting, and the three of us headed off to Brooklyn. I'd been tempted to go back and ask Susan how she liked her surprise, but I decided that would be superfluous.

Susan tried repeatedly to get in touch with me, but I steadfastly refused to respond to her calls, emails or texts. I waited until her high-powered attorney contacted mine, then I gave him my conditions: the only time I was willing to talk to Susan was when we met to negotiate our property settlement. After a lot of back and forth, we finally settled on a date and time for the confrontation.

The session was held in the offices of Susan's law firm. My attorney didn't like that, but then he was pretty unhappy with me by that time anyway. I didn't care.

We were ushered into a conference room that had to be the size of Susan's apartment. I think my attorney was intimidated, but I knew I was in control, so it didn't bother me. The one thing that did surprise me was seeing Walter, Susan's father, seated beside his daughter. "I should have guessed that," I thought. "I'll bet he's had to bail her out of more than one jam."

When we were all seated, I looked across the table at the lot of them. Susan's attorney was looking at me like I was some strange bug he'd found under a microscope. Walter was glaring at me; he couldn't stand it that I'd hurt his precious daughter. As for Susan, she didn't want to look at me at all.

It was Susan's attorney who finally spoke. "Well, Mr. Morrison, we've all assembled here today at your insistence to discuss a property settlement in conjunction with the dissolution of this marriage. We have a proposal to put forth that I think you'll find is more than fair; perhaps we should start with that."

My attorney cleared his throat and started to speak, but I cut him off. "Forget it," I said forcefully.

Walter Devereaux leaned over to his daughter and attempted to whisper in her ear, but I could hear him clearly. "I told you to get him to sign a pre-nup!"

Her attorney was embarrassed at this exchange, and tried to redirect our attention to the proposed settlement. Again, I was having none of it.

"Drop it," I said to him. I turned to Walter. "Mr. Devereaux, I married your daughter for love, not money. I doubt that a man like you can understand that, but my father raised me to believe that a man's honor is a lot more important than his wealth."

I then turned back to Susan's attorney. "There are two things I want as part of the settlement, and once you agree to them, I'll be very happy to conclude these negotiations with no other demands or conditions."

I could hear Walter muttering unhappily under his breath, "Here it comes, here it comes."

"The first thing I want is for Susan to return my grandmother's engagement ring and wedding ring. They are symbols of a commitment to share our lives together, forsaking all others, and we all know now that Susan did not and never intended to make such a commitment."

I watched as Susan rested her head on the table and began to weep.

"The second thing I want is thirty minutes alone with Susan, during which time she promises to answer my questions truthfully. Give me those two things and I'll relinquish any and all other claims upon this marriage."

My attorney sat shaking his head. He had done his homework on Devereaux and probably had a pretty good handle on the old man's net worth. He'd been sorely disappointed when he found out he wouldn't be able to get a percentage of it.

But Walter Devereaux was suddenly animated. "Will you put that in writing, young man?" he asked eagerly.

I looked at him coldly. "In my family, a man's word is his bond. But for the sake of your family, I'll sign such an agreement."

My sarcasm flew over his head. He was too busy instructing the family attorney to get a contract prepared to that effect. Then he turned to Susan. "Give them to him," he commanded. "Give him the damn rings and we'll be out of this mess." As she continued to weep, he patted her arm. "Hell, baby, if they mean that much to you, Mother and I will buy you new ones."

As she began tugging at the old-fashioned rings, I stood up. "Since we all seem to be in agreement here, I'd like everyone except Susan to leave the room. My thirty minutes can begin as soon as you're gone."

Walter looked at his daughter uncertainly, but then he stood up and grabbed the family attorney by the arm to pull him toward the door. "Get that agreement written up immediately. I want his signature on it before he leaves the room."

Everyone else cleared out, and Susan and I were left facing each other across the table. I sat there for a moment, uncertain where to start. I'd thought about this ever since that day at Columbus Circle, but now I didn't know where to begin. Finally I decided just to plunge ahead.

"When did it start, Susan?" I asked in a low, flat voice.

She looked up; she knew what I meant. "I guess it never really stopped," she said. "EyeContact kept sending me profiles of all those hot guys and I guess I just wanted to sample them all."

"But I thought you loved me," I said.

"I did, Peter, I truly did. But when we were dating and you went out of town, I'd get bored and want to party. It didn't seem wrong to try out some alternatives, especially since I was sure you'd never find out."

"So why did you agree to marry me if you felt that way?"

"Oh, Peter, it was so perfect the way you took me up to the Empire State Building and proposed on the roof. I'd never had a man who cared about me that way. It was all so exciting that I just decided to go for it. I knew Mummy and Daddy would be livid, but that kind of added to the thrill."

I paused to digest that. "So how long was it after our honeymoon before you started up again with EyeContact?"

"Baby, I promised myself I'd stay faithful to you after we got married. But then you had to go back to the West Coast, and it was boring sitting around with nothing to do. Then I got a new batch of profiles from EyeContact, and it reminded me how thrilling it was to be out with a new man for the first time. I really missed that, baby, but I didn't do anything because I didn't want to hurt you."