February Sucks: Same Old Me (3of4)

"Um. Where do you get all this stuff, L.W?"

"Ah. I'm the product of an old-fashioned liberal arts education. And I have too much time on my hands, so I do tend to wax eloquent, I admit. But you haven't heard the part that's the most apropos of your situation."

"Okay. What's that?"

"The name 'Tristan' means 'Sadness,' or 'Sorrowful,' and I've seldom seen anyone as sad as you've been, lately. Tristan fell in love with a woman who'd been claimed by a powerful King, and he's merely been keeping her warm until she gets to him. But Yseult loves Tristan, too, even though she yields to the King's claim upon her, in accordance with her bond and the King's due. The royal mating is impure because of the love between Tristan and Yseult, just as their own 'tryst' was ruined by Yseult's destiny. There's no good result for any of them. But the really ironic part? Ask me the name of the King of Cornwall. Go ahead. Ask."

"Okay. What's the King's name?"

"Mark. It's King Mark of Cornwall. With a K, rather than a C, though. Sorry. It just fits a little too perfectly, doesn't it? He's exercised his power and privilege in the totally 'Chivalrous' manner of laying claim to whatever he wants, but you're the sad soul who did the footwork to actually go get her, who got to know her, and legitimately loved her first."

I stewed over that for a minute.

"Turns out there's a bit more to it than that, L.W. It seems the Asshole has some kind of power-based fetish about stealing married women and deliberately fucking up their marriages. That's from the staff at the dance club. He's apparently got a reputation for it that I did not know about. But, get this: Linda DID know about it. The whole reason she and her friends chose that club was because Asshole uses it as his hunting grounds. They were actually HOPING to get picked. Linda was ready to run away with him before we even walked in the door."

"You don't say? So King Mark's claim preexisted their meeting? The plot thickens."

"I suppose our Yseult always believed she'd belong to a prince if one ever showed up to claim her. She just settled for me until she found one at the Royal Ball."

"Ah, yes, her Cinderella complex. Very good. You're getting the hang of this."

"If only it helped." I held my head in my hands. "You were right, by the way. About her not being sorry. She was completely remorseless. She gave no indication that she regrets her actions, or even that she thought she'd done anything wrong. She's still convinced that the entire problem is that I'm unable to accept it."

"As I suspected. Well, it's only been a week. We're barely into the ninety-day waiting period. A lot could happen between now and then. Perhaps someone or something will come along that might shift her perspective. Maybe yours, as well."

"Maybe. But in Susan's office, it was like talking to a brick wall. She was..." I searched for an appropriately florid word, "ah... intransigent. And everything I've learned since then has only made everything seem worse."

"There's an old folktale about a traveling merchant who offended a king, or perhaps he was accused of some crime or other. He was sentenced to death, but he was allowed to plead for his life. He said 'Your majesty, it would be a mistake to end my life. I can perform wonders for you and for your realm. If you will allow me access to your stables and keep me as your prisoner for a year, I can teach one of your horses to sing.' The king was skeptical, but intrigued, and figured 'Why Not? If what he says is possible, I've got to see it for myself. If he's spouting nonsense, I'll still have his head.' So, the merchant was led away back to his cell. One of the other prisoners said to him 'Are you crazy? You can't teach a horse to sing. The king will surely see you die for this.' The Merchant said 'Oh, almost certainly. But now I have a year that I did not have before. And in that year, much may come to pass. The king might die and his heir may see things differently. I might die in my cell from some random ailment. There might be a war which will cause everyone to forget about me. The castle might be invaded and I might escape. And who knows? Perhaps the horse will sing.'"

"You should write a book, L.W."

"I've written two. But they're boring, and old, like me. I could never deprive myself of the pleasure of telling such stories to dear friends. What else would I do to keep myself entertained?"

***

The week went by quickly. The work consumed me- I didn't do anything but the job, and slept at the hotel. I used the tiny gym three times. I managed to get everything at the Atlanta office back under control slightly ahead of schedule and I'd return home as a hero. I was able to talk to Emma and Tommy while they were at daycare in order to avoid Linda. I called them at home once by getting Andy to show up at my house and I called his phone, so Linda's wouldn't even ring. Emma and Tommy told me that Mommy said Atlantis wasn't a real place, so I couldn't really be there. I didn't bother correcting them.

At some point, I called Dr. Manette's office and tried to schedule another appointment for another confrontation. Susan made me apologize for my outburst and promise that it wouldn't happen again. She assured me that she'd counseled Linda about how what she'd said was insensitive, inappropriate, thoughtless, and needlessly hurtful. She insisted that Linda had seen the error of her ways and I should not expect to hear her continue singing the Asshole's praises. We agreed on the same time the next Thursday, and she'd contact Linda.

Then Friday night happened.

It started with my Smokesignal app. I'd forgotten I had it, and didn't recognize its ping. It was 1234GoodForYou. Ah, that's right. Guinness is good for you. The guy at the Irish Pub. Sean:

Your boy the Asshole is here. He's putting the moves on 2 women who came in with a group. 1 might be your wife.

He attached a picture. It was taken quickly and surreptitiously with the phone's camera, but it told me what I needed to know. The two women were Linda and Dee. Asshole had his hand on the junction of Linda's shoulder and neck, and her mouth was open wide with laughter and delight. I also saw Gus and the back of Rose's head, which meant Andy and Helen had to be there, too, unless Gus and Rose were cheating with each other. The place was packed. St. Patrick's Day wasn't until Monday, but I guess Friday Night started the celebrations, and of course the Irish pub would be a busy place with a live band.

I tried to save the pic, but Smokesignal did its job and didn't let me. Not even a screenshot. I Smokesignaled Sean back:

Thank you Sean. Yes, that's her. I'll make it worth your while, man. Good job and good luck tonight. I'm sure you're busy.

I sent him another hundred bucks through Venmo and wondered if any of my so-called friends were planning on telling me about this. Shit. My mind went a thousand different places all at once, but I was paralyzed about what to do. Find the kids? Tell Nana and Pe-Pop? Tell Linda she's busted? Tell Dave? He deserved to know. Should I let Phil know? Or should I tell nobody and set up a trap? If I called anybody at all, I was sure the news that I knew would make it back to Linda. Fuck. Fuck Fuck.

I was still stewing about all of that when Smokesignal dinged again.

RockinRobin2558: I'm sorry, Jim. Mr. LaValliere had the penthouse reserved, and he just arrived with your wife and another woman. I recognized her from that picture you showed me with your kids. I'm sorry. Please don't come here and start any trouble. I'll have to call the police if I see you. But you deserve to know.

JiltedJim2681: Thank you, Robin. Don't worry, I'm in Atlanta this weekend and I couldn't show up there even if I wanted to. Is this the other woman?

I'd attached a picture of Dee and Linda together, from one of our previous nights out a year or two ago.

RockinRobin2558: Yes, that's her. I'm sorry. For what it's worth, this is unusual. I've never seen him here with two women at once. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's not what you think.

JiltedJim2681: Thank you, that's very kind of you. But I'm certain that it is what I think. Here you go- check Venmo. That's for your trouble.

I Venmoed her another hundred bucks and began to appreciate how expensive it would be to keep spreading money around town like that for news I didn't even want to hear.

I spent the rest of the mostly sleepless night brainstorming my next move. Linda was not going to drive me out of my own house forever. It was time to start thinking about how to turn my strategic retreat into an advance. But even with my moving back into the house, nothing was going to be the same. I'd have to do some redecorating and reorganizing to make my own mark, claim my own territory, and if Linda didn't like it, too fucking bad. I didn't like what she did, either.

So I got online and did some shopping. 'Tristan and Yseult ' is also apparently 'Tristan and Isolde,' and it's been turned into an opera, a movie, and I don't even know what all else. I ordered a poster print of the Salvador Dali painting- the one with the dandelion head. I also ordered a medieval arming sword, to my own amazement. I didn't know you could get such things online. Then I ordered two twin beds and started looking at room dividers.

I spent the rest of the weekend touring the World of Coca-Cola, Turner Field, and the Atlanta Zoo. I meant to see the Fox Theater, but it was closed. Sunday brought me back to the airport and home again, where I checked into the Suites. Work was work and I was hailed as a conquering hero, though I knew I'd already been defeated in a much more important arena.

***

Somehow, Linda got word that I was back in town and back at work, but she never figured out where I was staying. Either my car cover was working, or she let me keep my distance. She must have known she was on thin ice- she had no idea HOW thin. I wanted to see the kids, but I did NOT want Linda to jump in the way so we could "just talk." I made it clear that wasn't going to happen until we saw each other at Dr. Manette's on Thursday.

I hadn't let on to anyone that I knew about her threesome with Dee and the Asshole, and I wasn't going to. I did want to get some more ducks in a row before Thursday, so I had to talk to somebody... Dave was out, he wasn't talking to Dee. Phil would tell Jane I'd called, so he was out, too. That left Andy and Gus. Andy was probably more sympathetic, but I figured Gus was in more of a position to help me out, even if he didn't realize it. I didn't trust either one of those fuckers. Neither one had alerted me to Linda's continuing antics, so I was certain the wives had conspired to silence their men. What was that term? The ancient Greek thing, where the women stopped a war by withholding sex? I had to Google it. 'Lysistrata.' That was it. That's the kind of thing L.W. would know, but hell, I didn't even trust him at this point. I made the call.

"Jim!"

"Gus. I need you to tell me something."

"Ah. Yeah. Anything, man."

I could hear the dread in his voice. He had to be praying that I wasn't going to ask about Brennegan's, but he couldn't look like he was reluctant to tell me anything, either. He was going to have to lie. So I didn't ask.

"Has Helen said anything about the next time we were all going to meet up? Another night out?"

"Oh! Ah. No. Not specifically."

"No plans?"

"No. Why? Are you and Linda..."

"No. Absolutely not. I'm asking about the gang. Has anybody mentioned a bar downtown that any of the girls were interested in?"

"Oh. Well. Yes, now that you mention it. Helen said something like that a few weeks ago. There was some place Dee wanted to go."

"Do you remember the name of the place?"

"No."

"Was it called 'Cahoots'?"

"Wait. Yes. That was it."

"Thanks."

I hung up.

He called back.

"What the hell, Jim? You call me out of nowhere, nobody knows where you've been, and you just hang up on me?"

"You told me what I needed to know. Goodbye."

I hung up again. I didn't want to give them anything more. I hoped this would be merely puzzling. When it got back to the cheaters' coven, which would be any second now, I was sure they'd be abuzz. What did I know? What did I think I knew? Why was I so rude to Gus? Weren't we all friends? What did Gus say? Did he crack? It would probably look like the situation was sliding further out of control, but how bad was it? How bad would it get?

Bad enough, ladies.

I composed an e-mail and addressed it to Dave, Phil, Andy, and Gus. I didn't send it. I saved it as a draft and I'd wait for the right moment.

Bad enough indeed. Bad enough that all of you are on the express train to divorceland.

***

Linda and I arrived at the counselor's about the same time and we went straight in without a word. I was scowling and stomping. She was meek and on tiptoes.

"Jim. Linda. Welcome." Susan waved her arm to let us be seated. "Before we get started, Jim, I want to let you know that Linda and I had an additional session earlier this week, on Tuesday. I won't go into everything we talked about, but I believe we achieved some additional clarity. At this point, I need to ask you in person, Jim, not to repeat how we ended our session two weeks ago. I understand that you were angry, and your feelings were entirely valid. Your behavior, however, was inappropriate and disrespectful, not just to Linda, but to me, and to the goals we're all hoping to reach. I can't have you swearing and yelling and stomping out of here like that again."

"I apologize, Susan. I understand my reaction wasn't acceptable. I'm certain that I upset both of you, and I probably frightened you as well. I regret that. That was not my intention, I was merely reacting to being provoked. I promise that I will have better control over myself from this point on. I've got a much better handle on myself and on the whole situation now." I'd remembered Pete's description of what an apology had to contain.

"Thank you, Jim. I accept your apology, and I'd like you to direct that towards Linda. But first..." She looked towards Linda, expectantly.

Linda glanced at Susan and nodded, took a breath and looked at me.

"Jim, I'm so sorry about what I said two weeks ago. It was wrong of me to try to defend Marc. I was making you into the bad guy and turning him into the good guy, and I have no excuse for that. Susan and I talked about it, and she made me understand how that must have made you feel. You are my husband. You are the one I should be on the same side with, not him. I know that now."

"Hmn."

"Jim," said Susan, "That was a sincere apology."

"There's a word: Apology. You know, Linda, it hasn't escaped me that you have yet to apologize for what you did to start this whole mess."

"What do you mean?" Linda was genuinely confused.

"When we were here two weeks ago. You never once said 'I'm sorry' to me. You never expressed any regret about what you did. You were convinced that the entire problem was me and my poor hurt feelings. Your cheating on me, your in-my-face betrayal wasn't the issue in our marriage- my stupid little snit fit was."

"That's not true!"

"Susan." I sat back.

Susan blinked at me. She looked back to Linda, then to me. Then Linda. Then me. She finally spoke.

"Linda. I'm sorry, but Jim isn't wrong to feel that way. I reviewed my notes before I met with you on Tuesday. I had noticed something along those lines. His feelings are valid and he does have reason to say what he's said."

"NO! That can't be true!"

"We, ah, we talked about this in your session."

"I SAID I was sorry! All those calls, all those messages! Jim, you never responded! Didn't you listen to them? Did you even read my texts? My emails? I said I'm sorry! I'm Sorry! I'M SORRY!"

"Okay, Linda. No. I didn't read or listen to any of what you sent. The same way you turned off your phone when you were with Asshole and didn't respond to me, I shut you out, too. For what it's worth, I accept your apology for provoking me two weeks ago. But right now, about this, about you running off with Asshole in the first place... let's get this straight. What, exactly, are you sorry for?"

"For hurting your feelings! For embarrassing you in front of our friends! For making such a mess of things! For driving you away! I'm sorry, Jim! Oh my god, I am so, so, so, sorry!"

"There it is. You're sorry for the consequences. You're sorry for what it's COSTING you." Linda was looking at me, stunned. "You are NOT sorry THAT YOU DID IT. You have no regrets about running away with him in the first place. You don't regret the sex. You don't regret your betrayal. You still think it's the best thing you ever did- the thrill of a lifetime, the best sex you'll ever have. The very ACT of walking out on me made it even spicier."

Linda's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping to breathe out of the water. All the color had poured from her face.

"Let's face it, Linda. If you could have hidden this from me, you'd tell yourself that what I don't know doesn't hurt me, and that means our marriage is fine. Well, that is a load of crap. But since you did this right out in the open, you seem to think that convincing me to accept it would make it okay. Either way, you believe you did nothing wrong. My feelings were in the way of what you wanted, and now you resent me for it. If you could only somehow change my mind, or... hypnotize me or something, we'd be reconciled. You STILL think the whole problem is ME."

"Jim..." she looked at me, pleadingly. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Well then. Let's start with the truth. When we started here two weeks ago, we agreed to be completely honest. No lying, no keeping secrets, no dancing around the truth. No deciding what our partners get to know and what they don't."

I turned to Susan. "Do I have that right?"

"Yes. That is the agreement."

"Linda?"

"Yes... yes, of course."

"Because this kind of therapy doesn't work if we aren't open and honest, here."

"Ah. Yes. Right."

"Okay. When you two met on Tuesday, did you discuss what happened at Brennegan's Irish Pub on Friday, when you and Dee were out with the gang for an early St. Patrick's day celebration?"

Susan raised an eyebrow and indicated with an open hand that Linda should respond.

"Wha... wha... wha..." was all she said.

"Linda. Dear." I held her in place with my eyes. "I think there's some relevant information you should probably reveal at this point if you want these sessions to go the way you'd hoped."

Linda looked as if she were going to speak...

Then she fainted and fell on the floor, twitching.

Susan was on her in an instant, cradling her head, speaking softly, trying to bring her around.

"Linda. Linda. It's okay. You're safe. Can you hear me? Linda. You're safe. It's okay."

"I'm... I'm sorry, Susan. I didn't know that would be her reaction."

"This happens more often than you might think," she said, "There's more than one kind of avoidance reaction. You ran away physically. She escaped into this. There's some smelling salts in my bag, if you could hand it to me? Thank you. I don't think we need them yet. Linda. Linda. There you are. Here we are. You're safe, Linda. Wake up. Come around. You're safe."

Linda was stirring, blinking, her arms moving from the elbows, but not the shoulders. She started making noises that weren't words. Then plaintive grunts and mewls. Finally, she spoke through gasps and sobs.

"No. No. Nooooo. You weren't supposed to know. You weren't supposed to know. You can't. You're not supposed to know."

Susan looked at me.

"Okay, Jim. I think you've made your point." She maneuvered Linda off the floor and halfway onto the love seat, where she put her in a reclined position and elevated her feet. "Why don't you tell us what's got your wife so upset?"