The Worst Week of My Life

It occurred to me that when I searched the house two days earlier I'd neglected her purse, since she'd had it with her at work. Now I went through it. Among the usual stuff, tucked down toward the bottom, was a box of six Trojans.

Again my head swam! It was hard to see any more conclusive evidence than this! Lucy had been on the pill since we got married, since we weren't ready yet to start a family. So what could the condoms possibly be for, except to fuck someone else!

All of a sudden I literally couldn't stand to be in the same house with her. I put her things back in her purse, scribbled a note saying I was going out for dinner, and left the house.

I called my friend Max, who was single, and the two of us went out for a steak dinner and a couple of beers. He was surprised that I was away from Lucy on a Friday night. I didn't give him the whole story, just told him that she and I were arguing and that I needed to get away for an evening.

The two of us had a good time, which included one more beer at his house as we watched a ball game. I was not at all tipsy when I drove home, but I did get home pretty late. Lucy was already in bed, and again I headed for the guest room.

As I lay in bed, trying in vain to get to sleep, I wondered whether the next 24 hours would be the last day of my married life.

SATURDAY

Lucy and I had breakfast together, but we spoke about ten words to each other. I knew exactly why I was so upset—but why she was upset was less clear to me.

Perhaps she felt angry that I'd accused her of cheating; or maybe her guilt at having cheated on me was what made her so defensive; or she could have just been pissed-off that my suspicions were making it harder for her to have her fun! In any case, she wasn't backing down from her nasty words of Thursday evening, and neither was I.

During the day I worked in the yard and she ran some errands. In the late afternoon, as she showered and got ready to go "to her mother's house", I wandered into the bedroom.

"Lucy," I said quietly, "I'd like to say something to you."

She turned around and looked at me, arms folded.

"I know that you're cheating on me, and I even know with whom." I could see her face redden, but I put up my hand to cut her off before she started yelling.

"Don't say a word, I'm almost done. I just want you to understand that when I catch you—and I will!—our marriage is over. No teary scenes, no forgiveness, nothing. We are through."

She burst out at me. "You asshole! How many times do I have to tell you, I am not cheating on you! Your accusations are offensive and disgusting—now get the hell out of here and let me get dressed!"

I stopped and turned on my way out of the bedroom. Still speaking quietly, I said, "please don't forget what I've said". Then I left before she could yell again.

By now I had my plans for the evening worked out. As soon as Lucy drove away—dressed in an outfit meant for dinner in a nice restaurant, not for going through photos with her mother—I went up to the bedroom and checked her sweater drawer. Sure enough, the sexy teddy was gone! No real surprise there.

The drive to her mother's house would take Lucy about twenty minutes on a Saturday. I waited 45 minutes, then called her mother and asked to speak to Lucy.

She replied, "oh, I'm sorry, Bob, but she's not here yet. Shall I have her call you back when she arrives?"

"No thank you, that's OK. I'll speak to her later."

It was all bad news, but just what I'd expected. I got in the car and drove down to the Chesterton Hotel. I didn't see Lucy's car in the main parking lot, but when I drove around the back, there it was.

I went inside, picked up a courtesy phone, and asked the operator to connect me with the Fortners' room. After three rings a man said, "hello?" and I recognized Stan Marino's voice. That cocksucking son-of-a-bitch!

Putting on a fake deep voice I asked for Henry Green. In the background I could hear a woman's voice saying, "who is it, Stan?" It was Lucy!

Then Stan told me I had the wrong number, and I hung up.

As I walked slowly back out to my car, all I could think was, at least now I have my answers. I stopped at a U-Haul store to buy some boxes and headed home.

I called Max and asked him, pretty bluntly, if he could put me up for a few days. He was surprised and concerned but said, Sure. Max had a spare bedroom so I figured I'd be OK there for up to a week, until I figured out what to do next.

I packed steadily for the next three hours. By 9pm I had all my clothes in suitcases and my computer and important business files in boxes. The phone rang but I ignored it, going on with my packing. An hour later my CDs and most precious books were packed, and I'd put my CD player by the front door. I figured all my tools and miscellaneous junk in the garage would have to wait.

Before taking all the stuff out to the car, I stopped to check the answering machine. The call at 9pm had been from Lucy. Her message said, "hi—my mom is not feeling very well, so I'm going to stay overnight to keep an eye on her. I'll be back about 10 tomorrow morning."

Her voice wasn't at all warm or friendly, and I wondered why she'd even bothered. Just for the hell of it I called her mother again and asked for Lucy.

This time her mother, with a slightly odd tone in her voice, said Lucy was in the shower and couldn't come to the phone. I thanked her and hung up.

I smiled to myself. One more nail in the coffin, right? Not that I'd needed one. Not content to laugh in my face by going off to the Chesterton Hotel to fuck Stan Marino, she had the nerve to leave a message saying she'd be away all night. What, she needed a couple more rounds of early morning fucking before coming back to her supposedly-beloved husband?

I considered leaving a note that said, "Have a nice life—I hope your wife-beating boyfriend doesn't beat you too!" But I thought, what's the point? I just packed the car and took off for Max's.

With a long face, Max helped me bring my things inside, and we sat and talked. I told him the whole story, and his shock was greatest when I explained that she'd been fucking Stan Marino. Max knew Stan only slightly, but he had pretty much the same opinion of him that I did.

I finally got to sleep that night in Max's guest room, but only because of the half-bottle of Scotch I poured into myself first.

SUNDAY

I knew as soon as I got up that this day would be the worst of the entire week. First of all, my head felt like it was inside a cement-mixer. And second, as they say, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." Yeah, sure it is—fuck 'em!

Today was the first day of the rest of my life without Lucy. A woman I'd loved unreservedly, passionately, for ten years. A woman I'd trusted completely. A woman who had cut my balls off without a word of explanation or apology.

I got through the day somehow, and Max was a big help. He made a big breakfast and made sure I ate some of it. He kept me busy: we went to the grocery store for a few day's worth of food, we went out and hit some balls at the driving range, we took his Labrador for a long walk in the park, we rented a video of an action movie and watched it after dinner.

I'd asked him not to tell Lucy I was there, if she should happen to call. The phone rang at about 2pm while were putting the groceries away. Max told Lucy apologetically that he hadn't seen me or heard from me since Friday night.

When he got off the phone he said Lucy had sounded pretty emotional, like maybe she'd been crying. I allowed myself a little smile at that news. A bit too late for regrets now, my dear wife!

Despite all of my friend's efforts, there was plenty of time that day for brooding. We happily married men don't spend much time thinking about how we'd lead our lives if we suddenly WEREN'T happily married men. I could see that it would take a while before I had any idea of how to put my life back together.

I tried to keep remembering that I was only 31, that I wasn't too bad-looking, and that I had a solid well-paying job. I could be an OK catch for some other woman. It was just that the prospect of looking, of starting all over again on the dating scene, was not all that appealing.

In principle, I supposed, a clean slate could be exciting and fun. You never know what beautiful, exciting, fun women you might get to know!

But when you've just been kicked in the head—and heart—and balls—by your cheating wife, you're not exactly feeling full of self-confidence. I had no idea what I'd done, or not done, to Lucy to drive her into Stan Marino's bed. If you'd asked me a week earlier I would have said we had a very good marriage. So I guess that made me a pretty bad judge of things.

As I tried to sleep I found myself longing for Monday morning, when at least I would have the distraction of work.

2ND WEEK – MONDAY

The distraction didn't help much. It was a long, depressing day. I wasn't ready to tell anyone at work about the death of my marriage, so I had to look cheery enough to avoid the "gee, Bob, what's wrong?" questions. I pasted some sort of smile on my face, and that got me through the morning.

Then, blessedly, I could just close my office door and look as unhappy and lost as I felt. I'd set my phone to go straight into voice-mail, so I wouldn't have to speak to Lucy if she called. And I'd told the department secretary to tell Lucy I was unavailable, if she happened to dial the main company number and ask for me.

Somehow the day dragged to an end. Before I left I checked my voice-mail. I found five messages from Lucy, all of them within a narrow emotional range that encompassed worried, confused, and furiously angry. She didn't even sound sorry for what she had done! I deleted them and drove over to Max's.

Max was out—he had a date with Kathleen, a new woman he was seeing, which felt like a blessing to me. I didn't feel like being around anyone, and it gave me a chance to repay his hospitality a little bit by doing all the dishes and thoroughly cleaning the kitchen (Max was never all that big on housework).

I heated up a frozen pizza, had a couple of beers and watched a ball game on TV. Look at me! I thought. Welcome to the life of a swinging bachelor! Along about the sixth inning I realized I was crying uncontrollably, sobbing and wiping my streaming nose on my sleeve. A pretty unappetizing performance—thank God there was no one else there to see it.

I turned off the game, cleaned myself up, and went to bed.

2ND WEEK – TUESDAY

When I got into work, I found three more messages from Lucy, each more upset than the last. I deleted them and started in on the programming problem I had begun working on the day before. It felt a tiny bit easier, just a tiny bit, to ignore my personal situation and focus on the job at hand.

At a little after 11am Lucy suddenly stormed into my office, her face covered with tears, and started yelling at me.

"You think you can just walk out on me, you son-of-a-bitch? We have one damn argument and that's it, you're gone? And you don't even tell me where you went?"

I found myself on my feet, shouting right back at her, forgetting the open door.

"You have a lot of goddam nerve, Lucy, you know that? Lying to me, cheating on me with that … jerk, and then coming in here to complain?"

"I never cheated on you!" she shouted. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

I was suddenly weary—my anger collapsing in a moment into depression. In a quieter voice I said, "Lucy, just leave, OK? I have nothing to say to you."

"No I won't! You can't abandon our marriage, you can't scare me half to death, worrying where you are, and then expect me just to take it! I want to know what …"

I broke in. "Lucy, I would never hit you, but if you're not out that door in five seconds I'm calling Security to carry you out. Just go back to fucking Stan Marino, all right?"

She stared at me, a look of shock on her face, and then started shouting again. After a moment I stepped past her out the door. I asked the department secretary to call Security to escort my wife out of the building; then I continued rapidly down the hall to the staircase. I ran up a couple of flights, then sat in the quiet stairwell for about twenty minutes, thinking about what had just happened. When I finally returned to my office, Lucy was gone.

2ND WEEK – WEDNESDAY

All day I brooded about it. What right did Lucy have to be yelling at ME? If she had come in with some sort of apologetic attitude I still would have been furious, but I might have tried to listen to her. But that "angry deserted wife" bullshit was adding insult to injury.

I kept my mind focused on work all day—at least as much as I could. I even went out for a sandwich with a couple of co-workers and laughed and joked with them, as if all were well in my life. I took a kind of perverse pleasure in being able to conceal my misery from my colleagues.

At the end of the day I checked my voice-mail. There were two more messages from Lucy. I was on the verge of deleting them, but their tone seemed very different from the previous ones. I hit "replay" and listened more closely.

Lucy was crying and upset, but she didn't sound angry. The first message said, "sweetheart, it's me. Please call me back! I can't believe you think I've been … unfaithful to you! It's not true, I swear it! Please call me, so we can talk. I love you!"

Intrigued, I listened to the second one. "Honey, it's Lucy again. I swear to you, I did not have sex with Stan Marino! I know I … kept some things from you, but I'm telling you the truth! Please, please call me!"

I didn't know what to think. I had no intention of calling Lucy, but the marked change in her messages made me wonder what was going on. Had she simply realized that I knew the truth, and that her aggressive attitude wasn't going to get her anywhere?

Over dinner with Max I filled him in on what had been going on. When I was done he said, "Bob, it sounds like there's more to the story than you think. What about seeing Lucy and letting her tell you her side?"

I smiled grimly. "That's very reasonable advice, Max. Unfortunately I'm not feeling too reasonable right now! I wasn't the one who fucked up our marriage and put a knife in my spouse's ribs—she was! So let her suffer!

"I know that doesn't sound too generous, but I'm just not feeling real generous right now. I worked so hard last week to head this off, to get her to be honest with me, and she rebuffed me over and over. Now I guess the shoe is on the other foot."

Max smiled at me ruefully. "I'll be honest with you Bob—if I were you I wouldn't have taken my advice either!"

I laughed, and the conversation moved on to more pleasant matters, like Max's enthusiastic account of his Monday night date with Kathleen. He sounded really smitten, and I was truly happy for him.

2ND WEEK – THURSDAY

Each day, coming into work and focusing on what I had to do had gotten just a bit easier. Instead of feeling a snake gnawing at my guts every two minutes, now it was down to about once every half-hour. That has to count as some sort of improvement, right?

At about 4:15 pm my office door opened and Susan Marino came in, looking pretty but nervous. I was startled to see her, to say the least, but I got up politely to greet her.

"Hello, Susan! This is a surprise—how are you?"

"I'm … OK, Bob, thanks. Would it be … all right if I sat down?

"Of course!" I replied, pulling out a chair opposite my desk for her. We both sat, and I just waited to see what was on her mind. Did she know about my wife fucking her husband? If not, was it up to me to tell her?

Finally she began to speak, hesitantly, as if afraid of a violent reaction from me.

"Bob, may I ask you a big favor?" I just nodded, and she said, "I want to talk to you for a few minutes, and please don't interrupt me, OK? Are you willing to do that?

I said I would, and again she said, "but I don't want you to get angry or shout at me or interrupt, all right?"

Again I said OK, feeling a bit impatient but also very curious. There was another silence, as she gathered herself.

"Bob, Lucy was not cheating on you with Stan last Saturday night. She was arranging a reconciliation between Stan and me."

I was halfway out of my chair, ready to shout "bullshit!", when Susan's look stopped me and I remembered my promise. I sat back down, but with rage coursing through my veins.

"Ever since I threw him out, Stan has been desperate for us to get back together. He's completely stopped drinking, and he's even been enrolled in an anger-management course for the past six weeks.

"He got in touch with Lucy in the hopes that she'd help him figure out a way to see me again. Once she was persuaded that he was sincere, they worked out a plan for this past Saturday night. Lucy and I had a date for dinner at the restaurant in the Chesterton Hotel, and they planned that Stan would come and join us. He apologized to me with tears in his eyes and begged for another chance.

"Then Lucy left us, Bob. The hotel room was for me and Stan, not Stan and Lucy! Lucy had even arranged secretly with my babysitter to stay with my kids overnight so that Stan and I could be together. But the sitter got sick, so Lucy volunteered to stay with them. That's why she called and left you a message saying she wouldn't be home until the next morning."

Susan stopped, trying to gauge the effect of her words. I was absolutely frozen in my seat. The story sounded completely plausible—it was just like Lucy to go to such lengths to help her friends. But it also sounded too good to be true. I had spent more than a week in abject misery—could it all have been for nothing?

I tried to think why Susan would lie to me and cover for Lucy, if Lucy really had been sleeping with Stan. It didn't make any sense, did it? Or was Susan finished with Stan, so she didn't care who else went to bed with him?

Taking a deep breath, trying to stay calm, I said, "Susan, I must admit that I have some trouble believing your story. May I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course, Bob! Lucy has helped me and Stan so much—I don't want our good fortune to be the source of misery for you two."

"Did Stan bring you anything on Saturday? Any gifts?"

"Yes, he had a gorgeous lacy teddy for me, black and maroon." She blushed a little. "Really sexy. We both enjoyed me wearing it."

"And what did you guys use for birth control, Susan? If you'll forgive my asking."

"It's all right, Bob. Stan had a pack of six condoms. Trojans, I think. I've been off the pill since I threw him out, so it was a good thing he had them."

She giggled. "We used more than half of them."

I thought for a minute. Either Susan really was telling the truth, or Lucy had been unbelievably shrewd and had coached Susan very well. But why would Susan be covering for Lucy? That was the thing that made me start to believe Susan's story.

"Susan, where has Stan been staying all this time, and where is he now?"

"He told me he had a room at the Pinecrest Motel—but I'm happy to say he's back home now with me and the children."

I pulled out my wallet out and found the number of the Pinecrest Motel. Dialing it, I asked the clerk to connect me with Stan Marino's room. After a minute, he replied that Mr. Marino had checked out on Sunday.

"So Susan," I said after another minute of thought, "Lucy stayed overnight at your house with the kids, until you came home on Sunday morning?"

"Yes, Stan and I went home together around 9:30. Tommy and Joanne were so happy to see us together!"

"Were the kids still in pajamas or were they dressed?"

"They were still in pajamas. Lucy had given them cereal, and they were watching cartoons."

"OK", I said. "Can you describe their pajamas?" I figured there was no way Lucy and Susan could have anticipated this question.