When We Were Married Ch. 02A

After a long moment I said, "No, no plans and nowhere to go."

"I feel like shit and you feel like shit. I'd like to go out and have a few drinks with you before I go home? We can feel sorry for each other. You want to"

She came by my office just before I closed the doors at 6 p.m. Cheryl was there and gave me a funny look as she saw Jessica walk into my office.

"I live on the Westside, over near . You ever been to O'Brien's?"

I had. It was a big, old fashioned bar on the border between old downtown Avondale and the wild Westside.

"Yeah. That where you want to go?"

"I only live two blocks from there. I can park at home and walk to the bar and walk home. Don't need to worry about DUIs."

"Makes sense. I'll see you there."

It was near 7 p.m. when I pulled up in front of O'Brien's. It's a huge bar on a divided median roadway just off U.S. 17 that runs up and down the east coast of the U.S. and straight through the heart of Jacksonville.

I parked on the divided median and walked into O'Brien's. It had a huge horseshoe bar, a pretty big cleared dance floor, pool tables and an area with tables and chairs just off the bar. It was the classic neighborhood bar. It was, in other words, an American pub.

I walked over to one of the tables and sat down. A waitress came by in a moment and I ordered a Bloody Mary, heavy on the Vodka, Tabasco and pepper. I was about to pay when a guy about my height, dark haired and limping and with the classic cauliflower ear and battered nose of a fighter limped up and told the waitress, "Mr. Maitland's money is no good in here."

"Hi, O'Brien," I told him. "You still alive and kicking?"

"As hard as I can. What brings you here, Mr. M?"

"Just came by for a drink. Meeting somebody."

He gave me a look I couldn't place.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Just a friend."

"You're not out with the Missus?"

"No more, O'Brien. Never again."

"Oh, damn. How long?"

"Two weeks ago."

He shook his head and then said, "It'll get better, Mr. M. I've gone through it four times. Get plastered often and laid more often. You'll be alright."

"You have the soul of a philosopher my friend," I told the former prize fighter, now bar owner, whom I'd declined to prosecute nearly a decade before when a loud mouth thug made the mistake of swinging on a man who had put two boxers in the hospital and one man in the ground during his pro career.

We were sitting there chewing the fat when Jessica walked over. She was still in her office garb but she'd let her long blonde hair down to hang free around her shoulders. She looked younger.

She ordered a Jack Daniels straight which I thought showed character on her part while O'Brien looked on approvingly. We drank and looked at each other without words. There were tears in her eyes. I'd never seen her this way, and I'd seen her on and off for more than 10 years.

"Come on, Jess, what is your sad story. You know mine."

"It's just love, Mr. – Bill. Why does love always have to break your heart?"

"Hell, I'm the last person in the world you ought to be asking that."

She shook her head and said, "You were married for 17 years. You have two kids. I'm 44. I've never been married. I have no children. I never will. I've had men I cared for over the years, but nobody I ever loved the way you love your wife. And I never will Even if you lose your wife and kids, you've had a life. I never have."

I tried to think of something encouraging to say, but considering her words and my own thoughts the idea of slitting my waists or a bullet to the brain was beginning to seem downright appealing.

"Come on, Jessica. You are a very young 44. And I've never really gone out of my way to tell you this, but you're a beautiful woman. You could still find somebody."

She finished her drink and the tears started to flow for real.

"No, Mr. – Bill. There's only one man who's ever loved me and that I loved. He asked me to marry him and I turned him down. Now he's gone and he's never coming back. And I don't blame him."

"I don't understand."

"It's Carl – Carl Cameron. He's a reporter for the Times-Union.

"I know who Carl is. You and Carl – an item?"

"For nearly a year. We met last June when he was doing a story on that Mayoral corruption case we were handling. He's – he's."

Then the tears really started.

"He asked you to marry him. I got that much. And you turned him down? Why?"

She told me and I just looked at her dumbfounded.

"That's why you didn't marry him?"

"I couldn't. I know it sounds crazy to you, but ...I couldn't. I – we – we'd been...intimate. I told him I'd be his for the rest of my life, but I just couldn't marry him."

"So you offered no strings sex and he dumped you because you wouldn't marry him/"

She nodded and I shook my head, trying to fight back a smile.

"I didn't know there were two people like that left in the world. Seriously, I understand him. He wants the ring and the picket fence and the whole thing. You're both the age when guys started wanting that. But there's got to be a way – a compromise- that you could both live with."

She just shook her head and cried harder.

"I can't, and I don't want to live without him. What am I going to do?"

She had moved her chair next to mine and she was in my arms and wetting my shirt.

'I'm not the smartest guy in the world, but you know what you have to do. At least there's something you can do to keep him. I've lost the only woman I ever loved, and there's nothing I can do."

She raised her tear streaked face and kissed me before I could move away from her. Her lips were soft. I had never even thought of kissing her, but she fit well into my arms.

"I'm never going to have the man I love and your wife has found somebody else. Could we go to your place?"

"And-"

"I don't want to be alone tonight, Bill. I think I'd kill myself if I had to sleep in my bed alone tonight. No strings, no obligations. Just stay with me. Please."

I seriously thought about it for a moment. Even if my dick refused to do anything, at least there would be a warm female body next to me. I didn't know if I could stand another night alone thinking about Debbie and everything I'd lost – or that she had stolen from me.

Then I shook my head and gently pried her off me.

"No, it's a tempting offer...God you have no idea how tempting. But you know why you want to go to bed with me."

"Because I've always admired you, Bill. You're honest and decent and you fight for what you believe in and you're a good man. I'd rather go to bed with you than almost anyone I know."

"Except for one guy, and you're afraid to say yes to him. Come on, Jess, you don't have to be a shrink to see what you're doing. You're afraid to take the plunge with Carl, so you go to bed with me and you can feel guilty and slutty and tell yourself it would never work and so you never have to try to make it work with him. I become your excuse

for living alone the rest of your life. I wouldn't do that to you."

She just stared at me for a minute, then wiped her face free of tears.

"So you're not going to take me to bed."

"No, I'm going to stay here and get drunk."

She got up and started to walk away.

"You ought to tell him yes. If you really love him, don't throw him away. There's too much of that going around."

She didn't even turn around.

"I can't."

I watched her walk out of O'Brien's and thought that it should have been some small comfort to think there was somebody whose life was even more screwed up than mine, but it didn't make me feel any better.

Four Bloody Marys didn't make me feel any better, but I didn't feel much of anything by the time I finished my fifth. I was still conscious so I need a sixth.

I was prepared to remind O'Brien that he owed me big time to get number six when I saw a cop coming and then sitting down beside me. He was about six feet tall, a grizzled silvery brunette with an old fashioned handlebar mustache.

He held his hand out to me and I took it automatically.

"Bob Hastings, Mr. Maitland. Sergeant Hastings. I'm the beat sergeant for this zone. How you doing?"

"Fine. Working on getting unconscious. Mind giving me a lift home or getting me a cab when I collapse?"

"Sorry, Mr. Maitland. O'Brien called me when he thought you might get to be a handful. We need to talk."

"Bout what?"

"There won't be any more police babysitters taking you home and tucking you in. I know you're a big time prosecutor and the Sheriff has passed the word down to treat you with kid gloves, but you need to get your shit together."

"I don't-'

"My men have got better things to do with their time than take a guy whose wife fucked around on him home every time he wants to crawl into a bottle to hide from the truth about his life."

I laughed.

"Well, don't beat around the bush, Sergeant. Let me have it straight. Where'd you get your mari- marit – counseling license?"

He pulled his Glock pistol out of its holster and laid it on the table between us.

"No need to get violent, Sergeant."

"Just making a point. I know where you are, Mr. Maitland. You're living in some temporary apartment 'cause your wife threw you out. You're alone, for the first time in a long time. And you can't stand the silence there. You can't stand sleeping in a lonely bed. So you are going to keep going out and drinking yourself blind drunk to hide from the pain of facing the fact that you are alone now.

"I was there. I screwed around on my wife until she threw me out six months ago. I almost got lost in a bottle. But that (pointing to the Glock) saved me."

"Don't follow."

"I knew if I kept drinking I'd miss work, I'd make mistakes, I'd get myself thrown off the force. And if that happened, I'd go home and stick that Glock in my mouth and blow my brains out."

He stared at me.

"I know who you are. You're me. The only thing I really love is what I do. Being a cop. I can keep going as long as I have that. If I lose that, I wouldn't want to live. You're a prosecutor. It's not just what you do. It's who you are. You don't get out of the bottle and you'll be dead in three months."

He put the Glock back in its holster and stood up.

"I haven't run into you, but guys I trust tell me you're a good guy. We don't have enough of them. Find something to do at night. Join a gym, volunteer at a hospital, become a Big Brother, become a Safe Streets volunteer. Just stay out of the bars. Goodnight."

And he walked away. O'Brien came over and told me, "Your cab is waiting for you outside, Mr. M. I was you, I'd listen to Sergeant Hastings. Your life may seem pretty shitty right now, but give yourself a chance. Give yourself some time."

I woke up alone. I rolled over and picked up my cell and dialed a familiar number. If Debbie had answered I was going to hang up. Despite the fact that we had caller ID, Bill Jr. answered.

"Hi."

"Hey. I wake you?"

"Naw, I'm getting ready to go out. Jesse Hillman from school invited me to go with him and his dad on a camping trip to Salt Springs. Going to go down into the boils with masks and snorkels."

"That sounds like fun. I don't think you remember, but I took you down there when you were about four – five years old. You loved it."

"I – don't really remember that. But yeah, I think it will be fun."

"When you leaving?"

"In about an hour. Be back Sunday night."

"Oh, have a good time. Is your sister there?"

"No. She went on a two day trip to Atlanta with Melody Barnes and her mom and dad."

I just held the phone to my ear and listened to him breathing. I wondered why he didn't remember our trip to Salt Springs. It was clear as a bell to me.

"You want to talk to mom? I heard her and D-"

"Doug is there?"

"I – uh- mom doesn't want us talking to you about her and Doug."

I knew I shouldn't but I couldn't help asking, "He's staying there overnight now?"

" I can't....just...sometimes."

"It's okay, BJ. You never said anything to me. Don't even tell her I called. Just have a good time. And I..."

"I know." And he hung up.

#

That ends Chapter 2A. Chapter 2B should be along in a few days or maybe more. I wasn't going to submit this way, but this really is a serialized story. I've got a lot more to write, but I know where I'm going. I was going to hold off a little longer, but I feel bad that so many readers are vocal about wanting to see new copy. It puts stress on me, but it's a pleasant stress. I like knowing some people out there actually want to see new installments.

Unfortunately for some of you that don't like waiting, and don't like long stories, this is going to be long and it will take a while to finish. It should run well over 100,000 words or novel length, because it really is a novel. It's Bill and Debbie's story, not just Bill. And I'm working in characters that will re-appear in the next four to six stories that I post over the coming year. Bar owner and boxer O'Brien, and his bar, Sergeant Hastings and Jessica Stephens will all play major or supporting roles in coming stories.

Finally, and this is a plus with writing a serialized story, I want to thank readers who've posted comments and suggestions. I didn't think I would, but I've already decided to incorporate at least two suggestions into the story. They work and they make sense. So if anybody has any ideas about future developments, feel free to share them. I might not use them, but I might.