tagLoving WivesYou Can't Do That! Ch. 02

You Can't Do That! Ch. 02

byqhml1©

All right, this is where I pause so the people who complained that there was no sex in the last one can get vocal. Wait for it, wait for it....now. Feel better?

I'll say it again, the most powerful sex organ is the brain. I put it in loving wives because it's the classic story, man loves, man loses, man moves on. Statistic show at least sixty percent of you out there reading have gone through it, some, like me, more than once.

And now, resolution.


.................................................

"Are you ready?"

I looked over at my lawyer, remembering again how much she looked like my freshman science teacher. I told her that once and I think she didn't like it, until I told her she was the hottest teacher in school. She perked up after that.

We were in her conference room, I was pacing while she sat on the table swinging one long stockinged leg, her three inch heel dangling from her toe. I grinned. She noticed.

"What was that about?"

"She sat on the conference table, swinging her long, stockinged leg, shoe dangling. A seductress, hidden in a business suit, waiting to pounce on her next victim. Does she do it on purpose? Or does all that suppressed sexuality demand release at odd and inopportune times?"

"How does sound as a passage in one of my stories?"

She blushed a little and grinned wickedly, swishing her skirt high enough to make sure I knew she had on thigh highs. She was forty three, looked thirty three, and acted twenty five when she wasn't working. We had developed an easy friendship over the last few months.

"You better make her prettier than me."

"My prose isn't that good. Impossible you know, to improve on perfection, Becky dear."

She actually blushed again.

"You're a dirty old man disguised as a writer."

"I've become many things over the past months. An admirer of beauty, for instance."

"Stop it! It's gonna be hard enough to keep a straight face as it is. Behave. And remember, watch me, If I don't like what you're saying, I'll give you a head shake."

Her assistant opened the door.

"They've arrived. I put on the coffee, water will be in the bar fridge."

Becky looked at me.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Showtime."

Sheila didn't look so hot. She had gained the weight she'd lost back since I had seen her last, plus a few pounds. Her hair was pulled back with a band, not a good look for her.

I had no idea how I looked to her. I had grown my mustaches and goatee out until I looked like a shaven headed Buffalo Bill. I liked it, and one thing about having money, even a little, is that most times you only have to impress yourself. I was leaner than she saw me last, in better shape. Golf and my home gym took care of that.

I looked at her and tried to remember the hot coed I had bedded in college, her hair down past her ass, her proud breasts never feeling the constriction of a bra, willing and eager to make love, any time, almost anywhere.

I had showed Kelsie a photo I had of her then, wearing cutoffs and a thin halter top, smiling that killer smile as her hair swirled in the wind. I think it was the first time she realized we weren't born old.

"Gramps, she was hot!"

I totally agreed.

What really threw her was a picture of me. She looked at it and asked who it was. I had on a tyedyed t shirt, bell bottoms with a huge flair, had a beard, wire rim glasses and hair past my shoulders. I laughed.

"It was the early seventies, baby. Look it up. I was pretty average back then."

She took both pictures home with her.

I smiled at the thought of her then and she misread it, thinking it was for her now. She smiled back. I put my serious face on, determined to get this over with. She looked apprehensive and nervous again.

Becky thanked them for coming, offering them water or coffee. I waited until the were seated, then took a seat opposite.

Becky cleared her throat.

"If you're ready, we'll discuss the settlement agreement first."

Sheila spoke up before her lawyer could stop her.

"I don't want a settlement. I want my husband back."

I shocked them all, I think, when I asked her "Why? Why do you want me back now, after you made our last two years hell, left like a thief in the night, hid from me, took half our money, all so you could fuck another man. You said you were looking for yourself. Tell me, Sheila, did you find yourself on the end of his cock? Has he left you yet, did you hit your expiration date? If you like, I can show you my investigators report, you weren't the first nurse to keep the lonely doctor company while his wife traveled."

She sobbed and Becky shushed me.

"You're not helping things, Roy."

I thought I could control my temper but couldn't.

"I'm not here to help. I'm here to end things so I can go on with my life. I'm sure Sheila wants to get on with finding herself, this should help her."

We took a break and she took me out in the hall and ate me up. Her finger was in my face.

"Another outburst like that, and you'll need new representation. Now, promise me you'll stick to the game plan."

I apologized and we went back in.

Sheila tried to get everyone back on track.

"Mrs. Smith, I'm very sorry, but your husband just does not want to continue this marriage. He's a fair man, and really doesn't want you to suffer. We all make mistakes and have to live with them. He's willing to split all assets evenly, and is also willing to give you the house if you wish it. Is there anything in particular you want?"

Sheila had managed to remain calm.

"I want my life back. I know I threw it away, but I'm willing to walk through the fires of hell if that what it takes. I'll quit my job, never leave the house, bow and scrape if I have to."

Nobody spoke for a second. I drew in a breath but Becky put her hand over mine. Sheila saw it and her eyes narrowed. To rub it in I took her hand and squeezed it, holding it for a few seconds.

Becky caught on and snatched her hand away, frowning. I wasn't helping myself.

Her lawyer spoke for the first time.

"The whole reason we agreed to this sit down was for my client to have a thirty minute conversation with her husband. She freely admits her affair and lack of reasonable behavior, but there were extenuating circumstances. If she isn't going to be allowed that chance, we'll leave, counselor, and see you in court."

Becky became placating again.

"My client will honor this agreement, if you honor yours. In this envelope is full disclosure of my clients' finances. I think yours will be surprised. Also, the conversation will be recorded, and we will each take a tape immediately after. Agreed?"

He didn't like it, but it was in the agreement. They left, placing two cassette recorders on the table. Becky pulled a timer out of the sideboard and handed it to me. I set it for thirty minutes, and started it as soon as the door closed.

She didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"Sheila, you've already wasted close to three minutes. If you've got something to say, better start soon."

She spent five minutes crying, five minutes explaining, five minutes apologizing, five minutes begging. I answered when I thought it was appropriate. In the end she was exhausted and I stood firm.

"You know what you haven't said? I'll never do anything like that again. Not in those exact words. And that's what it's gonna take. Know why? Because you can't. Our lawyers don't know our history. So, until you can tell me that and I can look in your eyes and believe it, there's never going to be a chance we'll get back together. Please Sheila, we had a good run. Let it go so we can both move on."

"Please Roy, you can't do that. Try, please."

The meeting was pretty much was over then. After Becky stopped chewing me out, I kissed her soundly, apologized sincerely, and invited her and her husband up to the house for the weekend.

"The lawyer stood, ample chest heaving with emotion, as her enigmatic client strode from the room regretfully, knowing the hot vixen would never be his. Damn morals, he thought..."

I didn't get to finish the thought as a law book slammed into the wall beside the door, followed by the laughter of Becky and her assistant.

"I better get royalties!" she yelled after me.

................................................

We had become friends over the months. She and her husband were both in their early forties with a teen daughter. I had them up to the house twice before. Seems her husband Jack was an avid fisherman, and when I mentioned the pontoon boat came with the house he almost salivated. We spent a pleasant morning working the coves, while Becky, her daughter, and Kelsie and a few of her friends sunned.

I finally told Kelsie what her determined actions had resulted in, after picking her up from school. She was stunned and thrilled alternately, both at the money and the house.

She wandered through it, looking at everything. When she saw the patio layout with the outdoor kitchen she was speechless.

I took her down to the little independent grocery and she watched, thrilled, as a butcher cut meat to her exact specifications. We stopped at a produce stand and bought fresh vegetables to use for sides.

After our feast, we sat and talked about her future. Her grades in community college were near perfect.

"You know, Kelsie. I can afford to send you anywhere you want to go. You get a car and spending money as long as you maintain your grades. Think about it, look around, do what's best for Kelsie."

She cried herself to sleep. I gave up trying to get her to stop, got a blanket and wrapped it around her to ward off the coolness of the evening, and left her. She stayed with me a week before she went home, swearing not to let anyone know where I was or what I was doing.

She was disappointed that her grandmother and I weren't together. She spent the night with her now and then, said she was sad all the time. I never commented.

I was a regular at the country club. I made friends, played golf if it was weather fit two or three times a week, and socialized. I ate at the restaurant twice a week on average. I knew the guys at the grocery store, the names of the guys that ran the gas station I used, and a couple of farmers I met while buying produce. I was integrating, becoming part of the community. I was just Roy, the retired guy that bought the Kessler house.

When I quit my health insurance stopped, so I used the agent that sold me homeowners and car insurance to set me up with a family policy. I included my son, Kelsie, my ex daughter in law, and Sheila, telling them I got a good rate if I used the family plan. They all bought the story, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I redid my third book completely, making it a much better read. Miss Nora wasn't surprised when Loveland came calling. Out of loyalty, I made sure she got to publish the book online, dedicating it to her. I don't know if she appreciated it or not, she was the most unemotional woman I had ever met. I did find out she won some kind of award and got a nice promotion later. I like to think I contributed to her success.

Sheila and her lawyer got cute, trying to renege on their promise to go to arbitration instead of court. I was set to burn her down, make her lose her job, but Becky stopped me.

"So she loses her job. Whoopee. It'll make you feel good for what, five minutes? Then you'll be divorcing an unemployed house wife instead of a well paid professional. It'll cost you more than the satisfaction you'll get, paying her alimony. Let's hope she doesn't figure it out and quit for spite. If you lose sight of what you're after, resolution over revenge, it'll get long, costly, and more painful"

So I left her alone. But the rumor mill continued to grind, kept alive by her pending divorce. Eventually it got to the point where management had to address it. They gave her and Dr. Feldman a week of paid leave while they considered what to do. Word got out they were going to fire her and give the good doctor a slap on the wrist.

Her lawyer called Becky, Becky called me. She, Sheilas' attorney, and I paid a little unannounced visit to the director. Becky told him flat out if she was fired lawsuits would descend like an avalanche.

"We have three affidavits from nurses he had affairs with before Mrs. Smith, evidence he was the aggressor in the relationships, and that inappropriate contact occurred in the workplace. Our clients are determined to file suit if Mrs. Smith is adversely affected. Think of the damage to the image your hospital projects. We intend to name and sue you separately as director, for allowing this kind of behavior to occur despite hospital policy."

She paused for breath as his eyes got bigger.

"Or, we could all just go away and let it go, provided Mrs. Smith is treated with respect. But you still might want to do something about Dr. Feldman, before he lands you in a situation that can't be dealt with privately."

In the end, to allow them to get rid of Dr. Feldman, they had to demote her. She agreed and became a regular shift nurse.

Mrs. Dr. Feldman finally got tired of her husband and transferred to the West Coast to head their operations there. It was a huge promotion, and since she provided the money for their lifestyle, he went from a three million dollar estate to a one bedroom townhouse. He lost his priviliges at his old hospital, and just barely, thanks to his son, got them at the other hospital in town, after agreeing to a probationary period.

So now his life semi sucked. Was I happy about it? Yes, in a way. He deserved it for being a predatory asshole. That being said, my wife was an intelligent woman who could have said no at any time during the seduction. If it hadn't been him, it would have been somebody else.

In the end I agreed to three months of marriage counseling, meeting twice weekly and once individually, after it was made ironclad that after that, If I still wanted the divorce it would be granted.

...............................................

My therapist didn't like me much.

Her name was Dr. Patricia Wills. Her reconciliation rate was a source of great satisfaction to her.

She was always smiling, emphatic, and just as irritating as possible.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet, Roy. I like to keep things informal, so...."

I held up my hand.

"You can stop right there Patricia, Patty, Tricia, Trish, whatever you go by. You will address me as Mr. Smith, I will address you as Dr. Wills. This is a business arrangement, we're not friends meeting for drinks after work. Keep it professional and this will pass much faster for us."

She eyed me critically.

"That's going to make it harder to establish a rapport. It appears to me you don't want to be here. I can go back to the court and..."

I stopped her again.

"Dr. Wills, you're not being professional. Have you even read the agreement between my wife and I? These sessions aren't court ordered, but I did sign a contract agreeing to meet with you for the specified time. Whether I participate, despite what you may recommend, it ends at the agreed upon time, and if I still want the divorce it becomes automatic. And my lawyer worded the contract very carefully. It says I'm obligated to attend, not participate. That being said, I'm curious about some things so I most likely will participate."

"Understand, this is important. You have no power over me. You have the same standing my butcher or mechanic at home have. You're a professional I'm using for a specific task. All right?"

I used up most of my first session establishing my ground rules. She was not happy.

I have no idea what her sessions with Sheila was like. Our first two joint sessions were pretty tame, mostly her apologizing. I told the doctor if we didn't get past that I was going to bring a book or tablet to the rest of the sessions.

My next individual session she changed gears, having me tell how we fell in love.

.................................................. It was 1972, and I was eighteen years old. Barely missing the messiness and destruction of Southeast Asia, I had gotten an academic scholarship to study business. I was always a bit of a wild child, raised in a single family home after my dad was killed in a car crash. We didn't get much insurance so Mom worked long hours in a furniture factory to pay the bills. As soon as I turned sixteen I got a job in the same factory, working four hours a night Monday through Thursday, eight hours Friday night, and coming in at six in the morning on Saturday to work six more. After I had been there a while my boss would let me work an extra hour here and there and full shifts if school was out, so I was basically working forty hours a week and attending high school at the same time. High school was easy for me, mostly. Loved English, History, and Science, wasn't so great at math.

When I started working I footed my own bills and took a lot of the burden off Mom. I bought my own car, clothes, even paid for groceries a lot of times. When you worked the hours I did there wasn't a whole lot of time to spend money. I dated a lot on Saturday nights, but it didn't go anywhere because teen girls liked their boys to talk to them on the phone, go to school events and games during the week, and generally be available. I wasn't.

The scholarship came from the company I worked for. I saw a notice on the bulletin board urging workers to have their children apply. My boss saw me looking at it.

"Got any kids college age?" He said with a grin.

"No, but does it have to be a child? Can it be an employee?"

He looked at me like it was something no one had ever thought of.

"I don't see why not."

I forgot about it, but three days later the plant manager stopped by on his way home and gave me some papers.

"What are these?"

"Your scholarship application. Bill said you were interested. It's self explanatory, just get your teachers to fill out their part quickly. The faster you get it back, the more time we have to consider you."

I didn't think I had a chance in hell, but my teachers helped me out, and I had a good interview with the screening committee. I was still surprised when I got it.

Mom was over the moon. Her son, a college man! She showed me a savings account she had started when I was four, just for college.

She got to keep most of the the money, they paid for everything and got me a part time job at their local plant. The hours I got to work were tied to my grade average. The higher the average, the more hours I could work. If they dropped, I was practically unemployed. I averaged twenty four hours. She did insist on buying me a better car.

Like I said, it was 1972, the tail end of the muscle car era. Camaros, Mustangs, GTOs, Chevelles were all popular. My car was a little different.

I had a 1969 Dodge Polara. Called the four door Roadrunner, it was built for and sold specifically to law enforcement agencies. I got mine at a state auction where they were auctioning off old patrol cars. It wasn't painted as a cop car, being called an "unmarked". It had a 383 interceptor engine with a stock four barrel carb, do 0 to 60 in just over six seconds, and be close to a hundred in a quarter mile. The specially calibrated TorqueFlite automatic transmission was designed to stand up to the high horsepower and torque. It had heavy duty suspension and radials tires, in a time when they were just getting popular. At first glance, it looked like the kind of full size four door car your grandfather would drive. There wasn't a lot I couldn't bust going from stoplight to stoplight.

We were in the next town over, cruising the burger joints, checking out girls. Billy was complaining we should have taken his Mustang when a Chevelle pulled up beside us. The guy had three girls with him. It had glass packs and he was revving his engine, laughing.

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