After a Chili Bowl (Feb Sucks)

All I could think of was getting that footage to a local television station—take that, hometown hero!

The ambulance finally took off with Asshole, and I turned toward the front door.

Inside, Linda sat in a wingback chair facing a barrage of accusations and questions from both sets of parents, who were doing such a good job of reading her the riot act, I remained in the kitchen and listened while brewing another pot of coffee. I don't know where Linda got the notion to fuck a celebrity, or what crap Dee and our other ex-friends had fed her, but her parents opened her eyes nice and wide to clearly see her treachery for what it was: an ungrateful narcissist cruelly dumping her loyal husband and kids to go frolic with an irresponsible and equally narcissistic manwhore, with absolutely no regard for anyone around her.

Linda must have started by playing the 'just one night' card, but by the time I tuned into the barrage with a fresh mug, she'd been cut down to a sniveling pile of snot and shame. I never knew her mom could be so earthy and feisty.

"You're nothing but an entitled slut, dragging your family, us included, through the sewer of your debauchery. Have you no shame? Did your dad and I raise you to be like that? One night. Ha! What's next? Murder is okay if you only do it for one night? Where do you draw the line? You think you are owed a night out? With kids still under ten? What shit! Your father and I raised our kids to adulthood, and neither of us took a night out of our vows. Jim's parents, the same. Where do you get this entitled crap? Your friends? Get rid of them... today! You need to wake up, girl, and wake up fast. What you did was totally and completely unacceptable... evil. Do you get that? Evil. You have no excuse, especially not this one-night shit.

"So what if that asshole is famous and has a big dick? When you brought your kids into the world, you signed up for the long haul, making them your top priority. What if Emma had to go to the hospital last night? Nobody could get hold of you. Was a celebrity's big schlong more important than your kids? Holy shit, girl, you are deranged. Certifiable. And what a cretin. Did you see how he slapped little Emma? She went flying. What kind of boyfriend did you pick? And then you picked his side against your father! I'm so ashamed to be associated with you."

After that waterfall of venom, Linda had nothing to say. In the window's reflection I could see her hunched over, face buried in her hands as she wept her heart out.

I entered the living room and took the only open seat, next to her dad.

Her mother's tirade must have made an impression, because her demeanor and tone had changed completely. "Oh, Jim, I am so sorry," Linda moaned. "Mom's right. I completely and utterly messed up, and behaved just like a horny, mindless groupie. I can't believe I fell under his spell and let Dee talk me into it." She shook her head. "I can't believe I was that stupid."

"Was the sex worth losing your family for?"

Another wave of sobs washed over her. "Nothing, nothing is worth losing you. I wish I could barf out the whole thing. But I can't. How can I ever make this up to you? And to Emma? You are so much more important than a night with Marc. I know last night it didn't look so, but it's true. Can I ever make it up to you?" Again, she broke out in another wave of weeping.

Remaining angry with her became harder. Her contrition looked genuine, but how would she feel tomorrow morning, with the sun shining on a new day, and no parents beating her up? And memories of all those orgasms? However, Asshole's cowardly behavior in the driveway almost certainly wiped out any idea of him being a stud or hero.

"Give me your phone," I said.

"What? Why?"

"Now is not the time for pushback. Give me your damn phone."

She got up, found her purse and handed me the phone.

I turned it on, and it opened up. At least she hadn't set up a passcode to hide stuff yet. I looked through her text messages, but found nothing from Asshole. Same with phone calls, emails and voicemails. Scanning through her contacts I didn't see anything that looked like his. "Did you exchange phone numbers with him?"

Shaking her head, she said, "No. We're done."

"Excuse me for being skeptical, but the kiss you planted on him on our driveway looked nothing like 'done.'"

"I know, I'm ashamed of that," she said in a defeated voice. "It was like I was under a spell of some sort. Please forgive me—I know it must have looked trashy, I'm so sorry. There are no words."

Silence descended on the room until Linda's mom spoke. "I think you need to go take a shower and put on some decent clothes. Your father and I are going home. If Jim throws you out, you can stay with us. I won't say you're welcome, but you are our daughter." Her parents stood and headed for the front door. Linda reached out to hug them, but they turned away and her mother pointed her to the stairs.

My mother stood and took the seat next to me. "Jim, I'm so sorry. Please know that you didn't cause any of this. You're a good man, and we are proud of you. Whatever you decide about your marriage, we will support you."

My biggest concern was our two innocent kids. What would be best for them? No question, burning the entitled bitch would hurt them. Still, there was no way I could take her back like nothing happened. So I guess we needed to see how serious Linda was to fix the mess she'd created.

The first test of Linda's contrition was dumping her friends. Anxious to prove herself, she did it the same afternoon. And stuck with it. Okay, a good start, which kept the door open...

I made copies of the security camera footage and sent it to the police, our three biggest TV stations and the only paper left in town. The nationwide outcry was immediate and intense. It took less than two weeks for Asshole to lose all his sponsor and advertising deals. The team put him on waivers. After clearing waivers, one other team offered him a minimum-wage deal (minimum wage in the NFL still being several hundred thousand dollars a year) but that collapsed in the face of an enormous public outcry in that city.

The footage of Emma being slapped made her famous in her school, but, like a trooper, she didn't let that change her. Asshole, though, became familiar with the inside of a prison and its inhabitants. No ten-million-dollar deals in there, only mean inmates with no concern for his family jewels. Or knees.

Linda went to counseling for several months to figure out what made her susceptible to the Martian Groupie Slut Ray. In the end, her horror of Emma being slapped made her not flirt or dance with any other man when we went out. And made her sign the postnup with no hesitation.

While not outrageous, the settlements a family lawyer-friend was able to wring from Asshole and assorted institutions he was associated with (lawyers and deep pockets being a marriage made in court) at least enabled us to move to a different neighborhood to get away from what used to be Linda's friends, and we made new ones.

Best of all, Linda's determination resulted in her turning back into the Linda of old, the loving, fun and beautiful wife and mother we knew before The Incident, as we'd come to call that disastrous evening. I had carte blanche to all her orifices and we enjoyed a renaissance in the bedroom brought on by her renewed appreciation for me. She never complained when I never bought a present, flowers or chocolate, or took her out for a dinner on Valentine's Day again.

And we ate chili with no consequences. All's well that ends well... even if it took a year or three.