Alana and Blake

"But if we married, would our romance get a little bit stale after a while; I mean like it does for almost every married couple? And if it did, and if I strayed, could you forgive me? Could I forgive myself for betraying the man that saved my life? Such an unholy risk my poor poor man," she said, finally.

"Alana, I could forgive you anything. I'll admit I don't—couldn't ever share you, but that said; oh for godssakes, I just love you so much! Honey, your past is what it is, as is mine. I am willing to take the risk. If we need to we will get counseling or something, whatever it takes. I ask again. Will you marry me?"

******

It was a gamble. I wasn't a fool. After what she'd said, I almost knew she'd go astray as she phrased it. Sooner or later she'd wrong me. I gritted my teeth and told myself that I would deal with that eventuality when is happened. At that moment, I had to have her, possess her; she had to be mine. I'd always been a fighter, and this was not different except in kind. I would fight the good fight when the time came, and I was betting on me to come out the one with the raised arm.

We were married, in front of a justice of the peace, three weeks after that evening.

The first nine years of the marriage were not good; they were spectacular, at least for me; and, I believe for Alana too. Two children had come along in quick succession in the second and third years of the marriage: Miranda and Shelby. Their parents adored them and the clan was happy.

It was after Shelby started school that Alana decided that she wanted to go back to work. She'd found a job at an art studio and it seemed to satisfy her. I was happy for her. The job was not taxing, she only worked four hours a day, and those in the morning: eight to twelve. Plus the extra money, though not critical for us, since I was doing quite well, was useful.

Some months, maybe a year into her new job, she started working longer hours. She was always to pick up the kids from school, and for my part I hardly noticed anything at all. Then one day I found her sitting in the living room with a glass of burgundy in her hand waiting for me. The kids were in the yard playing.

"Hi sailor," she said, as I walked in all grubby and smelly after a long day in the pit.

"Hi back atcha," I said. She was smiling, but for some reason or no reason I felt uneasy.

I sat down beside her and gave her a hungry kiss which she returned enthusiastically. "Got a surprise today," she said, pulling back a bit.

"A surprise?" I said.

"Yes. There's an art show in San Francisco, and the boss, Gordon, has invited me to accompany him and the artist there," she said, all bubbly and happy. "We'll be gone maybe four or five days. Isn't it exciting?"

I looked at her, not real happy. But, what could I say. "Yeah, I guess," I said, my lack of enthusiasm obvious.

"Ah, honey, it's only for a few days, and it is a really good opportunity for me to see some really good stuff. We have shows here in Georgia, of course, but not like on the coast," she said.

We talked for some time, and I eventually fell into line. She'd never had an opportunity like this, or so she said, so how could I in good conscience be a pooper.

I learned that she would be leaving Saturday afternoon and returning Tuesday or Wednesday evening. Well, the kids and I would do something special on the weekend, I decided.

On Saturday, the kids and I took Alana to the airport, had lunch with her there, and then we waved goodbye to her as she went upstairs to await her companions in the departure lounge. I had a bad feeling. But, I had the children with me, and that was a plus.

Late Saturday evening, she called. She let me know they'd arrived safely and gave me the number to the hotel she'd be staying at in case of emergency. She did say to call her on her cell for anything else though.

I had taken up working out with some buddies of mine from my days in the rangers: Mark Hutchins and Gary Chapin. I was of the unscientific opinion that working out helped keep me in shape including helping me to protect my good eye by increasing my circulation and such. I was certainly buff after a decade of it. We all were. We were the three musketeers, twenty-first century edition. We all became experts with the yawara too, a not very well known or understood invention of the Japanese.

The yawara was a very short stick, ours three-fifths of an inch in diameter and four and a half inches long. Someone who knew how to use one could not lose a fight if he or she got the first unprotected strike in; the operative term was "could not," literally.

We always practiced together at the park on Sundays for an hour no matter what, and the rest of the week on our own. And, we always took our children with us. They kinda did what we did, after they practiced the things we wanted them too. Both Shelby my seven year old, and Miranda, eight, were tough little kids; but, respectful. Neither had ever been in a school brawl—as far as I knew.

"Daddy daddy," said Miranda. "Mr. Hutchins says I did very good today." She was all smiles, and so was I.

"That's great, baby. Now got get your brother so we can get going," I said. Shelby was still with Mark and they looked like complementary shadows of each other as they repeated over and over the Shotei form. Gary, who'd finished his routine, stood near the duo and smiled broadly. His fourteen year-old son Arthur was laying on the ground near Karen, Gary's thirteen year-old daughter. The two of them were completely fagged out. I think they were in love too.

The kids and I headed for zoo after having breakfast at the IHOP. The day was a great success, and we all hit the hay early after dinner. Alana called, at 6:00, and spoke to the children then me. She sounded exhausted.

"Yes, honey, I am exhausted. The elevators were out for an hour for servicing because of a small fire on the ground floor," she said. "They put it out in a hurry, but I didn't want to wait, so I decided to walk up the nine flights of stairs," she said. I laughed.

"I told you that you should be working out with me and the kids," I said, making light of her plight. We talked a while. She explained what she'd seen and how wonderful it all was. Well, she was an art lover.

After hanging up, the bad feeling I'd had since hearing about her trip returned with a vengeance. Then, I did something unconscionable: I called the hotel and asked about the fire in the lobby. My heart sank when they told me that I must be mistaken; there had never been a fire at that hotel. Why would she lie? Without any more evidence than that, I began to suspect that my wife was having sex while she talked to me. Helluva thing the human mind.

Tuesday evening the kids and I picked up my wife at the airport. Amidst the excitement that the kids exhibited, my somewhat less than thrilled greeting went unnoticed.

We had sex that night. She did her best to make me happy that she was back. I guess I was, but I also had questions. Questions that I couldn't ask, not yet at any rate.

******

The following week was normal except for two things on Tuesday and Thursday night respectively, Alana had to work late. She didn't get home till after 9:00PM. In all of the time she had been working she had never been later than 6:30—ever. Add to that that on both nights, she showered when she got home and pled fatigue to my overtures for sex. My eyes narrowed; I was pretty sure she was having an affair. No, I had no clear evidence, and even the lie about the hotel fire might still somehow be explained; but I was pretty sure I was right.

The following Tuesday night, Mark and his wife Elizabeth, who were also neighbors, had the kids for evening. I was parked across from the Art Shop where my wife worked. My heart took a very bad hit that night. Mr. Gordon Crowder had his arms around my wife and was kissing her passionately while I watched the scene unfold through the window; the store was closed and the lights were out except for the security lights behind the two of them; they were clearly visible. Ten minutes later they exited the building, got into his car and drove off. I followed.

The Pine Tree motel does not have a restaurant, but it does have rooms. They got one together and went inside. I went home.

I'd already picked up the kids and now I waited. Murder crossed my mind. But before I killed her boss I wanted to have it out with her. And no, I had not forgotten her concern in the beginning when I had asked her to marry me. Now, I wondered how long and how many. She showed up at about 9:45.

I was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea. She stopped when she saw me.

"Blake?"

"Yeah, it's me," I said, and took a sip of tea.

"Is something wrong?" she said.

"I don't know," I said. "You tell me."

"Huh?"

"Well we can start with, how was your night at the Pine Tree?"

Here face went white. Her shoulders sagged. "You know?" I didn't answer.

"I'm sorry, Blake. It has nothing to do with you or us. It was just sex. I warned you that I might not be able to forego sex with other men. I've tried to keep you from discovering me, but I guess I've blown it haven't I?" she said.

"It was the trip wasn't it?" she said. "I knew that wasn't a good idea. I even thought of taking you along so you wouldn't get suspicious. But Gordon was adamant. He wanted me for the whole trip, and you would have complicated things for him. Shit!" she exclaimed.

"What's the attraction?" I asked, in a slow methodically cold tone. "He's not that big a guy. He isn't especially good looking. What was the attraction?"

"His cock. It's ten inches long," she said. "And he knows how to use it."

"What about us? I mean now that I know?" I knew I was testing the waters, pushing it; but, I wasn't sure that I cared anymore, not after finding out what I had found out.

"You're asking if I will promise to stop seeing him. My answer is no. You'll just have to deal with it, I'm afraid. I don't mean to hurt you, Blake. I really don't. But, I am not going to outright lie to you. He's going to get to fuck me, and that's all there is to it," she said.

Her matter-of-fact tone was so cold and cruel that I considered teaching her a lesson right then. But, I have never hit a woman, and if this is the way it was going to be, I was going to have to think of something else. Good 'ole Gordon of course was a totally 'nother matter; he was in grave danger, and neither he nor my whoring wife had a clue.

I took another sip of tea. "Blake? Are you all right?" She seemed to be having second thoughts at least about the coldness of her words to me. "Jesus, Blake, I'm such an asshole. You saved my life and I treat you like shit."

I still didn't say anything. I just sat there sipping tea and getting madder and madder every second. My silence was getting to her. "Blake? Aren't you going to say anything?" I remained silent. Rangers were good at psychological warfare, and the battle had been joined.

She came to me and tapped me on the shoulder. "Blake, say something. For godssakes say something." I didn't. I just kept looking past her. She changed her tactics.

"Well, if you've got nothing to say, I'm going to bed. Don't bother joining me until you're willing to talk to me," she said. I didn't even look up.

I didn't move until I heard the bedroom door slam. Good, I thought, she's off balance. Now, I have the initiative. She'd crushed my heart. And, not by the cheating per se. No, it was her heartless attitude about what I could do if I didn't like it. It was obviously her dictum that it would be her way or the highway. The way I saw it at that moment, the worst case scenario, was gonna be that the highway would hurt her more.

******

That night, and every night for the next month, I slept on the couch. I didn't flinch when she called to say she was going to be late Tuesdays and Thursdays as usual. We both knew she was fucking him those nights. And, then she began adding Saturdays to her schedule. This last, I was pretty sure, to push me to talk to her.

I did talk to her: about the kids, the house, the job, everything; but not about her whoring around on me. She was becoming skittish. She knew first-hand what I was capable of. I saw her look worriedly at me when I was working in the yard. My cold demeanor must have had her wondering when the shit was going to hit the fan.

The supreme irony was, that as I let things continue, my hatred grew, but so did my sadness. I loved this woman with all of my being. And, I was pretty sure she loved me almost as much. She just wanted to have her cake and eat it too.

Had I talked to her, I know she would have tried to convince me that her liaisons were nothing but sex; that they had nothing to do with us as a married couple. It made me smile inwardly when I thought of the scenarios that sooner or later would be played out. The charade went on for almost a year.

We had not had sex once during the whole time, and I had not, during that time, cheated on her or said so much as one word to her or to her asshole lover about their adultery. I had however, with the assistance of Gary and Mark, gotten a busload of evidence in case of a divorce. We were also grinding it out to find as much evidence as we could against Mr. Gordon Crowder of other things he might be guilty of. We worked on the premise that absolutely everyone had something to hide. The work was slow, but it definitely was sure.

Every state but New York is a no fault state, so to guarantee that I could have custody of the children; I had to have near incontrovertible evidence of her unfitness as a mother. This was going to be a tough nut. But now I was close to getting it.

I had been kinda surprised that she hadn't divorced me! I knew she was angry and frustrated with me. She did mention divorcing me a couple of times, but I just walked away without so much as acknowledging her words. But, then, finally, I caught a break.

Again, I think she was trying to force me to talk to her and agree that her fucking around on me wasn't so bad. She kicked me out. No talk of divorce. She just said to get out until I would talk to her and try to solve our differences—read agree to her demands.

This time I looked her in the eyes as mine teared up. I was genuinely saddened by her move, but I also realized it was an opportunity. I went up stairs and began packing a couple of suitcases. I heard her on the phone when I came out of the room. She was in the kitchen, but I could hear her side of the conversation easily.

"Your idea sucked, Gordon...no...he's leaving...no damn it...he's leaving don't you hear me...no I said...no...when? what?...you have got to be kidding you're not half the man he is except for your dick...you?...hahaha...one on one with him...yeah right...you'd last about as long as a fart in a typhoon...no...forget it...we have to cool it for a while...yes, but not any time soon...I have to get my man back...yes...goodbye."

I came down the stairs and she was waiting for me by the door. "Blake, I apologize. I made a mistake. Please don't leave," she said. I pushed by her.

"Goodbye," I said. And, I left.

I wound up at the Pine Tree. The same motel that she and her fuck buddy had frequented. I even got the same room they'd used at least that one time. The place had no restaurant, but it had the virtues of being cheap, close to my work, and it had a bar next door.

******

Alana sat on the bench at the back of the house. She wasn't sure whether she felt sorrier for herself or for him! Her tears hadn't stopped since he had left. She felt like a complete asshole. Her man, the one who had protected her, saved her; and had since married her, fed her, clothed her—and yes—loved her; she'd fucked him over. And for what! A bigger cock. Selfish—no, that in no way adequately described her—she was a douche bag, a vile thing.

And yet—it was his choice. He would have wanted for nothing from her; she wanted to be with him, love him, adore him. He had never wanted for anything, she rationalized. Gordon had not had her anus, but Blake had. Gordon had not ever heard her utter the L word, but Blake heard it every day. How could there be any doubt in her husband's mind that she loved him? And she had told him, argued with him, tried to convince him years ago that she was a slut. He either hadn't heard her or didn't care; but now of course he did care. What could she do? She didn't even know where he had gone. And what of the children. Oh, God this was a mess.

It was a week later that the doorbell rang. She'd just gotten the kids off to school and gotten back.

"Hi babe," said the tall, dark haired man with the mustache.

"Gordon! I thought I told you we'd have to cool it for a while," she said.

"Yeah, but call me horny," he said. "And, you can't hang around her moping forever. We need to get you out and doing," he said.

She knew what he wanted her to do. But the timing couldn't have been worse. Still, she did feel cooped up and hopeless. A couple of drinks somewhere would be nice. "No sex for you today, Gordon. I just can't do it. But, I suppose we could go for a couple of drinks. I could sure use one right about now," she said.

"Sounds cool to me," he said. "No pressure. We'll just have a couple of drinks and you can talk it out with me."

"God knows I do need someone to listen," she said. "Blake sure isn't willing to. I don't even know where he is. I'm going nuts!"

"He'll be back soon. Trust me," said Gordon. "For the kids if not for his honey. I know guy's like him: all domestic and everything. He actually believes that sex equals love."

She gave him a dirty look. But, thinking about it, Gordon was right. He'd been gone a week. It figured he'd be at least be calling before much longer. He'd wanna make some kind of deal, arrangement to see the kids. She'd take the opportunity to try and get him to finally talk to her.

For a single fleeting moment, she saw the incongruity of her wanting to set things right with her husband on the one hand, and going out for drinks with her lover on the other. But the feeling was gone before it had a chance to take root.

She changed and they headed for the Pine Tree Lounge.

******

Gary arrived at the Pine Tree motor lodge at noon just as planned. He had the envelope. He knocked on 103.

"Hi, Gary," I said

"You okay, man?" said Gary entering the room. "Kinda cheap for you isn't it?"

"It's the one they used to fuck me over in," I said. "It has sentimental value, you might say," I said, as bitterly as I had ever said anything. "You got 'em?"

"Oh yeah. He's stealing from where he works. He's a driver. Delivers different stuff. But he kicks about five percent of it before he ever gets to his delivery point. Don't know how long he's been doing it, but an audit will show it for sure," said Gary.

"Film at seven?" I said.

"Oh yeah, audio too. He's going to jail sure," said Gary.

"Where's Mark?" I asked.

"Doin' like you asked. He's delivering the evidence to the company's bosses. I figure he oughta be done about now," he said.

"How'd you get all this stuff?" I said.

"Simple, we followed the asshole. He isn't very bright. I'm surprised he hasn't been caught already. The guy's a real moron. Gotta be borderline retarded, and I'm not sure about the borderline part," said Gary.

"Blake, whaddya gonna do? Mark and I are worried about yuh, man? You need to stop being holed up here and get out some.

"You even seen your kids, man?" he said.

"No. I ain't seen 'em since I left a week ago. I do miss 'em," I said. "I guess I'm gonna have to go back. I hate to show up there with my tail between my legs, but I can't stay away from my babies too long or she might turn 'em against me."

"Nah, I ain't seein' that," said Gary. "I know you ain't gonna wanna be hearin' it, but I known babes like Alana before, lots of 'em. They love their husbands right enough; they just don't see the harm in a little strange on the side. No man, she loves you; problem is she just doesn't see what's right.