An Unfaithful Wife: Brad's Story

~~v~~

There were other things that weren't so good. One was work. I was good, real good for a long time. No one knew what was happening. Oh sure, they noticed on the rare occasions when Carol would have made an appearance that she was absent, but no one, well almost no one knew the truth. Of course it didn't hold up. I'd become a ghost at work; the truth about my failed marriage leaked out. What did I expect? My kids were with me at all the games. The students at my school were nosy. Yeah Mr. Wernicke's wife had left him for some doctor. It got like a Robert Louis Stevenson novel; Dr. Jekyll disappeared and Mr. Hyde moved in, and with that came the commensurate loss of respect.

Certainly another bad thing, one very bad thing was the question of my self-esteem. Carol had not only broken my heart; she'd successfully lied to me and withheld her true nature from me for nearly twenty years. I wondered if that was really true. It was hard to accept, but still I guess it was true, or I was just too blind, or just too stupid.

I had to get even; make up for my stupidity. Oh I wasn't going to get even with Carol; that ship had sailed. But I had to prove something. I mean was I a man, really a man? There was only one thing to do, and for those first six months or so I did it. I hit every tavern, every bar, and every night spot in the region. I found women, I dated them, I fucked them, and I left them. I hit on every woman I saw. I made a complete ass of myself. Oh I got a lot of pussy, and I never caught anything, but it didn't mean anything. The more I scored the more unhappy I became.

For sure I hit a lot of night spots that were frequented by Carol's friends. I never planned it; it just happened. By then I'd redone my whole wardrobe and bought a new car. I was in the gym or at the pool all the time. I'd trimmed down and muscled up. Sooner or later it had to happen; some of Carol's nurse friends saw me out with a big breasted blond. They saw me doing things I'd seldom done with Carol; things like dancing and partying.

Word got back to Carol. Oh she never called, and I never saw her when I was out or anything; the kids brought me the news. Carol was furious! I wondered; why was she furious? Why should she even bring it up to the kids? I mean, what was her problem? Hadn't she won? Hadn't she gotten what she wanted? These were just more questions for which there were no answers.

Part Two: Salvation comes with red hair and freckles.

I guess I was killing myself, and I know it showed up at work. How did I know it showed up at work? I knew because it took another woman to reveal it to me.

~~v~~

I had to admit I'd always noticed Ms. Fitzgerald. She had the 'look'. She stood about 5'2", dark reddish brown hair, freckles, skin like buttermilk, green eyes, and she behaved like the classic 'Dorothy' right out of "The Wizard of Oz". Well she sure looked different from Carol. And I mean almost everybody, including me, liked her. That everybody included the kids at school; well the kids didn't just like her, they loved her, they were wild about her.

Not everybody liked her though. She had her detractors. I wondered sometimes if a few of the nastier teacher's distaste for her didn't have something to do with jealousy. Silly thought; of course it did.

On another level an objective look at her was to see a woman more flat chested than most of the youngest girls, about as curvy as a two by four, and with a voice that sounded like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. Just the same nearly all the boys got starry eyed when she walked by, and the girls, well the girls were in and out of her classroom like yellow jackets.

Me, I left her alone. She taught history, to me one of the most boring subjects in the curriculum, but she made it seem interesting. She supervised the school store, and she ran an after-school music program where she taught banjo to some of the worst slackers in the school.

~~v~~

I recall how my first post-divorce interaction with Ms. Fitzgerald came about. I was at my desk in my office with the door open. I did that a lot. People generally were afraid of me; not afraid as in I'd hit them, but afraid because I was the principal and I could fuck with schedules and such, not that I really ever would. So Carol had left me, and I guess I got to be something of a miserable hard ass at work. But I had an excuse, I was in pain.

There I was at my desk, feeling proud, powerful, and admittedly insecure when tiny little skinny assed flat chested Sheena Fitzgerald passed by my door. She looked in, and she must have seen or sensed something. She stopped, she turned, and she came in. Closing the door behind her she walked toward my desk. I didn't realize it yet, but my life was about to change again.

Ms. Fitzgerald came in, sat down, and started to talk. "Brad," she said, "I can see you're troubled. I want to help."

What was that? I was her boss, her principal, and she used my first name! I replied, "Ms. Fitzgerald," emphasizing the Ms., "I'm just fine. Now is there anything I can do for you?"

She smiled at me. Then she started in on one of the more interesting litanies I'd ever heard, "Mr. Wernicke, Brad," she said, "I'm almost thirty-two years old. I'm not one of the prettiest girls around, and I have the sex appeal of a slug. I have a five year old daughter with a deadbeat dad, but I know I can help."

I thought, 'pretty good warm up.' After all I was basically a teacher, and getting the old 'whine and moan, you don't know how bad it's been for me at home' has always been pretty standard fare from kids who wanted something. I tried to stop her but she wouldn't let me.

She was too busy throwing strikes, she said, "I can see. Brad you're stuck. You're in a hole and don't know how to get out. Believe me I've been there..."

I stood up, moved around from behind my desk, and started toward the door. Holding out my right arm as if to herd her out of the office I said, "See here Ms. Fitzgerald..."

She wasn't about to stop. I should've known better, I'd seen her in action with her students. She was the original 'energizer bunny'. She started to move into the arc of my outstretched arm, "Mr. Wernicke everyone knows what happened. Everyone else is sorry, but I'm not. I've decided you need my help. I've seen your kids. They're a couple of cute little munchkins and..."

Jesus! She was scaring me! I dropped my arm and retreated a step. Undeterred she continued to move in on me. I thought I saw a chink though; she reflexively put the index finger of her right hand to her lips. I knew the sign; it was either a subtle sexual move or an unconscious sign of indecisiveness. Yeah, I got it; a blatant sexual signal or subliminal message of uncertainty, either way I was about to reclaim the advantage.

Before she got out another word I stopped, stood stiffly, and said, "Ms. Fitzgerald your personal...,"

I could smell her perfume, and she kept smiling. I tried to shut off my olfactory system, "family history is of no...,"

She was wearing one of her customary, self-regulating uniforms, a sexless heavy tweed business suit. I tried to keep my eyes focused on her face; she kept batting her eyes. I sort of tried to finish my sentence, "importance to me except...,"

This close not even the heavy tweed of that bulky coat could conceal her delicate and exquisitely feminine features. This was nerve wracking. I might have to write her up for this, I tried to finish, "how they might..."

She put her tiny hand to my chest and gently pushed.

'Christ,' I thought, 'she had such small hands, those petite little wrists and that clear nail gloss!' I leaned back against the front of my desk. With a quiet vehemence I tried to reassert my position, "Ms. Fitzgerald this is..."

She placed her fingers to my lips. Not hers! Mine! I thought, 'Great Caesar's ghost; such temerity, how impudent!' I put my hands on her shoulders. Big mistake! Such tiny, soft shoulders! I was covered in perspiration under my sports coat. I knew I was blushing. I said, "Ms. Fitzgerald! Stop! Please!"

She stopped. She took one small, very delicate, almost intimate, step back.

"Starting tomorrow," she said, "I'm putting you at the top of my list. You'll see. I want you to be my friend, my best friend. I mean to have you that way."

She reached up and pretended to pick some imaginary piece of lint from the lapel of my sports coat. She beamed up at me; it was the sweetest most adorable smile, pearly white teeth peeked through almost irresistibly kissable lips. Then she stepped back, uncertainty replaced confidence. "Tomorrow," she said, at last she turned and left my office.

'Wow,' I thought, 'where did that come from?'

~~v~~

It took me several seconds to recover my aplomb, but recover I did. What had I just experienced? It was obvious; it was one of three things. First, she sincerely believed she could become a friend. Second she was responding to some teacher bet, some dare, or third, she was a wanton, a whore, and she saw me as another conquest. I concluded it was either door number two or three.

I knew what I had to do. She had to leave. I had to get her the hell out of my school! I walked around and sat back at my desk. Dr. De' Shields, Mrs. Ariana De' Shields was my supervisor. I picked up the phone. I'd call Ariana and arrange to have Ms. Fitzgerald transferred. She was just a history teacher; history teachers were a dime a dozen, she'd be gone in less than a week.

I called and got Mrs. De' Shields secretary. She advised me Dr. De' Shields was out of the office, she was tending to a problem at another school. 'Shit', I thought, I had an idea where she was. They were having problems at Westwood High. She'd intimated just a few days ago on the phone changes were imminent at Westwood. On the QT she mentioned transfers were coming. Westwood was a toilet, I knew their principal and he was an incompetent, half the staff there was incompetent.

I reflected on school system policy. All school systems did it. Principals, and I was one of them, never went to the wall to fire a teacher, it was just too damn difficult. There were just too many variables; what with race, sex, age, seniority, unions, politicians, relatives of politicians, coaching jobs. We just transferred them over and over. Eventually these 'lemons', it was called 'the dance of the lemons', all found themselves at the same school. At the time Westwood was the 'lemon hole'.

Ariana had all but offered me the post. No way! Absolutely no way was I leaving Oak Crest, my school, for Westwood. If I talked to Ariana about Sheena she might just as readily move me as Sheena. I didn't want to go there, and I sure couldn't let them send Sheena to a place like that either. Why the lazy wolves there would tear her to shreds! Besides if I managed to get Ms. Fitzgerald moved I might end up with some loser.

I thanked Dr. De' Shields secretary and told her my call had been strictly social. I'd get back later. I told her to not even bother tell her I called. Putting down the phone I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd stupidly forgotten every public school teachers and administrators 'prime directive'; 'competent people were always expected to be able to handle their problems without crying for help'.

I'd have to handle my problem myself.

~~v~~

The next day 'Ms. Typically Tweed Business Suits Sheena Fitzgerald' came in dressed in a pale green blouse of the thinnest softest, 'most seductive', fabric imaginable. The color matched the emerald in her eyes perfectly. The dark green and black miniskirt, the black nylons, and black spiked heels got the expected reaction, not just from me, but from every single person in the school. Oh yeah, I got it. Ms. Fitzgerald was a whore on the make. Women; they were all the same.

Every time I turned around she was in or near the main office, 'my home ground'. It was patently obvious to me what she was up to, and I had to admit she had me at a disadvantage. Worse, at the end of the day as I was stepping to my car to leave she accosted me and insisted I help her carry some boxes to her car.

When I did and was finished she stood on tip toes and touched me on the cheek. I immediately thought of Carol. Sheena told me she hoped to meet with me Friday afternoon after school. She said, she'd be at the Denny's near our school. She said she'd be waiting outside.

I told her she was mistaken to think I'd be there. I told her I could lose my job. She told me I could only lose my job if she complained, and that was never going to happen. She told me I needed someone, and she thought she could help.

I told her she was crazy. She only smiled.

That had been on a Wednesday. By hiding in my office I got through Thursday and Friday without any direct contact, but it wasn't because she hadn't tried. I sneaked a peek out every now and then. I had to admit, as skinny as she was, she was most decidedly pretty, a tasty little morsel; nothing like my ex-wife.

Well it was wintertime. Friday was a cold blustery day. I was sure Ms. Fitzgerald wouldn't be foolish enough to think she could stand outside on a cold parking lot and think I'd come. Just the same, only out of curiosity I decide to drive by. She was there. She looked cold. This was ridiculous. I pulled in the lot, got out of my car intent on giving her a stiff lecture while I walked her to her car.

I got out, walked up, and started to say, "Ms. Fitzgerald..."

She smiled, waved, and started toward me. Oh foolish me! I'd stupidly parked so that my car was on the opposite side of the restaurant's front door. To get her to her car we'd have to meet someplace at that damn front door.

She reached me, took my arm, and started to herd me toward the door, she laughingly said, "You look like a 'Grand Slam' to me."

The 'Grand slam' was my favorite Denny's menu item. I grumbled, "I can't stay long, maybe just a coffee."

By then she had her arm locked in the crook of my elbow, "We'll see," she said.

School 'affairs' have gone on since the first school opened in Colonial Massachusetts, but they've almost always been conducted with at least a modicum of discretion. Over the years I'd caught a few.

I recalled once I'd gone into the English department's book-room to obtain a copy of their tenth grade course of study. Upon entering I found one of our young female teachers on her knees in the process of delightedly taking my English department head's penis in her mouth. I remembered I'd expelled a firm ahem; they'd looked up, saw me, broke apart, quietly straightened their attire, and disappeared out the door. Nothing was ever said.

I wondered, 'Was that what Sheena was after,' some tawdry affair? Yeah probably; I couldn't imagine anything else.

Sheena and I sat at a table opposite each other at Denny's. I warned her, "This is just a 'one off'. I only stopped because I couldn't let you stand outside in the cold."

Her eyes fluttered, I thought, 'Who was she kidding.' She said, "No you wouldn't, that's because you're a gentleman," she shifted in her seat and went on, "You know I've had the biggest crush on you ever since you came to Oak Crest. My husband had abandoned me and our daughter just weeks before you came. He crushed me in the divorce. I don't mean the money; it was the way he treated me, the things he said. I saw you with your children. You were so wonderful. You were so happy. I'm so sorry, but I could tell almost to the day when your wife left you. I don't know the details, but I do know what happened."

She reached across the table and took my hand, "Please let me help."

If anything, Sheena wasn't being discreet; she was announcing her intentions openly and honestly. I had my doubts; maybe she wasn't playing the strumpet. Just the same I felt like I needed to set her straight, "Ms. Fitzgerald I appreciate your interest...your empathy, but I want to warn you I don't see you as a sexual person."

She rocked back and laughed, "My god I hope not. No one else ever has or will. No, I just want us to be friends, we're already kindred spirits. I've already been through it. We can swap stories. I know I can help."

I rocked back then. First, I knew and saw my 'asexual' comment hurt. Second, I knew she was lying; half the men and most of the boys at school wanted her. Then third I wondered if I wanted her 'help'. I decided, 'no' I didn't, but I did want to keep seeing her. It occurred to me, I liked her, and not as a woman, not as some potential sexual conquest, but as a person, just a person.

I corrected my comment, "I didn't mean I didn't think you're pretty. You're very pretty. In any other circumstance I'd certainly be interested, but we're colleagues. I have a school to manage. Yes, I think we can be friends, but let's be professionals too."

She smiled and nodded, "Let's set up a 'play date'. I can bring my girl, you bring your kids, and we can talk."

I noticed she had really long eyelashes and the way she had her hair pulled back I saw she had on earrings shaped in a semicircle with I guessed tiny emeralds in them. She had small round pierced ears with tiny ear lobes. A velvety wisp of reddish hair seemed have drifted down to cover a little of her left eye. I felt like I needed to reach over and push it back so I could see her better, but I didn't. I said, "OK, pick a day and time."

Sheena looked to the ceiling then at me, "Not this weekend. How about next Saturday? You decide what and where."

I said, "No you decide."

She said, "No, you're the man, you decide."

I hadn't heard anything like that in years. I tried hard to keep my chest from puffing out too much, "All right. Next Saturday. I'll let you know the where and what next week."

Together we stood up, shook hands, and I walked her out to her car. She owned a VW; a far cry from Carol's preferences. We shook hands again at her car. I helped her in, stood aside as she started up and pulled away. I watched her as she drove off the lot. As soon as she pulled away I started to have second thoughts. I checked my watch. I had to hurry to get home before my kids.

Later that night after I'd put the kids in bed I very stupidly got out some old pictures of Carol and me. When she left she'd taken no pictures of me, only a few of our kids and she'd left me with our wedding album. I don't know why I did it, but I looked through the old pictures. It was so sad. I don't know why, but I cried. I knew I'd have to cut things off with Ms. Fitzgerald before anything developed.

~~v~~

The very next Monday I was on morning hall duty when Ms. Fitzgerald came in from the lot to get her morning mail and homeroom roll book. I guess the expression on my face gave me away; she saw me and withered. Her bright cheery face turned an ashen grey. I chickened out. I covered my face with a smile and walked straight toward her, "Good morning," teachers and students were all about. I made no pretense at discretion. Loudly and deliberately I proclaimed, "There's a skating rink a few blocks from my condo. We could take the kids skating, and afterward have lunch at my place." Teachers, students, and staff were walking by. They heard every word, but they pretended not to. I knew by the end of the day everybody in the building would know Ms. Fitzgerald and I were keeping company.

Ms. Fitzgerald looked uncertain. I was sure my first face had disturbed her, now she just didn't know. She replied, "I never learned to ice skate and my baby..."

I very deliberately reached out and touched her hand, "Outstanding! I can be your teacher."

At last she really smiled, but I could still tell she wasn't quite sure, she replied, "All right. Let's do it."

Coincidentally it was the first week of the month. Most principals used that first Monday for faculty meetings. I preferred the first Tuesday; Monday's were bad enough as it was. The next day, that Tuesday, when we met in the cafeteria I sort of surreptitiously nodded to the table nearest me when Sheena came in. She took the hint and sat up front. I was determined not to hide anything. People would gossip anyway. I wanted everyone to know this was about friendship; it wasn't some dirty affair.