Are We Even Now? Pt. 06

Then why did I feel so empty? If Tad couldn't handle the results of his own actions, why was that my problem? It was true that I had enjoyed every bit of his punishment. I enjoyed setting the trap, leading my unsuspecting husband into it, and springing it on him, watching it snap shut on him. He deserved it, and I enjoyed it all. So what? Part of the process was to reclaim the self-respect that he had destroyed with his cheating. I could safely say I did that. So why didn't I feel better about it?

Before I knew it, we were landing, and there was Burt. I was in his arms, and all thoughts of my marriage were left behind. We didn't wear each other out with sex like we had the previous weekend. Tad and I had never visited Burt at his place, he had always come to ours, so he showed me around his city. We had fun, we ate well, and yes, we had great sex. Burt had learned a lot about what I liked the previous weekend, and he put it to good use. He could turn me into a wildly screaming sex fiend, a warm gooey mass of love, or a brainless fucked-out rag doll, as he chose. That weekend, he mastered me.

We didn't talk about Tad or my marriage until just before he took me to the airport. Burt figured that his friendship with Tad was over now, no matter what. I had to admit, he might be right. It was taking far longer than I had thought it would for Tad to settle down and be reasonable. Burt said he would be there for me, in whatever role I needed or wanted, and we could take things as slow or fast as I was comfortable, but he wanted our special friendship to continue.

I said it all depended on what Tad did, or didn't do. If he came home and wanted to start over again with me, that's what would happen, and I would invest myself completely in our marriage. Tad would probably insist on my not seeing Burt at all, at least at first. I would agree, though I would try to change his mind. Anyway, Burt and I would still have our memories. If we divorced, well, Burt had made damn sure he was my first option! He took me to the airport, we shared a lovers' kiss, and I boarded. I spent the flight staring out the window and remembering my weekend with Burt. That was much nicer than thinking about Tad; I wouldn't do that until I had to. I landed, found my car, and drove home. Tad's car wasn't there.

I sighed, suddenly weary, as I dragged myself and my little suitcase into our empty house. There was something depressing about walking into a house with nobody in it, I thought, as I dumped my weekend clothes into the laundry hamper and laid out what I would wear to work the next day. I went to the mailbox to move Saturday's ration of junk from there to the recycle bin, and stopped short at a business envelope addressed to me. The handwriting on the envelope was Tad's; the return address was his work. That was strange: Tad never wrote letters. I shivered slightly; then poured myself a glass of wine and opened the envelope.

"Dear Sandy,

"Everybody here is telling me we have to talk. I guess they're right, but whenever I think of what you did last weekend, I'm mad enough to spit nails. Or pickaxe handles. Somebody asked why I didn't write you a letter, and I told him I don't write letters, but then I thought this way you can't interrupt, and I can copy it over and send you the version without the cuss words.

"You need to know some things that you never let me tell you. Charlotte's husband was right, she and Nancy had been slutting around for about two months. Longer than that, actually. But only once with me, and they had to get me mostly drunk. They had some lame-ass contest going on about how many guys at the office they could screw before they got in trouble, or something like that. I didn't give a rip about the details, I just tried to avoid them. I did, too, until that full of crap team building weekend. I told them that was a lousy idea, but as usual they didn't listen.

"So why did her husband only get pictures of me, and not the other guys? First, you don't know that he didn't get pictures of her with other guys, he just didn't send them to you. Besides, it must have been dead easy for that PI to get pictures that weekend. He didn't have to chase around after anybody like he would have for a lunch or something, we were all in the same place. He also would have known before hand where we'd be. He probably had all the rooms bugged before we got there.

"You're saying once is once too many, and drunk is no excuse. You're right. I agree. That's why I've been sorry and ashamed about it ever since. That's why I didn't tell you, not because I think you're too stupid to find out, like you shouted at me Saturday night. I'm sorry, more sorry than for anything else I've ever done, and it won't happen again. That's the truth, and I'll tell you as often as I have to. Oh, another thing you need to know: I got tested for STDs and I'm clean. I made sure of that before I made love with you again.

"So now you're willing to say we're even. That's nice of you, real nice. Yeah, we both cheated. I did it once when I was drunk, it wasn't meant to hurt you, but I know it did, and I'm sorry. You made me watch while you stripped for a bunch of strangers and let them stick their fingers up your twat and then you fucked my former best friend bareback, all on a stage in front of everybody. Then you kicked me out of our bedroom so you could spend the night with him. You set out to hurt me as badly as you possibly could, and you damn well did, and you're not sorry, not even a little bit.

"Hell no, we're not even. Not even close. And you know what? We never will be. Why? Because as mad at you as I was, and am, I don't think I could ever intentionally hurt you bad enough to make us even.

"You keep saying you want me to come home. We can begin a new life, if I'm still interested, is that what you said? I don't know if I am. I know I love you. I miss you all the time. But if you loved me, how could you do what you did? I know I couldn't do it to you. Besides, after last weekend, the idea of sleeping with you makes me want to puke. I could barely stand to go into our bedroom Sunday to get my stuff.

"What happens now? Hell, I don't know. If you forced me to make a decision today, I'd probably divorce you. But every time I think about doing that, it feels like there's this huge empty hole in me. I never thought that could actually happen, but it does. Is that how you feel? Why the hell did you have to go and do this, Sandy? What made you think this was a good idea?

"I'm calmer now, at least I think I am. My buddy said writing this would help, and maybe it did. Maybe we can talk in a week or so. I'll let you know.

"Love, Tad."

To say I had mixed emotions after reading the letter would be putting it mildly. First, I was angry. Tad knew perfectly well why I did what I did; I told him explicitly. It was something I had to do to make sure he wouldn't cheat on me again, and I was not about to apologize for it, or feel the least bit guilty. If Tad couldn't handle the results of his own actions, maybe divorce was the right answer. A smile curled my lips as I thought of my "first option."

I hadn't looked at the photographs of Tad's cheating very carefully, I couldn't bear to. I did so now. They could very well have come from a single encounter with each woman, in the same or very similar rooms. I tried to remember what Mr. Ewing told me. His PI said the liaisons had been going on for two months, but he didn't say they were all with Tad, so Tad could be telling the truth. If he was, I guess I could see why he might feel my response was a bit much. I remembered Burt had been concerned about that. Still, what difference did that make? He admitted once was once too many, and he was right.

I reread the part about the empty hole. Yes, I felt it, too. I still loved him, and I missed him, too. I didn't feel it when I was with Burt, and thinking about him covered it over somewhat. It was there, though, and walking into this empty house tonight had made me feel it. I should call him, at least to let him know I was home, and that I'd be glad to see him or talk with him whenever he was ready. I sighed, pulled out my phone, and realized I hadn't turned it back on after my flight Friday evening.

There was a message from Tad, from late Saturday morning.

"You tell me you want me home, you want us to start over together, and then you spend the weekend with him? Fucking him? That's it. We're done. I'm seeing a lawyer Monday. Don't call, don't write, don't send a fucking carrier pigeon, and have a shitty life, even worse than what you turned mine into, if possible."

What was that all about? I told him I was only going to Burt because he wasn't there, and I'd have chosen him over Burt in a second if he had been available. He wasn't, and he was the one who left, not me. Now somehow that was my fault, and he decided we were through?

I took some deep breaths and calmed down. If Tad hadn't gotten my message until Saturday morning, I could understand his being upset. I decided I would give him some time to cool down.

I called Monday evening; Tad's phone went straight to voice mail. "Tad, sweetie, I'm sorry you didn't get my message about the weekend until Saturday. I didn't see your letter until Sunday night, so I guess our messages crossed. I do still want you back here, in our home, where you belong, and I want to begin a new life with you, and I'll be right here whenever you're ready. I know we need to talk; just name a place and time that's convenient for you. I love you, and it's time to put all of this in the past."

I left similar messages for Tad every evening that week, but he didn't call. I checked the mailbox, too: nothing. Friday came. I wasn't looking forward to the weekend: it didn't look like Tad would be home, and I certainly wasn't going to visit Burt again. The Club? No, better not. I was walking to my car, trying to figure out something to do with myself for the weekend when I was accosted by someone asking if I was Alexandra Miller. I said I was. I was handed an envelope, a camera flash went off, and I heard the words, "You have been served."

After I recovered from my shock, I was furious. All I'd done was get even for his cheating, and get my self-respect back. He's divorcing me over this? Fine. His loss. It was too late to get to Burt's that night, but nothing prevented my inviting him to our house, so I did. If Tad thought what I had done two weeks before was over the top, what I would do this weekend would completely blow his little mind.

I picked up Burt at the airport about 9:00 PM, brought him home, took him to the bedroom and attacked him. I won't bore you with the rest of the details, except to say that we pretty much set The Club on fire Saturday night, and that was some of the tamest stuff we did. We didn't talk about Tad or my marriage until I was taking him to the airport Sunday afternoon.

"I take it Tad still hasn't come round?" Burt asked, somewhat tentatively.

"No, he hasn't, and he hasn't given any sign that he's ready to." It was hard, but I kept the edge out of my voice so I wouldn't give anything away.

"Well, I guess as long as he stays away, I get some great weekends out of it," he chuckled. I laughed along with him: I'd had a pretty great weekend, myself.

Monday, I took some time off and left Tad's papers with my attorney. He called me back Wednesday. The terms Tad proposed were quite fair; we made about the same amount of money so there would be no alimony, and he was offering me the house. We'd paid on it for about eight years, so we had some equity. It finally began to sink in that my marriage was ending, and that I didn't particularly want it to.

"Is there any chance he'd talk to me? Could we possibly work it out?"

Apparently not. My lawyer talked to his lawyer, and Tad said he never wanted to see me again, and would do whatever it took to make that happen. That hurt. I really had thought we would get past this and survive. I guess not. So that left things open for my number one option. I thought of my friend, that perfect human specimen, and the way he made love to me, and smiled.

I called Burt that night, and told him what Tad had done. He made the correct sympathetic noises. I put a little bit of sexy into my voice and asked if my number one option was available this weekend.

"Well, about that," he began a little sheepishly. "You see, I got an email from Tad. There was no hello or goodbye, it just said I'd seen what you did to him; what made me think you wouldn't do the same thing to me?

"So I started thinking about it. You remember I kept asking if you weren't being too hard on him? Well, I started thinking about what I'd feel if Tad and I switched places, and I didn't like it at all. He had a good point: I've seen what you could do to Tad, and you still say you love him. Why wouldn't you do something equally cruel to me?"

"But Burt, you wouldn't cheat on me like Tad did."

"I don't think I would, Sandy, and I'd sure try not to, but nobody's perfect. Besides, I don't know the whole story. There might be more to it than you knew that night, though I know I'll never hear it from Tad. Besides, it might not be cheating, but something else I'd do wrong. I don't know if every wife makes mistakes, but I'm pretty sure every husband does.

"Anyway, Sandy, you've been a great friend and I'd like us to stay friends, but thinking about what you did to Tad and how I'd feel if I were him, I just don't think I'm your number one option, or any option, any more."

I laid into him with a lot of unkind, unloving, profane words, delivered at the top of my voice. In fact, I did a pretty good imitation of Tad. I didn't stop until well after he'd hung up. Then I sank back onto the sofa and felt sorry for myself for a while. What was it with men, anyway? You try to get a little of your own back after they screw up, and they go all nuclear on you. To hell with all of them! To hell with trying to love and have relationships, if this is what it got you. Fuck them all! To hell with them!

It was the dullest weekend I'd had in years.

I didn't fight the divorce. My lawyer told me it sounded like we'd both hurt each other so badly that we should just give up, and it looked like Tad thought so, too, so I signed the papers. I was a little sad, or maybe wistful is more like it, as I cleaned out the house and sold it, but I was ready to move on. With my job and the money from the house, I was pretty comfortable financially. My love life was another story, but if Burt didn't want me, I was sure there were other men who did.

I discovered I was an exhibitionist. Those two nights at The Club had led to some of the hottest sex in my life, and now I had no reason not to have it anytime I wanted. Paul was delighted when I told him I wanted to be a regular, and I was amazed how much money I earned, but the important thing was the thrill: the roaring crowd of men lusting after me, wondering how far I'd let them go, how close they could get to my tits or my ass or my thighs or my pussy. How I could lead them all on, and pick one (or two, or three) to join me on stage. I took a few of them home sometimes; Danny the bouncer was a frequent and welcome guest. I had the world by the tail. Love? Who needs that shit?

Burt and I had repaired our friendship, though it took a while and we never made it back to bed. He told me when he met someone with whom he wanted to settle down. I thought I'd never see the day, but I was happy for him, and spent the weekend of my fortieth birthday at his wedding. Burt introduced me to Taylor, his bride to be, at the rehearsal dinner, and we hit it off. She wasn't the most beautiful woman there (I was pretty sure I could out-hot her for all that she was ten years younger), but she was a real sweetheart, with the most adorable four-year-old daughter you've ever seen. The girl had been her niece, but Taylor had adopted her after her brother and sister-in-law were killed in a car crash. That little girl had Burt completely wrapped around her little finger.

I was sitting by myself at the outdoor reception, watching people. There were families and children everywhere. Proud parents, exasperated parents; happy children, unruly children, who had all been in their good clothes far too long. The thought popped into my mind: which of those would Tad and I have been like? I hadn't thought about him in forever. We'd been seriously considering starting our family before he cheated; we probably would have had two by now. Instead, I was alone, and alone at a wedding is alone indeed.

I was good at my job and well paid; I had friends at work, but none that I wanted to spend time with afterward. My love life consisted of brief affairs, none lasting longer than three months. My times at The Club had become less satisfying as I aged, and was less able to compete with the younger women. It wouldn't be long before I had to quit to avoid being humiliated. I looked at my future, and suddenly, I didn't like what I saw.

Did Tad's cheating create all this? Well of course, I answered. That answer was a reflex by now. He started it; I did what I had to so it wouldn't happen again, and I could have my self-respect back, and he ended our marriage. I had no reason to feel guilt or regret. I'd repeated that to myself so many times I didn't even really think about it anymore.

Wait a minute, though. What would have happened if Tad and I had talked it through before I punished him? I had been terribly hurt when I found out Tad had cheated. The chance for revenge had fallen into my lap while I was still foaming at the mouth over the PI's report, and I seized it with both hands, no looking back. Would I have done the same thing if I'd known he only cheated once? For the first time, I thought maybe that hadn't been the best thing to do.

Would we still be together if I'd confronted Tad and we'd talked it out before Burt's visit? Who knows? I was so angry I might have walked out on him. That was before I knew it was just once, though, and as much as I hated to admit it, that did make a difference. Could we have made it? I didn't know. As I looked at the families around me, and tried to picture myself as one of the mothers, there was only one man whom I pictured as my loving (if somewhat harassed) husband: Tad.

I came home after the wedding resolved to do something about my life. I called Paul, and told him I was quitting The Club. He actually had the gall to say that was a good idea! He certainly got a piece of my mind in return! Then I hired a PI to find Tad. He'd changed both cell phones and jobs, so I thought that would be the easiest way to find him. I told myself I wanted to apologize (finally), but I have to admit I also hoped that he was single and as miserable as I was. After all, we were meant to be together, weren't we? That's what everyone had said.

A couple of weeks (and some thousands of dollars) later, I found myself watching from around the corner as a man bent to kiss his wife goodbye on the front step of a tidy little house. How very ordinary, I thought, noticing that the house was a bit smaller than the one we'd shared. But the kiss she gave him was no simple wifely peck on the cheek. It was a scorcher, clearly intended to keep his mind on her all day. I bet it worked, too. Was she hotter than I was? I didn't know, and it didn't matter. I knew that the radiant, loving smile on her face as they shared a tender word or two made her the most beautiful woman in his world, and that's what mattered.

The two pretty little girls, one a half-height image of her mother, the other slightly smaller, waved as he turned to go. After a final, intimate shared smile, he was in his car, and the wife and daughters turned back into the house. It was probably time to get ready to go to school. The girls were both too old to be his, I thought, but that didn't seem to matter to them, or their mother.