Blind to the Truth

By Jay Cameron

Telling this story is one of the most, if not the most difficult, and most important things I have ever done. You can laugh all you want, but it's important for my sanity, my state of mind, my ability to get out of bed in the morning. Not just for tomorrow morning, but for all the mornings I will face in the future.

Before I go any further, it's important you know who I am. My name is Norman Franklin. I was fortunate to be the second born, my parents named my older brother Benjamin, and he hates it. As you try and figure out what makes me tick, I'll save you a little time and effort. Looking at my life, such as it is, I grew up as the most naïve, ill prepared air-breathing sap in the world (at least that's how I feel about it.)

As of today, I'm a salesman.... I married a foxy little blonde named Betty. And, yes, there is no reason to put this off. She is the bung in my life. She removed the cork, tapped into my consciousness. She then set out to drain me of my soul and anything and everything she could pour into the toilet of my life.

Up until a fateful day, several months ago, I thought I had the perfect marriage (I said I was naïve). The marriage was four years along, and it did seem perfect, at least to me.

As I said before, I'm a salesman. I'm one of those guys that refuses to take no for an answer to anything. I don't sell cars or anything like a car. I sell advertising, Radio and Television advertising. If you sell a car, there is something the buyer can touch. He can put his hands on the steering wheel, drive it off the lot. I'm not that guy. I sell air. I sell time. It may sound a little mystic but when you get right down to it, it's kind of cool. I give you the opportunity to shout from the rooftop the name of your product. In a way your product or name becomes imbedded in the empty space in the dark reaches of our minds. You can't eat it or drink it, but you will benefit from it. Many of you say what I do annoys the hell out of you. But that TV or Radio program wouldn't be free if not for my efforts.

As for me and the guys I work with, the routine is very simple. On Thursday afternoon, all five members of our sales team gather at the office to get our marching orders for the next week. On Friday, we review and verify that all the work and travel for the past week has been finished, and every client will be able to see or hear their commercials as they wanted, or the way they visualized them when they bought them.

Fridays are the days we take care of the finer points of our efforts that week. On this particular Friday, I was done early so a co-worker, a guy named Mike Johnson, invited me to meet him for a drink at a nearby bar. Mike's a big black man that is really a great friend. When I showed up, he already had my drink waiting for me. We talked for a few minutes, saying nothing important. When I started relating a story of one of my clients, he stopped me in mid-sentence.

"Norman," calling me by my full name is a little unusual for this guy. He usually calls me Norm. "I have to tell you something important, and I'm not sure how to say this." He scanned the tables around us as though verifying he was not being overheard. "You know my wife, Nell?" Still showing signs of not knowing how to proceed. "Nell was out with a girlfriend last Tuesday having lunch."

"Good.... what has that to do with me?"

Again, Mikes' expression turned weird.... like he was reluctant to say anything.

"Jesus, Mike, tell me! What the fuck is the problem?"

"Like I was saying, Nell was out with a girlfriend of hers, and she saw Betty...

I interrupted... "She saw my wife, Betty?"

"Fuck this is hard to say. Yes, your wife Betty! She was having lunch with some guy Nell hadn't seen before."

Suddenly, my lungs quit functioning. "It couldn't have been Betty. Last Tuesday was the day she volunteered to chaperone the girls softball team to Hapsburg for their tournament."

"You guys don't have a girl on a softball team? You don't have any kids."

"No, the coach asked her to help because she played softball in college." I said, making the effort to prove him wrong when saying my wife wasn't where she told me she was.

"No, you're wrong. She was having lunch with another guy at the Fifty-Eighth Street diner," Mike insisted somewhat adamantly. "And Betty said they were a little more than just friendly." At that point he turned over his phone that had been lying on the table face down. There, in crystal clear color was a couple sitting in a booth, wrapped up in a passionate kiss. But then he swiped across the screen to reveal a second and more damning photo. There was no doubt, I could see a clear and undeniable photo of my wife. Mike made it even more gut-wrenching when he expanded the picture to better see the look of lust in my wife's eyes.

The bar became silent, the sound of the jukebox was gone. I was so stunned with what I was being told by my friend, my ears went into a state of silence. Without expressing a single word, I finished my drink with one motion and stood to leave. Before I left my friend, halfway to the door I turned and thanked Mike. For the life of me I don't know why I felt the need to thank him, but I did and then left the darkness into a blinding light.

I guess everyone has a special place they go when they are faced with the crisis of everyday life. When I was a toddler growing up my special place was my closet. Now that I was a man, or felt I was a man, I had to find a new "Crystal Palace". Mine was a peaceful hiding spot on the banks of a small lake outside of town.

Without even realizing what I was doing or where I was going, I ended up at my peaceful place. As my mind cleared, I found myself sitting in my car gazing, as in a trance, at the gentle wind whipped waves of the lake. My mind was filled with pain, then anger, disbelief and then reality. Was I to blame? What did I do to make her want another man. Or was I already out of her life? There had to be a reason, there just had to be. But what was that reason? What? What? What?

Tears had now made their presence known and I couldn't seem to stop them. I had tried so hard to do all the things a husband should do for his wife, his love, his family, his future.

After more than just a few minutes of self-pity, I took my phone and selected a number from the contact list. "Dad.... I have a problem and I need your help."

My father was never a man I would go to in my past for help, but he had faced the same battle before and I needed some guidance. At first there was only silence on the line. My father was known for facing adversity and I knew he could help. When I told him of my meeting with Mike, I could almost see the look on his face, even though he was so many, many miles away.

"Norman, are you sure? Are you certain without a doubt there's a problem?"

That's when I took my time explaining to him exactly what was in those pictures. I even offered to send him copies but thank God, he didn't want to see them. After a while he calmed the dragons fighting over me. He even made me smile and at one point he got a chuckle out of me. So, when emotions were under control, the call ended I had a better idea of how I would proceed.

First free minute I had, I started making the required contacts. I didn't call anyone that didn't have a need to know what was going on in my life. Then, I waited. I waited to see if she was really the woman I married, the real woman. Maybe she was just some cheating bitch that was using me as a prop to support her games. As long as I was blind to her activities, she was free to do as she wanted. She flew around flitting from one flower to another, from one man to another, from one cock to another.

Sex with her? Nope, that was not possible. I had a headache several times. I worked in my home office to write up proposals late into the night. I even told her one weekend I was going to a seminar in Richmond for a new sales technique. Really, I just drove to the nearby Holiday Inn and hid out.

I know you won't believe me when I say I didn't have a single drink of alcohol the entire time during this time. I didn't go out with friends or co-workers. I didn't even go to a movie. One thing my dad had drilled into my mind was to keep a clear head. If I made one mistake, just one miss-step, I would screw up the whole works.

Those phone calls I made? The first call was to a young firebrand divorce lawyer. My dad said she was the one that handled his last divorce; he's had three. After a longer than normal visit with her, I made contact with an investigator she recommended. I turned everything, and I do mean everything over to my lawyer and her comrades.

During this time of waiting and not knowing what my wife was doing or going to do had me flummoxed. But it turned out that life went on. My daily routine for three or four weeks didn't have a single variation. Okay, the sex part stopped completely. I wasn't even tempted to choke my chicken, not even once. But a benefit that really stumped me, my sales increased. I thought for certain everything would run and jump into the crapper, but surprise, surprise, my day-to-day sales went up by about twenty per cent.

Normally, when I'm with a client, I turn my phone to silent. This day had a different feel to it. It felt like there was electricity in the air. You know that feeling you get before the big Super-Duper Lottery drawing you are certain you have the winning ticket. You get the first number and your heart races way out in front of you. Well, this was that kind of day. I was watching a client sign the solid line at the bottom of the contract when there was a song coming out of my jacket-pocket. I apologized to my client and stepped back a few steps to take the call.

The conversation was short and very sweet. My hot-shot lawyer wanted me to come to her office. She had everything ready, and her investigators would be there too. An even larger smile nearly broke my face. I shook hands with my client, gave him my assurances and "Elvis left the building."

Just when my ass hit the front seat of my car, all of those hundred or so steps of the loss process came flooding back. What if it wasn't true? What if.....What if.....What if? Hell, I was crying again. Then, I got mad. I was mad at myself. If this was all a mistake and I had fucked away a month of my life for nothing. How would I explain to my wife why I had acted like a jerk. It was time our lives we would never be able to live again. It was gone....and for what? A stupid picture of her doppelganger with a man she didn't even know.

Gathering my thoughts as I sat watching the cars come and go in the parking garage of my lawyer's office building, I felt afraid. I was afraid suddenly that it was true. There was another man in my wife's life. Was I ready to face it? Was I ready to start life over again? Did I want to be like my father and jump from one bed to another.... from one woman to another?

I finally went up the eight floors to my lawyer's office, and when I went inside, I could see the normally smiling face of the receptionist was not smiling. The stoic look gave me pause, but I continued toward her desk.

"You can go right in, Mr. Franklin. She's waiting for you in the conference room."

As I crossed over to the open door of the conference room, I could see three people. Two were going through some papers and the third just seemed to be standing there awaiting a response to what the others were reading.

The first few minutes were the normal introductions, and I was asked to be seated. My lawyer turned the floor over to the investigator and he filled me in on his report. It wasn't good news. If I were a rock climber, climbing El Capitan in Yosemite. Just before I reached the top I would let go to find out if it is fun to fly.

The first photos showed my wife being held from behind by a man I didn't know. She was standing in the middle of a crowd on a dance floor somewhere. She was talking on the phone. I remembered that must be the night she and her girlfriends went on a "girls' night out". I remembered she had called me about nine o'clock and said they were having fun, so they were going to stick around for a couple more hours. I remember she made it a point to say she was safe and for me not to wait up for her.

Being the naïve jerk I was, I never doubted her words. But the next few photos showed just how easy I was to deceive. Her arms resting on the shoulders of an older, mature man with hair turning grey around the edges. They were kissing. Not only kissing, but his hands were clutching the cheeks of her ass and lifting her salaciously into his body.

The investigator continued his story of my demise. He told of her leaving with her new friend and another woman. The other woman was from the neighborhood I had met at several parties. I saw our neighbor hanging onto a younger guy that was grabbing her ass as they left the bar. Then the scene changed. There was a pool and a hot tub in the back yard of a house, that evidently was owned by the older guy. The next picture showed the two men relaxing in a hot tub with drinks in their hands. The next picture shows my wife and our neighbor standing naked next to the hot tub.

My body seemed to be frozen in place. I don't think I could breathe even if I wanted. Now! Right now, the reality of my life came into focus. For the last four plus years I had put my trust and my unbound love into the singular body and soul of this woman. She was my first lover, the first woman to give herself to me so unconditionally. How could I have been such a fool?

The photo stories were followed, at my request, by the four hours of videos of my wife entering a world of debauchery that included rendezvous with different men, and three visits for a girls only tryst at our neighbor's home. But the one part of the story that hurt the most was the pictures of my wife, her friend and her husband. This was a man I knew well, and here he was entangled in threesome with his wife and mine.

I could withstand no more. The investigators left the room and my counselor pointed out all the ins and outs of what I needed to do to end this farse of a marriage. There was a huge amount of information. I was armed with transcripts and audio evidence. My lawyer pointed out the parts that I could use in court and the parts that a judge would not allow.

The copy of a dissolution of marriage was already prepared with a complete and honest dividing of assets. The money used for the lawyer and the investigators was taken from an account set aside for a surprise honeymoon-like holiday on our fifth anniversary. That money came from bonuses and extra work she knew nothing about.

Armed with copies of everything I needed, I again sat quietly in my car and reflected on the emotional pounding my body had just gone through. A question that crossed my mind was the only question that brought out the doubt. Was there any chance I could continue to live in this strange world she had created? When the answer became clear I pushed the ignition button and began the long drive home.

It was later than usual when I arrived home that evening. With the words and images burned deep into the cells of my brain. These were images I would never in a hundred lifetimes be able to unsee. There were words and promises no man or woman could ever keep. Yet they seemed so easy to say, over and over till they were no longer words but a chant to some abhorrent demon.

When I arrived, my wife was waiting for me in her usual spot. She sat at the edge of the kitchen island with her eyes seemingly captured by the images on her laptop. The sound of the door between the garage and kitchen closing was a little louder than normal. It still had little effect on her demeanor.

"How was your day, Babe?" The words from the lips of my wife sounded the same, and the question was the same I had heard time and time again. But today I heard lies that revealed the phony smile on her face. I glared into the depths of her eyes to search for the loss of her trust and her truth. But all I could see was the naked body of a woman wrapped up in the arms of a man that was not me. Then the views of her and our neighbor in the clutches of her lesbian toy.

"What's going on...Is there something wrong?" She asked.

Somehow words caught in my throat. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to grab her and squeeze the life out of her, just like the breathless battle I had fought and lost. I wanted to make her feel the pain and emptiness I was feeling. But I knew I was exactly what she thought I was; a weak simpering shadow of a man. She had turned me into her cuckold. She had torn the soul out of me in a deliberate and crushing way.

I stepped closer to her and that smile that seemed now like a mocking glare, turned to one of inquiry. "What's wrong?"

Still silent, I placed on the granite top of the kitchen Island the tablet that held all the evidence of my disgrace.

"What does it feel like to turn your husband into a cuckold... the laughingstock of your carnal mind?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" She seemed weakened by my strength of purpose.

"This envelope contains the report from a private investigator I hired to follow you. The tablet has video of you and your meetings with other men and women for the purpose of turning me into a cuckold. This just covers your activities of seventeen days of the last twenty-four. I can't imagine how long you have been doing this to me and to our marriage. It just makes me wonder if I was ever your husband. Was I just a place holder till you found something better." While speaking, I was pulling photos out the folder, placing them on the table in front of her. She tried to hide her face and begged me to stop.

"You need to get yourself an Attorney and have him get in touch with mine. We can set up a time to go over everything." I stood and turned to exit the room and what I had called my home. I stopped in the doorway, turned, and looked back at the ghost of a woman whose tears were as phony as her love for me. "If you were so unhappy, we could have done this without all the hurt and pain."

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Time seemed to pass very, very slowly after that evening with my wife. But now she was finally my ex-wife. The world didn't stop turning. If it had I wouldn't have been surprised. But the day-to-day routine continued; I got out of bed, went to work, came home to what I called home, actually a small one-bedroom apartment surrounded by college students just a few years younger than I. Parties on the weekends went late into the night. But that was okay with me, I didn't need the rest anyway. It's not like I was in a rush to go out on the streets to find someone else to break my heart. I did admit, I was getting lonely. I could only accept so many free meals from good intentioned co-workers. I must admit, I found at least fifty things you could put on a grill and make completely tasteless.

It was a Thursday night; the neighborhood theatre was showing some retrospective on some female star that died sixty years ago. Since I had no interest in becoming a movie-mogul, I decided to take a pass.

Driving aimlessly past a diner, I pulled into a space and parked my POS (piece of shit) car my ex-wife thought was beneath her station in life. I went inside and found a booth opposite the counter. There in the seat, as though discarded by some uninterested party, was a card that read "Outcall Massage." I ordered what I thought would fill my need for nutrition, but that damn card kept bugging me. I hadn't had sex for what seemed like forever. I didn't know if I could ever remember how to do it. "Silly me," I thought. It's just like riding a bike. "Oh, shit! The last time I rode a bike I crashed it into the side of a car."