Do You Like My Smile?

In the 2003 classic, "How High a Price" (which was authored by the Troubadour), the hero (Early Conroy) is described at the beginning of the story as "a friendly, sunny-natured man with a constant smile on his face."

The story is emotional as it details his wife's infidelity and his struggles.

I've read the story a few times and wonder if Early is smiling in 2019 or if his wife's betrayal has continued to haunt him.

As always, thanks to oldnakeddad for his valuable editing skills.

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Do You Like My Smile?

It was Monday night and nearly eight-thirty. I'd spent the night working on a project, which still needed much more work, in my home office. I was done for the night, so I walked into the dark kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a favorite Indian Pale Ale.

As I looked out of the kitchen window, I was able to see Joy curled up on our outdoor couch, which was located beside the fire pit and pool. She was tucked into a corner, with her feet folded under her bottom, and talking on her cell phone.

As I was about to walk out and join her, I noticed she was twirling a strand of her blonde hair with a finger of her right hand. It was a gesture that I knew well because she'd absentmindedly twirl her hair whenever we had intimate talks.

Without a doubt, it was an unconscious habit that I'd admired since we met nearly thirty years ago. I'd come to realize that the gesture wasn't sexual—it was much more special than that. During our decades together, I'd come to think of her habit as soulful. Whenever we were closest, Joy would twirl her hair.

I frequently traveled for business and would call home nightly. When the kids were young, I'd gladly spend an hour on the phone as it was passed between my loving wife and kids. There were many times when I knew Joy was twirling her hair with a finger of her right hand as we talked. The thought always made me warm inside and made the lonely nights away from home bearable.

I continued to watch Joy through the window as she smiled and occasionally laughed. As I watched, there were times I could tell that Joy was flirting. She was too far away to see the familiar twinkle in her eyes, but I knew it was there.

I noticed how comfortable she was as she talked and continued to twirl her hair. She was so radiant...she glowed!

My normally quick mind went numb as I realized my wife was talking to someone special...someone too special!

I watched for almost forty-five grueling minutes as my wife had a secret, intimate talk with someone else. After the call had finally ended, I watched as a dreamy smile appeared at the corners of her mouth.

I was in a deep, aching trance when I went into our family room, turned on the boob tube, and watched the local baseball team in action as Joy eventually made her way into the house.

When she saw me sitting alone in the family room, she asked,

"How long have you been done with your work?"

"A while."

"Why didn't you join me in the backyard?"

"You were on the phone, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"Oh, for heaven's sake! I was talking to Steve. We were making some decisions concerning the Phillips account."

"Like I said, I didn't want to interrupt."

I hadn't taken my eyes off of the game while we talked, but I felt Joy's eyes trying to bore a hole into me. Joy soon moved to the kitchen but came back a minute later with a fresh glass of wine.

She sat at the edge of the couch, which was immediately to the right of my recliner, and asked,

"What's the score?"

"I don't have a clue."

Joy chuckled.

"Do you at least know who the Sox are playing?"

"The Blue Jays."

We watched the game for half of an inning before they went to a commercial break—that was Joy's que to resume talking,

"Let's have the kids over for a BBQ on Saturday."

"Sounds good."

Joy spent the next few minutes in a very one-sided conversation until she asked,

"Chris? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You aren't saying much tonight. That's not like you."

"I have a lot on my mind."

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"No."

The quiet lasted for a full inning. When a commercial break started, Joy jumped up from the couch and, with practiced ease, pulled her blue, V-neck T-shirt over her head. She stood in front of me wearing tan shorts, and her mature, 36C breasts were spilling out of her white, lace bra.

She had a huge grin on her face as she offered,

"How about turning off the TV and meeting me upstairs? I'm sure I can 'work' your stress away!"

"No thanks, Joy. I'm not in the mood tonight."

Her grin got bigger as she reached between my spread legs and cupped my crotch.

"Come on big boy. Mama needs you!"

I looked into Joy's eyes.

"What don't you understand about 'I'm not in the mood tonight'?"

"What the hell's the matter with you? I'm only trying to be nice!"

"Joy, you turn me down for sex at least twice a week. If I turn you down once a year, you whine like a fucking four year old. Grow up and leave me alone!

If looks could kill, I would've been an overcooked pork loin. Joy gave me a disgusted look before she turned and left the room.

For the first time during our marriage, I slept in the guest room—well, I laid on the guest room bed...and I planned!

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When the bedroom clock read three o'clock in the morning, I knew it'd be less than worthless to remain in bed. So, I got up, showered in the kids' old bathroom, and sneaked into the master bedroom for my clothes.

The first part of my plan was easy. Before leaving for work, I downloaded a tracker app into Joy's personal and business phones and sync'd them to my laptop and iPhone.

I arrived at work with two, large, Dunkin Donut coffees, and a sleep deprived headache. Surprisingly, it was a fairly productive day. it was imperative that I put the finishing touches on my presentation before leaving early the next morning for a quick, two-day trip.

Tuesday night was more than a bit frosty at home. I slept in my bed, but there was very little talk and no intimacy.

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I left the house early the next morning, for the second day in a row, but that time, I went to the airport for a seven-twenty flight. Wednesday afternoon was productive, and I was able to close the gap on several key points with our client. I was confident I'd leave with a signed contract the following morning.

I'd checked Joy's location, every few hours, and was relieved that she was either at home or work, but at the same time, I knew (in my gut) Joy was having an affair.

That night, I ate an early dinner at the Marriott lounge before checking on Joy's location (again) at seven-thirty—she was somewhere new! Joy was at an address in an upscale neighborhood located in a town several miles from our home...her boss's home! It appeared that she'd stayed Tuesday night and drove to work from Steve's home the next morning.

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The next few months were stressful but surprisingly quick. As we survived at home, Joy tried to aggressively worm her way back into my good graces. I was pleasant and non-confrontational, but I kept my distance. The few times we did have sex, it was simply functional—it's always good to get your rocks off.

By tracking Joy, I'd learned that she'd confined her affair to times when I'd traveled. After my second business trip, I installed four video cameras around our home—one each in the kitchen, family room, guest room, and master bedroom. The only thing I learned was, after I left the house for a trip, Joy would pack enough clothes to stay at Steve's home for the duration of my trip.

I was recommended to a family law attorney by our company attorney. Since our kids were grown and out of the house, our divorce would be a simple 50/50 split.

Though it was doubtful a private investigator would be able to get any video or pictures (because we couldn't invade the privacy of Steve Miller's home), it was recommended that I hire a PI to document Joy's living arrangements while I was out of town.

However, as smart as cheaters might "think" they are, most do stupid things. My private investigator discovered that Joy and Steve enjoyed fucking outside in his secluded backyard.

I had pictures of Steve eating Joy's worthless cunt while she sat on the edge of his pool and as they fucked all over the backyard. I had many photos of my whore wife sucking his very average-sized cock.

Other than my boss and personal assistant, everyone at work thought I was on a business trip. I'd left home early Wednesday morning and had breakfast in town. After the app showed me Joy had left for work, I started for home.

For two solid days, I neatly packed and sealed cardboard boxes with everything that belonged to Joy.

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Friday morning was going to be D-day, but first, I had to make three "very difficult" phone calls Thursday evening. Our three kids ranged in age from twenty-two to twenty-seven. The youngest had recently graduated from college and was a first year kindergarten teacher. The older two were also college grads and also professionally employed.

Each call was similar in its grotesqueness. I cried with my kids and assured them I loved them, but I was going to divorce their mother.

When each stated I was going too far, I asked,

"Do you want me to send you a video of your mother having sex in her lover's backyard?"

They all declined...thankfully!

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Joy picked up during the fourth ring.

"Hi, Hon! This is an unexpected surprise. How are your meetings?"

"Hi, Love! Meetings are meetings. You know how it goes. How is work?"

"I'm so happy it's Friday because I can't wait for you to get home. It's been a long, lonely week. I'm hoping we can do a little 'making up'? Maybe a whole weekend's worth!

I immediately noticed that Joy didn't answer my question about work, so I surmised she'd become a practiced liar during the last few months.

Joy continued,

"So, what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"Well, I have a question for you. It may sound weird, but I'd like an answer."

"It must be important because you rarely call during the day. What's the question?"

"Do you like my smile?"

"Do I like your smile? What kind of question is that? You know I love your smile!"

"Yes, you've told me that many times. In fact, it was the first thing you ever said to me. Remember that night at the frat party? You broke away from your 'posse' of girls, came up to me, and said, 'You've got a great smile!'"

Next, I noticed an edge in Joy's voice.

"Chris, what's this about? I'm concerned!"

"I've made—"

I tried again.

"I've made a purposeful effort, whenever possible, to be positive...to be happy. It's been a challenge at times, but living with the love of my life and my best friend, along with three amazing children, has made it worth the effort."

"Of course! I agree! It's one of the things—one of the many things—I adore about you. I love your smile, and I love your positive disposition. What I love best is, you're able to remain masculine, a man's man, with that gorgeous smile plastered on your handsome face!"

I let out a loud sob...I couldn't help it! Despite the lies and recent destructive behavior, I knew she loved me. I knew, without a doubt, that my bride loved me!

There was an urgency, which I knew well, when Joy demanded,

"Christopher! Christopher Harrington! What is going on?"

After I didn't immediately answer, Joy pleaded,

"Please, tell me! I want to help! What's happened?"

The love and concern in her voice were real. She loved me as much as she ever had, and that's what made what I was about to do so difficult.

"It's just...I'm not sure...if I'll ever smile again."

Tick-tock, tick-tock—I counted twenty seconds. I'm sure Joy had a million jumbled thoughts rolling around in her head, but as the seconds passed, I suspected she slowly came to the logical conclusion that I might...know!

"You're scaring me, Chris. Please, talk to me!"

"Unfortunately, Joy, too much damage has occurred, so therefore, it's far too late to talk."

"Don't say that, Honey. Don't say it and never think it—it's never too late for us to talk."

"But it is too late. Any talk...any discussion...has to be based on love, trust, and respect. I know you love me, Joy. I know it! And I love you, too...and I always will. That's what makes this so hard, but I no longer trust you, and I know you don't respect me."

Joy started to speak, but I talked over her,

"You can't possibly respect me!"

With an edge in my voice, I said,

"Joy, come to the front living room window!

"Come to the—? Christopher, what are you talking about?"

I repeated,

"Joy, I asked you to come to the front living room window."

Joy started,

"I don't—"

"Joy! Get up from the poolside lounge chair, walk through the back door into Steve's kitchen, and walk through the house until you get to the front living room window!"

I heard Joy's screams of disbelief,

"Oh, god! Oh, no! He knows, Steve! Oh, god! Chris knows!"

I waited until I saw Joy's presence through the window. She was standing next to a second person, who I assumed was Steve Miller—her lover, her boss, the house owner, and the Managing Partner of Paterson, Miller & Lewis, an accounting firm.

Because of the sun's glare on the window, it was impossible for me to see much more than movement and shadows.

I was about seventy-five feet down his long driveway, so I was sure they easily saw me standing in the open floor-to-ceiling back door of a small U-Haul box truck—I'd opened it before I called Joy.

When Joy and Steve were in place, I jumped back into the truck's cab, shifted into reverse, and pressed down on the accelerator. The truck lurched backward and then gained momentum. As I approached the large "turn-around-area" at the front of the house, I jammed on the brakes.

All of Joy's clothes, accessories, possessions, and treasures (which I'd spent two days neatly packing in forty-eight, large, cardboard boxes) flew out of the back of the truck and rolled over Steve's driveway and lawn.

After shifting the transmission into park, I jumped from the truck and surveyed the mess. The lighter boxes (with clothes) remained somewhat intact and would be easy to clean up. However, the heavier boxes, such as the two with Joy's great-grandmother's china, were destroyed—pieces from the eighteen place-settings were broken and scattered all over the driveway.

Joy and Steve had moved from the living room to the front step of the house. Joy was wearing the bikini I had bought her for our twenty-fifth anniversary cruise only two years prior. Although she still had a stunning body, she wouldn't wear the thong bottom during the cruise—she only wore it while sunning in the privacy of our backyard pool area and...for Steve! Steve was covered with a robe.

Joy looked on in horror—she'd covered her open-mouthed face with her hands, and she was breathing heavily. Steve was usually an Alpha (a take charge type), but that morning, he looked far less intimidating.

They hadn't noticed the strange car parked next to Joy's Mercedes SUV. The process server jumped from her car and, within a few steps, was standing in front of them.

As she handed Joy a large, yellow, legal-size envelope, she announced,

"Joy Harrington, you are served."

Then, she used her iPhone to take a picture of Joy before pivoting toward Steve.

"Steven Miller, you and Paterson, Miller & Lewis are served."

She handed Steve a similar envelope, took a picture of him, returned to her car, and took off.

No one moved or said anything for a few moments. I considered jumping into the U-Haul and leaving, but decided to say a few more words. Although I knew, without a doubt, Joy would fight any divorce proceedings to the bitter end, I wanted her to be aware of my state of mind.

I called out over the many feet that separated us,

"At a minimum, I hope we can all agree that I deserve better than a lying, cheating slut for a wife!"

Joy groaned (loudly!) before (after a few more beats) I continued,

"Steve, call my attorney and make a very, very generous offer or I'll do my best to destroy you and your firm. Joy, just sign the fucking papers. We're through!

I turned, jumped into the truck, and lumbered out of her life!