February Sucks - My Sequel

I got up and peed again; this time with a lot less discomfort. I got dressed. I put on a loose pair of Khaki pants, a dark brown T-shirt, a pair of black socks, and my tennis shoes. I grabbed the cane they'd given me, and slowly worked my way down the hall and then down the stairs. No one was home. I supposed Linda had gone to work. Emma was in school, and Tommy was in day care. I thought Linda might have at least taken a few days off, but then she most likely wasn't worried. I didn't count. My thoughts, my feeling didn't matter. No respect, that's what it was.

I thought, 'Here's where it was.' Linda had abandoned me; that was a done deal, no getting that back. Linda had fucked another man, and didn't care that I knew; so much for fidelity, loyalty, and trust. But respect! That was something once lost, could be reclaimed. I remembered reading about the great Shawnee Indian Tecumseh. In his first battle he'd gotten scared and run away. But he came back! He'd lost, but regained his respect! Hey Meatloaf! One out of three ain't bad! It's all I've got! So fuck you! Fuck all of you!

~~~V~~~

I decided first to go in to work and see my supervisor. I figured I'd make all my personal calls from my office. I was supposed to take my meds with food so I thought afterward I'd stop at a Denny's for some eggs. I went on to work.

Linda drives a Toyota Prius, it's almost a new car. We got it at CarMax. I drive a 1999 Chevy S-10. It's a good four wheel drive, a little rusty here and there, but something I sometimes needed it in the colder weather. We also use it when the four of us went out. Linda doesn't like it, but Linda doesn't like a lot things. I got to work and went in.

Blake Fielding was my supervisor. He greeted me with a smile and a careful handshake. He said, "Man we've missed you. How're you doing?"

I answered, "OK, but not ready for work yet."

Blake took a seat behind his desk and pointed to a chair, "Have a seat buddy. Nobody expects you back this soon. I've called home office. Everyone wants you to take several weeks off. There's not that much going on right now. We figured with your sick time, plus your upcoming sabbatical you could take ten weeks. That sound OK?"

I nodded, it was more than I'd planned, but I had the time. I said, "I guess so. How is everybody down at the warehouse?"

He said, "They're good, but they miss you buddy."

"Maybe I'll drop down and say hi," I rejoined. There were a lot of great people down there, and I felt like maybe I needed some friendly contact.

Blake shook his head, "I'd wait." He paused, looked at me real funny and asked, "Have you been keeping up with the news?"

"You mean the newspapers," I remarked.

"You haven't have you," he said.

I said, "No why?"

Blake squirmed in his chair. I wondered what the problem was, but waited. It was his story, whatever it was. He started slow, "You know celebrities. You know guys like football players."

I had a bad feeling.

He went on, "You really haven't heard have you."

"Come on Blake," I asserted, "No, I haven't. Tell me. Get whatever it is off your chest."

"Does the name Marc LaValiere mean anything to you?"

"Shit," I said. "What's out there?"

"You know those newspaper guys are like bears to honey when there's a story. It's seems OK now, but for a few days he was quite the story."

Blake looked at me carefully. I supposed he was afraid to go on. So I told him, "Go on, I'm fine."

That's what Blake did, "This football player, Marc Lavaliere was seen at the Morrison. He apparently picked up some woman in a blue dress. There were pictures. At first no one knew who she was, but there'd been some big dinner party. Someone in the news media got a wild hair up their ass. Whoever it was thought they had a story. They had pictures. They got to the people at the table, and someone mentioned your wife's name. It wasn't really all that big, just back page stuff. Our local team and the N.F.L. managed to suppress it. Just the same your wife did make the local news a couple days. Last I heard the National Enquirer got it and buried it. I heard, I can't back it up, but someone might've got paid off. There might have been a nondisclosure agreement. I really don't know. I imagine Linda would know. Anyway the rumor mill took it up, and, well, I don't believe it for a minute, but you know how these things can get out."

I hadn't heard a thing. I smiled at Blake, "Thanks. I'll ask Linda about it."

Blake pulled out a folder, "I kept the articles in case you'd want to see them. There were only three; one with a generic picture of the football player dancing with someone, another with a picture that looked a lot like Linda, and a third article that was rehash of the first two. I cut them out myself." He handed the folder over to me saying, "Hope there's no trouble at home."

I kept my smiley face on, "No, no trouble."

I took the folder and forgot about the urologist. I needed to find Linda so I went to her office. When I got there I got another surprise. I went in and found Rebecca Chamberlain; she was Linda's supervisor. I walked over, "Hi Rebecca. Where's Linda. I don't see her anywhere."

She looked uncomfortable, "Oh hi Jim. Linda? Oh Linda took a leave of absence. She hasn't been here for a while. Tell her hello for me when you see her."

I could tell I was being dismissed. As I walked back to my car I thought it out, 'Linda's been working at a faith based agency. They get some financial aid from local government, but mostly their aid comes from private donations. I guessed Linda's "one night of love" had come back to bite her. It bothered me. Linda was a lying cheating whore, and I hated her, but for now she was still "my whore". I knew those people at the charity; before her night with LaValiere none of them could've held Linda's coat. The whole thing pissed me off. Linda pissed me off. Her fucking charity work pissed me off. Then there might've been someone who'd cashed in on this. I wondered first, was it Linda? I'd have to find out. Now how would I do that?'

I needed to eat something and get home. The medicine I'd taken earlier had worn off, and I was hurting. In the end I skipped Denny's and went back home. Linda's car wasn't there. I went in and opened the refrigerator. There was some lunch meat and what looked like spaghetti. I got out the spaghetti and heated it up in the microwave, took two bites and knew this was too much for me. I put it in the sink, grabbed the folder Blake had given me and decided to go upstairs. I got about halfway up the steps and stopped. I needed to rest. I sat down and leaned my head against the balustrade. I was so tired...

-----V-----

When next I woke up I heard Linda in the kitchen. The kids were in there, and she was fixing them their afterschool after daycare snacks. I was barely awake but I heard the gist of a conversation.

I heard Tommy first, "Mommy, Daddy said you did something bad. What did you do?"

Emma corrected him, "Daddy never said that Tommy. He said that mommy should be sorry for something. Mommy what should you be sorry for?"

I heard Linda, "Daddy's been terribly hurt. Remember he had his accident. I don't think he knows what he's saying sometimes, but I'll talk to him if it will make you guys feel better."

Nobody said anything after that. My guess was the kids were busy with their snacks, and Linda was most likely cleaning up. I turned around, took the folder, and crawled upstairs. I had to get some pills and some sleep.

I don't remember exactly, but it was dark when Linda came in. I felt her when she sat down on the bed beside me. I rolled over. It hurt.

She looked bored, "I saw you tried to eat some spaghetti. Can I get you anything now?" She saw the folder.

I answered, "No." I didn't want anything from her except her absence.

She got up, "I brought you a bottle of water anyway. Use it to take your pills." She walked to the door, turned again and said, "Holler if you need anything."

Like I could holler. I rolled back over. I wondered when would be the next time I'd have to take a shit. The doctor had warned me not to strain when I did.

It must have been very late the next time I heard anything. I was only half awake. Linda was in bed with me, and she was kissing my cheek. I heard her whisper, "I love you. Don't you ever forget that." I pretended to be asleep and didn't move. After a few seconds I felt her when she got up and left.

Once she left I flipped on my cell phone. It was 2:00 a.m. I reached over, grabbed some more pills and the water bottle. I took the pills, and went back to sleep. Everything hurt. I ached all over.

The next time I woke up the sun was shining. I wondered what day it was. I saw the folder was still there, and thought maybe I ought to open it up, and I did.

What I found inside wasn't all that incriminating, but it certainly added to the heartbreak. There were two pictures and three short stories. The first story included one picture; it was vague and alluded to the possibility that LaValiere had a new girlfriend. That first picture showed two people dancing. LaValiere's face was clearly visible whereas the only giveaway regarding Linda was the dress. Regrettably the second article with the second picture showed the two of them facing each other. In that second picture they were smiling at one another. She was still in her blue dress, but he was in a change of clothes, a pair of dark blue pants and a black Polo shirt with the team's emblem on it. She was smiling up at him while he seemed to be smiling down. In the second picture he was in profile, but she was clearly seen. I couldn't tell exactly where that picture was taken. It looked like they were in front of a very large house. There was a caption beneath that second picture, it read "Devil in a Blue Dress".

I got on the Internet and sure enough I found a picture of the tight end's mansion. It appeared that the second picture was taken with some kind of zoom lens, and they were standing at the top of his driveway near an expensive looking car. Judging from the sky; it looked like a morning photo, but what kind of car was it? I thought I knew, but just to make sure I scoured the Internet. Yes, it was a Maserati, a Quattro Porte, one of that maker's most expensive models, easily more than $100,000.00. So the first picture was at the restaurant and revealed very little, but the second was outside his house, and judging from the clothes most likely taken the next morning with some kind of zoom lens, and after their night of love and lust. No wonder Linda's work had placed her on a leave of absence, the second picture told it all.

None of the stories mentioned Linda by name, but someone had passed on a tidbit about her being a married woman who was separated from her husband. I kind of surmised whoever wrote that was cleaning things up for the football player. He was an icon of respectability in our community and around the League. Of course it meant nothing that Linda, at least prior to that night, might have been happily married. The question for me was, had she been happily married or was her one night tryst just her first step toward walking away. I decided, whether I stayed or not, I'd want to find that out.

It was tragic. On February 19th if someone had suggested the possibility of Linda leaving me I would have laughed at them. Now, only a few days later, and the least intimation of such a notion was as deep and as painful as the gash in my chest. Infidelity and the distrust it engenders can open many new avenues of hate, anger, and self-reproach.

The third article was a mixed mush of the first two, and revealed nothing new. Just the same, I wondered if someone still might be beating the bushes trying to dig up more dirt. Blake had said something about someone signing a nondisclosure agreement. I wondered how he knew that. I never read anything like that in any of the articles. I supposed it was only a rumor, but still worth tracking down.

I put the articles away in my bureau. I had to remake some decisions. I realized my first excursion out to my office had been premature. I was still quite frail. I decided to relax and hang out at home. I had my laptop and my cell phone, plus, months before, I'd installed electronic listening and visual devices in our bedroom and the children's rooms. That had been a safety measure. I still had several unused components. I made the decision to wire up the kitchen too. Why did I want to do that? I thought I'd be a snoop. I'd avoid Linda as much as possible for the next several days, but I'd keep an electronic ear out. I didn't expect anything, but it never hurt.

The next days went by slowly. I never asked Linda about her job, and she never volunteered any information. I assumed she was hiding her job situation from me in the hope that she'd be reinstated fairly quickly. I went ahead with some of my other plans. I wrote a wicked little letter to send to our "friends" from the restaurant, and I scheduled a visit to the urologist for late April. I hadn't decided yet on the vanity license plates, but I went ahead and ordered Linda a nice Marc LaValiere jersey. Almost as an afterthought I checked into the cost of season tickets. Since the team had been doing well, tickets were at a premium, and even then to get season tickets meant buying what they called a "permanent seat license". I didn't have the resources for all that.

On another level I also made a few inquiries of a more personal nature. I searched the Net and got prices of prams, inexpensive boat motors, sunfish, and used trailers. I also, with Blake's support, made a few inquiries about company job opportunities around the country. I found there were some.

Meanwhile my days at home were a little more complicated.

-----V-----

For several days I made it a habit of being in the kitchen when Linda got the kids snacks. I participated in everything just like we were a real family, but when the kids either left to go outside or go upstairs I disappeared too. I could tell it was getting to Linda. I wanted it to.

Finally she trapped me before I could get away, "Jim, you know I love you. I want us to be together, a real family again. I want to be in our bed with you. I want..."

I interrupted her, "Where do you go all day?"

"Why, I go to work. You know that," she said.

I smiled, "I talked to Rebecca."

"Oh," she mumbled, "I'm working out in the field mostly now."

"No you're not Linda." I dug in, "You've been furloughed. Not only that, I checked, they're advertising for a replacement. So where do you go. Are you with him?"

She stumbled, "Him? You mean? No Jim I haven't seen him since that night. I'm yours now, like always."

Jesus, stupid woman. She forgot there was a G.P.S. on her cell phone. I told her, "I know you're not with him. You spend most of your days with Dee."

She went diffident, "If you knew, then why did you accuse me..."

I had a reply, "How do I know he doesn't go to Dee's to see you?"

"Jim, I..." she paused, "Jim I haven't seen him since... you know, that night. I don't want to see him. I want to be with you. I'm your wife. I love you. I want to grow old with you. I want to see our children go to school, graduate, and go to college. I want the two of us to bounce our grandchildren on our knees together. Jim I love you. Can't you get that through your thick skull?"

I shrugged, just more blah, blah, blah. I said, "Boy you can go on and on, can't you. What about the flowers?"

"What flowers," she said?

"Come on Linda. Rebecca told me. LaValiere has been sending flowers to your workplace. I know you go and pick them up. Where are they? I bet they're nice. I mean anybody that drives a 100,000.00 Maserati must have good taste in flowers."

She slumped, "I gave the first batch to the florist's driver. The other batch I gave to a family I've been helping."

"He wants you to see him again doesn't he," I queried?

"He called," she said, "but I told him I didn't want to see him. I told him I was repairing my marriage."

I asked again, "So you do spend all your days with Dee?"

"Yes," she said.

"Is she the one who signed the nondisclosure agreement," I suspected it was Dee who'd tried to make a little money off of our difficulties.

I thought Linda was genuinely stumped, "What nondisclosure agreement?"

"Come on Linda," I said. "You have to know it was Dee who told the reporters it was you who'd slept with the football player, and in an effort to shut the whole matter up someone, maybe the N.F.L., maybe LaValiere, maybe his team, sent someone around to pay her off. I bet she really made out on your oh so special night with your 'Maserati Man'."

Linda forgot she wanted to reconcile, if that was even what she wanted, and got wholesale defiant, "Look Dee is my friend. It wasn't her who ratted me out. I don't know who it was, but I know it wasn't her. She's not like that! And about the Maserati. Have you ever ridden in or driven a Maserati. It was something very special!"

"Like your big night," I said.

"Yes," she yelled, "Like my big night, but how would you know. You never had a..." She stopped.

"I never had a big night." I said, "Was that what you were going to say? No I guess not, all my nights have only been with you." Then I went further, "But I'm only a Chevy, a used Chevy at that. Tell me sweetheart, what was he really like?"

"You want to know. You really want know?" She expostulated.

"Yes, oh great love of my life," I retorted, "I really want to know." She was up against it now.

"You really want to know," she said. She was ready to roll, "Well I'll tell you," she said. "Since I only have you to compare him with I'll tell you. He's bigger, bigger in every way. He's stronger. He's more powerful. He's a real man. He knows what a woman really wants. He takes control. His hands are big, and so is everything else. We were up all night!"

She smirked and then she realized what she'd said. I watched. I'd seen that look one other time in my life, and that was when the revolver had gone off. I remembered that look. It was there again. She'd killed me then, and she'd just done it again.

Her eyes turned to juice, "Jim, I... Jim I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

I thought, 'What a phony.' I stopped her, "No Linda you meant it. You meant every word. I know who I am. I'm the used Chevy. I'm the skinny little guy, the awkward skinny little squirt you married because you knew you could manage and manipulate me. Well sweetheart you succeeded. You've pulled the strings for ten years. But it's over now. I'm not sure what happens next. Maybe I get a divorce. Maybe I just stay here. Maybe I move out. Maybe I go for a Separation Agreement. Who knows?"

I sneered, "Maybe I'll move to Sidney, Australia; the company's got an opening there." I watched her unravel. Thank God the kids were outside and at the far end of the yard.

The first thing she did? She screamed. She screamed as loud and as long as any Hollywood scream ever put on the silver screen. She jumped out of her chair, slammed open the refrigerator door nearly knocking it off its hinges. She shrieked at me, "You're not going to any fucking Sidney!"

Even louder she screamed, "No Sidney! No way! You're staying right here. You're not going anywhere! You're my husband!"

She started grabbing and throwing things on the floor. First came the milk carton, then the iced tea, the mustard jar was next, then the ketchup, the mayonnaise, the butter dish, actually Country Crock, and last the pickles. She was totally out of control. She kept bobbing back and forth. I thought she was having some kind of epileptic fit. She yelled over and over again, "You're not going to Sidney! You're not going anywhere! You're my husband!"

She was behaving like a maniac! I jumped from my seat, grabbed her, and pinned her arms against her sides.