Frankly My Dear

Thank you as always to my editor, ErikThread. I count on him to unscramble my random thoughts and reckless punctuation.

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When you've been pushed as far as you can go, anything can happen, and in all probability -- will.

Tom's Story:

"Yes, I'm considering having an affair," I answered calmly.

"How could you ... after all these years ... how could you betray me?" she asked incredulously.

"I really don't think of it as betrayal. It was more like alternative comfort. Someone I could talk to, share a few peaceful hours. Someone who won't argue or complain or otherwise spoil a perfectly good evening. It's something I've been missing for a while and I want to get it back," I explained.

"I can't believe you'd do this to me!" The look on my wife's face was one of both shock and incredulity.

"Oh come, Sarah. What do you care? We haven't made love in years. Yes, we've had sex once in a blue moon, but I would hardly call it making love when you just lie there dormant. I decided to find someone who would actually enjoy the act," I explained.

My wife began to sputter and turn red in the face and shake her head. She was apparently having difficulty with the idea that I would find someone more compatible than she.

My name is Thomas Lufton. I am a successful investment advisor, and I have made myself and my family quite wealthy over the past twenty years. I am forty eight years old. I am in good health and fitness due to my consistent attention to exercise and proper diet. I am married to Sarah Gaines Lufton, and have been for twenty-four years.

We have two children, Aaron, age twenty-two and Bonita, age twenty. Aaron will be a graduate of M.I.T. and by all accounts, is a genius. He will be a very wealthy young man if he chooses to use his intellect for profit. Bonita is still at Wellesley, studying some obscure art-history topic that will gain her no profit, and goodness knows what for a career.

In the past two years, I have found Sarah has changed. Changed for the worse, I'm sorry to say. She has become very negative. For someone who has been spoiled and who has "everything," she is not satisfied. She sees the dark side of everything and finds fault where no fault lies.

One of the things she finds fault with is me. I am forever disappointing her in some way or another. In her view, I am stupid, thoughtless, inane, forgetful, lazy, arrogant, irresponsible ... well, I could go on. You will notice that none of these faults relates to my lack of love for Sarah. I think she is afraid to broach that topic. I, however, am not.

The thing about newly acquired wealth is the removal of fear. Fear of loneliness is one that comes to mind. I can live without Sarah. I know that now. If she wants a divorce, I will regretfully grant her one. In fact, I plan to suggest it. Since she now thinks that I might seek another bed to lie in, she may indeed want to be rid of me. Her loss won't matter to me as much as I thought it would.

Sarah Gaines, as I first knew her, was a bright, lively, wonderfully attractive young woman from a nice, middle-class family in Boston. She was great company because she was so effervescent. She was never the most beautiful woman in my world, but she was the most spirited and compelling I had ever met. It was those qualities which drew me to her, and ultimately caused me to propose. Of course, she accepted.

Our early years together were wonderful. I delighted in our lovemaking.

When our children came along, Sarah proved a very capable and loving mother. She impressed me with her child-rearing skills. That they turned out to be bright, accomplished, and polite children I attribute entirely to Sarah. She was their guide and their mentor in all things. I loved them dearly, but their mother was their inspiration.

It wasn't until the children left home to attend college that I began to notice the change in Sarah. I wouldn't call it depression, but the joy and liveliness of my wife began to fade. This change in mood was never more apparent than in the bedroom. She had always been a willing and provocative sex partner. When that began to decline, I was upset.

I tried to discuss the problem with her, but she denied there was anything different, saying she loved me and always would. However, there was no denying our love life was dwindling. I lived with the situation far too long. I allowed our relationship to deteriorate, even if I was not the instigator. I should have challenged her and forced her to recognize the changes. To my regret, I did not.

As you have already gathered, our sexual relationship dwindled to an occasional perfunctory indulgence, with my ardor unsatisfied by her passive response. To put it crudely, she was a lousy lay! The question then became what to do about it?

In contrast to my implied intent to take a lover, I have a very low opinion of infidelity. It violates the marriage vows and destroys trust within the married couple. However, I was not yet past my prime. I had an active libido which was not just unsatisfied, but virtually starved. Desperate, I decided I would do something dramatic. But first, I chose to make one more try at talking to Sarah about my concerns.

"Sarah, I am very discouraged about our relationship. We seem to have drifted apart. Worse, you seem to be very unhappy with me. You find fault with me over the smallest thing and you seldom seem happy any more. Our lovemaking is so infrequent that I can't remember the last time we had sex. Perhaps the time has come to talk about our future together," I said very seriously.

"Tom ... whatever gave you the idea that I'm unhappy? You can't expect me to be the woman I was twenty years ago. I'm quite satisfied with my life. I still love you, if that's what you're asking. And what's this talk about our future?" she demanded.

"Sarah, you are still a very beautiful woman and very desirable. I'm frustrated that you don't want to make love the way we used to. I'm wondering if you want a divorce?"

"My god, Tom, whatever gave you that idea? I admit I'm not as sexually active as I once was, but that doesn't mean I want to leave you. What is your problem?" she asked, reverting to an accusatory tone.

"My problem is very simple, Sarah. We don't make love any more. We have sex once in a while, but we don't make love," I said emphatically. "You are clearly unhappy because you spend most of the time I'm around you complaining about things which are irrelevant, unimportant. You are genuinely discontented."

"Nonsense!"

"No! It most certainly is not nonsense! Whether you choose to accept it or not, it is a fact!" I couldn't have been more blunt. Surely she would at least try and respond to my accusations.

"This foolishness has been going on too long. I will not stand here and listen to you invent problems that don't exist," she said haughtily.

"Well, then, you leave me no alternative. I am going to give you ninety days to consider our future. I will pack and I will leave you. I will not be in contact with you for three months. At the end of that period, I will return and you can decide if you are willing to change your ways. If you choose to continue to ignore my concerns, I will file for divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. Do I make myself clear?" I asked in a demanding voice.

Sarah stood wide-eyed and speechless as I gave her my ultimatum. I wasn't certain that she believed me. I walked past her and upstairs to our bedroom. I began to pack my clothes and toiletries for an extended separation. After a few minutes, Sarah appeared in the doorway.

"You can't be serious. You're leaving me? You're just up and walking out?"

"Yes. Ninety days, Sarah. I'll talk to you again in ninety days. In the meantime, you might be wise to seek professional help. I know you don't believe just what a shrew you've become, but I assure you, I will not put up with another day of your miserable self. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way.

I was convinced that this extreme act was the only way to jolt Sarah out of her comfortable misery. I had been thinking about a separation for a few weeks. I was sure it was the only way to change the status quo in our household. As I walked out the door into the garage, I wondered if she would follow me. She did not.

I wasn't worried greatly about the outcome. The only way I could see to turn Sarah back into the lovely wife I had so happily married all those years ago was to push her to the limit. I finally did what I should have done much earlier. I acted!

I arranged for a room at my club. It was an old, established residence and a comfortable living space with complete privacy. I exchanged my cell phone for another with a new number only a handful of trusted associates knew. I asked the club secretary to conceal my residence. I was fairly sure Sarah would search high and low for me, and yet I suspected she would never think of me hiding in plain sight. I was wrong.

"Mr. Lufton, your wife has left a message for you." It was Parsons, the club concierge.

"Well, that's a surprise. Does she know I'm staying here?" I asked.

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"I suppose I'll have to move along then," I said absently.

I found a small residence hotel in the suburbs and moved myself in that same afternoon. I learned a valuable lesson. Do not underestimate Sarah.

If there was a weakness in my plan, it was how I would spend my time for the next ninety days. I was resolved to avoid Sarah, but I really hadn't thought about myself. What would I do? I couldn't go to my office. Sarah would be on the lookout for that. I couldn't visit our children. I'm sure Sarah had already alerted them. I didn't expect sympathy from either one of them. What to do?

In preparing for this three month sojourn, I had made some financial changes in our personal accounts. I had limited the amount of funds available to Sarah in case she decided to adopt a scorched-earth policy. She wouldn't realize it if she behaved as she normally did. However, if she chose to treat our finances recklessly, she would discover she had limitations. Better safe than sorry, I thought.

In my case, I had no such restrictions and I thought it was time I took a vacation ... alone. My threat of an affair was just that, a threat. I couldn't see myself betraying my wife before we reached a resolution in our marriage. I wondered, then, just how I should spend my self-imposed exile.

I could stay in touch with my office, thanks to modern technology and satellite communications. Wherever in the world I might go, I would only be a heartbeat away from my "virtual desk." It meant I was free to travel any place I wanted.

I enjoyed playing golf and decided to treat myself to a new set of clubs I had been eyeing. I returned to my club, carefully checking to make sure Sarah was not on the lookout for me. The pro shop was open late that evening. I extracted my old clubs, save my favorite putter and sand wedge, and inserted the dozen new shafts in my bag. I zipped the travel case around them and was ready to go.

Since it was late April, I decided to begin my travels in The Algarve, Portugal. The weather would be moderate and the courses lightly played. As the spring and summer progressed, I would work my way north, finishing in Scotland before heading home. A visit to my travel agent the next day would have been in order, but I suspected Sarah may be watching them as well. I looked after all my bookings on the internet and via email. Naturally, I requested confidentiality.

Two days later I was aboard a commuter flight to Newark. I flew TAP executive class to Lisbon and then Faro. I rented a car for a month and began the first thirty days of my rehabilitation. I drove to Albufeira and checked in at the Baia Mar Resort. It was a lovely place with a view of the Atlantic. The white, modern building was located outside the old town near the highway, perfect for my needs.

At the risk of sounding conceited, I am not an ugly man. I am nearly six foot tall, and my weight has been stable for many years at one hundred eighty pounds. As I said earlier, fitness and diet have put me in excellent physical condition. I have all my own teeth and most of my hair, although it is graying. When I look in the mirror, I think I'm very presentable.

Thus it was no surprise when I found I attracted the attention of a number of single women during my stay. That is to say, they professed to be single. I'll be the first to admit I was sorely tempted on more than one occasion. Nonetheless, I kept my resolve and my commitment to our marriage and declined the various invitations.

My golf game improved, as I played at least five times weekly. By the end of the month, I had reduced my handicap to nine and had acquired a rich tan. I would walk the courses. I had little use or regard for power carts since they often slowed the game to a crawl. Happily, the courses were not crowded and I was usually able to play a two or threesome with fellow walkers. Our rounds seldom took more than three hours.

That left me the balance of the day by the pool, admiring all the attractive women. I would swim and then retire to an umbrella-covered lounge chair with a book or magazine. With the five hour time difference, I could contact my office in the afternoon and catch up on my affairs.

For the first week of my hiatus, Renee, my executive assistant, reported that Sarah had called several times demanding to be told where I was. Renee could only tell her that I was out of the country and unavailable. In truth, she knew roughly where I was, but not precisely. I needed to protect her credibility. Sometime early in the second week, Sarah stopped calling.

As the first third of my ninety days came to a close, I was satisfied that my plan was working. I had enjoyed my stay in The Algarve, but it was time to move on. I found a British travel agent in the old town and we started to look for a location for my next thirty days. After a great deal of searching, we found an excellent guesthouse in Aix Provence, France. It was close to the Cote d'Azur and only a two hour leisurely drive to Monte Carlo.

I returned my rental car and caught a flight to Marseilles. Again, I rented a car and drove to Aix Provence, a matter of thirty kilometers. I checked into the hotel, delighted with the lovely mature look of the place. The accommodations were simple but elegant. I was certain I would be happy here. There was no pool, but there was a lovely garden with a variety of locations to sit and read or relax with a glass of the wonderful local red wine.

The weather was warmer than I expected and I found I needed some lighter clothes. The shops in the town were excellent. The only problem I encountered was my inability to pass a bakery without stopping to pick something up for my afternoon or evening snack. I would have to be careful here. Two days after my arrival, I knew I was going to have to exercise some discipline with my diet. The food was marvelous and I couldn't wait to try something new each evening.

While the golf courses were not as well-manicured as those in Portugal, I was happy just to have several nearby that I could play. The early June weather remained warm and I was wearing shorts more often than not. I had set aside some time to travel in Provence and later, to Ste-Maxime, Ste-Tropez and finally Monte Carlo. I was more of a tourist, enjoying my travels in the warm late-spring weather. Fabulous food and fascinating sights. It was a delightful month and I would be sorry to leave.

During my stay, I began to get a bit curious about Sarah. I wondered if she had taken any of my criticism to heart or had just rejected it out of hand. Was she so angry at my leaving that she would happily divorce me? I wasn't worried, but I was interested. I called Renee and asked her to snoop around a bit and see what she could find out. I had let Renee in on my marital problems, of course. I couldn't leave her in the dark. She knew what this trip was all about.

Renee was in her late fifties and while a severe-looking woman, she was an outstanding executive assistant. I paid her well to make sure she remained happy. Contrary to her looks, she was a warm-hearted woman. A widow with three grown sons, she was a grandmother several times over. I could count on her discretion and thoroughness.

When Renee got back to me, it was clear she was unable to determine anything of interest at that point. Sarah was still living in our house and going about her usual routine. I had been watching the bank accounts and credit cards and aside from a few more restaurant charges, she appeared to be carrying on as normal. Interestingly, from what I could tell from the size of the charges, she was eating alone.

As my stay in France was coming to an end, I began to plan the final month of my trip. I had intended to go to Scotland, the home of golf. I tried very hard to work with a couple of the local travel agents, but the language barrier and their inability to understand what a "golf holiday" was, made that impossible. I emailed my home agent, laid out what I was looking for, and told them when I wanted to return to America.

Early in July, I flew from Marseilles to Edinburgh via London. My month in Scotland would consist of four one week stays in Dundee, Aberdeen, Prestwick, and finally back to Edinburgh. I would play St. Andrews and Royal Troon, and a number of equally legendary courses. I would learn to play the elements and I would learn to trust my caddie. I played the best golf of my life and yet I never broke eighty, and seldom eighty-five.

By the end of July, I was ready to go home. I was fit and tanned and in good physical and mental health. I was ready to face Sarah and learn what her decision was. I wasn't worried, but I was curious. I loved her, but I couldn't live with her as long as she was the unpleasant woman she had become. I boarded my flight and prepared myself for the six hour trip to Boston.

I arrived home early on a Wednesday afternoon. I had decided earlier to drop into my office and see Renee. I would check into a hotel for one night only, unless my reunion with Sarah did not go well. I hadn't made up my mind whether to call my wife first to tell her I was coming or just show up at our home. I still hadn't decided as I sat in the cab on the way to my office.

I had informed Renee of my plans beforehand so she was not surprised by my arrival that afternoon. She greeted me warmly as she always did, and we sat in my office as I told her of my travels. She said that she had heard little from Sarah since the second week of my trip and had no new information about her. I asked for her opinion on how to handle our meeting tomorrow. She was sure a telephone call first would be appropriate.

I checked into my hotel later that afternoon and went about a couple of errands. I needed a haircut and quickly walked to my barber's shop before it closed. The haircuts I had gotten in Portugal and France were not to my liking. Only in Scotland could I make myself understood what style I wanted. With Frank, my barber, no such communication was necessary.

I enjoyed the first steak I had eaten in three months and washed it down with a very nice California Zinfandel. I had chosen the hotel restaurant because it was convenient and a known quality. I had also decided I would phone Sarah tonight and tell her I would be home tomorrow morning. It would give her some time to prepare herself - if she needed it.

I was slightly nervous when I returned to my room. The wine had relaxed me, but I knew at my age that jet-lag would catch up to me quickly. I thought I had better call her now and see what kind of reception I was going to get. If it was violently negative, then my plans could be altered.