Happenstance Ch. 03

But, if that was the case, why hadn't Melody known Charlie before tonight? After all, she was an integral part of the team, and I knew that Shelley appreciated her value. She'd told me so on numerous occasions. Why wouldn't she? She had started out doing exactly what Melody was doing. So, why would she leave her out of the introductions?

'Curiouser and curiouser,' I thought as I chewed on a piece of overcooked chicken during dinner. 'There's more to it. The pieces don't quite fit.'

'And what's this 'regular partner' business?' I wondered. Of course, that could be explained by the fact that Shelley was working with a relatively new team - all three were new to the network, with Dan's eighteen months making him the longest serving member apart from Shelley - and perhaps none of them had seen the memo. 'But why wouldn't Shelley have corrected that oversight? Maybe she hadn't realised that they didn't know. Hopefully, she'll set them straight after tonight.' I wasn't sure whether I should give her a bit of a nudge or let sleeping dogs lie and see if anything changed before next year's function. I decided to take a 'wait-and-see' approach.

---oooBJSooo---

"Well, this has turned into an interesting evening," I said quietly to Shelley as we moved across the dancefloor after the speech and presentation part of the proceedings had ended - during which Shelley had received an award for one of her exposés - and the music had commenced. "Who'd have thunk it? Never in a million years would I have expected Charlie to turn up to your network's function. And on the arm of your producer to boot."

"Hmmm," she responded. "Do you mind if we wait until we get home to discuss it? I was as surprised as you were." The subject was put on the back burner, and our conversation turned to her award. I was just as proud of her achievement as she was and told her so many times throughout the night.

As usual, we danced the first set together, and after returning to the table where her award was the main topic of discussion, I followed Harry to the bar to replenish our drinks and managed to squeeze in beside him to place my order. By the time I returned to the table, I had put the first two pieces of the puzzle together.

Apparently, Charlie had asked Shelley about joining her on her most recent Mount Isa trip. After discussing the request with Dan - who had agreed because the rooms they had booked each contained two queen beds, and as Shelley always ended up sleeping alone, she and her mother could share a room, the cost of which had been covered by the network - she was invited to join them on the proviso that she paid for her own airfares and meals, and any other personal expenses.

Unfortunately, they couldn't get her on their plane, so she flew in the following day. Dan had met her at the airport that morning, and despite never having seen each other before then, the sparks flew. The two of them became inseparable while they were in Mount Isa. According to Harry, they spent every night together while in the northwest rodeo city and had been constant companions since their return.

When I asked him how that affected his sleeping arrangements, he told me he had ended up sharing a room with a cameraperson from another network. I found his use of the word 'cameraperson' rather than cameraman interesting but couldn't get him to admit to any infidelity on his own part.

"So, let me get this clear," I said before we parted company. "Dan and Charlene spent every night together in your room. You slept with a friend in her room. And Shelley - Michelle to you - slept alone in her room. Have I got that right?"

"Spot on," he answered... just a little too quickly. He was hiding something, but I didn't know what. I assumed it was that the nights he spent in the female cameraperson's room involved more than sleeping.

"That's great," I said, ending the conversation. "It sounds like you all had a wonderful time up there. I'll see you back at the table."

'That explains Shelley's off-key behaviour when she returned from that trip and her tearful request that I "claim her" when we celebrated her homecoming.' I thought as I pushed my way back through the crowd of people trying to get to the bar. What I found intriguing about that request was that it wasn't something she'd asked since the first time we made love, fifteen years earlier.

Even though she hadn't been personally involved, I reasoned, she probably felt guilty about all the bed-hopping that had been going on around her during that assignment.

When I returned to the table with our drinks, I found Charlie sitting in my seat and she and Shelley in deep conversation. After depositing the drinks on the table, I excused myself to my wife and headed for the men's room.

Charlie had moved back to her seat, and the music had started when I returned. Shelley's chair was empty, and Reg and Melody were involved in a conversation with her mother. As soon as I arrived, they prepared to join the other couples on the dancefloor. They'd obviously not wanted to leave Charlie sitting alone.

"She accepted the offer of a dance with Dan," Charlie explained, seeing me looking around for Shelley. "I wouldn't say no if you were to invite me up onto the dancefloor, though."

"I only dance with my wife at these affairs," I answered. That wasn't entirely true. I had often danced with the wives, partners and female staff members with whom we had been seated at such functions. But hell would freeze over before I'd take Charlie into my arms again.

I saw Melody pause briefly as she and Reg started to leave the table. I thought she might have overheard my brief conversation with Charlie and was going to turn back to clarify what I had said, but at her husband's urging, she continued towards the dancefloor.

At that point, the music cut to a slow dance. But I saw no sign of my wife and her producer making their way back to the table. In fact, what I saw was just the opposite. With no resistance on Shelley's part, Dan pulled her into a closer embrace, and they moved as one across the floor.

Leaving Charlie sitting there, I pushed through the other dancers and cut in on Dan. "Your girlfriend wants to dance," I told him.

"That was rude," Shelley said as her former dance partner left the floor and headed back to the table to see to Charlie's needs. "What happened to our 'dance with whomever you please during the middle sets' agreement?"

"The same as happened to our 'no slow dancing with anyone but your husband' agreement, I guess," I answered.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that," she replied. "But I saw you and Mum talking, and I wanted to give you a bit of time together to sort out your differences. Besides, there was nothing inappropriate in the way we were dancing. Dan was behaving like the gentleman he always is."

I had to admit that she was correct. She'd not rested her head on his shoulder as she would have done with me. I'd not seen any tight holding, groping or arse-grabbing. And there had been no groin-grinding. But the blatant breach of our long-standing slow-dancing agreement - combined with the secrecy surrounding her mother accompanying her to Mount Isa - had me wondering if I wasn't missing something.

I must have failed to hide my growing anger at the revelations that had come to light during the night because Shelley suggested we leave before the final dance set. That was probably a good thing as I was approaching the point where I was tempted to break my personal rule at such events and switch from my usual two or three light beers interspersed with the odd glass of Coke to something stronger.

Shelley hadn't been so circumspect, however. She'd consumed well over her normal quota and, as was often the case when the wine had loosened her tongue, wanted to talk on the way home.

"I'm sorry for not telling you about Mum and Dan," she said, attempting to break the ice - or cut through the heavy atmosphere that filled the car. "But I...."

"Leave it until we get home," I said, cutting her off. I needed to get a couple of Scotches into me before opening that can of worms. "The thing you need to think about is why you felt that breaking a long-standing rule we'd both agreed to by slow dancing with your mother's boyfriend would be something I'd be okay with. You also need to come up with a reason why only three of the eight people sitting at our table - you, your mother and me - knew we were husband and wife."

I think she finally understood that my anger wasn't solely directed at her not telling me about the relationship that had developed between her mother and her producer because the remainder of our half-hour-long drive was completed in silence.

A little over forty-five minutes after arriving home - during which I'd delivered our seventeen-year-old babysitter home and Shelley and I had showered and changed into our night attire - we were sitting side by side on the settee in our living room. Although the furniture had changed over the years, the settee was where all our discussions - both serious and otherwise - had taken place since Shelley had been a little girl. The difference between then and now, however, was that, instead of a cup of hot cocoa, each of us had an alcoholic drink in our hands; Shelley, a glass of her favoured wine, and I, a glass of single-malt Scotch.

"Okay," I said as I pulled her into a cuddle. I'd already had - gulped down, more correctly - one large Scotch and had mellowed a little by this time. "The floor is yours. Why don't you start with the slow dancing? Then tell me about the husband and wife business before finishing with the biggie."

"The dancing was just as I've already explained," Shelley said after a moment's pause. "The band had switched to a slow song, and Dan and I were about to return to the table when I saw you and Mum in conversation. Thinking that you and she becoming reacquainted was more important than me sticking to our dance agreement, I persuaded Dan to stay out on the floor to give the two of you a bit more time to reconcile your differences.

"So, yes. Continuing to dance with Dan when the band switched to a slow tune was a conscious decision on my part. But it was a decision I made in the obviously mistaken belief that I was doing the right thing. I certainly didn't imagine it would cause you the hurt it obviously has. And for that, I'm sorry."

"Hurt? No, I wasn't hurt. I was disappointed, however. Until tonight, I believed we could trust each other to stick by our agreements. Sadly, it appears I was mistaken. Was that the first time you've slow danced with Dan? I only ask because you appeared to be comfortable with him as a partner."

"Yes," she answered. However, as had been the case with Harry earlier that night, her answer came a little too quickly. "Although it's not the first time we've danced together. There are occasions when we're away that we - Dan, Harry and me - end up heading into the hotel bar for a nightcap after dinner, and if there is a band playing, we sometimes stay for a dance or two. But whether dancing with Dan or Harry - or anyone else, for that matter - slow dancing is off the agenda. Dan and Harry know that, and anyone else I'm dancing with soon gets the message. He was hesitant when I asked him to stay out on the floor when the slow song started but complied with my request when - without going into the whys and wherefores - I explained that it was all for a good cause.

"So please don't blame Dan for my error of judgement. It was a mistake I won't make again. But it was a wrong decision made for what I thought at the time was the right reason."

"Okay," I responded. "But just so you know, your mother and I weren't having a conversation. She was telling me that she would be open to an invitation to dance, and I was telling her to get fucked. Of course, I did it in the politest possible way because Melody and her husband were within earshot."

"Oh," Shelley said, surprised at my use of the F-word. We didn't use such language in our day-to-day speech for two reasons: Firstly, we didn't want the children to think it was appropriate to use such terms as a normal part of polite conversation. And secondly, because I felt that such words should be reserved for those occasions when nothing else carried the same impact. Its use on this occasion appropriately reflected my emotional state.

"Now," I said, "Before we talk about the second item on the agenda, I'd like you to go and get the invitation for tonight's function... including the envelope it came in if you've still got it." I knew it wouldn't be hard to find. She'd had to take it with us to present at the function room door that night.

While she was away, I refilled her glass. I'm a great believer in the Latinised Greek proverb, in vino veritas, and I wanted our conversation to contain as much veritas as possible.

I'm sure Shelley understood where this part of the conversation was going because she couldn't look me in the eye when she returned and handed me the invitation before resuming her seat. An examination of the front of the envelope confirmed my suspicions. It was addressed to Ms Michelle Horseman. Upon extracting the embossed card it contained, I found that the invitation was made out to Ms Michelle Horseman and partner.

"I know we'd agreed that you'd maintain your maiden name to keep our careers separate," I said, my disappointment evident in my voice. "But I didn't realise that it would result in our lives also being separated. Going by this invitation, it appears our fellow diners aren't the only ones who don't know you're married; or married to me, at least."

"I thought everyone at work knew we were married," Shelley responded. "My bosses certainly know. Hell. Some of them have been to our home, met our children and eaten at our table. And you are on record as my next of kin. I just assumed there had been a mistake made by whoever was tasked with sending the invitations out."

I didn't believe her explanation for a second and was sure that if she'd been able to lay her hands on the previous five ABN invitations, they would have been addressed and made out the same way. That was only supposition on my part, though, as I had never seen them. Unlike invitations to functions I received, which were stuck on the fridge or pinned to the message board, Shelley kept hers to herself, only noting the date on the kitchen calendar.

"So far as my team members go, I can only put their ignorance down to the fact that they are all reasonably new on the scene and weren't aware that, despite our different surnames, you and I are husband and wife. I'll remedy that on Monday. I'll also speak to our human resources department about ensuring that you are included on future invitations by name."

"I don't give a rat's arse about whether or not I am identified on the invitation," I almost shouted. I took a moment to calm myself. "I'm not so insecure that my feelings will be hurt by not being named on an invitation. But I do find it disturbing that your closest co-workers aren't aware of your marital status. Or if they are - and I can't imagine they wouldn't be, assuming you wear your wedding and engagement rings to work and while you're travelling - that you were married to me.

"I must admit to feeling a little put out being introduced to your mother - your fucking mother, for Christ's sake! - as your 'regular partner', as if I were a stand-in for your real husband; your toy boy. Or, to put it more appropriately, considering my advanced years, your sugar daddy."

Having allowed my anger to overtake me, my voice had risen. Knowing I needed to stay calm if I was to get the answers I wanted, I took another moment to allow my heart rate to return to normal before continuing.

"You say you often dance with your co-workers while you are away on assignment. And, from what you've already told me, they know of your stance on slow dancing on such occasions. But it appears they don't know why you won't dance the slow numbers with them. I can't imagine the subject hasn't been raised; what with you all having such a close working relationship.

"And what about the other men you dance with? How do you explain your aversion to slow dancing to them? Wouldn't something like, "My husband and I have agreed not to put ourselves in a position where we might be sending the wrong message to our dance partner", or, "My husband and I have agreed not to put ourselves in a position where we might be tempted to break our marriage vows", suffice? It would certainly let Dan, Harry and your non-crew dance partners know that, as a married woman, you have no intention of jeopardising your relationship with your husband."

As I spoke those words, it occurred to me that Shelley had already crossed the slow dancing line; at least with Dan. The practised way they'd moved around the dancefloor - along with her comment after I had cut in on them earlier that night that he had always shown himself to be a gentleman on such occasions - put the lie to her 'no slow dancing with anyone while away on assignment' statement.

Not wanting to become bogged down in a protracted argument, however, I decided against calling her on it. I wanted to get to the part about her mother's involvement in their Mount Isa trip; which, I believed, Shelley didn't know I knew about.

'Besides,' I told myself, 'we can return to the slow dancing issue later.' I guess I was taking the coward's way out, not realising that by ignoring it, I might have been giving tacit approval for it to continue. But then, while I wanted to protect our marriage, I'm not a controlling person. And as Shelley had once pointed out, she is a free agent. I just wished I could get her to see the dangerous position she was putting herself in when she stepped outside the boundaries we'd established; all of which were designed to protect us from potentially marriage-ending mistakes.

I wasn't overly worried about the slow dancing thing; just so long as it stayed within acceptable boundaries. What did worry me, however, was what would happen when those boundaries were tested again. Having stepped over one line, would she find it easier to step over the next? Or would the emotional impact of her actions - the potential consequences - prevent her from surrendering when that next line of defence was attacked?

'Only time will tell,' I told myself as I paused to comfort Shelley. Something I'd said - or perhaps the realisation of how badly a relationship can be damaged when three seemingly unrelated events collide at a single point in time - had triggered a cloudburst of tears.

"I'm so... so sorry," Shelley wailed between sobs as I held her tightly into my chest. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I love you so much and could never have imagined myself doing anything that would hurt you or our relationship. I shouldn't have danced that slow number with Dan. And I should have remedied the invitation mistake long before this. Please forgive me."

"I think you're missing the point," I responded. "As I said earlier, this had nothing to do with whether or not I am named on your invitation. Yes, I was upset about your slow dancing with your producer, but you've explained your reason for doing that, so there's nothing to forgive for either of those things.

"The two things that got up my nose, however, were the blatant disrespect Dan Smith showed towards me when he introduced me to your mother and the fact that your mother was even there, neither of which were of your doing.

"Now, tell me about your producer and your mother. How did a gentleman - your words - like Dan Juan hook up with a slut like Charlie - what's her latest name? - Rogers, is it? They live in two different worlds. I can't imagine how circumstances would put them in the same place at the same time."