If Only We'd Known

There were just a few people in the place at that point, and most of those were men; they looked old enough to be retired. He noticed how friendly they were with each other, so he took them to be regulars. The handful of women, not including the waitress that had yet to bring his beer, were at the bar talking to each other. By the way they were dressed, not too fashionable, yet, professional, they must be office workers coming in to relax, drink a bit, talk of the day's pains and assholes (neither exclusive of the other), before going home to their husbands, boyfriends, or cats.

"Here you go." said the waitress as she placed a new bottle of beer in front of him and removed the empty. "That'll be two bucks, six bits." she added cheerfully.

Malcolm had to twist around in his chair to reach his wallet to pull out a ten spot, and while he handed the cash to her, said, "Bring another and keep the change."

"Thanks, sweetie. Will do. I'll be right back."

After she left to get his other beer, Malcolm took one more look around the bar, a sweeping glance, since his facing now gave him a new perspective, before focusing on his problem again.

Something caught his eye, but his eyes panned too swiftly to stop at that point, so he glanced back, and sure enough, he saw his next door neighbor, Phyllis, sitting across the room, at another corner table. And she wasn't alone, nor was she not alone with her husband, Henry. He didn't know who sat with her, but he was sure it wasn't Henry. By the body signals they were conveying to each other, he didn't think the guy was simply a friend, either. Intrigued, despite his uneasy feeling at seeing his neighbor with someone other than her husband, he continued to watch the couple.

She giggled, the man smiled, then he'd stroke her hand momentarily before pulling back. It was like the guy was testing the waters, before jumping in. And Phyllis didn't seem to mind being tested. And, it looked like the old gal was going to do some swimming herself, as she too, stroked his hand from time to time. He watched for several minutes, unable to tear his eyes away from the antics of the couple. It was some kind of mating ritual, and it would have been funny if Malcolm didn't know that at this very minute Henry was at home watching some sports event on his 600 plus channel satellite dish TV system.

Phyllis and Henry were about the same age, and if he remembered right, that was fifty-eight. And the man with Phyllis, although looking younger, wasn't a baby. Phyllis wasn't a knock-out by any means, but she did have a nice body. And although her face was beginning to show her age, she still shown vestiges of her youthful beauty. As for Henry, he was a balding, overweight, and for the most part, as nonathletic and sedentary a human male could get and still be alive. Regardless of his love of sports, it didn't go further than exercising his elbow as he watched the games. While the man Phyllis shared her table with seemed to be younger, but not that much younger. Perhaps, he was Malcolm's age, and in good physical condition. Ah, well, it was none of his business.

As Malcolm finally turned away, he saw the second bottle of beer near his first. The waitress came without his knowing, he'd been so entranced with what he'd been watching. Better than any old sports show any old day, he thought to himself, smiling. Alas, poor Henry. And the moment of amusement that had lit his face, turned into a sad grimace as his own dilemma made its way back.

Malcolm had the momentary thought to call Henry and fill him in on his wife's extracurricular activity, but he quickly nixed the idea. It was none of his business, and who knows how Henry would react. Maybe Phyllis and Henry had some sort of arrangement, and he didn't want to go stirring up any trouble. He had enough troubles of his own to worry about.

Finishing up his second beer, he had a sudden urge to visit the men's room. Not being used to drinking, his body was more than ready to flush itself out. Taking another look at Phyllis, as he didn't want her to see him, he saw that she'd moved to sit closer to the man, and now had her back to Malcolm.

He looked in the mirror above the lavatory as he washed his hands, and saw a face that had seen better days. Not that he was ugly, but he wasn't handsome either. The plant explosion hadn't directly caught him in its fiery embrace, but as he and the others rushed to evacuate the building, flaming pieces of debris rained down and one happened to land on him.

It wasn't a bad burn, but it was a burn, and it had left its mark on him. Plastic surgery had corrected much of the epidermal damage but there was some discoloration and slight scarring. His hair, once a rich dark brown, was now more gray than brown. The more he studied his face the more it seemed to belong to a stranger. His dark brown eyes, even as they looked at his reflection, were studying something deeper within him. He'd be damned if he knew what that was.

Drying his hands, he felt an aversion building against the reflection in the mirror. Tearing his eyes away, he glanced down. His mind looking to think of anything else, focused on the floor. What might have been a nice tile floor at one time was now stained with years of ground in dirt, stains of dried liquids and covered with a scattered litter of crumpled paper towels. The brown kind of towels. The kind that pull out in separate sheets from those wall hung dispensers. The ugly kind. The kind that are too stiff and too rough to quite dry the hands well enough.

And in that instant of seeing the refuse, he realized that his marriage was just like that. It had become like the tiled floor with stains, ground in dirt and the litter of brown paper towels.

'I've got to get home. Talk to Jesse and get our marriage cleaned up,' Malcolm thought to himself. Then Phyllis and her man popped into his head, as well as Henry, and with more clarity than he wanted and more than any man should have. He had an epiphany.

He and Jesse had grown so used to each other, even their relationship was routine. No wonder she was acting the way she was. What was that old saying? "Familiarity breeds contempt". Malcolm didn't know who came up with that, but whomever it was, he was one smart asshole. Or maybe just a very experienced asshole. It explained a lot, including the look of disgust she'd momentarily let slip last Saturday night.

Feeling the growing satisfaction of solving another of those conundrums that came to plague him every now and then, he began to smile and his eyes started to sparkle. Even looking into the mirror wasn't the chore it was a few moments ago. Patting himself mentally on the back, he hummed cheerfully to himself, exited the restroom and made his way back to the table.

About ready to sit, he looked to see if Phyllis and her man were still at the other table. They were, but another couple had joined them. He could easily see Phyllis, she had moved back to her previous chair, and the new woman had her back to Malcolm. He saw the other new guy, and he seemed to be a carbon copy of Phyllis's man. Not that they really looked alike, but they did share similar facial features and appeared to be the same age and build.

'This is getting interesting', thought Malcolm, 'I wonder which of the neighborhood wives this other woman is.'

He sat, sipped his beer as he watched the two couples laugh occasionally, enjoying themselves. He was getting a kick out of it, betting himself on whom this other woman might be. Could it be the dowdy Doris Calli, who lived further down the block? The woman was about the right size and her hair, as done up as it was, sort of resembled the simple style she wore. Or could it be the leggy Heather Letts? She too was about the same size and shape as the mystery woman, only she had shorter hair. So it couldn't be Heather. Maybe it was Lynette Franklin, the PTO president of the local elementary school? Now that would be a laugh. She was about as conservative a Christian as they came. She wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this and certainly would never be seen with a man other than her husband.

Tiring of his game, he spun in his seat to face the table, noticing his beer was empty. He considered leaving at that point, but a glance at his watch decided him that it was still too early to head home. He had forgotten to check for messages on his home phone, which he could easily do from his mobile phone. If Jesse was working late again, she would have called the house phone, although until a couple of years ago, she always called his mobile.

'Yeah, I'll call home and see if Jesse left a message about her working late, and if she is, then I might as well have one more', he thought.

Sure enough, Jesse had left a message saying she'd be in late from work, and not to worry about cooking for her as she would stop to get something to eat on the way in.

'I did want to talk to her about things, but I guess it'll have to wait.'

With a sigh, he closed the phone and stuck it back into its holster.

Waving the waitress over, he ordered another beer.

The place was a bit more crowded, now that it was later in the evening. And the background hum of people talking had gone up a couple of notches, but it still wasn't too bad. At least the jukebox wasn't any louder than before.

Sipping his third beer, he was more relaxed, and more certain of what the problem was in his marriage, and the sooner he spoke with Jesse about it the sooner they could begin working to mend things. It probably wouldn't be easy, but damn he loved the woman. So no matter how hard it would be to right things, it was well worth it.

Feeling contentment again, he sat peacefully, drinking his last beer, while listening to the ongoing chatter around the bar.

Phyllis, the two men and the mystery woman had grown louder as the evening grew later. 'I guess enough drink can add to the fun', thought Malcolm idly. 'Not my kind of fun, but to each their own.'

Then he heard chairs scrapping back, from what he guessed was from the direction of the two couples.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he swiveled enough to see the two couples. And yes, they were getting up, and looked as if they were ready to leave. The man with Phyllis laid a possessive hand on the small of her back, as he walked her to the exit, causing Malcolm to raise a eyebrow in surprise, even if had already surmised they were very chummy, the fact of it hit harder than guess work. He thought again, 'Poor Henry.' Turning his attention to the other woman who was still mostly facing away from Malcolm, he could see the man place both his hands on her waist, while he spoke to her, their faces inches apart..

With morbid anticipation Malcolm waited for the woman to turn enough towards him so he could see who she was. She felt familiar but her style of dress and her manner was still throwing him off. He simply could not place her. She was dressed to kill, he could see that much. Her blue dress clung to every luscious curve of her body, especially her firm shapely ass, accenting it. The coat she had draped across her right arm was one of those thin cape-like shawls, more for looks than to keep a body warm. No matter, the guy who held her seemed like he could handle keeping her warm. A faint chuckle escaped his lips at the thought. 'The lucky bastard!'

She finally turned, and his mind no longer wondered about the identity of the mystery woman. And as he realized who she was, she saw him in the same instant.

"Malcolm! Is that you?" she said in a surprised, but welcoming yell.

Malcolm couldn't believe his eyes, and the sight of her undermined his earlier resolution of his and Jesse's problem.

"Yes. It's me." he said tonelessly.

As she approached him, he thought he saw pity in her eyes. Pity for him? Somehow that managed to stir a long buried anger.

"I thought so. But... What are you doing here? Where's Jessica?" she asked. Although her question wasn't presented in a timid fashion, there was a touch of uncertainty and hesitancy in her voice.

"Like you, getting out for some fun. Only I didn't seem to have nearly the same amount of fun as you apparently had, since I'm alone." he replied sarcastically.

"Malcolm... I'm- Look, this isn't what it seems. Things aren't like they used to be. And..."

Malcolm cut her off abruptly, "Things are never as they seem with you. Yet, twenty-three years later and you're still the same whoring slut!"

"Okay, Malcolm, I can see you're upset. I don't know why. It's not like I've ever done you any wrong. And tonight, well- I was just out having a little fun. That's all!" she explained curtly, as her own anger began to surface.

"Yeah, right. Whatever. I'm out of here." he retorted angrily, walking past her and her surprised date. He hoped she would say something, anything, but she pressed her lips into a thin line, with her eyes narrowing, biting back a angry retort, leaving him to exit with the last word. Although, it offered some modicum of solace, it would have been far more satisfying if she'd said something so he could have vented a whole hell of a lot more.

'Goddammit! I just knew the shit was going to hit the fan with me and Jesse, but not like this.' cursed Malcolm to himself, as made his way out of the bar.

That fucking bitch! The lying whore! Fuck! FUCK! Malcolm wasn't sure just who he was referring to, the slut in the bar, or his wife.

As he drove home, he raged a storm, his anger increasing with each passing mile, until he was filled with a red hot fury.

It was just after 10 o'clock when he pulled in to the driveway. Jesse's car wasn't there, so she must not be home yet. It was just as well, he had some thinking to do. And now, he really didn't want to face her just yet.

He stomped into the house, entered the living room, going to the cabinet where he kept a bottle of Jack Daniels, grabbed it and a glass, then made his way to the den, where he sat in his recliner, drinking, while he waited for his dear wife to arrive. His mind raced with half finished thoughts, discarding each one, as another thought took its place, and every thought was gone before he had time to examine it fully. Except for one. It kept popping up, over and over. Why did she have a pitying look? Was it for him? Or for something still lingering from the past?

Malcolm not being a drinker of any repute, was soon buzzing and feeling somewhat sleepy. He dozed off and didn't awaken until he heard someone walking up the stairs. Since the den was partially under the stairs the sound of footsteps on the wooden steps sort of echoed in the den. He wasn't nearly drunk enough for what was to come, but unwilling to drink anymore, Malcolm rose from the chair, and went upstairs to confront his wife.

He walked into the bedroom as she was removing her dress. Even at forty-seven years of age, his wife was very much a sexy desirable woman, but at the moment, Malcolm was too angry to notice.

"When were you going to tell me?" demanded Malcolm, with barely contained fury.

Startled by the sudden voice and its gritty harshness, Jesse turned toward Malcolm with a wide eyed look. Her face showing shock and in her eyes lay a hint of fear.

"What are you talking about, Malcolm?" she asked, a slight quaver in her voice.

She'd stopped removing her dress, but it had dropped down far enough that Malcolm could see the lacy black bra and panties she wore, and her still taut stomach and muscular thighs. But again, her beauty did little to ease his anger.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about! So don't act coy and don't treat me like an idiot, Jessica!"

"Malcolm, I'm not a mind reader. And unless you tell me what you're rambling about, I've no idea what you mean." replied Jesse sarcastically, her initial surprise quickly turning to anger.

"Very well, I'll spell it out for you, since your going to play that game. Tonight- Tonight, I saw- Claire! Your sister! Remember her?"

"Oh..." began Jesse in surprise, and in, what Malcolm thought seemed suspiciously like relief.

"Yes, oh. How long has she been back? And why is she back?" demanded Malcolm, with a raised voice.

"I don't...Why didn't you ask her?" yelled Jesse right back at him, swelling anger changing her answer in mid-sentence. Then it dawned on her, when and how did Malcolm see her sister? "For that matter where were you that you ran into Claire?"

Taken unawares at the sudden change in tactics and cautioned by Jessica's obvious hostility, Malcolm momentarily hesitated, before answering.

Struggling to control himself, so he wouldn't say something he'd regret later, he replied more calmly, but tersely, "I was out drinking a few beers. Saw her at the same place."

Malcolm drinking? Now that she thought about it, she could smell the whiskey on him.

"You were out drinking? Since when?" asked Jessica, wondering what was going on with Malcolm.

"Tonight, at some bar. Brewster's. Then here at home", answered Malcolm, then continued, "You're trying to change the subject and, I really would appreciate an answer to my questions."

Shaking her head in wonder, she looked at Malcolm, staring into his eyes, trying to read what lay behind his anger. Was there something more than just Claire being back in town, that had upset him? For the first time in her life, she couldn't read Malcolm. It was as if a stranger stared back at her. A shiver passed through her slight frame, caused by the realization that maybe she didn't know her husband as well as she thought she had. And, that was cause for concern. She gave him a hard stare, that at other times had forced him to wilt and back down, but this time it just splashed off his hard unwavering look.

He didn't say a word, as he continued to meet her gaze unflinchingly, something that in the past, he would have never done. His eyes would have dropped by now, a sheepish grin would have spread across his face and he'd have laughed. Not this time. She truly didn't know the man that stood across from her. That spooked her, so she decided to answer, rather than to argue.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Malcolm. I really don't know the answers to your questions. We haven't spoken that often, but I discovered Claire returned a couple of weeks ago. I asked her those same questions, but she evaded them. You can't let the past get to you now. I know you're angry at what happened when she was still living here, but that was so long ago- We should forget it." Then in a slightly hurt tone of voice, she added, "I thought we had."

He looked at her closely, searching her face and her eyes, staring deep into them, and then voicing a grunt, which could have meant anything, walked out of the bedroom.

She'd seen Malcolm this way once, so openly angry and hateful. That was twenty-three years ago, only this time, it was different.

'It was as if he didn't trust me.' she told herself. A bit of anger arose again, but it wasn't enough to overcome the uncomfortable feeling that he'd left her with, and that frightened her. 'Dear God, does he know more than he's saying? Does he know the truth and is testing me? To see what I'll say?'

And she knew, if that was the case, he knew she'd lied through her teeth. Suddenly she was very scared of the man she'd loved and called husband.

~N~

"Hey, man! How's it going Mal?" asked one of the line technicians as he saw Malcolm walking the line, inspecting the bright steel rollers and the safety shields around the gears and belts.

Malcolm waved offhandedly, acknowledging he'd heard, but instead of stopping and chatting a bit, as he usually did, he continued the inspection.

"Dude! What's got his balls in a vice?" asked the technician, who had greeted Malcolm, to another nearby technician. Shrugging his shoulders, the second tech said, "Who knows? But whatever it is, I've never seen the old man so focused on his work that he wouldn't stop for a minute, so it must be a real mind fuck."