It's Strictly Business

"Then I remembered my bachelorette party."

On our honeymoon, she had told me about it. Half-giggling, half-embarrassed, she admitted that her girlfriends had dragged her to a place that did those 'Magic Mike' type shows.

"I remembered how all the girls were screaming and carrying on, and... well. And that's when it came to me. If I had one of those guys as part of my demonstration, then maybe the women would be more excited to buy my stuff.

"I went to the club, and just asked if anyone wanted to hear a business proposition. Well, several of them were, but when I explained what I wanted, Charles was the only one who still seemed interested.

She hung her head, and just muttered quietly, "And it worked. I've been the top salesperson for the last three months. I was so excited; all I thought about was that we'd be able to start a family soon, and I was able to justify it in my head.

"But I swear, as bad as it looks, I'm not having an affair with Charles. Yes, we had sexual contact, but only at the parties. It's completely clinical. Neither of us orgasm, ever. It's strictly business, and there is absolutely zero emotional investment."

I looked at her. "You know, by using sex to make money, it makes you sound like..."

"A whore, yes, I know," she covered her face. She was crying again. "Harold, please believe me. I do love you, I just... well, I made a really really bad choice, one that I will regret for the rest of my life. I'm so sorry I didn't even consider how you'd feel, and because of that, I betrayed you. In the worst way a wife can betray her husband."

Her face was a mask of misery and despair. "I just kept telling myself that it was all for us. Justifying it to myself that it was so we could start a family. But now... have I killed us, Harold? Have I wrecked everything?" She had her arms wrapped around herself, rocking back and forth in her chair.

I thought about what she had told me. I asked myself if I believed her. I asked myself if I still loved her. I asked myself if I was better off with or without her. Amazingly, it was the video that stopped me from making an irrevocable decision on the spot. If I hadn't seen it... if Jessica had just told me what she saw... I wouldn't even be considering; I'd already be gone.

But, as painful as it was to watch, Monica did not look like she was putting on some kind of sex show. It really did look like a very detached and unemotional demonstration.

Against my better judgement, I said, "I must admit you did sound very professional as you went through your... sales pitch."

She winced, but said, "Thank you."

"But did you enjoy it? Honestly?"

"Harold, I'll never lie to you again. So, honestly, I wouldn't say 'enjoyed', but I was being sexually stimulated. It's a pleasurable sensation, yes. It's hard not to have a physiological response to that." She was about cried out, and spoke softly, resignedly.

"Do I need to go get tested for STDs?"

She flinched again, but merely replied, "No, he and I both got regular tests. I can show you."

I nodded.

"Why didn't you ask me? To help you, I mean. That really hurts, Mon."

"I'm so sorry, Harold. That's the decision I regret most. Well, besides coming up with this whole fucked up plan in the first place. I did think about it. I'm so sorry for hurting you." She stared at the floor.

"But in the end, I was only thinking about the money. I just figured that if the guy was built like a Greek god, he would appeal to the ladies more, and my sales would be better. I guess that makes me sound like even more of a whore when I say it like that."

"Not gonna lie, Monica, it does. And you knew I'd never stand for you to fuck someone else, even if it was just for 'demonstration purposes' as you put so dispassionately put it."

"I know," she murmured. "I guess I somehow convinced myself it wasn't really sex. But deep down I knew that was a lie."

"So, if we're going to call it what it is, you cheated. What would YOU do, Monica? If the shoe was on the other foot?"

She whispered, "If you screwed someone else? I'd probably divorce you."

I nodded again.

I thought she was cried out, but when she saw that nod, I guess she thought I was agreeing with her. She collapsed onto the kitchen table, sobbing uncontrollably.

I could hear her trying to talk through her weeping, "N-no... Harold... p-please... I- I- I'll do anything, please don't l-leave me, Harold, p-please! I'm s-so goddamn sorry!" Her shoulders continued to heave up and down with her cries.

It was cruel, I know, leaving her, uncomforted, like that. I guess I wanted her to feel some of my pain too.

When I didn't say anything, she finally staggered up and started making her way to the bedroom.

In a lifeless voice, she said, "I understand. I'll pack a few things and go to my mother's." She trudged a few steps further, then turned.

"I meant it, Harold. I love you. I'll never love anyone but you. I'll never forgive myself for fucking everything up so badly.

I still said nothing, and she slowly went up the stairs.

I sat there, thinking about what she'd said. The problem was, I believed her. But could I trust her? That was the kicker, wasn't it? Trust.

I followed her up the stairs. I stood in the doorway, watching her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at an empty suitcase on the floor in front of her. Her hands rested, upturned and empty, on her knees. Her shoulders were slumped in defeat, and her head was down. I turned and went back down.

I was still sitting at the table when she returned, dragging a suitcase.

"Harold?" she whispered.

I turned my head to look at her, and she flinched. I guess I wasn't hiding my feelings very well.

"It's tearing me up, knowing how I've hurt you. Being the agent of that pain. I'm so ashamed of myself." She paused.

"Whatever you plan to do, I deserve it. I do want to be your wife, but if... if..." and she starting sniffling again, "If you want to d-divorce me, I won't fight it."

"I need some time to think, Monica. You've broken my heart, and I don't know what to do."

She started to reach out a hand, then withdrew it. She turned, and as she went out the door, I thought I heard, very faintly, "I love you, please don't leave me..." I don't know if she meant for me to hear.

><><><><><

I really liked my mother-in-law, Dottie. Her given name was Dorotea, and she was born and raised outside of Sigonella, in Sicily. When she was 18, she met and fell in love with an American serviceman who was stationed at the Naval Air Station there. He convinced her to come to America with him when he rotated out, and she agreed. Six months later, he accepted a temporary assignment in Okinawa, leaving her pregnant and alone, and she never saw him again. He sent a check every month for child care, and that was it. Too proud to crawl home, she somehow raised Monica on her own, and I had a ton of respect for her. Having a Sicilian mother-in-law could only go two ways, and fortunately, Dottie doted on me.

The day after Monica left, Dottie called me.

"Buona sera, caro." Of course, I instantly knew who it was.

"Hi, Mamma," I replied.

"I ask you not to call me that! You make me feel old." Nothing could be farther from the truth. At 45, Dottie was a stunning woman. If Monica looked like that when she... ahh, fuck. I didn't know if I'd ever find out what Monica looked like at that age.

While I was depressing myself with that thought, Dottie got right to the point. "That puttana daughter of mine told me what she did, Aroldo. Now I gonna ask, what are you gonna do?"

"I really don't know, Mamma. I still love her, but I don't know if I can trust her anymore." I was a little surprised that Monica had confessed.

"Capisco," Dottie said.

"Is it okay if she stays with you? I need some time to think."

"Naturalmente, but how you gonna figure it out if you're not together, eh?"

"First I have to figure out if I do want us to be together," I replied quietly.

"Va bene, caro. Don't worry, I keep my eye on her."

I thought about that for a moment. "No, you don't need to do that, Mamma. It's up to her to be responsible for her own actions. She can't have someone looking over her shoulder all the time."

"You getting wiser, mio figlio," and I could hear the smile in her voice.

"I think I'm going to take some time off, Mamma. A little vacation. Please don't say anything to Monica."

"Aroldo... you not gonna do... something..."

"No, I won't. I promise. I'll talk to you soon. Ti voglio bene, mamma."

She laughed. "Your Italian is still terrible. But I love you too. I will pray for you and mia figlia idiota."

><><><><><

I let Maggie and Bob know what had happened, and what I was doing. Maggie suggested that I take Jessica with me, but when I started to stammer, she just laughed and said she was only teasing.

I was ashamed to say I actually considered it for an instant. But I realized that while I wanted Monica to suffer, I didn't want to irrevocably destroy things between us.

Despite what I'd said to my mother-in-law, I did think about keeping tabs on her, discreetly. But after I found out how much a PI would cost; I nixed that idea. Depressed, and without a plan, I found a little Airbnb about an hour away. It was near the lake, and I spent some time drowning a few worms while I pondered my future.

I think it was my fourth evening of my 'vacation' when my cell phone rang. It was Monica. I debated, then answered.

"What, Monica?"

My tone clearly caught her off guard. "Oh, uh... I was just worried, Harold... I went by the house to get a few things, and I saw all the mail piled up..."

Oh crap, I had forgotten to call the post office.

"Monica, I told you I needed some time. I'm not sure you checking up on me is going to help."

"I... I'm sorry, Harold, I was only... I'm sorry." And she disconnected. Pretty sure she was crying.

A couple of days later, I was back at home, no closer to an answer.

><><><><><

I went back to work. Maggie, bless her, gave me space, but it was obvious to everyone that I was not my usual self.

I was working more hours, just to avoid having to go home, and one day Maggie came to visit my cube when everyone else had left.

"Harold... just look at you." She shook her head sadly.

"What?"

"You're miserable, aren't you?"

I barked a laugh. "How could you tell?"

She ignored my sarcasm and only asked, "What are you going to do? You can't go on like this, that's clear. Have you even spoken to her?"

I shook my head, and she threw her hands up. "Look, I know what she did. From what you've told me, she truly regrets it. The question is, do you believe her?"

"That she regrets it?" I let out a sigh. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Do you believe she still loves you?"

I nodded.

Quietly, she asked, "Do you still love her?"

I leaned back in my chair, and ran my fingers through my hair. "That's the question, isn't it? I do, but every time I think about her, all I can see is that... goddamn video."

She looked down, sadly. "I understand. But you can't just ignore her, Harold, it's not fair to her."

I opened my mouth to protest that she deserved whatever I decided, but... deep down, I knew she was right. "Okay Maggie, I'll call her."

"Good. And Harold?"

I looked up.

"Do the right thing, okay?"

What did that mean?

><><><><><

I was driving home, trying to figure out what I was going to say to her, when my cell phone rang.

"Aroldo, you get to my house subito, capisci?"

"Dottie? What..."

"Subito, you hear?" and she disconnected.

I banged a U-turn right there, causing a few angry honks and glares, and headed for Dottie's.

I ran into the house. "Dottie? Dottie, it's Harold, what's..."

She stalked into the room and threw something at me. It bounced off my chest and clattered to the floor.

Her eyes were afire with anger and tears at the same time. "I find THAT..." she pointed..."in Monica's room."

I picked it up. It was a recently filled prescription for zolpidem. "Sleeping pills? What..." My eyes grew wide. "You thought she...?"

"I don't know! She no talk to me. She stay in her room and cry.

"And since when you calling me 'Dottie,' eh?" She started to tear up. "You leaving my Monica, so I not your Mamma no more? Is that it?"

"I thought you hated it when I called you 'Mamma,'" I whispered.

"I hate it more when you stop," she said sadly.

"I'm sorry, Mamma." I hugged her. "Is she in her room now?"

"No, she look for a job, I think. That's the only time she go out."

"You mean..."

"She should be the one to tell you, but yes, she quit that job the day she move in here. She never go out at night no more."

I digested that. "Can I wait here then? We can talk to her when she gets back."

"Of course, mio figlio," Dottie agreed, and made me an espresso with the machine that Monica and I had gotten her for Christmas a few years ago. We sat and talked about old times, carefully avoiding the elephant in the room, until we heard the front door open.

A dull voice that I hardly recognized said, "I'm home, Mamma. Just going to go up to my room now."

I had parked across the street, and I guess she hadn't noticed my car.

"Monica, come in here, per favore," Dottie ordered.

"Mamma, please, I'm tired..."

I interrupted. "Monica, listen to your mother." Dottie smirked.

I heard something crash to the floor, and then, "Harold? Harold, please don't tease me, is that you?"

I walked into the hallway to see her standing in the foyer, her purse on the ground and her hands over her mouth.

She started to move toward me, and I turned to walk back into the kitchen.

"Will you sit with me Monica?"

She nodded, and slid into the chair across from me. Then she noticed the pill bottle on the table. "What... why are my sleeping pills down here?"

"Why you think?" Dottie almost yelled. "I worry about you; you never talk to me! Now I see this? I don't know what to think, so I call Aroldo."

Monica's eyes got huge. "Mamma? Did you think I was going to..." she couldn't say it.

Dottie burst into tears. I was shocked, Dottie was the strongest woman I knew; I had never seen her cry.

Monica started crying right along with her. She jumped up and ran around the table to hug her mother.

"I'm so sorry, Mamma, no, I wasn't, I swear! I just... I can't sleep any more, not since..." and she sobbed even harder.

They cried, and held each other for a long time, and while it had been her own actions that precipitated this, I still hated my part in it.

Finally, I saw Dottie whisper something to her daughter, then stroked her hair, giving her a gentle smile.

She got up. "You two talk, ok? I hope... well, whatever you choose, I love you both." She kissed both of us on the side of the head, and left the room.

Then it was the two of us, sitting across from each other.

Monica had her head down, but she spoke first. "Please Harold, I can't live like this, not being with you... not knowing... I don't know what to do... how to fix it... maybe you should go fuck someone else, get even with me, just... don't shut me out?" She was pleading.

I got up and went over to sit beside her. I reached out a hand grasp hers. She looked up at me then, scared and lost.

"Monica, I'm pretty sure that 'getting even' is not going to solve anything." I gave her a faint smile. "But I do know that your mother is right. We're not going to figure this out if we're living apart."

Her lip started to tremble. "Do you mean..." and I saw some hope return to her eyes.

"Yeah." I nodded. "Will you come home? I want to try to fix us, if you're okay with that."

She was crying again, and nodding frantically. "Yes, yes please. Oh my God yes."

><><><><><

It was by no means an instant reconciliation. We didn't jump right into bed. But we were together. We went to counseling. It took a few tries, but we finally found someone who we really liked, and she was able to help me get work through my anger, and how to deal with the mental images that plagued me.

She helped Monica figure out how she was able to rationalize what she'd done. Interestingly, she agreed with what I thought I'd uncovered while watching the video - the fact that Monica was a bit of an exhibitionist; but she wasn't consciously aware of it. When I asked if that could have contributed to things, she said it absolutely did. But that making Monica aware of it was taking a big step toward understanding.

Physically, we were taking baby steps. I know it was hard on Monica, but for the first several weeks I just wasn't ready to share a bed with her. She slept in the guest room, and I'm sure I heard her crying quietly at times.

Then about three weeks after she moved back home, we had a really good day. I took her on a date to one of our favorite restaurants, and I think we had a good time. I was able to make her laugh, and hearing her, I started to tear up. She saw, and began to panic. "Harold, what...I'm sorry..."

"No, don't apologize. I just realized that I can't remember the last time I heard you laugh. And I've missed it."

She wiped at her eyes and smiled back at me.

Back at home, we had some wine and watched a movie, then said goodnight. I was lying in bed, wide awake, when the door slowly opened, and Monica appeared. She was modestly dressed in a long nightgown, and she looked very vulnerable.

"Harold? Can I please sleep in here tonight? Not for sex," she hastened to add, then very softly, "unless you want that..." A little louder, she continued, "I just... I just need you to hold me, please?"

Silently, I slid over and lifted the covers. She crawled in and lay on her side, facing away from me. I knew what she wanted, and slid over next to her.

"Hold me, please?" she asked in a very small voice.

I moved a little closer and draped my arm over her. She grabbed my hand with both of hers and snuggled back against me, then I felt her take a deep breath and let it out.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Good night, I love you."

I gave her a little squeeze. "Good night."

Of course, I woke up with my morning wood pressed into her ass, and my hand on her breast.

She must have felt my breathing change. "Good morning," she sighed.

I started to roll away from her, and she just rolled with me, until I was on my back and she was on her side facing me. "Thank you," she said.

I turned my head slightly, to look at her. "For what?"

"For giving me a chance," she said simply.

I turned back onto my side so I could face her. Looking into her eyes, I reached up to stroke her cheek.

"Monica?" I began. Her eyes searched mine. "I... gotta pee." And I jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

"You jerk!" she yelled, laughing.

I chuckled, then stopped, just for a moment. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" She stopped laughing. After taking care of business, I came back and stood in the doorway, gazing at her. She looked back, a little nervously.

"Mon... just where in the heck did you get that nightgown?"

She looked down at herself, confused.

"I hate it," I said. "I don't ever want to see it again. Starting immediately."

She looked at me, and a tentative smile appeared. She climbed of the bed, and slowly undid one button after another, until she was able to shrug the gown off her shoulders. It puddled at her feet, and she stood before me, completely nude, and completely unself-conscious.

She had lost weight, but she was still as beautiful as ever. I drew in a ragged breath, and felt the blood pooling in my groin. I saw her glance down, and as my cock grew, so did her smile.