January Sucks

I couldn't really tell you what I did at work on Monday. People appeared to go through their day as normal, but it was anything but normal for me.

I took a late lunch so that I could meet with the divorce lawyer Derek had arranged for me. At 1:00 I found myself sitting in a small but posh waiting room in a downtown high-rise office building when, right on the stroke of the hour, I was shown into the office of Diane Hoffman, Esq. Derek had notified me of the appointment by text, but I didn't really know what to expect except that she was picky about the type of person she represented, whatever that meant.

Diane stood as I entered the room. She was a modestly attractive older woman, built like a fireplug, and projected an amazing amount of energy. It was unsettling that she kept saying, "if I decide to take your case," when I had been led to believe that her representation of me was a foregone conclusion.

"That is the most unbelievable story I have heard in my entire career." She said while shaking her head. "Are you sure that you aren't embellishing just a bit?"

"No." I said. "If anything, I might be understating things. And, besides that, I have a recording of everything that happened at LaValliere's house on my cellphone."

Diane's stared at me in disbelief. "You recorded it? I can't believe you did that. Can you pull it up so I can hear a little?"

I had listened to the recording several times, so it was easy to steer her to some of the juicier bits. Soon the room was filled with my conversation on the porch with Linda, then the play-by-play of my disabling LaValliere's car, and finally his screaming rant as he came out to confront me. With each passing moment, the smile on Diane's face got broader until at the end she was positively beaming.

"I need a copy of that recording." She said. "The whole thing."

"Sure. And would you also like a copy of Linda's confession?"

If Diane was surprised before she was absolutely shocked now. "You had her write it down? That is unbelievable!" I handed her the pages and she glanced through them, all the while shaking her head.

"Okay. This evidence is even better than a private investigator's report. You have her laying out exactly what she did and even what her state of mind was throughout the whole event. I guess the big question is, 'What do you want out of this?'"

I thought for a minute and said, "I don't think what I want is really possible, so I'm only left with bad choices. What I would really like is for none of this to have ever happened. And, since that can't happen, my second choice is I'd like to take a pill that would suddenly make me okay with everything that's happened. But I don't think that's possible either. I still love Linda, despite what she's done, but she's hurt me deeply -- perhaps irreparably. And I worry about my kids and how all of this will affect them. Linda doesn't seem to think that she's done anything wrong so I think the best thing I can do is start the divorce process and, at the same time, try counseling to see if there is any way to put my marriage back together again."

"Jim, you've managed to keep your head screwed on straight so far. You seem to be a normal guy who cares about the people around him and has been handed just about the worst possible situation you can imagine -- and by the person you cared about most."

And now Diane's face turned very serious.

"The first casualty in a situation like this is trust, and for good reason. Linda has already abused your trust and you should expect that she'll tell you just about anything to earn it back. But I can't tell you the number of cases I've handled where, even after they're caught, a cheating spouse still tells their partner one thing and then does another."

"To build trust you need to have something to measure Linda's statements against. She said that Mr. LaValliere was irresistible but now she promises that she will resist him completely. Perhaps. But as Reagan used to say, "Trust but verify." I work with an investigator that is as good as you can get. Here's his card and if you decide to use him, be sure you tell him that I sent you. He is not cheap, but what you pay will be directly related to his cost. Enlisting teams of investigators to follow your wife around would be pricey, to say the least. And almost certainly unnecessary. But for $3,000 or $4,000, you can capture just about every conversation she has on any phone, in her car, or even in person. What you hear can't be used in court but, if it turns out that she's telling the truth, you've bought a ton of trust with your money. On the other hand, if she is doing something behind your back, you'll know that too. It might seem cynical but remember that "Forewarned is Forearmed."

Wow. That really was pessimistic. But coming from someone in her position, I thought maybe I should listen. And then Diane's serious face turned back to a smile.

"I'll get the paperwork started so we can have her served soon. And I'll give you a brochure that explains what I'll need as far as things like asset disclosure and child custody options. Just work your way through the information and set up a meeting when you think you've got everything pulled together."

"Jim, I want you to know you have the kind of case I love handling. Don't worry about the legal side of this. I'll make sure that's taken care of. You just focus on the real-life part of your life. That's going to be more than enough."

Twenty minutes later I was sitting in a much less sophisticated office looking across the desk at just about the most ordinary man I had ever seen. Ron Jackson looked like a hundred balding middle-aged men I'd met and, then again, he didn't look like anyone. At about 5'7 and 190 pounds, I can't imagine anyone thinking of him as a hunk. But there on his left hand was a wedding ring and he had the full-on family photo in a frame on the credenza behind his desk. But had near child-like excitement as he showed me the electronic surveillance equipment he sold. Yes, sold.

"Cut out the middleman and I keep all of your money," he joked. "But seriously, the manufacturers know that I'm their best customer, so they give me all their cool toys to play with and I even sell some of them to my clients."

I dropped almost $3,800 with Ron that afternoon, but I did pick up some nifty toys. First, I signed up for a cellphone app that allowed the user to monitor every call and text made by the subject in real time, and even allowed them to be saved to be revisited later. Ron helped me download the app from the vendor's website and then showed me how to do the same with Linda's phone. On my phone, the app showed up as a lone musical note, making it look like some kind of music player. The app would operate on Linda's phone with complete transparency. There was no app button and it would take an expert to even know that it had been installed.

I also purchased a phone tap that was inserted directly into the home phone receiver plus four audio and video cameras hidden inside actual working smoke detectors that plugged into their existing power source. Each of these "bugs" automatically loaded their contents directly to the host -- which ended up being my laptop computer -- whenever it was hooked into my house's Wi-Fi. I only needed about 30 minutes in the house while Linda was at work to set everything up and, once installed, I would be able to download the hours of saved footage in less than 20 minutes from any location that had access to the Wi-Fi, even outside the house itself. I'm sure the CIA has better stuff, but I felt no small amount of comfort knowing that there would be no more surprises from Linda.

It was near the end of the workday when I finished with Ron and I didn't feel much like going back to work after the meeting so I decided to head over to my house a little early. Linda had wanted to talk about her letter, and I thought this would be as good a time as any to address the elephant in the room.

Since I had arrived early, Linda was just starting dinner. I tried to add a sense of normalcy by sticking to my traditional greeting, although I did not make a move to give her my usual hug and kiss. For her part, she seemed pensive, clearly concerned about the direction our after-dinner conversation would take.

I decided to let her stew in her own swill, so I headed into the family room to play with the kids who were obviously thrilled to see me, at my usual time after work, which seemed to dissolve any concern about me not being with them that morning.

After settling the kids down to play with some of their favorite, I slipped away and found Linda's cell phone at the bottom of her purse, lying next to her coat on a chair in the living room. I was pleased that she had not changed her password -- a combination of our kids initials and birthdays -- and it took less than 10 minutes to pull up the web browser, find the surveillance app's web site, download the app, link her phone to mine, and clear the browser to remove any evidence that I had been there. The whole time I worried that someone might call and Linda would catch me playing with her phone. But, fortunately, that didn't happen.

Linda and I sat on the sofa after the children were in bed, with our usual glass of wine. "How was your day?" she asked.

"Genuine, 100% Monday," I replied wearily.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "Mine wasn't too bad, actually. It was a relief to have something to think about besides..." she trailed off.

"Yeah, I wish I'd been able to." I wasn't able to keep the sharpness out of my voice. I felt her flinch away from me.

"Dee called this afternoon," Linda resumed after a moment.

"Yeah? What did she want?"

"She's not as bad as you're thinking, Jim. She asked about you first thing, even before she asked about Marc. She says she's sorry that you're in so much pain, but she knows it will get better, and eventually this will all be just a bump in the road."

"That shows how much she knows."

We sat silently for a few moments. We looked and sounded the same as always: just another stay-at-home night. I could tell there was something different though: a space or barrier or something between us that hadn't been there last week. I think Linda felt it, too.

"Do you have any questions, Jim? About what I wrote?"

I shook my head, wondering where I should start. "There was something I was hoping to find there, but didn't."

"What's that?" I could feel her tension.

"Any indication that you understand what I have to get past if we stay together." I felt her shudder. "Do you want to talk about that tonight, or are you too tired? You need to know, but it doesn't have to be tonight."

"The sooner you get this out, the sooner you can start healing. Let's do it tonight."

I collected my thoughts. "Let's say we were out on a date, as a couple, with our friends. You walked away from me and left with another man and spent all night and the next morning fucking him. If you'd done that on our first date, would there have been a second one?"

"But Jim, it was Marc..."

"What the hell difference does that make? Whoever he was, you chose him over me. On a first date? Fine. That's your privilege. Have a nice life and don't let the door hit you on the way out. I won't think well of you, I certainly won't call you again, but I'll get over it. After almost ten years of marriage? How am I supposed to get past that?"

"Jim, I keep trying to tell you, I didn't choose Marc over you."

"The hell you didn't! For the rest of my life, I'll have to live with the fact that I'm your first choice only when Asshole isn't available."

Linda was horrified. "Jim, you're my first choice always; you have been for more than ten years. One night doesn't change that."

"One night did change that, or maybe it just revealed it. You chose Asshole over me every chance you had, from the moment he asked you to dance until he decided he was finished with you."

"How can I make you see that isn't true?"

"You can't, because it is true. And don't give me that crap about not really deciding, or your choices were already made. You chose to signal Dee to take you to the restroom. You chose to tell her to cover for you. And when you walked out of the restroom, you chose to walk toward Asshole instead of away from him. You chose him over me every time."

Linda was quiet for a moment.

"Maybe I just don't want it to be true," she almost whispered. "I don't want to think I'm the kind of woman who could do that, even if all my friends thought it was okay. Which they do, by the way: Dee told me this afternoon. But I promise you that's not what's in my heart. Remember just a week ago, when you knew everything about my heart, and I knew all about yours? What a mess." She shook her head sadly and went on.

"I know I've hurt you badly, and I can't undo it. But even the worst hurts heal in time, don't they? This doesn't have to affect our entire future, does it?"

"You're right that this will hurt less as time goes by, but don't you see there's a lot more to it than that? What you did Friday night changed our marriage forever. It showed me that things I was sure I knew about you and about our marriage were wrong. Basic things, like your always being there for me, like the things we promised would be forever private to just us, even trusting that you wouldn't be cruel to me. Since Friday night, all of that is gone. None of it is true, and it never will be again. So what's left that I can count on?"

She sighed, but didn't answer the question. "Jim, I haven't changed; I'm still just me, the same old me as always. I know ever since I came home Saturday, you've been looking for something about me that's different. You haven't found it, have you? And you won't, because it isn't there, it's in how you're looking at things. It wasn't even 24 hours out of our whole lives together. We can't let this break us, Jim. We can't. Please tell me what's making this harder for you than it has to be."

It was my turn to be thoughtful. "You keep insisting that you haven't changed. But if you're right about that, then I've been wrong about you for ten years, because I'd have sworn you could never do what you did Friday night. If I was wrong about something that fundamental, what else was I wrong about? What, if anything, is left of what I thought I knew about you? You still haven't answered that."

Linda kept trying to prove that nothing had changed. I came home the next evening to the smell of a delicious dinner, and the sight of my beautiful wife wearing her blue party dress and a smile that was trying to be her best but was betrayed by her lack of confidence. I couldn't help it, all I could see was my wife in Asshole's arms, giving him her best smile, eager for what they would soon be doing together. I shuddered and looked away from her. Her face crumpled; tears puddled in her blue eyes. I saw Emma and Tommy behind her, putting the silverware on the table, but watching us intently.

I closed my eyes and took Linda in my arms. I felt her breath catch as she tried not to cry in front of the kids.

"I didn't mean... I meant..."

"Shhhh," I whispered in her ear. "I know what you were trying to do, but it's too soon. I'm not ready for it yet." I wondered if the day would ever come when I would be ready for it.

"Do you want me to change?"

"No, the kids would know something was up. Let me wash up and then let's eat. It smells delicious." I held her as her breathing settled down.

"Thank you, Jim. I love you."

I don't know how I made it through that evening, pretending to enjoy everything, but I did. I can't say I won any Oscars; Linda wasn't fooled a bit. But the kids didn't notice anything off, and that was what I cared about.

Linda started whimpering and babbling almost the instant the kids were in bed. I shushed her.

"Linda, I get it. I understand. You wanted to show me in every way that you can think of that you love me and you haven't changed. The problem is you're wrong: everything has changed! When I opened the door, I swear I saw Asshole right behind you, holding you in his arms. I know that's not what you meant," she had started whimpering again, "and believe me it's not what I wanted, but that's what I saw."

She nodded sadly. "What happens now, Jim?"

"I really don't know, Linda. For tonight, I'm going back to my hotel."

"Okay, Jim." She squared her shoulders and met my eyes. "I know this is hard. I'm starting to get an idea just how badly I've hurt you. But I know the man I married. Hard things just bring out the best in you. They always have. You may not see a way forward now, but I'm betting my life that you'll find a way that will work for both of us. I love you, and I believe in you, and I trust you with everything I have."

I sighed as I pulled on my coat. "What if the man you married isn't there anymore? What if he died Friday night, or was it Saturday morning?"

"Then I would know, because I'd have died, too. But I don't believe it, not for a moment. Maybe you're right and we've changed, but at the bottom of everything, I'm still just plain old same old me, and you're still my hero." She stood there, still wearing her beautiful blue party dress, her blue eyes flashing. She looked a lot more heroic than I felt. I gave her a little smile to honor her courage, and went out.

It wasn't fair, damn it! It just wasn't fair. She made the choice, for all that she said there wasn't a choice; she had the great night (and morning) with a great guy -- sports hero -- sex god while I suffered alone; all our (former) friends apparently thought this was just fine. My life had turned into a total shit storm, and I hadn't even done anything! And now I was the one who had to "find a way forward that will work for both of us." Shit.

I had told my former friends that I saw no reason to stay married to Linda. I still didn't. I couldn't imagine making love with her. It wasn't just the inevitable (negative) comparisons with Asshole, though that would be bad enough. One of my favorite pastimes, imagining my wife as she looked when she was ready to make love, was now a complete turnoff. It almost made me sick. Even seeing her around the house was painful.

It was still early and, as I was pulling into the parking lot of my hotel, my cellphone began to ring. It was Derek.

"Hey Bud," he began, "You never told me that you were talking to the press!" In truth, with everything going on the past few days, I hadn't even thought to give him a "heads up."

"So how did you hear about that," I asked.

"It's all over the front page of the sports section of today's Sentinel. Jesus, they make LaValliere and your wife sound like the spawn of Satan. You should look at it before Linda gets a hold of you."

So, I pulled back out of the parking lot and headed for the nearest convenience store to buy the paper. Sure enough, next to a picture of LaValliere holding some type of trophy was the story I told Janet Norton but with much more detail about his endorsement deals, his football career, and even the negotiations for his new contract. There were some pictures of his Corvette photographed to emphasize the shattered window and you could tell that the article was written to emphasize the salacious aspects of my story but also that they were consciously trying to avoid treating my story as fact rather than mere accusation.