Just Once... Who Wouldn't Mind?

The following Monday set the tone for the rest of the week. The various government agencies we had as clients would work my ass off all day to find a solution to the current situation, and the nights would be spent moaning, and more and more crying over what my life had suddenly become.

It was clear that the next move had to be mine. One evening that I was more on the solution mode than on the whining mode, I carefully considered my options.

Option 1: do as Marcy requested, which meant meet her at the Ambassador, wait to see how the situation had evolved on her side and what she had to say, and then see if there existed a way of working things out.

That option made me feel very uncomfortable, since it gave her total control on the situation. It could potentially give her the satisfaction of waiting for me there with Doctor Lover to tell me that they were now a thing and that my time was over. I felt I had been humiliated enough as it was.

Option 2: pay the balance on all joint credit cards, cancel them, open a new bank account in my name only and transfer 50% of what was left of our joint accounts in it. Rent an apartment and bring all my belongings there. Have Marcy served with divorce papers at the Ambassador and wait for her at home for the discussion/confrontation that would inevitably follow. Then let my attorney take care of the rest.

That was a pretty straightforward approach, and I had the feeling that this was probably what most people would have recommended me to do. Clean and efficient. But just thinking of doing this would unfailingly make me burst into tears.

Yeah, this one would hurt a lot, but hopefully, the pain would not last too long.

Option 3: since Marcy did not want to receive calls (that would end in Doctor Lover's room anyhow), send Marcy a text message or an e-mail explaining that I would not meet her at the Ambassador because I wanted a divorce and the petition had already been filed and she was to be served at the Ambassador.

That was not a very good option. First there was no guarantee that Marcy was even taking her text messages or her e-mails while there. And second, if she did, she would probably try to contact me to work this out and I did not want to start a fight across two continents over my marriage.

Option 4: go away without leaving her a trace.

This would have the same final outcome as a divorce, since Marcy would probably file for abandonment after one year. I really did not like this option because it meant that, on top of everything, I would have to live at least a part of my life hiding from someone. Not the kind of life I wanted.

Option 5: the day before she was scheduled to arrive, send a copy of Marcy's letter to our children, her parents, mine, our friends and then call them to explain the situation. Then leave for a two-week stay in an all-inclusive somewhere in the Caribbeans and let her deal with the shit fallout.

This was the vengeful, scorched-earth approach. At first glance, it was very, very appealing. But doing this would simply not be like me. Our relatives and friends did not need to know what we were going through in our marriage. And frankly, I did not very much feel the need to come out as a cuckold to the rest of the planet.

And the problem with a revenge of that scale was that after the few minutes of expected solace, the crisis would still be entirely unresolved and even harder to get out of. Prolonged torture? Nah...

Frankly, all those options were revolting. Unfortunately, there was no Option 6, in which the previous month would simply never have existed.

In a nutshell, I estimated all 5 options had way over 90% chance of ending in a divorce. The more I thought of it, the more it became clear that filing for divorce was logical. And probably unavoidable.

I knew a few attorneys. No one handling divorce and family issues, though. But I could certainly get a recommendation.

I would make some calls the next day.

***

I got an appointment with Doug Atwater, attorney, the next Monday. The guy had a reputation for expediting things, which was what I wanted.

I found him very aggressive and rude. It was a clash of personalities between the two of us as soon as I sat in front of him.

I gave him a summary of the situation and handed him a copy of Marcy's letter.

"How long do you say she has been gone now?" he asked, after reading the letter.

"It'll be four weeks this weekend," I replied.

"What the fuck?! Are you telling me that it took you over three weeks to figure out that divorcing was the only thing to do?" he asked. His expression was a mixture of surprise and contempt.

"To figure out my options, yes," I replied, calmly.

"Ok, humor me here. What more proof do you need that she doesn't give a flying fuck about you and that she's moved on a for quite a while?"

It sounded to me like a tactic to make my mind shift from resigned sadness to fighting fierceness. I told him my objective was not monetary. I did not care so much about the house or the bank accounts. I just wanted to end this agony by making it a quick deal and not let things linger. I asked him to prepare a petition that my wife would likely not fight, so that I could get all of it over with in a flash.

I was clearly asking him to get out of his usual combat zone, and he was not the least at ease with that. But he would do as I instructed.

Mr. Atwater told me the papers would be ready the next Friday. He would send a copy to my office, and he would have Marcy served in the lobby of the Ambassador hotel, two hours after her flight was scheduled to arrive.

The following week was one of the busiest in my career. I would arrive at the office at 6 am and would not be home until 10 pm. Most of the day was spent on phone calls with Europe and the East Coast, and I would take advantage of the quietness of the evenings to do some paperwork.

Kyle texted once or twice. When he told me he was preparing his final exams, it struck me that we were already approaching the end of the semester. He had planned to come home after the finals, which was four weeks later, or two weeks after Marcy's return. Not a lot of time for the dust to settle. The odd thing was that he still hadn't received any news from his mother. But he said that after I had explained the situation down there to him, he was not really expecting a sign from her before her return anyway.

I also got a call from Rhonda. She just wanted to touch base with me. She had not talked to Marcy either, to no surprise since Marcy had told her that she would be incommunicado for most of the trip.

With all the work at the office, I got home worn out every evening of that week. The guy at the takeout three blocks down was quickly becoming my best friend.

I obviously had no time to look for an apartment and no energy to start packing. This would have to wait. I could not find the time to set up a meeting with the President of the hospital either. But what was the point anyway, considering that Marcy and I would soon be divorced?

I had to work all day Saturday, and my Sunday was devoted to house chores and yard work.

I was watering the vegetable patch when I heard Vincent calling to Leslie who was inside the house. I opened to gate and went to say hello. Vincent welcomed me with a large grin, asking how everything had been.

"I feel better. More at peace than I did 4 weeks ago, let's say," I replied.

"Oh, I'm glad to hear this! Any news from Marcy? How is she doing?" he asked.

"Well, not really. She and her group travel to areas with no signal, so she can't really stay in touch. Hey, Vincent, erm, can I take you up on your kind invitation for dinner?"

"Sure! Of course! I thought you'd never ask! What about this coming Friday? I'll finally get to grill those steaks!" he said cheerfully.

"Alright then, it's a date! See you this Friday!"

*****

Another Perspective

The week that followed was more or less a repeat of the previous week, with a workload that would not give me any breaks.

Just after I sat at my desk on Friday morning, a courier showed up at the office to hand me my copy of the divorce papers. I handled the envelope as I did Marcy's letter, treating it as biohazard. I did not want to open it. It could wait.

Then just before lunch, all my carefully planned schedule went out the window. I received a call from Laurent Duchemin, who wanted to inform me of the situation we had been trying to resolve for weeks. Things were not looking good. I called my other colleagues, and it did not take long for me to realize that I would have to go to Europe the week after, and that I would be gone for at least ten days. This meant I would be away the day Marcy was scheduled to return, the following Friday.

So much for meeting her at the Ambassador. Option 1 was out. Since I had never really considered options 3, 4 and 5 viable, the only remaining choice was option 2.

Except for the fact that I would not be home to discuss things with her after she was served. She would have to find answers by herself, awaiting my return.

Just like I had been doing for five weeks.

I grabbed a couple of good bottles of wine on my way home. Took a quick shower and off was I to the Nielson's.

Leslie gave me a warm welcome, but I was pleased that there was no sexual innuendo in her demeanor. Vincent was heaping praise on the new butcher's shop that had just opened near our houses, where he had found the steaks we were going to have.

It was a great dinner. The food was delicious, and both Leslie and Vincent were of very pleasant company. We exchanged the last bit of news, and I gave them more details about Marcy's letter. I did not want to tell them I was going all the way for a divorce. Perhaps this was part of the revenge: since Marcy created this mess, it was only logical that she got to tell everybody that we were splitting and to explain the reasons.

After dinner, I helped them both to clear everything, and we sat on the patio with some port wine.

Since we were already a bit tipsy after two bottles of wine, I figured I would do no harm addressing the elephant in the room.

"So, guys, I'm curious. Tell me how this started, I mean sharing Leslie with other men?"

They were both nonplussed, but Vincent made a 10/10 recovery.

"Well, it started like a common fantasy. We were watching a TV program, one night, many years ago. It was actually a series about uncommon sexual practices in North America. We were both fans of that series, and we used to comment on everything about it. That night's program was about swinging. And I could see that Leslie was totally enthralled, even more than usual.

"After the show, I teased Leslie a bit about how she seemed fascinated with the topic. And she admitted that group sex had always been a fantasy, for as long as she could remember in her life. I was also very interested by all this. We talked about it for, what, nearly a year before we jumped in? Erm... no pun intended here!" Vincent winked.

"Ok, but do you do, how can I say... 'complete' swinging, or is it always only Leslie having other men taking care of her? Do you have sex with other women as well?"

"It happens, occasionally. But this is not my primary fantasy. At first, we had sex with other couples. But it did not take long before I realized that I am basically a voyeur, and that most of my pleasure comes from seeing Leslie with someone else. I have met different women, and I have also realized that almost none of them give me the chills as much as Leslie does."

He continued, in a whisper: "See, Leslie is A-MA-ZING in bed. Her body is downright perfect, and she has the energy of a nuclear bomb."

Leslie's face was now flashing as red as a railroad crossing.

"Ok, so for you, there is no real incentive to have sex with other women?"

"Nope. Ok, it happens, from time to time. But the occasions are fewer and fewer."

"And what about jealousy? You were never jealous seeing Leslie being erm... banged by another man? - sorry for the word, no offense!"

"None taken!" Leslie said, laughing.

"Nope, I feel no jealousy at all," Vincent replied. "I guess I don't feel jealous because I know that Leslie does not meet those guys in secret. It's all in the open. And when they leave, at the end of the evening, Leslie and I make love, and we talk about the experience, sometimes joking about it."

"Ok, so this is really something that you share. Neither of you feel compelled to do anything they wouldn't like or feel left out. You have learned to make it something that you experience together."

"Exactly. You're right on. We experience this together," Leslie said.

"If I understand well, you treat this as a... erm... hobby? Completely separated from your wedding vows?" I asked tentatively.

"The way we see it, Rick, love is love and sex is sex. I never broke my wedding vows because I never cheated on Vincent. What we both decide to do together with our bodies has nothing to do with our vows," Leslie added.

"We think it's normal that, after having been married several years, someone may want to see how things are elsewhere. So what were my options? Cheating on Leslie, or taking the journey with her? The first option was a disaster waiting to happen. The second option was full of promises," Vincent added.

"Well, I find all this very intriguing, as I said. But I for one don't think I'd be able to see Marcy having sex with another man. I know it did happen and I've been having nightmares about it for over a month. I just can't imagine what it would be to actually see it happening right in front of me," I admitted.

"Oh, but your situation is very different, Rick. See, what Marcy is doing is in total opposition to our values. She decided to have sex with someone else without discussing it with you before. She gave you a hall pass, thinking it would make up for the one she allowed herself and get you on board, but this cannot replace an open and honest discussion BEFORE the fact," Vincent explained.

"This being said, I don't think she did that because she no longer loves you, Rick. I truly think she did that because she needed to explore, to discover something else. But the way she did it was pretty lousy, I think," Leslie offered.

"Totally. She did not make sure she had the most important, the single really essential thing: your buy-in," Vincent insisted.

After a long hug to both of them, I took leave of my friends and went home. That was a very... different discussion. Different, but amazing. And for the life of me, I had to recognize that there was indeed a logic to their madness.

My flight to London was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, and I still had a lot of things to do. I wanted the house impeccable for Marcy's return. It was more a matter of personal pride than a desire to please her. I cleaned everything. The only thing I left unattended, on purpose, was the frame with a picture of the two of us that I had thrown on the wall and that had been lying on the floor in a thousand pieces for over a month. This was a strong symbol and a powerful message.

I made myself a gin tonic on Monday evening, to celebrate what was probably my last evening in this house. My bags were packed, all my documents were ready for the trip, everything was settled. It had been a very long day.

I was in my recliner; I could not figure out how come I was still so agitated while everything in my life was wrapped up. I was expecting some peace of mind now that all the major decisions had been made. But there was still something off.

I returned to the kitchen to pick up my cell phone, and then I saw the big envelope with my copy of the divorce papers that I had not even bothered to read yet. I sat down and started to review them. Everything was as instructed. Marcy would probably find no reason to fight. That was it. 24 years moved to the 'history' column.

I must have stayed absent-mindedly sitting at the kitchen table for several minutes, when I had a flash: the letter, Marcy's letter, where was it? I found it in the bedroom, still in my overnight bag from the trip to Diedre's place. I suddenly realized that I had not read it again since that fateful evening after Marcy had left.

I went back to my recliner and read the letter a second time. And a third time.

And the whole thing finally started to take shape: sometimes, a cake is just a cake...

*****

Holding On

"Hello, Doug Atwater speaking."

"Hi Doug, Rick Weston here. Sorry to disturb you in the evening, but it can't wait until tomorrow."

"No problem Rick, I told you to call me any time. What can I do for you?"

"I want to you to put a hold on the divorce. DON'T have my wife served this Friday."

"Rick, this is unexpected, I thought we had agreed that this was the only possible course of action," he retorted.

"Listen Doug, I will be leaving for Europe tomorrow, and I will return at the end of next week. I'm thinking more and more that this divorce is a headlong rush. I don't want to precipitate things before I leave."

"Rick, this is just wilful blindness. Don't you think your wife has shown sufficient disrespect and disdain to even consid..."

"Doug, stop," I cut him. "You are my attorney, not my psychiatrist or my life coach. Believe me, I have very good reasons to ask you to put things on hold. Will you do it please?"

After a loud sigh, Doug Atwater agreed to put things on hold and await further instructions from me.

I sat at the desk in my home office and wrote a long letter to Marcy. Quite a few sheets of paper were torn in the process, and I had to redo several portions over and over because I wanted it to perfectly explain my thoughts. It was way past midnight when I decided it did.

On my way to the airport on Tuesday morning, I stopped by a courier service that I used for work and dropped them the letter with detailed instructions to deliver it to Mrs. Marcy Weston at the Ambassador Hotel on Friday at 4 pm.

*****

Marcy

When she realized that she had been stumbling over the same line again and again for almost ten minutes, Marcy Weston finally figured out she was not in the mood for reading. She had slept almost all the way in her flight from Asuncion to Bogota, from pure exhaustion. But the rush at the Bogota airport to catch her connecting flight to the US left her totally keyed up, and now, she could not sleep a wink.

Things were clearly different for Penny Washington, who was sitting at her side, sleeping like a baby since a few minutes after take-off. Penny's trip had been a roller coaster. She shared Marcy's excitement when they first arrived in Bogota. And she left herself be dragged in the flow and had sex with Mark Evans, who was notorious at the hospital for being a huge fan of the horizontal position. After she had Rick over the phone the evening he called for Marcy, her life turned into a guilt trip.

When she finally had to guts to confess her fling to her husband Josh over the phone, and seeing that he reacted cool about it, she felt happily relieved for a few days. Then Josh admitted to her that he had no reason to be mad at her since he too had a few extra-curricular activities a few years before, but after they were married. She was a fury for a complete week. But things cooled down and she was now eager to go back to her husband.

But Marcy's mind was far from peaceful. When she had signed up for that trip a few months ago, she wanted to prove herself that there was more to her than being Rick Weston's loving wife. She needed to do something on herself, by herself and for herself. And it seemed to her that she just could not do that if her husband was constantly watching. She needed a parenthesis in her life, where neither her husband, nor her kids, her parents or her friends would be there questioning her or being affected by her choices or actions.