No Anniversary

This story is for those who constantly rail against my humble 750-word offerings. :)

Warning: No BTB

Thanks to kenjisato for editing.

Amazing how many things simply don't change, no matter the years. In the twenty-six years we've known each other, I've never seen Brenda drink anything but margaritas. Sure, colors, flavors and glasses have come and gone, but the core of her pleasure has always come from Margaritaville. Same with me, always a beer of some sort, the basic-er the better. PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon) has all the craft I need. And if I step out to places who pull up their noses at the red, white and blue, there's always a Coors or something domestic to keep me company.

Brenda was my big reach in life. In the orientation on our first job after graduation, her beauty and friendliness caught everyone's attention and they let it show. Not me. Why waste my time--I could actually get the time of day elsewhere.

In one of life's mysteries, though, she pursued me. At first, I blew her off. I mean, why? I'd been the butt of enough jokes in high school and college by the cheerleader crowd. Oil and water mix better than them and nerds like moi. So... thanks but no thanks. Have a nice life in the fast lane, let your jocko boys throw themselves at your feet frothing at the mouth to get a bite from your little apple. I'm good.

She didn't give up, even after my phase two, the 'if it's too good to be true' skepticism we all know. After a while, though, when it looked like no joke was hidden, I accepted her invitation to a housewarming party when she moved into a new apartment. Let her see the nerdiness up close and personal so she could get the pity craving out of her system, and we both could go our separate--very separate--ways.

By the third invite, my addled brain suspected that maybe, just maybe, the queen might actually not be averse to me. So I took a chance and responded afterward with an invite of my own. In order to give her ample time to see if something better came her way before committing, I asked her out to dinner two weeks from Friday. She accepted immediately. No games.

That got my attention. I couldn't believe her calendar was open--she had to make something or someone else bite the dust for little old me.

So started my education and re-training. Bren's personality matched her million-dollar looks. If it wasn't for the timeframe, I would have been sure they'd used Brenda to model Barbie with her three Bs: blonde hair, blue eyes, and big boobs. Everyone was either a friend or a wannabe friend. We won't mention the horndogs who flat-out made fools of themselves, even while she flushed them down the toilet.

Her looks drew men like nectar attracted bees. At any party, the guys stood three thick around her, vying for her attention so they could take her home to do their bee-sting thing. Oh, and the parties. Keeping with the bee-nectar thing, she was drawn to any social gathering numbering four or more. Not only was she friendly and beautiful, she had the knack to converse about any topic under the sun.

She and I whiled many an hour away while walking or driving, dissecting the merits of every economical or political system known to man. We nerds tend to think we're smarter than 'them,' the shallow, hollow and gullible masses. Brenda, though, under her blond hairdo du jour, could counterpoint any argument with logic and facts that left the arguer astounded.

For years, I told myself that our intellectual connection probably was the only reason for her attraction to me. I mean, what else could it be? My six-foot frame, brown hair, hazel eyes and average bod were as unremarkable as they come. In fact, one of my coworkers remarked that I'd make a perfect private eye: sharp observation behind a bland, unremarkable exterior. Compliment or insult? I never could tell. The bottom line was I never figured out what the undisputed queen of every party saw in me.

At first, I didn't care about all the attention she sucked up like a black hole every time we found ourselves in a social setting. She was out of my league and it was only a matter of time before a blinding flash of the obvious struck her, too. She'd realize she could do so much better than me, and we'd part and move along our correct trajectories. Until that time, though, I just lapped up every minute with her I could. And what good minutes they were.

Over all the attention she garnered, she made it clear, over and over, that she was a one-man woman, and that man was me. Wow. Just wow. Gradually, though, my cavalier indifference transitioned into insecurity. Yeah, I know, you'd expect the opposite, but no. Scores of men, appalled at her inexplicable lack of taste, wasted no time to make it clear to me just how unworthy, not to mention temporary, a recipient I was of such undeserved affection and loyalty. My nerdy, logical brain, of course, agreed with them. As I reveled in her company, affection and our togetherness, the thought of losing the highest form of earthly bliss filled my heart with fear.

Fortunately, the passage of time, and two daughters, gradually eased my insecurities. Actions speak louder than words, and her face lighting up with unfeigned joy at seeing me again at the end of each day eventually brought me to a place of accepting the implausible: the most beautiful woman in the world, inside and out, loved me and only me. PBR and all.

Our girls completed the idyll. How perfect can life be? Pretty, smart and athletically gifted, both got athletic scholarships to 'name' universities, Tanya with volleyball and Michelle with softball. After graduating, Tanya landed a good job and impending husband in Minneapolis, while Shelley, still in her junior year at Wisconsin, had her eyes on a masters in nursing.

After dropping Michelle off at Madison for the first time, I took Bren out to dinner. "Surprise!" I said when the server brought the requisite 'rita and brewski. With a flourish, I laid out the brochures for the trails of the Porcupine Mountains facing Lake Superior. "We started our married life with an empty nest and lovely adventures." I held up my glass for a toast. "Guess what? We're empty nesters again, and I'm excited to empty-nest anew with the most amazing woman on earth. Wanna join me?"

With a broad smile, she held up her salt-crusted glass and we clinked. "Sure. Where are we going?"

"Remember how we talked about finding unique trails off the beaten path? Someone told me about the Escarpment Trail, and I thought this might be a good place to kick off the new phase of our life."

Bren shook her head and smiled again. "You never cease to amaze me with your thoughtfulness, Nelson. This sounds awesome, tell me more."

--

The script for our idyllic lives dictated that we spend time with each other, taking off on adventures and enjoying our hobbies and passions.

If only.

After three months, Bren became noticeably antsy. Dinner parties and social clubs kept her evening agenda full, but having no kids to mother left a hollow in her days. We'd originally met working for the same company, a financial services giant, she in marketing me as a stock analyst. With the arrival of Tanya, Brenda did the Midwestern mother thing and dedicated herself to being a full-time mom. There's no question that was a big reason our daughters turned out so well. But that time had come and gone, and as our youngest's graduation drew near, Bren's feet itched to return to the corporate world with 'a real job.'

After she'd left our firm to become the world's best mother, I continued with my analyst thing. In a brokerage or investment bank, analysts are employed to dig up reasons why clients should invest in a particular stock the firm wanted to push. The brokers or traders want only good news to push the price of the stock higher. Any analyst who'd dare disclose anything bad about a stock were either fired or shunted into some dead-end job. You guessed it--my nerdiness made me look beneath the surface of any company I investigated. The more I dug the less popular I became. Respected, sure, but unpopular nonetheless, and therefore undervalued and underpaid.

As the previous century drew to a close, our firm thought millions could be made pushing the stock of one particular energy company, and several analysts were let loose to find any and every angle to drive its price up further.

What accounting training I had raised the hair at the back of my neck. This company was a massive fraud--truly an emperor bereft of a wardrobe. Not surprisingly perhaps, Negative Nelson was the only one sounding caution. 'Everyone' from the Wall Street Journal on down fawned over the geniuses running this fountain of gold. Midas had nothing on their management team. In one pivotal meeting, I took a breath and laid out my findings and cautioned against pushing that stock. Ice would have felt warm in the atmosphere.

As we left, I went back to my desk and updated my resume. No way I'd still have a job come Monday.

Unbeknownst to me, a junior VP, Bradley Stevens, had walked out of the meeting and shorted the stock in a big way. Going against what the majority were doing, his strategy would only make money if the stock tanked.

It took a few weeks, but that's exactly what happened. Someone else (or several others) saw what I'd seen, and a massive scandal erupted in the press. Many people lost millions, on Wall Street and in our company. Heads rolled. Bradley Stevens, on the other hand, came out smelling like a rose. A famous and rich rose, fawned upon by management and the press. All his clients and the funds he managed, had at least doubled in value as the market collapsed. Superman could wish for accolades like his. I was not fired.

After the dust settled and a few big shots' heads rolled, Bradley Stevens became a senior vice-president, several of my good-news analyst coworkers disappeared, and I was elevated to senior analyst, with a healthy raise.

Along with my rise in stature came an increase in my required presence at corporate functions and gatherings. Being a Midwestern firm, spouses were almost always included, to Bren's great joy. Her absence from the innards of a financial services firm made not one whit of difference--she commanded an audience with her sheer presence. And, when she decided to return to the work force, it was only natural that her history and familiarity with our firm made us her first port of call. Bradley Stevens wasted not a second, and immediately added her to the marketing team for his division.

Sadly, it takes no rocket science to predict what happened. My insecurities, dormant for two decades, surfaced immediately. Mr. Stevens might have had a hand in my renaissance at our firm, but he was no paragon of virtue. Despite being married and father to three kids, his pen was, shall we say, well-dipped in our company well. Wednesday evenings were occupied 'working late' with Bridget Stenhouse and, if smoke had fire, Monday nights he furthered Martha Juno's education in depth. Bradley, you see, had the trifecta going: proven success, good looks and confidence in the extreme. Women, it seemed, became weak in the knee (literally and figuratively) at that combination.

Bren, being out of the rough and tumble for so long, didn't take long to get caught up again in the maelstrom of a frenetic brokerage. I'm a nerd, around the block a time or two, so I knew where this train was headed, and I didn't like the destination.

At all.

So I did what any distressed nerd would do: get data.

--

My PI told me earlier today nothing had happened... yet. However, rumor had it our helpful Mr. Stevens had 'worked late' with Bren last Thursday, and had plans afoot for a repeat engagement this coming Thursday. Anybody's guess how far he'd get this week.

Which brings us to tonight's dinner at Big Dog's Steakhouse. Bren held up her glass. "I know it's still a month before our 25th, but I want to toast the most wonderful man anybody could hope to spend a quarter century with."

With a slow nod I raised my glass, clinked hers, and set it down with a sigh. "Bren, I don't know how to say it, but there's going to be no 25th anniversary."

Tilting her head, she frowned. "What? Is this a surprise or joke?"

"Surprise, maybe, but joke, no. Oh no. Nothing funny about this at all."

"Honey, what the hell are you talking about? Were you thinking of renewing our vows instead, or something?"

"What vows would those be, dear?"

Again, she frowned. "Our wedding vows, silly. What else?"

After a sip, I set my beer down. "Let's talk about 'what else.'"

"You lost me. Stop talking in riddles. What exactly are you talking about?"

"Bradley Stevens."

"Yeah, what about him?"

"He wants you, and you want him."

She pulled back "Oh no. You're not starting your damn insecurities on me again are you?"

"Exactly what did you do with him last Thursday night?"

"Nothing, you idiot." Her tone had a hard edge.

"Nothing that wouldn't pass the husband test?" Would she confess the tonsil-cleaning goodnight kiss my PI captured on film? Okay, digital image.

A nervous flicker crossed her face. "No, what are you talking about?"

The politician's approach: deny, deny, deny. My world crumbled within. I fought the tears back down--there'd be time enough for them later.

"Fine, if that's how you want to play it. Tomorrow you'll be served with divorce papers, for irreconcilable differences."

"What! Why? What are you talking about?"

"You said nothing happened. I know something happened. That's a difference. You won't confess the truth, and that makes the difference irreconcilable. Hence the divorce."

"But I didn't do anything!"

"See, the irreconcilable difference thing again. If I spent two whole minutes French-kissing Bethany Molson, would you call that nothing?"

The color drained from her face. "But... but, we never had sex or anything."

"You know and I know what your 'anything' entailed. Add your dishonesty to it. The upshot is I can't believe a thing you say. If you fessed up and were honest, we'd have a basis to see if we stood a chance to get back what we've had for more than twenty years. But you blew that, showed me clearly where your heart is. Not with me."

The server approached and we placed our order.

When I looked across the table, Bren's eyes were filled with tears. "Please tell me you're not serious about a divorce. I love you and I never want to be apart from you."

"You were apart from me last Thursday, on purpose and not by accident. See, lying again, and you plan to be apart from me tomorrow night. I'll own up to being a nerd, but I'm not an idiot, and I won't sit at home twiddling my thumbs wondering how far you're going to allow your new heartthrob to go tomorrow night with the new skirt you bought especially for him."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "You know about that?"

"That's not the worst thing, Bren. The worst thing is your heart, the excitement, the tingling you have, to seduce him and betray me. That thrill is downright evil. If you had an ounce of integrity, you'd come to me and tell me you want to be with him. That would hurt me, but I'd respect your wish and not stand in the way of your happiness. Fortunately, I found out about it in time, so I can still give you the divorce and set you free to have all the excitement with your Mr. Stevens you want. Only now, I'm devastated that, after our twenty-six years together, you disrespected me so much you did it behind my back. Don't you know what kind of snake he is? He's bragging to everyone how he's gotten into your panties, his third conquest this year, and we're not even at the halfway mark."

Sucking in a deep breath, Bren's hand flew to her mouth. "No, that can't be true. He'd never do that."

Fortunately, I'd just swallowed my latest sip, else I'd have sprayed it over the table as I burst out laughing. "Oh, that is just classic. Classic. Known and loved me for twenty-six years, but accuses me of lying. After lying yourself. And then insisting the serial cheater is the truthful one." Lowering my voice, I said, "Has it registered with you that last week and this week your 'meeting' with him is only on a Thursday? No? Ask him what he does on Wednesdays. Oh wait, he's a liar, too. Why don't you ask Bridget Stenhouse?"

Eyes wide, she sat back. "No! You're just trying to mess with me."

With a smile, I shrugged. "Okay, whatever. You're still getting served tomorrow, before you go further with your new slimebucket hero tomorrow night. You can ask Bridget tomorrow and see how honest she is. If you can track Martha Juno down, ask her what she does Monday nights."

After finishing her margarita, Bren attracted our server's attention and pointed at her empty glass. "How do you know all this? Have you been stalking me, or having me followed?"

"Duh. By now you should know me. Research is the key to all major decisions. When you gazed in rapturous wonder at your new heartthrob, I had to know if it was my imagination, my insecurities as you call them, or if you had really shifted your affection to--"

"Nelson, no! I love only you. Only you, and I will never love anyone else. You have to believe me."

"After you just lied to me?"

The server set our plates before us in the icy silence.

"So, in answer to your question, wife, yes, I spent good money to have a PI find out what you were doing, and saying. I have recordings of conversations between Seducer Stevens and Betrayer Brenda, not only to hear what you're saying, but to hear your version when I confront you."

"You sonofabitch! What about my privacy?"

"Oh, what a laugh. When your lies bite you in the ass you play the privacy card? For more than two decades we never had secrets from each other. The fact that you need privacy after all those years tells me everything I need to know. That's why you'll be served. I just wanted to give you the courtesy of a heads-up, not shock you like you shocked me with your treason."

"Oh stop it. I have never betrayed you, I've never cheated on you with anyone. So I gave him a goodnight kiss, that's all. Get over yourself."

"That's exactly what I'm doing. Getting over myself by divorcing myself from your cheating ass. To spare you embarrassment, you'll be served at home around 6:30 am before you leave for work and tomorrow night's date. I will move out tomorrow while you're at work and keeping Stevie-boy company. I will resign tomorrow and leave quietly."

"What? You will do no such thing. Have you gone mad? I've never, ever cheated on you and that's not going to start now."

"Uh-huh. Have you noticed that your 'working late' with him last week was on Thursday and oh look, this week it just happens to be on Thursday, again? You think I didn't notice how you dressed last Thursday? I bet this week will be the same, maybe a little sexier. I see your eyes when you talk about him, to him, and when you come out of his office."

I pursed my lips. "Back in the day, you used to look like that when you saw me. Not anymore. You have no idea how deeply that hurts me. Down to my foundation. Betrayal doesn't start when a dick penetrates a pussy--it starts way before that. The old folks and songs used to call it 'stars in her eyes.' You're so immersed in your fascination with him, you don't notice what everyone else around you already sees. Like you don't see the smirk on his face when he looks at me. He knows he's in your panties, it's only a matter of days. Men see it as a contest, and he knows he's won. To me, you're everything, but to him you're nothing more than yet another notch in his bedpost, his Thursday fuck, to join Miss Monday and Miss Wednesday. It's all over bar the shouting and the penetration."

A look of anger took over her face. "I won't stand for being accused of being a cheap hussy, and him a lothario."