One Hell of a Night

Sometimes, life gets in the way of life. You get so busy that you exist instead of living. You take a deep breath, go on with what you're doing and realize and hour or so later you'd forgotten to take that next breath. Most say that's just the way life is now a days but if that's true, is it really worth it? I mean having things is great but is it worth giving up living for?

Looking at the microwave's incessant blinking eleven o'clock every other second was starting to get on my nerves, not to mention making my headache worse than it already was. You'd think after living in Florida for over twenty years I'd gotten use to those damn power brownouts, but I hadn't. I'd kept telling myself over the years I needed to get us one of those large whole house battery backups to alleviate that problem, but I never seemed to get around to doing it. It just wasn't that big of a deal, especially not now.

When I'd gotten home tonight, I'd purposely left the overhead lights in the kitchen off, but the damn LED lights from every appliance in the room gave off enough light I could almost read a newspaper by them. It was dark, I was alone, and I wanted to keep it that way.

Having to shift my weight all the way back in the bar stool, just to get some what comfortable, I now regretted letting Connie talk me into these particular ones. They were about four inches too tall, the seats didn't have nearly enough padding, and were almost forty percent higher priced than the ones I'd originally wanted. I eventually relented because I figure I'd probably never sit in them anyway, and if I did, it would only be for a quick breakfast on a Saturday morning or something like that. Who knew I'd find my ass camped in one of them for over two hours, surely not I.

It really had been one hell of a night, I thought to myself; though technically it wasn't night any longer looking at my watch seeing it was close to two fifteen.

Being an older, long-distance runner, gel packs had become one of my best friends. Coming back after a twelve to fourteen mile run I would reach into the freezer and pull out a couple of the semi frozen packs and wrap them around my achilles tendons and place another couple under my swollen feet.

I hated being cold, but I hated hurting a lot more. I never knew what planters fasciitis was until I got it and suffered through it for three to four months. I learned the hard way what poor quality running shoes, running too far to fast, and not icings afterwards can do to a body that wasn't as young as it thought any longer. Ten minutes on, ten minutes off was the way it usually went. The first ten minutes hurt like a son of a bitch, but after my feet became partially numb it wasn't all that bad. I only needed to shift them on and off a couple of times to make sure I'd minimize the damage the road had done to my feet.

At times in the winter, I'd kick off my shoes and walk into our unheated pool up to my waist. It did the same thing as icing but it also cooled down the rest of me down. Even in Florida it could get damn cold in the winter some times. But this time the gel pads weren't under my feet, they were wrapped around my hands and on both sides of my face.

The period between Thanksgiving and New Years has always been my favorite time of the year. I even save a week of my vacation just so I can enjoy every minute of the holidays. Even the stupid annual company Christmas party was almost bearable. Being in management, I was required to attend or at least show up, have dinner and mingle with the rest of the workers before sneaking out without being seen.

They had an open bar for the first hour and a half and most did their level best to drink themselves under the table in that period of time. I would sit back, sip on a beer or two and try my best to keep everyone under control, which at times wasn't easy. On more than one occasion, in the past ten or so years, the police had to be called because of an obnoxious drunk or someone, who had had way too much to drink got behind the wheel of their car. As I said, it wasn't pretty sometimes.

My wife Connie, until last year, had graciously attended my holiday party but last year begged off complaining of a headache, which we both knew was an outright lie. No matter, I let her off the hook especially when she told me my attendance at hers wouldn't be required. "There is a God," I told myself that night, I was wrong.

This year I asked her if she wanted to go with me to mine. She'd started making excuses two weeks earlier so I knew the answer before I even asked.

"Why don't you go, and we can have our own party when you get home if it's not too late." Hell with an invitation like that, I didn't think I'd even stay for dinner Saturday night, but I did. However, I did manage to get home just a hair after ten thirty and we did have our own intimate holiday party that night.

I'd been waiting to hear about her party but she was being pretty closed mouth about it, not that I was looking forward to it mind you. I had tentively decided not to go and was getting ready to make her the same offer that she'd made me weeks earlier, that is until I saw the dress she'd bought for the occasion.

I know that holiday dresses are suppose to be festive, daring and maybe a bit on the short side, but what she was planning on wearing took all three categories to the extreme.

"You're not seriously thinking of wearing that dress Saturday night are you?"

"What's the matter with my dress? I think it looks spectacular on me," was her quick response with just a touch of sarcasm.

"Honey, that dress says I'm ready for anything and right now, don't you have anything a little more you know, conservative?"

"You don't think I can pull off wearing a dress like that do you? You think its too young, and hot looking for me to wear, is that what you're saying?" I thought long and hard before answering.

"Connie it would make you look like a cheap slut." I didn't know how better to say it.

"You say I look like a tramp?"

"In that dress you would. Don't get me wrong, showing and wearing it with me is one thing, but for a holiday party, alone, it's more than a little over the top."

Okay, she took what I said badly, I kind of knew she would.

Even though it was December, it was extra frosty around our hose for the next couple of days but it was the holidays and nothing was going to ruin my mood.

The following Saturday was her company party and I watched as Connie started to get ready, me watching her every move. When she came out of the bathroom, makeup on and looking hot, she saw that I was dressed in my good suit.

"You going out?"

"Yes, with you to your party."

"I thought you said you didn't want to go again this year?'

"Connie, do you really think I'd let you go to your party dressed like that unescorted?"

"What? Don't you trust me?"

"In that outfit, not a chance!" The look that she gave me said bunches.

"Fine, but you're on your own when we get there."

She finished dressing and she did look spectacular, so good, I tried to talk her out of going.

"Why don't we go out, grab a quiet dinner, and then come home so I can ravage your body the rest of the night." She didn't take me up on option number two as we pulled up to the Hilton where the party was being held.

Like every other office party I'd ever gone to, the employees congregated in one area and the others, like me, aimlessly milled around the hall and surrounding areas. I could see Connie talking to I guess her friends, so after an hour I decided to make a few new friends of my own.

Most of the guys I talked to were bored stiff, like me, but with an open bar, they were feeling no pain after an hour of non stop drinking. I struck up a conversation with a couple of the wives and a few of them knew my wife but everyone seemed to know her boss Doug. Most rated him somewhere just above pond scum and the others? Well, I heard something about being lower than whale dropping mentioned a few times. Arrogant, God complex, pussy hound, and a few other choice words was how he was described and those descriptions were from the sober spouses.

I thought for all the money they were throwing around the dinner was going to be something out of this world, it wasn't. It was the usual medium quality steak, some kind of marinated chicken and the blackened fish? I'd seen better-prepared fish at McDonalds. Needless to say I wasn't impressed. Looks like they'd blown most of their money on the open bar, which went on until midnight or until the last employee, passed out. I nursed the two drinks I had before dinner and then just walked around with a half filled wine glass.

"Having a good time?" I was asked by one of the higher ups in her company. I was about to answer him when he continued. "You're Connie's husband aren't you? She's one of our rising stars. Doug has taken her under his wing to groom her for a team leaders position. You should be proud of her." He smile, I smiled, and thanked him before he walked on to the next group of people.

"Where is my budding star anyway?" I stood up and looked around, nothing. With what was left of my drink in hand I went looking for my wife.

The party took up one hall room and the two adjoining hotel suits. After spending ten minutes walking the hall and not finding Connie, I headed over to one of the two suites. There sure were a lot of drunken employees. I just hoped someone was looking out for them and pulling car keys.

I was just about to leave the first room when I passed the bathroom and leaned up against the wall by the door. Then I heard it.

"Stop it, control yourself. Steve's with me tonight." It was my wife Connie's voice.

"I can't help you brought his ass with you tonight. Connie, I rented us a damn room for later, I thought you said he wasn't coming?'

"It's not my fault. He took one look at the dress you bought me and wasn't letting me leave the house without him."

"What was he trying to be, your lord and protector? Well, he's a little late for that, isn't he?" I heard him laugh. Looks like my budding star was climbing the corporate ladder on her back.

I heard muffled talking and then something about getting rid of me. I'm just glad I wasn't drunk, because this was going to get ugly.

The bottle of champagne in the ice bucket next to me was empty but it didn't matter, it would do. You see, Doug was eight years younger, at least forty pounds heavier and four inches taller. I needed an edge.

Connie came out first pulling down and straightening what she had so eloquently referred to as her dress. She walked right by without even noticing me. And Doug? He came out right behind her.

"Doug, you know what? You really are an asshole," I said as he looked to his left and saw me standing there.

The fucker then looked me right in the eye and smiled at me. Bad move, I had my edge in my left hand hidden behind my back. I think if he had done anything else I might not have elevated it to the next level but the look he gave me said I had your wife and there is nothing you can do about it.

Connie had heard me call out assholes name and turned around to face the two of us. It happened fast and in slow motion all at the same time. Even empty, a champagne bottle hitting someone square in the face had to hurt like a son of a bitch. In the movies the bottle would have shattered and Doug would have been knocked out cold. However, this wasn't the movies and although Doug was hurt, he wasn't down for the count.

I've never been a fighter. I was in one fight in grade school and got my clock cleaned but this was different, he was going to pay and I didn't care what the cost was.

In the next five minutes a lot of punches were thrown. I got in a few good kicks, and even broke Doug's nose with a head butt before about five rather large guys pulled us apart. I don't know who looked worse but if you were to ask me, I kicked his royal ass.

Doug was spitting blood, swearing at me, but this time I was the one to smile, which pissed him off even more.

There was a lot of loud yelling and threats exchanged before someone suggested that it would probably be a good idea if I left and now. Connie was crying and with her mascara and eye makeup running down her cheeks, she looked a mess.

"Don't come home. I don't care where you go, just don't come back to the house." I told her before being escorted out to the parking lot by two hotel security guards.

With one eye almost closed, I took it slow driving home. I parked in the garage and went right for the refrigerator when I walked into the kitchen. Four ice packs and a Corona is what I pulled out.

I sat on that damn barstool for hours, icing, drinking and waiting for the police to come a calling; they never came.

Maybe tomorrow but surely by Monday, I thought as I looked at my cold, red swollen hands.

My holidays this year would be different, that in itself was an understatement. It was a week and a half before Christmas and like usual I hadn't done any of my Christmas shopping but I had the next week off so it wouldn't be a problem especially for one person in particular, I thought putting my hand in my pocket hoping they were still there.

Doug was charging me with assault and battery. After telling my lawyer the whole ugly story he made a few calls and the charges seemed to evaporate into thin air. It seems a few of the higher ups didn't want the companies name dragged into it. My lawyer had assured them that he would use every trick in the book to make them look as bad in the press as possible. A wronged husband's wife caught cheating at her company Christmas party, who could ask for a better holiday story. He was a real bastard but he was my bastard.

Over the next week, Connie called a million times but I never picked up. My two boys talked to her but refused to intervene on her behalf, looks like I'd done something right with them.

Everyone was going to go out of their way to make sure my holidays merry but the smell of death was everywhere. All the legal stuff and other bullshit could wait until after the holidays, no use ruining the rest of my family's Christmas.

Looking out her parent's front window Connie's mother saw the FedEx truck pull up. The driver wasn't wasting any time as he almost ran to the front door.

"A package delivery for a Connie Moore," he told her mother. She signed and brought it into her daughter.

"Connie, it's for you, it's from Steve."

She looked at the small wrapped present. She opened it and was now staring down at a black velvet ring box. With a smile on her face Connie opened the box, immediately dropped it to the floor. Two bloodied front teeth bounced a couple of times on the tile before stopping in front of her dad. Looking down, he picked them up and put them in his pocket and walked away from his crying daughter.

The letter and the divorce papers were delivered the day after Christmas. Connie had hoped that she could have persuaded Steve not to file, at least not before she had a chance to finally talk to him, that I guess wasn't going to happen. She tore open the envelope and looked at the one page typed letter.

Dear Connie

I hope you enjoyed your little Christmas gift. It was something Doug wouldn't have given you himself. I'm just glad I could.

Truthfully speaking, I really don't want to know the why any longer, because at this point it wouldn't make any difference anyway. I'm sure you had your reasons; I just hope they were worth what you gave up.

However, just so there are no misunderstandings, I didn't fight Doug that night to win you back. After what I'd heard and then saw, we were done long before you stepped out of that bathroom.

What I did, was strictly for me. I guess I could have just walked away and divorced you ass, but Doug would have gotten off Scott free and that I'm afraid I couldn't let happen.

He really is a tough bastard. I thought getting hit in the face with that bottle would have put him down for the count, it would have me, but I guess deep down inside I'm kind of glad it didn't.

Don't get me wrong, I was hurting when they threw my ass out, but at least he knew that for once time in his life, someone wasn't going to give in to him and go quietly into the night. I didn't see the two teeth until just before I was escorted out, I grabbed them before asshole saw them.

I understand Doug lost his job but all you got was a demotion, you must have made quite an impression with the higher ups. Maybe like Doug one of them will take you under his wing and groom you the way he did; although I'll bet your fellow employees may have a few new nicknames for you, slut and whore are probably two of the nicer ones I imagine.

Please just sign the divorce papers and we can end this charade of a marriage. You'll keep what you have and I'll keep what's mine. We can sell the house because frankly it's too big for me and it would always remind me of what we once had.

I told our sons that you were a cheating fucking whore, sorry about that, but that you were still their mother and due some respect; how much will be up to them.

I'd like to say thanks for the good times and that I wish you well, but I can't. Frankly, I hope you get a horrible disease and die a painful and agonizing death for what you did to us. And when our good friends ask what happened, I plan on telling them exactly what happened. Maybe you can explain to them the why if they'll still want to talk to you.

Your soon to be ex-husband.

My attorney received the signed papers on New Year's Eve. Looks like I was going to start the New Year off with a clean slate.

I'm told Connie quit her job and moved away thirty days later, where to I never inquired. I just figured my boys would tell me some day.

My family and a few of my friends think I was foolish to throw away a twenty-five year marriage for an affair that I had already taken my revenge on the two of them. When they question me I would look the husband straight in the eye and ask if he'd lend me his wife for the weekend for a little sexual relief.

"What, are you nuts?" was their usual reply.

"But you can forgive her when she comes back on Monday and it'll only be this one time." I think they finally started to understand what it was like to walk in my shoes for once. I made the same request to at least six of my friends and only one told me to go ahead and go for it. The only problem was his wife was seventy-four, hard of hearing, and needed a damn walker to get around. Ted smiled, I called him a prick but I told him I'd think about it. Yeah, right.

Now when I read a story of a husband who becomes a willing cuckold, I look at the scares on my knuckles. "Yes, it was worth it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat," I think to myself. Too bad there aren't more of us out there.