One Wife Too Many

(I was doing some reno work for this rich dude, but was puzzled because the wife he was with was not the same wife he was with the last time I had done some reno work for him a few years earlier. I mentioned it to him and he blew my socks off with this amazing story about having one wife too many. Being a true story, he really went through a hard time, and put two loving wives through the ringer too.)

***

The air was cool and refreshing as it funneled into a wind and played in his long brown hair.

John Haskins glanced into the back seat from the rear view mirror, knowing his five year old daughter, Marcie, might be tempted to comment. She was.

"Your hair's really flying, daddy."

"Enjoy watching it fly while you can. I'm getting bald spots, and I'm really thinning out. One day soon I'll probably be as bald as a bowling ball."

"What's bald mean, daddy?"

"It means you'll get to shine my head and watch the sun reflect off it."

"That would be fun, daddy, shining your head, then sparky could lick any dust off it with his tongue."

The one year old golden retriever, hearing his name mentioned, assumed that a doggie treat might be in the offing. He sat up on hind legs and began to twirl his paws to beg.

"Any more doggie treats, daddy?"

"There should be some in the red bag on the floor. But be careful not to root up everything too much. I had a hard time getting so much in there in the first place."

She dove down the sides of the seat until her hands rummaged through the bag. John sighed. He suddenly remembered he had foolishly packed the dog treats first, meaning the contents of the bag were going to be scattered all over the floor and seat. He sighed in defeated resignation. Such was life when you had a dog. Still, he wouldn't trade in the golden furred mongrel for all the world. Sparky was viewed upon as one of the family.

As she emptied out the bag, the wind began to whip the parcel wrappings, comics and magazines around the back seat in a frenzy. He hit the button to do up the window. Having the sun roof open was good enough.

"Don't give Sparky too many. He got sick last time you let him eat the whole pack, remember?"

"I remember, daddy," Marcie assured him, "only a few, I promise."

John smiled, knowing that the phrase, 'only a few,' to a child, could mean just about anything, two, four or even ten.

A sudden burst of stench accosted John's nostrils. Marcie smelled it too, and made up her face, pausing giving Sparky his first treat by pinching her nose.

A long row of septic tanks and rotting garbage was soon deemed to be the culprit. The "Henry Mason's Junk Yard" sign was half hanging off the dilapidated fence. Dumping garbage and unwanted personal belongings along the highway was a serious, high fine offence. But dumping it into a pile of trash that was already mountainous, wasn't bound to come back and haunt you any time soon.

The highway began to give way to layers of swirling dust on either side, accompanied by bone dry bush and parched, yellowy tumbleweed.

"We almost there, yet daddy?"

John surveyed the highway carefully. This was definitely not the same road he had taken last time he drove Marcie up to visit her Grand Parents. He sighed wearily. Somewhere along the road in the last half hour he must have taken a wrong turn or missed a turn off, although, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how.

He pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. There wasn't a car anywhere in sight. He began to think in earnest about the way he had come, trying desperately to retrace his route.

The drive had been a pretty straight forward one. He had driven here twice before, and always took the scenic route, lasting three hours.

He checked his watch. It read one-thirty. Having left San Antonia at exactly ten fifteen, he was now precisely fifteen minutes passed his usual arrival time.

He closed his eyes and fought hard to remember each turnoff he'd taken from the very beginning.

Marcie didn't care he had stopped. She was far too busy getting licked furiously by Sparky as he kept begging her for more treats.

He recalled driving out of San Antonio on Highway 35 North.

He had stopped at Wendy's in Waco for lunch, an event that had seen ketchup being spilled onto Marcie's dress, and an orange soft drink being spilled onto his pants as she had scrambled to fish the toy out of the kids meal he had bought for her. The recollection made him smile. Kids would be kids.

After leaving Wendy's, he remembered reaching the fork which branched off into two highways, the left for Fort Worth and the right for Dallas.

He had taken the left turnoff as usual, and also reached highway twenty as usual after he had driven through Fort Worth.

From there he had gone east along the 20 until he'd reached Abilene, then veered south, following the road upon which the sign read "Tuscola 15 Miles."

The Texas sun was shining brightly, glinting off the windshield, and making him unable to make out the sign just twenty feet to his left.

He got out and walked ten feet until he spotted it. It Read, "Tuscola 1 mile," but with the arrow facing the other way.

"Damn," he whispered, realizing he had somehow managed to pass his wife's parent's small town.

He hopped back into his eighty thousand dollar BMW and spun it around, his tires kicking up dust as he screeched back into the opposite direction.

"Are we lost, Daddy," Marcie asked, noting the look of urgency and bewilderment on his face.

John had forgotten the name of the street Marcie's Grand Parents lived on, and with so few houses or businesses around, there wasn't really anyone he could stop and ask.

A large red barn loomed in the distance, and a sign nearby boasted "Tuscola, Population 950."

A few yards further and he finally spotted the road sign he was looking for. It read "Buffalo Gap Road."

He smiled and breathed a sigh of relief, making a right to go north. As he rounded the intersection he caught a glimpse of the fallen road sign on the other side of the street. He nodded at the sight. No wonder he had missed it.

The farms were sprawling and soon gave way to a small urban center, where four or five restaurants and half a dozen arts and craft shops mingled with an antique store and a quaint bed and breakfast.

"Not much further now," John promised, glancing back in the rear view mirror and not seeing his daughter. He spun his head quickly and saw her laying flat on the seat, snoring away. His golden hair dog snuggled up beside her, his face guilty and his open mouth wheezing as his tongue dangled listlessly, a sure sign he had eaten far too may doggie treats and now had the sore belly to prove it. Marcie had been too excited to sleep the night before and had suddenly succumbed to a need to nap.

"Poor thing," he whispered. "She must be exhausted."

A text suddenly came in. He picked up his cell phone off the dash holder and saw that it was from his wife Stacie. It read, "at the airport, ready to board the plane. Should be in Florida within a few hours. With any luck, we'll be boarding the cruise ship by five thirty. Bye, all my love. Kiss Marcie for me."

John tossed the phone back into the holder. He'd text her back later. He was glad she was getting away. Her sister's wedding in the Bahamas was going to give her a much needed vacation. John knew it would also give their boring marriage a chance to reignite. The saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder was certainly true. Any time Stacie would have to go away for a week or two, they would always make passionate love upon her return. The thought made him hard.

He crossed the railway tracks and saw the turnoff coming up, but an oncoming train had triggered the long wooden bar to come down and the round red lights to start flashing. The ringing bell also began to whine, signalling that the train was due to pass by at any moment.

He sighed and kicked himself for missing his chance at passing the damn tracks. Just thirty seconds sooner and he would have easily made it across. As things now stood, he was looking at a five to twenty minute delay, depending on how fast the train was moving and how many cars were attached to it.

He switched on the radio and began to listen to the velvety rich voice of Hank Williams, lamenting cheating hearts and wayward wives. The music irked him. As classic as it was, and as revered as it was in the droll state of Texas, he was loathe to admit to himself that he much preferred disco.

He toyed mercilessly with the dial, switching from pop to rock to rhythm and blues, to hip hop then back to country. He had hoped to find disco, but stations rarely played it during the daytime hours.

A sudden rap at his window startled him.

He turned to his left and saw the very pretty face of a young black woman, anxiously hoping he might roll down his window. He pressed the button and let it slide half way.

"Sorry to bother you," she said, her perfect rows of dazzling white teeth flashing before his stunned eyes.

"And I'm sorry if I seem a little startled," he shot back. "I was in my own little world here, listening to the radio when you knocked. I guess at first I thought it was a cop."

She laughed. "I'm no cop. Just a lady with a problem. I need some help and I thought, since you were stuck waiting for the train, that you might be able to give me a hand."

"What is the problem?'

"I was on the way back from the antique store and my car broke down. There's a garage about a mile back so I'm going to need a tow. My cell phone battery is dead and so I thought that-"

"You wanna use my phone? Sure," he said, pulling it out of the dash holder.

He handed it to her just as the insidious bell ringing suddenly stopped. They were both stunned to see the wooden bar raising so soon.

"That wasn't much of a train, was it?" she remarked, watching as the lights also stopped flashing, leaving him free to go. "Only a few cars at most. Don't think I've ever seen one as short."

"Look, I have to get going," John explained, "but why don't you hang onto my phone and call the garage. You can tell them where you're stranded and direct them to where you are. I'll be passing back this way in about ten minutes and you can give my phone back to me then."

"That would be wonderful," she said, her face lighting up. "You're a real life saver."

"Don't mention it," he said. "See you again soon."

He let the window slide back up, its tinted glass stopping her from getting a good look inside as he drove off. She didn't notice Sparky or Marcie in the back seat, and assumed he was alone.

She watched as he pulled away. He was Caucasian, with long, wavy brown hair, starting to thin, and the most dreamy emerald green eyes she had ever seen. He also had a brilliant, dazzling white smile, and a quick glance at his tight fitting t-shirt told her he had rippling stomach and chest muscles underneath. Still, her most pressing order of business was not to gawk at some dreamy hunk driving an almost hundred thousand dollar car, but rather to call the garage and have them tow her car to get it fixed.

He drove two stoplights north then turned left at the gas station and onto the road that Stacie's parents lived on.

In less than sixty seconds he was there, pulling into the long driveway then onto the round cul-de-sac that led him to the front of their five thousand foot sprawling estate. Five acres on either side were filled with red speckled apple trees and winding, breathtaking streams that were loaded with trout and bass.

He loved the place and would have eagerly come there more often, except Stacie's father, Steven, had still not forgiven him for the one time he had fucked up and had a brief affair with his secretary. It had only been a one night stand at a cheesy motel, and John's beleaguered conscious was the only reason that anyone knew about it. He had confessed to his wife over the sultry indiscretion, supposing she would have forgiven him quickly for his lack of willpower and judgement. Only she had been shattered and thunderstruck, crying her eyes out for months on end, visiting divorce lawyers and seething as jealous rages took hold of her almost on a daily basis. She ended up in an insane asylum temporarily because of it. He sadly knew from the moment he had told her of his adultery that it was a grave mistake. He would have been better off just to keep his mouth shut about it and then not to risk fucking up ever again. His secretary had been horrified that he had told his wife of their one night stand. She certainly was not going to say anything and it bothered her to no end that he had so foolishly pushed Stacie to the brink of insanity and almost destroyed her life, not to mention their once proud and strong marriage. But that had all occurred a whole four years earlier, just a year after Marcie had been born. Stacie was just getting back to normal now, but her father was not one to readily forgive and forget a cold blooded cheater that had broken his daughter's heart into a million itsy bitsy pieces. As far as he was concerned, and always would be concerned, John was nothing but puke mixed with scum. He only tolerated the sight of his bastard son in law for Marcie's sake.

John turned off the engine and didn't have to even get out of the car. Stacie's mom Angela came bounding out of the house, skipping along the cobblestone step. She had not been so harsh on John, having always liked him, and noting wryly that her own husband hadn't always been perfect when it came to refraining from flirting with secretaries. John gazed happily at Angela and she smiled back, letting him kiss her on the cheek as he stepped out of the car. "Good to see you again, John," she said honestly. "My husband's out back. He's busy fixing some fence," she lied, not wanting John to know that after four years of unending repentance, John was still unable to garner his forgiveness or favor.

She frowned at not seeing Marcie pop out of the car immediately. Even Sparky seemed non-committal and lethargic, just panting in the dry Texas heat.

"Don't mind him," John mentioned matter of factly. "He may just have a sore belly. You know how Marcie loves to dole out the doggy treats. As for Marcie, she's just dead to the world, I'm afraid. She was just so darn happy to know she'd be coming that she was far too excited to sleep the whole of last night."

"It's a pity you couldn't bring Marcie over more often?"

"We both know how your husband feels about me. He can't stand the sight of me."

"That's because his daughter is the most important thing in his life. To see the hurt you caused her sent him over the deep end. But in time?"

John stared at her skeptically. If Steven hadn't forgiven him in four long years for cheating on his daughter only one time, then chances are, he would not start doing it now.

"He'll never forgive me."

"Think positive. He'll come around eventually. How are you and Stacie getting along?" she asked apprehensively. "I know she's been very happy lately. Maybe if you keep her happy he'll see the light."

"Her and I are getting along great. We've never been more in love than we are now," he lied. On Stacey's part, the emotion of love for John was probably a reality. However, on his part, he knew only too well that the emotion of love was not yet a mere illusion, but fading fast. He was one of those men that would love to have sex with their wives once a day. Unfortunately, his wife Stacie required sex only once per month. The glaring difference had taken its toll, and John knew that a mere twelve times a year was not going to keep him either happy or satisfied. Still, he knew that if he could only manage to make due with such strict and scarce lovemaking rationing, then it would bode well for keeping their strained marriage together.

Marcie stirred from her sleep and her eyes began to light up. "Grandma!" she shouted, kissing her profusely.

"You sure you can manage her and the dog for an entire two weeks?" John asked apprehensively. "I know you offered to take Marcie and Sparky the whole two weeks Stacie in on her cruise. But I'm thinking that a whole two weeks may be too much for you. Why don't we split the difference? Let me come by in seven days and I'll take them for the other week?"

"Don't be silly! We never get to see her as it is. The time with her will be so nice. Now off you go and don't you dare come back before the two weeks is up. Besides, Stacie mentioned you were in the middle of writing a brand new novel. You could probably use the quiet time at that?"

"That I could," he answered honestly, only too well aware of how his publisher was beginning to really climb all over his back.

XXX

The drive back along the road leading to Buffalo Gap road made him nervous. In the back of his mind he was still thinking about the incredibly gorgeous black girl he had left about five minutes down the road, just on the other side of the train tracks.

She had been dressed scantily and provocatively in the Texas heat, her generous cleavage sporting two large nipples under her tight fitting blouse that had sent his pulse racing. She certainly had a wicked figure, and the memory of her rounded bum as it bulged under a tight fitting short skirt was etched like some dangerous land mine in his tortured brain. A sudden alarm went off in that same tortured brain. She had come across as super friendly and perhaps super easy as well. But such a possibility was not so simple to ascertain without further investigation. Some women were friendly and easy going but not so easy when you tried to get them between the sheets. Others were shy and seemingly the opposite of promiscuous until you gave them half a chance. He wasn't quite sure where the incredibly sexy black girl fit in to those scenarios. He only knew, that if he wanted to save his marriage and keep it going on the road to permanent recovery, then he had to seriously keep resisting the urge to think with his penis instead of his brain. Getting friendly with a damsel in distress was a sure fire recipe for unmitigated disaster. To even ponder the possibility of having sex with a stranded motorist was sheer lunacy at best and absolute insanity at worse.

He crossed over the tracks and parked for a brief moment along the side of the road. He noticed that her car was gone, undoubtedly towed to the garage.

"That was quick," he muttered to himself. But then things in a small town often happened quicker, just like the spread of gossip. He was suddenly glad the girl and her car were gone. Wagging tongues could cut a back to ribbons in no time, and spread tales that could put you in so much shit, you could never get out of it. Everybody knew Stacie's grandparents and a few also knew Marcie and her father. John hung his head. If he was stupid enough to even be remotely thinking about even sharing so much as a cup of coffee with the damsel in distress, someone in the small town was bound to recognize him and bound to tell everyone within earshot that Stacie's husband was flirting with some gorgeous, sexy babe that seemed hell bent on getting to know him better. But in order for that to happen, the sexy black babe would have to think he was single. He glanced down at his empty finger. Only last week he had taken his wedding band to have it resized. His months of weightlifting and a heavier diet had caused the finger to swell somewhat.

A sudden knock at his window jolted him into a burst of fear, scaring him senseless.

He hit the button and let the window scroll down. "You scared me," he said to her. "I thought you had gone with your car, no?"

"Well, I wanted to, but then I remembered I had your phone and knew you'd be coming back for it. I didn't want you to think I had stolen it on you after you had been so nice to lend it to me in the first place!"