Profiles in Narcissism - Vol. 01

I've put some thought into the most famous 'loving wives' in this category. What they have in common and what they don't.

That led me to the word 'narcissism.' For all the great stories I've read here over the past twenty or so years, I've also seen enough comments that misrepresent that word. I doubt if that can be held as some personal fault. Much of our language has taken a long, hard, downward slide over the past thirty years. Today's definition of 'narcissist' blended with Webster's 1950 definition provides clues about how society has fiddled with the word itself, perhaps for effect or gain. I'll let you look it up.

I grew up surrounded by Midwest Sicilian Mafia, and noteworthy, household-name, Michigan politicians, as somewhat chronicled in my LIT story - "The Busboy."

In many ways, we are quick to judge these literary wives or to name their afflictions. Those mafia guys could end a life on a Saturday, and then sit in church with their wives and kids on Sunday morning with zero remorse. Were they also narcissists? On some level, yes, of course. They certainly were thinking inwardly. But they also had their way of influencing things. They shaped the political landscape, policies, bills, and laws. They were revered. I often wondered, back then, why were the political leaders out on the golf course with these guys, or having a formal dinner with them in the members' fine dining room? I was only a teenage busboy, and pretty slow on the draw. Narcissistic would not have been a word used to describe them.

So, I wondered, what if I wrote these famous story wives as true narcissists, most often in their own words? How would they behave? What lessons, if any, would they come to learn? What revelations will be uncovered about them, never told by the loving and broken husband?

I have five or six of the most well-known in play but decided to get February's Linda out of the way first. The reason? She holds the top spot in popularity. So many follow-ups have been written to the story, including my own version, that almost every base has been covered. Even my editor pointed that out. It might be the least popular in the series, due to that. Hopefully, I can throw in a few surprises and keep you entertained.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

"Jim, I'm home. It's just same old me," Those were my opening words to my husband Jim, upon returning home from my night out of time. Had I had more time to prepare, or consider my words more carefully, I would have done it differently.

Unfortunately, I'd been on cloud nine until I got into Marc's Ferrari and finally started thinking about Jim and my marriage. That was a grand total of twenty minutes, from his door to mine. I'd completely forgotten about our hotel room from the night before - that's how gaga I was. I remember thinking that I hoped Jim had packed my things and brought them home. Especially the expensive bra and panty set I'd purchased. Then I wondered how Marc would have responded, had I been able to wear them for him. God, I couldn't shake that man - I was under his spell.

Marc kissed me, full tongue, before getting out and coming around to open my door. He was such a gentleman! I suspected he made a big deal out of it to pay my husband respect and appreciation for borrowing his wife. He gave me a friendly hug and said goodbye.

Jim was as angry as I'd ever seen him, angrier even. He called me unkind names and told me to go take a shower. That was hurtful. Of course, I'd spent the night with a celebrity that every woman wanted, but I wouldn't... couldn't possibly rub that in my husband's face. He was the man I loved, after all.

But the name-calling and the borderline rage had brought me out of my stupor. My fantasy was over, and now it was time to salve some hurt feelings. Jim was my husband, the man I wanted to grow old with. I knew what made him tick. As I scrubbed myself a lot harder than I had at Marc's earlier, I was already formulating a plan to love the anger right out of my man. I would try extra hard to prove my devotion until this passed, and we were back to normal.

But when I went back downstairs, trying to make him understand, he kept hurling insults at me and then at Marc. I tried my best to reassure him that I loved him, that my one night was over now, and that I'd do anything and everything to make it up to him. After I'd said that, I instantly regretted it. He could come up with a lot of things I wasn't willing to do.

Nothing I said made any difference. He had a counterpoint to everything I told him. He told me, not asking me to explain how it all started. My immediate idea was to quell any concerns he had about his masculinity. I told him how I'd only expected a dance or two, and some bragging rights over Dee, but how Marc's strong presence had overwhelmed me, leading up to him simply suggesting I make an excuse at the table and leave with him. It wasn't difficult to see by my husband's troubled face, that I'd made a huge mistake.

Jim informed me he was gathering the children and would return to spend time with them. He would then leave since he "couldn't stand to look at me," and he expected me to write down the entire evening from the time I got up to dance until Marc brought me home. I vehemently argued that would only hurt him, making things worse. He implied things couldn't get much worse, and that he wanted a written report, not my blubbering and stammering. He didn't say it exactly like that, but it's what he meant.

I implored him to stay at our home and panicked then. I used sex as a bargaining chip to keep him home, and he told me I'd need to get checked for STDs. That really pissed me off. Marc was a perfect specimen and he'd never be able to have that effect on women, while possibly giving them a little something to take home afterward. The idea was absurd and made our incredible night seem dirty, tawdry, and cheap.

Jim made sure to get my commitment to write down my fairy-tale evening in vivid detail.

By the time Jim left to pick up our children, I was the one with the hurt feelings. His final dig came when I told him I loved him, saying he had no idea what I meant by that. That was a cheap shot, turning the knife that had already been thrust into my heart. Still, in his eyes, I'd wronged him, so I needed to pick myself up by my bootstraps and be the remorseful wife. I hoped these feelings he was having wouldn't linger for long. My love for him wouldn't be able to take many more of these direct assaults and combined with how he felt about me at that moment, we'd surely be racing each other to divorce court.

When he came home, everything seemed okay, but after the kids went to bed, we were back at it. Jim reiterated he was leaving for the night. I didn't think arguing anymore that day would help, so I promised again to write what he'd asked me to and said goodbye.

After feeding the kids and fielding their questions about where their father went, I put them down with a story. I loved my kids, despite Jim's accusations. I'd do whatever was necessary to keep them happy. I certainly would never let Jim take them from me. I might even grovel and bow to him to prevent that.

Minutes after the kids were asleep, I was on the phone with Dee.

She was rapid-firing questions about my big night, but I needed her advice. "It was everything any woman could dream, Dee. He was the artist, and I was his muse. I was the instrument, and he was the master musician. But it's over now, and I needed your help. Jim went off the deep end. He's left but told me he'd be back. Tomorrow, he said, but maybe longer. I'm hoping for two days because he's angrier than I've ever seen him. I'm going to need that time to think and prepare."

"He's an idiot!" Dee jumped right on the 'loser Jim' bandwagon, as she always did. She'd never liked him - said he was a stuffed shirt. After her rant, she began asking me what he did and what he said. I gave her as much information as I could remember.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Linda?" she yelled. "Why in the hell would you promise to write it all down? He can use that against you in court, you get that, right?"

"I don't think he'd do th..." I began.

"You've lost your mind!" Dee screamed louder. "That's what Dave would do if he could get me to write it up. Frankly, if I were Jim, that's exactly what I'd be thinking. Try to do things the easy way, by getting a written, signed confession. He may be a strait-laced pussy, but even he isn't that stupid, girl. Don't - and I reiterate - do not write it down."

I have to," I cried out. "I already promised, and if I don't, he'll leave me for sure."

"Okay," she said more soothingly. "Let's try to do a cost-benefit analysis or risk assessment. I know it's been a hard day, but I'm your friend so hear me out. What's the worst that can happen if Jim leaves you, or you cut your losses now?"

"Dee," I said shocked, "that's not on the table! I need your help figuring out how I can get him to stay."

"I'm just talking worst-case," she plowed forward. "Say he comes home and says, in no uncertain terms, that you two are divorcing. Did you and Marc exchange numbers?"

"Yes, we did." I could see where she was going. "Dee, I'm not going to Marc. He's a player, and I was lucky enough to get played, and I'll have that memory for the rest of my life. How do I keep Jim?"

"We'll get there, honey," she was acting like the expert, a trait I'd come to dislike in her. "Now, if Jim decides to leave you, how will you react?"

"I don't know! There will be a custody battle, and I'll probably have to go back to work full time. I can't do that, Dee, I just can't! Not to mention, he'll tell everyone about what happened. I'd be the laughingstock."

"Okay," she said. "So again, think before you write. Now, let me say this because I can tell you aren't thinking about it. You have to maintain the advantage here, at all costs. If you'd have said, losing Jim was no big, then I'd proudly coach you on what I call "your time." This is your time, Linda. Don't forget that. Keep it in the back of your mind, in case the worst happens.

"You're young," she continued. "You're beautiful, but for us women, that has a shelf life. You hit forty - or God forbid, menopause - and it's over. You'll have trouble finding a decent man because most of them will be taken. For Jim, his time is later. Let's say he takes care of himself. Even at sixty, he'll have an age range of women to choose from - about thirty years - from 25-55."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, getting tired of this conversation.

"Geez, Linda," she was also getting frustrated, by what she thought I didn't know. "Don't you watch any porn? The big trend is these younger women, screwing older guys - calling them 'daddy' - and essentially getting everything paid for, without the worries of prostitution. And to be honest, they're pretty smart. Bypass the immature adolescence, and all the discovery - just start with a mature man who knows what he's doing in the sack. We don't have that luxury, so if you're planning to keep Jim, remember, he might not ever be able to forgive or forget. If that happens, you need an exit strategy before it's too late."

I was speechless.

"On the other hand," she went on. "Keeping him means you'd better make sure of a few things. You need to keep him off balance. Has he ever talked to you, or treated you like he did today?"

"No," I said honestly. "I didn't even know that side of him existed. He swore at me, said unkind things, and spat venom."

"Exactly," she said. "He's been eating out of your hand for ten years. If he gets even the slightest notion that maybe it should be the other way around from now on, or even what he might consider fairer, you're toast."

Regardless of Dee's incessant ranting, she'd made plenty of good points. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought Dee was trying to influence me into some sort of "Thelma and Louise" adventure. I always had the notion that she thought of Dave as a keeper, but I was starting to challenge that in my head.

So, I decided to write the letter of a lifetime to and for my husband. The first draft was laden with self-interest and gratification. Some of it though was worth keeping. So, I outlined where each part belonged in my letter. Mostly the layout was for me to create maximum confusion. I wanted to intersperse my love for Jim, with my joy at having Marc. That was the 'off balance' part Dee spoke of.

Of course, the sex part was the hardest to write. Dee had said that I should run with the musician and instrument concept, so I did. I wanted to go far enough, so Jim's manhood would be called into question, but just beneath the surface - almost left-handed.

There were things, of course, that I'd never admit to: like letting Marc have my ass. He'd been so gentle, preparing me with his large fingers, and rimming me for a bit. He even used a washcloth on himself before making me take him in my mouth right after. His asking me to return the rimming favor was another thing I'd take to my grave. I could deny Marc nothing. He'd taken me in the shower that next morning too, after already having cum in me more times than I could count. I could tell he realized I was being considerate to my husband, but he was hoping I wouldn't be able to get it all out, and Jim would get his sloppy seconds. Men are entirely too predictable.

I reread my letter several times over. It had to be perfect. It had to be honest - well as honest as I intended - meaning I had to stick with my most wonderful night and morning ever, all the while professing my undying love for Jim. I was darn proud of my finished product.

The next evening Jim came home. I was glad I'd finished my project. He played with Emma and Tommy and things seemed fairly normal. After the kids went to bed though, we went round again. I wasn't making any headway, but I told myself to be patient. This was probably going to be a long game. I gave him the letter, and some space by going to bed early.

I lay there thinking about what to say to him, afterward. When I asked if he'd read it all, and he told me twice, I said, "God help us," and rolled away from him sniffling. I was only half acting.

When we talked, Jim kept on about how we'd changed, our marriage, and both of us. I argued that point intentionally and vehemently. But my husband had a counter to everything I said. I wasn't scoring any points, and he already had the moral high ground, which could lead to what Dee warned me about. I made some concessions, hoping to slow his roll. I admitted that what he thought was our new reality, could be that, but I just didn't want to admit it. That only led to him pointing out that he couldn't trust anything about me that he thought he knew before my night with Marc.

I went in a new direction and compared my night with Marc to test-driving a Maserati. Jim had an answer to that too. I had to plead and beg that I never wanted anyone but him, even though my actions had told him otherwise. I hadn't changed, I told him over and over. He said if that was true then he'd never known me in the first place, or something like that.

We both went to bed, facing in opposite directions. I called Dee in the morning, before going to work my part-time shift. After filling her in, she was quiet for a long minute.

"You need to capture his attention, Linda," she began. "I've got an idea. Why not make him his favorite meal tonight, after you pick up the kids, and wear your blue party dress for him?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Dee," I returned. "It might stir up memories that I want to help him forget. Maybe I should go buy a dress."

"No," she said with certainty. "That will send the wrong signal. If the blue dress was enough to get you noticed by Marc, and he and everyone else knows that, then you should play on his ego and pride. He'll want to reestablish his territory. He'll want to reassert himself over you as his wife. That's how men think - all that macho shit. Do it for dinner so he can't initially object in front of the kids."

Listening to Dee was a mistake. Jim almost lost it the second he saw me. He looked like he was going to throw up all over the kitchen floor. I immediately ran into his arms, apologizing. That worked at least for dinner. He was pretty adamant after the kids went to bed. I was trying to prove I hadn't changed - that we hadn't, but I was wrong. I had no words, so I asked the only logical question - what now?

The next several days were a nightmare. Jim would come home from work, eat the food I'd been slaving to make extraordinary, play with the children like I wasn't there, and then he'd leave to go to the Willing Mind, a little bar down the street. Often, he returned after I'd already gone to bed. The loneliness - no, the isolation - was killing me. Whatever emotion I needed to tap into, inside my husband's brain, I'd need to do it soon.

On Sunday night, I told him I wanted him to stay home so we could talk. Dee and I had talked, and she was beginning to run out of ideas. She told me that maybe Jim was too much of a Mr. Nice Guy, and I needed to start thinking about myself and the kids. She was back to Plan B. But a little later in the day, she texted me that the whole gang had decided to go out for St. Patrick's Day, and that was the perfect opportunity to put a little peer pressure on Jim.

That didn't work at all. Jim ensured I knew they were all my friends now, not his. I quickly agreed, well... told him my place was with him. Okay, sue me. I was getting desperate. But then Jim threw me a bone. He told me he'd spoken to an old family friend, L.W. Old he was, but for some reason, he'd immediately taken to me, and I'd had many a conversation with him at family get-togethers.

After Jim left the next morning, I called Dee and told her what had happened. She was pissed and promised to call Jim and 'straighten him out.' I told her to think about what she was doing and reminded her that she didn't seem to have a very good rapport with my husband and had failed miserably that night at Morrison's. Dee loved a challenge, so I knew she'd consider her words better before calling.

I called L.W. He almost seemed to be expecting my call.

"Hello, Linda," he answered jovially. "I'm sorry to hear about your... issue." The old curmudgeon just left it hanging there.

"Hi, friend," I began, sounding somewhere between playful and devastated. I expected a man of his age and stature would easily sort out those emotions. "I really fuc... screwed up. I don't want to cause trouble, but I'm hoping you could possibly tell me about your conversation with Jim. I find myself in a very difficult situation, and that's why I'm asking. I don't want to lose him, or my marriage."

L.W. was silent for a moment, then he began chuckling softly. "I can do even better," he answered. "But I have two questions for you first."

Fire away," I told him. "I'm happy to answer anything if you can help me."

"First," he said, "you do realize that you and Jim aren't compatible, don't you?"

Well, I wasn't expecting that. "Is that a question or a statement?" I exchanged a question of my own. Before he could respond, I added, "And I do not realize that. I love that man, and he loves me."

"That's what I thought you'd say," he was chuckling again. "Linda, we both know that if given the opportunity, you'll do this again. Before I help you, I need you to at least acknowledge that fact."

I thought about it for a bit. The silence was shrilling. "Okay, sure, if that's what you want," I said definitively.

"Good girl," he went on. "Now, I've been giving it some thought. I think I have a way to help you not only keep him but also force him to see what happened that night you went with Marc. It's going to cost a pretty penny, and I'll have to sort out the details if I can even pull it off. We're going to have to work in tandem."