Second Chance, Book 01

My thanks as always to my editor, ErikThread. He's a very patient man.

Chapter 1:

He wasn't looking forward to this luncheon. He would be forty years old tomorrow and some of his fellow salesmen had decided that he would be entering the twilight of his sexual life, and on this, his last day of potency, they would regenerate his sex drive with a visit to a notorious strip club. Perhaps it was supposed to be a comment on his modest lifestyle. Whichever, he had never been one to frequent those places. He found the atmosphere to be smoky and uncomfortable, the music unreasonably loud, and the women generally unattractive. All-in-all, it wasn't his particular "cup of tea." It left nothing to the imagination and the audience wasn't likely to be found at the opera the next night.

It wasn't that the women weren't blessed with beautiful bodies. It was just the predictable form that the so-called entertainment took. He lived in a city where the dancers were permitted to be completely nude as long as none of the patrons touched them. Naturally, the rules were stretched to the limit in order to maximize the audience, and of course, the tips. Lap dances were permitted as long as the dancers wore at least a bikini bottom and top and still, no touching. Again, the definitions of bikini and touching were broadened to the maximum, or perhaps more accurately, the minimum.

It was in that frame of mind that Brent Gordon pulled into the small parking lot adjacent to the Wagon Wheel Club at noon on a Wednesday, reluctantly joining eight of his fellow employees at the noon show. His best friend, Adam Richards, had been made responsible for insuring that he would show up. Brent had a customer meeting at eleven that morning, and promised Adam that, although he wasn't delighted, he would arrive at noon or close to it. As he looked around for the guys, he saw that they were front and center, and he walked over to the three tables that had been pulled together, finding a seat had been saved for him that faced directly toward the main stage.

He sat down and was immediately presented with a glass of beer. He looked around the table and took note of who was in attendance. He was surprised, and a bit unhappy that Ron Dixon was sitting in the group. They had history and it wasn't pleasant. He knew that almost everyone at the table was aware of that, but somehow someone thought it appropriate to invite him. He was sure Dixon hadn't just shown up on his own, but he decided to let it slide. He was supposed to enjoy himself.

The dancers had already started their predictable routines, and after a while, he found them boring and quit watching. He looked around and could see that the place was almost full. It was obviously a good business. The customers were pretty subdued so far. None of the girls had stirred their interest, but if he remembered correctly, the headliners would be coming along shortly before one o'clock, and the noise level would undoubtedly rise then.

Adam, Johnny Martin and Brent were taking turns swapping stories about aging and what it felt like. At that point, they were able to hold a conversation without having to yell at each other. He had managed to nurse his first beer for almost 45 minutes before another appeared before him. He was determined not to overdo it this afternoon. He would have a hard time explaining to Jeanette why he stunk of beer and cigarettes in the middle of a work week.

They had been served some bad sandwiches at what were undoubtedly inflated prices, but since he was the "guest of honor," he wouldn't see the bill. The sound level was increasing as the first of the headliners appeared. He managed to finish his sandwich and sat back in the chair to watch what the so-called premier performers had to offer. It was a case of more of the same with bigger boobs and smaller g-strings. The crowd seemed to be more inclined to approve however, as the catcalls and whistles were building quite nicely for her second set.

He quit watching, and for a while he and Adam could still converse. The girl on stage finished her routine, and after a five minute break the announcer returned with his next introduction. He wasn't paying attention until Dave Terry called to him.

"Hey Brent. Here's one especially for you. She's a real knockout, and just your type."

He shot Dave a funny look, and then Ron Dixon jumped in.

"Yah, Gordon, this one definitely is your type. I hear she's something special with the blow-jobs. That's why she's called "BeeJay!" He was laughing, but it wasn't a humorous laugh. There was something else in his expression.

He turned toward the stage and the next dancer appeared from behind the curtain and moved out to the center stage. He was looking at her body and thinking that she was another of the very good looking women that danced at this club.

"Hey BeeJay, look who we brought to watch you today!" It was Dave again.

Then Dixon piped up. "Yah ... BeeJay ... show us your pussy!"

Brent just shook his head, and looked up at the dancer to find out what all the fuss was about. It took him a couple of seconds to process the information in his brain. The woman on stage was not young. She was about his age and as he'd already determined, she had a very lovely body. But it was the face that stopped him cold. There on the stage, preparing to dance before the crowd, soon to be completely nude, was his wife, Jeanette.

He lost his ability to breath, to hear. He knew there were catcalls and crude remarks being fired from all directions, including their table, but he had lost all capacity to comprehend. He looked up again and there was no mistake. It was Jeanette, his wife of eighteen years. He looked around the table and while Adam and Johnny and several others were looking shocked, Dave Terry and Ron Dixon were laughing and pointing at him and at the stage.

He had to get out of there. He had to go, and go now. He stood, knocking the chair back as he did. He turned and began to work his way through the tables, weaving unsteadily as he tried to find the way out. He was unaware that Adam was beside him until he held his arm as they lurched through the door. He stood on the sidewalk, gasping for breath. He couldn't comprehend what he had just seen. Johnny had joined Adam.

"Brent, let me drive you home. You shouldn't drive. You don't look good." It was Adam's voice, but he wasn't able to respond.

Finally, he took several deep breaths. He had to get some space, some time to think. He turned to Adam and Johnny.

"I take it you didn't know anything about this?" he gasped.

"No ... you know better than that," Adam said in a sad voice. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I'm going to go home and I'm going to have to decide what to do. I don't know. I just don't know."

"Don't do anything crazy, Brent. If you need anything, you only have to call. Just don't do anything crazy ... OK?" It was Johnny, being Johnny. If Adam wasn't his best friend, Johnny would be. He looked around. No one else at their table had come out to see what was happening. Only the two guys he knew he could count on had made the effort.

"I'll see you guys later. I'll be OK in a while. I just need to have some time to think." He was beginning to get control of his emotions, and he wanted to be alone to try and reason out what he would do. He was supposed to celebrate the fortieth birthday of Brent Charles Gordon, and in a few hours it would go down as the worst day of his life.

Chapter 2:

He drove home in a trance. He had no recollection of anything along the way. He had no memory of the traffic lights or stop signs or trucks or changing lanes. None of it registered. He was lost in the jumble of his thoughts. What to do? There was more than himself to think about. Their children, Andrea and Scott. One way or another, whatever he decided, they would be affected. What to do?

He needed time and space, and more than anything he needed to be alone. He couldn't live in his normal environment. He sure as hell couldn't live at home until he knew what he was going to do. By the time he reached his driveway, he had made a decision. It wasn't much, but at least it was something he could act upon.

He parked the car in the garage and closed the big double door. He didn't need nosy neighbors poking around in the next hour or so. He went to the basement and pulled out his suitcase, and took it upstairs. He threw it on the bed and began to pack it with his clothes. He didn't have the patience to fold all the shirts, but he didn't care. He just wanted a good supply of clothes. He wasn't sure how long he would be gone.

By the time he'd packed the suitcase he had everything he thought he would need, including toiletries and medicines. He hauled it downstairs, and lifted it into the trunk of his car. He went to his little office area and collected up all the business materials he could manage, including his laptop, camera, business records, and notebooks. He put them in the car's back seat and went back into the house. He took a sheet of paper from his printer and wrote two words, then folded it in half. He placed it in the middle of the kitchen table and stood there looking at it. Finally, he decided to get Jeanette's undivided attention with a symbol.

He looked around one last time to see if he had forgotten anything important, and then it dawned on him. He was leaving his own home. He had decided to abandon his family. He felt a wave of nausea and rushed to the little powder room in the hall and rid himself of the beer and that wretched sandwich. He did not want anything left from that place of horror. His memories would remain as the permanent souvenir.

He went back to the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of milk. Perhaps it would calm his stomach, and with any luck, his nerves as well. It was time to go. He opened the garage door, backed the car out onto the street, closed the door, and drove away. Brent Gordon had left his family behind, burdened with a sense of shame and drained of optimism. He had no idea what he would do, except he would have to expunge this part of his life. His plans for himself and his family were destroyed and he wondered if he would ever be able to put them back together again.

Chapter 3:

When Jeanette Gordon arrived home just before four, she rushed into the house and headed straight for the shower in the ensuite. The stink of that place was on her and her clothes. She knew she would have to put them in the wash before Brent got home and got a sniff of them. It was a routine she had recently adopted, one made necessary by her new job. This wasn't something she dared share with Brent or the kids. It was so completely foreign to her nature that she couldn't believe she was actually doing it. She worried about how long she could keep this secret from her husband. Thank god he didn't frequent places like that.

She showered and put on fresh jeans and a t-shirt over her underwear. The kids would be home in a few minutes and she needed to get her clothes into the washing machine. She hurried downstairs with the clothes and went straight to the laundry room, throwing them into the machine, adding a bit of detergent and turning on the machine to "quick wash." It would be good enough for this small batch. Breathing a sigh of relief, she walked to the kitchen for some ice tea to quench her thirst, and a couple of Tylenol to relieve her headache.

As she started for the fridge, she noticed the objects on the kitchen table and stopped dead in her tracks. A ring was sitting on top of a piece of paper and slowly, almost in fear, she approached it. There was no mistaking, it was their wedding ring. She looked at her hand and saw hers and knew it could only belong to one person. Her hands were shaking as she reached for it. She had a horrible feeling inside. Intuitively, she knew this was going to be bad, very bad. She picked up the sheet of folded paper and opened it. The two words jumped off the page and hit her as if they were a club. "Wagon Wheel."

She sank into a kitchen chair and felt herself crumble into pieces. He knew. And the ring. What did that mean? The realization struck her immediately. He had left her. He was gone. He had learned her secret and he had left her. There was no other possible explanation. She panicked. She ran to the phone and dialed his cell. She had to stop him. She had to get him back. He couldn't just leave her. She had to explain -- try to make him understand.

The phone rang and finally she heard his voice. It was his voice mail.

"Brent, it's me. Please call. I need to explain. Please, Brent. You can't leave me. Please talk to me and let me explain. You need to understand. It was just a job. Call me. I beg you. Call me." She set the phone back on its cradle and stood, looking at nothing. Her life was falling apart around her and she could nothing to prevent it. How could she have been so stupid to think this was a good idea? Her thoughts were interrupted by the bang of the screen door on the porch as one of their children arrived home from school.

"Hey Mom. Anything to eat?" It was Scott, the perpetual hunger machine. She didn't answer him immediately. She was still in shock and trying to gather her thoughts as well as her wits.

"There's some cheese and crackers. Don't eat too much. Dinner will be at six." It was an automated response. Each day it was the same question and each day it was the same reply. She heard the screen door slam again and Andrea announced her arrival.

"Hi Mom. What's new?"

"Ah ... nothing much. Uhmmm ... your dad won't be home for dinner tonight," she managed.

"Another rubber chicken dinner, eh," the young girl said with a grimace.

"I guess." Jeanette didn't want to get into a discussion right now. Her mind was racing, trying to understand what had happened and what she could do about it. The headache was getting worse.

Chapter 4:

There hadn't been any tears yet. He was still in shock, and the heartbreak of his discovery had not yet overcome his protective shell. What he had seen was beyond his understanding. There was nothing in the twenty years that he had known Jeanette that would have even hinted at this kind of behavior. What she likely wouldn't understand was the impact of her discovery on their lives, and in particular, his business life.

He was the natural successor to Lloyd Bruton when Lloyd moved up the ladder another notch. That was expected in the next year. He would become the Sales Manager of Mountain Pine Paper and it would have been the crowning moment of a long, hard climb. Now, he knew that couldn't happen. The men he was expected to lead had seen his humiliation. They had seen his sickened expression when he saw his wife on that stage. They would always know, always remember that moment. All of his hopes had been blown away in those few seconds.

He would resign. It was the only decent thing to do. He knew Lloyd and Henry's expectations. They wouldn't tolerate improper behavior from their employees. They held a high standard for their people, and now he had crossed the line. It wasn't his actions, of course, but the actions of the wife were, by transference, the actions of the husband. It was a straightforward code, and he understood and endorsed it over his eight years at Mountain Pine. The emptiness of the moment was overpowering. He had friends that had only been acquired because he worked at Mountain Pine. His reputation was enhanced merely by being an employee. He wondered which of them would still be called friends when the word got out.

He checked into a small motel in the valley that wasn't far from home, but no one he knew would think to look for him here. He didn't unpack except for his toiletries, and he plopped the suitcase on the luggage stand in the corner and flopped down on the bed. He couldn't get the image out of his mind. His wife, standing above him, not yet naked, but she inevitably would be. He knew it was Jeanette, but the look on her face was like none he had ever seen before. Her eyes were alive and it appeared that she was enjoying herself. How could she?

He had no appetite that evening. The sour taste of bile from his earlier eruption was still with him. He walked outside to the soft drink machine and purchased a soda and went back to his room. He switched on the TV and surfed through the channels before settling on a baseball game. It required no involvement on his part and he could pay attention or ignore it without missing anything. He couldn't get his mind off the images and his thoughts of the consequences of what he had seen. He tried to reason what his options were, but he couldn't complete anything. It was a jumble of thoughts without a linear progression.

He slept little; tossing and turning throughout the night. Twice, he got up and wandered around the little motel room. He had turned his laptop on and surfed the web for a while. He wondered just how he could Google the subject of his distress. Was there help or a resolution on the Internet? How would he form the question? He tried several ways, exhibitionist wife, then naked exhibitionist wife, and then secret naked dancer wife. The results yielded nothing except pornographic sites and bizarre fiction. There was no easily found solution.

Finally, at six-thirty, he rose, showered, shaved, dressed, and left the room, driving to a nearby restaurant. He had the beginnings of an appetite, but he chose his breakfast with care, not wanting to upset his already fragile balance. Juice, fresh fruit, muffin, coffee. Nothing greasy or heavy. He paid the bill, took a coffee-to-go, and drove back to the motel. He had some things to do this morning, things that would change the course of his life, but would still leave him in doubt about his future.

When he arrived back at the motel, he pulled open the curtains to let the maximum of light into the little room. He picked up the telephone and placed a call to the plant. It was after eight and the receptionist recognized his voice.

"Hi Brent. How are you this lovely morning," she chirped.

She clearly hadn't heard anything yet, and he was relieved.

"Lloyd please, Susanne."

The phone rang only once when the deep, reassuring voice of Lloyd Bruton answered. "Good morning, Lloyd here."

"Hi Lloyd, its Brent," he began.

"Hi Brent. What's up?" He hadn't heard either, Brent concluded.

"Uhhhmmm ... I need to meet with you in private, away from the office, Lloyd. It's important," he said uncertainly.

"What's this about, Brent? Why do you want to meet?" he asked, obviously curious and with a hint of concern.

"It's a private and personal matter, Lloyd. I need to talk to you and explain before ... well ... we need to talk," he concluded.

There was silence on the other end of the line until Lloyd responded.

"OK ... where do you want to meet?"

"Well, I realize I'm not giving you much time, but ... how about the park in Montrose Estates, at noon. I'll look after the lunch, if you can meet me around noon?"

There was another pause and then, finally, "OK, Brent. The park at Montrose. I'll see you at noon."

"Thanks, Lloyd. I really appreciate this. I'll see you there." And with that, he hung up. He had three and a half hours to kill between now and then. Three and a half hours to decide what to make of his future.

Chapter 5:

Jeanette was a mess. She hadn't slept a minute that night. The tears had come when the kids were in bed and she could finally let herself go and indulge in self-pity. There hadn't been a word from Brent. Where was he? Had he left for good? It didn't seem possible. He loved his children and Jeanette couldn't bring herself to believe he would just walk away and leave them. She had reasoned that he had left to try and understand what he had seen, and decide what to do. That was just like him. Don't do anything without thinking about it first. But the ring? The ring terrified her. She tried to imagine his pain, his thoughts, and his anger. She had wounded him deeply, and she didn't know if she could make it better.