SWIB 05: Trading Up

A common theme in these stories is a wife trading up. She finds a richer, more successful successor for her current husband, and then, trades up. OR! She finds a man who is longer, thicker, or better at using his male equipment and trades up to that. The husband of the cheating wife generally tells these stories.

A character almost never mentioned in any of the stories is the "other" wife. This story is told by that other wife (of the cheating husband) deciding she should trade up - to a better life.

SWIB (She Wanted It Bad(ly) is a catch-all title I use. In this case, the It is a better life (commonly, trading up). This story, like the others of similar title is completely stand alone.

There is no explicit sex in this story, any implied sex is between people over eighteen.

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"Anne, you have a call, from a Dan Collins, he says you don't know him, but it's important."

When I am alone in my office, I have the receptionist just announce my calls over an intercom. I thanked him for the announcement.

Dan Collins, shit. Mike has a new assistant, Betty Collins, a real beauty. My bet is she is related to Dan, by marriage and that Dan thinks their marriage is headed for the ditch. "Hello, this is Anne Walters."

"Hello, Ms. Walters. My name is Dan Collins. We've never met, but my wife works for your husband."

I'd love to be able to say, Dan, we've not met, but I know you too well, unfortunately. "First, Dan, call me Anne. If your wife works for Mike, would it be better to talk with him?" What a crock of shit. But I'll play the unsuspecting wife, for a while.

"No. No, I am afraid not. This is personal. Could you and I meet? I mean when you get off work?"

"Sure, do you know Randy's?" I asked.

"The bar across the street from your offices?"

"The one and only. How about five o'clock?"

We agreed, hung up, and I sent a text, to my dear hubby, asking a rhetorical question. "Why is the husband of Betty Collins, wanting to meet me?"

There was no answer. That could mean - Mike was busy and the answer would be forthcoming, or Mike was scrambling to find out. Either way, the simple fact was almost guaranteed to be - there was no acceptable answer.

If you've not heard of me, I am COO of Home Excellence, a company my husband, Mike and I formed. It is unique. We - purchase, sell, develop, maintain, and manage property; design, build, buy, sell, repair, and maintain homes, and all those things for businesses, as well. If you need rose bushes, your septic field repaired, a new family room, a custom home, or office space for your small company, odds are the best place to go is Home Excellence.

Our concept was to provide one phone number a person could call to get the best. The best might be a plumber or electrician; a realtor; an architect - well, you get the idea. Mike and I met in college, he was finishing an MBA and I was about to graduate with a business degree.

I was in an entrepreneurs' club and Mike was drafting a paper for one of his classes on student efforts to make them more successful graduates. Mike came to one of our meetings. At that meeting I made a pitch for integrating home services to provide better customer service and more reliable income streams for businesses. Mike lit up.

Mike is tall, six'- 4", and has a commanding presence. He is both handsome and has a devilish twinkle in his eye which helps make everything which comes from him sound like a forbidden pleasure. He is supremely confident. When an idea hits him, he takes on this persona which almost always results in a sale - he lights up.

He'd been told he could sit in on the entrepreneurs meeting, it was presumed he would be seen, not heard. As I made my pitch, he had questions, then more questions, then suggestions. As he got excited, he got me excited - it's what he does. The president of the entrepreneurs' club, hoping to restore order asked if the two of us wanted to take it outside. I presume he thought Mike would take his point and quiet down and I'd go back to my presentation. Instead, we took it outside. I'd never met anyone like him.

Back in my college days, I was quite pretty, if I say so. I never wanted for dates. But I never really found a guy who interested me. Then, Mike lit up (then, Mike lit me up).

After we left, we went to dinner. We talked about my idea. How to start implementing it. How to start selling it. As we talked, he got more animated. That got me more animated. It became a blur. We talked of our dreams and ambitions. We ended in bed for the most inspired sex of my life. All this and we were just getting to know each other.

I'd always been cautious about sex. I'd seen too many people get confused by lust. They'd think someone was special and get in bed with them. A few orgasms later, this special person took on a whole new aura and weeks or months later, they were married. I made a pledge to myself. THAT would NEVER happen to me. Then, Mike lit up. Five months later, we were married.

Oh, look at the time, I need to meet Dan - and without a response from Mike. This will be worse than I feared.

I walked in and asked Randy if I could use the sales office. He looked surprised but said sure. He must do a one hundred thousand off my employees, their afterwork drinks and our special events held there - how could he say no? He told me to go on back. I told him I was waiting for another.

It was easy to pick Dan out, unfortunately. Mid-twenties, handsome, and a look that said his heart had just been removed using primitive tools.

"Dan?" He tried a smile in return. "I'm Anne. I've arranged a place for us to talk. Would you like something to drink?"

"Scotch, neat, double."

Randy said he'd bring it back. He asked me if I wanted my Grgich Chardonnay, which sounded fine. Dan really didn't notice. He was in a bad way. It was making me sad, just looking at him. I ushered him into the sales room, and we sat at the table, across from one another.

"You were secretive on the phone. How may I help?"

"My wife is having, or maybe about to have an affair with your husband."

I nodded, routinely, like he'd told me it might rain later. "I'm sorry to hear that, of course." My tone neutral. "Might I ask how you know this?"

"She told me."

My shoulders slumped. This was going to be bad. "What did she tell you?"

"She said she is confused. She may be in love with your husband. He has asked her to move out and see if she can't find herself."

A ray of sunshine? I half-smiled, I know I was showing the wrong emotion but could not help myself. "Did she give any idea of what my husband is going to do?"

He stared at me, like I was now part of his crumbling world. "Pardon me, Anne, but are you saying you'd be alright with this if your husband is willing to share?"

I looked as sad as I could, which I am quite sure was not as sad as he wanted, "No. That's not what I'm saying, at all. Are you free for dinner, this evening? If I am to explain this, successfully, it's going to take a while."

"What on earth is there to explain, lady? What is it you don't get?"

"Dan, I assure you. I get it. I hope there is a way to explain it to you. If I am successful, things may turn out better than you fear. If I am not, they are liable to be much worse than you fear."

Now he was mad. "I'll not accept this crap my wife, why would I from you? Who the hell are you people?"

"Dan, believe me, if you give me time, you'll see I want only the best for you. I want that because it is also the best for me. It is an unusual situation, but I do not want you to accept a part-time wife. Will you join me for dinner?"

He looked disgusted but resigned to hearing me out, "I am on my own, for a while. Prison inmates would complain if they got my cooking. Dinner would be great."

I named three of the best restaurants in town. At the mention of the third, his eyes lit up. We settled on that. He was in business attire. I told him I'd get us a private room and we'd go right now, as we were.

Walking to my car, I got the reservation. That part was easy. If she were merely confused, no affair had started and if I could convince Dan of that, we had a chance. If not, we might have a real mess - a monumental mess.

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At first, I thought our marriage was perfect. I guess everybody thinks their marriage is perfect, at first. If Mike has a flat side, it is that he loves selling. It is a part of his personality disorder - but I am getting ahead of myself.

Mike falls in love with an idea. Then, he gets others to fall in love with that idea. He can sell anything to anybody. A part of his flat side is he loves ideas. For instance, he is excited to say how great it is to have one number a customer can call and know they will get the absolute best, at a reasonable price. He has neither interest in nor ability toward whether people actually get good service or prices.

He's not a flim-flam man, if that's what you're thinking. He leaves it to me to provide what he sells. It is what made us the pair that we are. My ideas, my execution, and his ability to sell my ideas to the people to do the work, create the homes, and consume the products and services we provide.

People focus on the wrong things. Marriages aren't made in heaven - in time love fades. Mike and I shared career goals, really more than that, we shared careers. Our dedication led us quickly to earning a good living, and these last couple of years into being - well, filthy rich ("filthy rich" is an oxymoron - money may not buy happiness, but it does pay for the miseries I enjoy). Mike and my relationship was built on things that last.

A big part of my idea which originally lit Mike up was people who are good with their hands are generally not interested in business. They want to work; they need a way to get work. Property owners need help; they don't know who they need. If one company existed, in between these workers and owners, the potential for better services at lower prices was almost guaranteed. The initial difficulty is selling the idea to enough potential customers to keep the workers occupied. Mike got that done.

Once we had a flow of calls, we were in the position to scale the work, from minor repairs all the way through design and build of new construction. The workers naturally gravitated toward their own likes and expertise. Some wanted to work new construction. Others wanted more complex diagnostic work. A variety of workers and large client base enabled satisfying both customers and workers. Our fee was small on any job, but there were so many calls we were making a living.

The big money started when we got into construction and property development. We were fortunate to acquire three different developments when their owners were forced into bankruptcy. We started at the top; it was heady.

While our growth was explosive, there were periods where we consciously had to slow sales in order for operations to catch up. During those periods, Mike's role was to get more customers - but realistically, how do you get more people to dial your number, when they need help? We had both advertising and marketing campaigns in progress, Mike had to go touch people, individually.

The group most likely to need our help were nonworking married women. Mike became adept at reaching out and touching them. He came home one night with perfume and lipstick on his exterior, I didn't need to wonder what he'd been up to. Surprisingly, he was straightforward, didn't try to lie, and merely said, "sorry, I got carried away."

He really didn't need to say it didn't mean anything to him. I knew that. My problem was it meant little to me, too. Oh, sure, he loved me - as he was capable. I guess the same was true of me - I loved him, as I was capable. But was I prepared to live like this?"

There was no big fight. No histrionics. No big promises. At breakfast, I told him I wanted us to see a counselor and he agreed. We found a good one. She diagnosed Mike with impulsive borderline personality disorder. The characteristics were: charismatic, energetic, detached, flirtatious, engaging, and motivating. People with this disorder are known to engage in both risky and self-destructive behaviors.

When our therapy ended, several things were apparent to me. When Mike got bored, he'd find ways to use his characteristics - which meant he'd bed some starry-eyed young thing. Worse yet, his disorder would make him risk more and more, even after he'd honestly promised not to - to see if he could get away with it.

I resigned myself toward empty threats, to minimize his straying, and a blind eye when he did. It really meant nothing to him and sadly, not much more to me.

When I arrived at the restaurant, they told me my party was waiting for me in room #2. I joined Dan, found him with another scotch. I ordered another bottle of my favorite, Grgich Chardonnay.

"Dan, let me start here. Unfortunately, this is not the first time I have discovered my husband being unfaithful. What is worse, I have known, I would find him unfaithful to me, again, despite his very real promise never to do so, again."

"That's why I didn't have to tell you anything when we first spoke."

"True. But that is not what is important. Your words to me bring me hope. Well, hope for you. You described your wife as confused and wanting to move out to find herself. That must mean she is not having an affair and my dear hubby is funding her get-away, to confuse her further."

"And just how, exactly, would that be good news for me?"

"Bless my husband. He can sell anything. I have never heard of him trying to seduce someone and failing. He failed with your wife and is trying to find the way through her love for you."

"He's not trying - he succeeded."

We were seated in one of the private rooms. We had both chosen meat for our main course. The sommelier, who knows me well, asked for a wine preference.

I looked at Dan and asked, "Do you prefer Chateau La Tour or Château Lafitte Rothchild?"

He smiled, "Generally, I prefer to be able to pay the check without taking out a second mortgage. I have no idea. Please, surprise me."

I asked about what we'd had the other night, the sommelier nodded and said, "Excellent choice." Mike had ordered the wine that night and he was making sure it was a perfect evening. The bastard knew he was going to need to be in my good graces.

"Dan, this is going to be awkward. I am going to be frank, which will often be outside of what I'd say in normal conversation. First, what do you know about Mike and me?"

"Honestly?" He looked, I nodded. "Never heard of either of you until the bitch dropped the bomb on me."

"Okay, good. To start with, we are now rich. Indelicate, I know. I apologize for rubbing that in your face, but I am sure in large part that is how Mike has managed to turn your wife's head."

"Anne, that is a load of crap, and you know it. You think you could get me to dance your tune for some $900 bottle of wine?"

"Women are different. We can fall for the power, the confidence, the charm, and momentarily forget ourselves. We do find our way back."

"Anne. She said she was considering a separation, so she could find herself. Whether she does or not, she isn't looking for me."

"I know it must feel like that, but she is. Mike is a force of nature. He has sold my ideas and helped us build a business which is unique in the world, to my knowledge. But a part of how he does that is his borderline personality disorder."

"I am not getting this, at all. Your husband is a saint or a sinner, a model of good or immoral behavior, and why would I care? My wife is my concern. She is confused and wants to be on her own." Nearly gritting his teeth as he emphasized the last.

"I am describing my husband because the situation is important to you. This disorder of his causes him to indulge in things that are right on the edge of disaster for him. He needs the rush. Unfortunately, in this case, I have provided the rush."

He slid his chair back. He was going to leave. "I knew it! This is some kinky kind of game to you and your bastard of a husband. Disorder my ass! You two are sociopaths."

"Dan, please. It is not a game AND maybe my husband is a sociopath. Give me time to explain. Mike has had his flings. As many as eight, but I have caught him twice, before.

"And you don't care?"

"I do care. Each one hurts. Though each one hurts a little less than the last. The first was seven years after we were married. I caught him from her perfume smell on his clothes. He was so sorry. He really was."

"Not sorry enough to straighten up."

"In his case, just the opposite is true. He gets a rush from getting a woman, who otherwise wouldn't, to go to bed with him. Once caught, he gets a rush from promising, and I think meaning it as he promises, never to do it again. Then, he's in his own trap. He must not only see if he can bed another woman, but he must also see if he can get out of it, when caught."

"Why do you put up with it?"

"Well, I officially only caught him twice. The first we were just starting to see tangible results from our work. He was more important to our business then, than I was. I needed him to get where I am. On balance, I traded wealth for an unfaithful husband."

"Was it worth it?"

"Absolutely. We do still love one another. At this point, I would say he loves me more than I love him. He certainly gives me all he has."

"How can you say that?"

"Fidelity just doesn't mean that much to him. In fact, he'd say he is always faithful to me. Over time, he's convinced me that is how he feels."

"But doesn't fidelity mean something to you?"

"It does; no, I guess it did. If we were to stay married, I would have to put up with his occasional flings. He did his best to keep me unaware and I pretended I didn't know. But then another husband caught him. It is bad to inflict our lifestyle on another couple."

"Anne, I am sorry, but you make no sense to me. I sense you are shooting straight with me, but your words are meaningless. It is okay for him to mess around with other women but not to inflict your lifestyle on them. How exactly can you do both? Not get caught?"

He was right. I have been kidding myself. I love our lifestyle. I love growing our business together. I have decided to ignore his philandering if he doesn't get caught. Not getting caught is a low standard. I wonder though, "Tell me what you mean you sense I am shooting straight."

"You are not knowingly selling me a load of crap. You want to believe what you are saying. But it sounds to me like you are telling me that being unaware of indiscretions and even pretending to be unaware of indiscretions is the same as good behavior. That is a load of crap."

I thought for a minute. "I am glad I asked. It is a load of crap to tolerate what I have, and I am going to do something about that. But I don't advocate for you to do the same. You are in a different situation." I wonder if he can be convinced it is a different situation?

Our food came, we were eating, in silence. My phone rang. It was Mike. "It's my husband, I will put it on speaker. Stay quiet and you'll hear everything from him, firsthand."

He looked surprised but he nodded. I accepted the call, on speaker, "Mike, I'm eating, you are on speaker. Tell me - how bad is it?"

"I really fucked up. I am trying to fix it, but I don't know."