The Corner Table at Mickey's Pt. 03

His gaze was level, no glance-away or ducking of the head. That same sinking feeling now said, The latter.

He leaned back in his chair. He looked around to see who was near. The table that had become Jim's regular was in the back corner, separated from the others by the path to the rear hall.

"About a year ago, a couple of things happened. Chronologically, the first was that I locked down some future contracts that were going to increase the company's revenue quite a bit. That meant the company had to grow because we didn't have the capacity we needed. I started into discussions with the bank for loans.

"Then, literally only a couple of days later, I found out about Lori."

"How, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A friend saw her swapping spit and getting handsy with a guy one night while I was away finalizing those deals. He clued me in.

"I didn't know what to do at first. I thought one time could possibly be a drunken mistake, something she truly, truly regretted. You know: too much alcohol, I'm away, friends not acting like friends, a hot guy, a bad decision gets made. If she had confessed to me and apologized, we'd have worked it out somehow. I waited for that ... waited and waited. It didn't come.

"Then one time became two times. Another trip. Same friend—he was watching for it now—same story. Of course, with what I know now, my numbers were wrong. Two had already become three, had become four, had become why-bother-counting? She liked cheating or, at least, got something out of it. Apparently, someone who wasn't a fat-ass husband," he said bitterly.

Mallory didn't touch that one.

"Anyway, I took another trip, fake this time, and found out it went downhill from a grope session in the back of a club. Way downhill." He clearly didn't want to elaborate. "We were done. No going back, no forgiveness."

He was taking bites mechanically now, lost in his story. Mallory wasn't even sure he realized she'd stopped prompting him.

"I went to see Anthony. I had the papers. I was going to have her served the next time I left town, preferably as she was walking out the door with a grin on her face. But then I stopped."

Jim met Mallory's eyes. He was still aware of her presence after all. "As far as I was concerned, my marriage was a sham as of the instant she became unfaithful. It was certainly over the moment I saw them.

"But divorces take a while. I'd killed myself for a long time to build the business, finally gotten close to the point where I could hire a sales team and cut back on the travel. We had little to show for it yet except for a mountain of looming debt, but the coming years would start to see payoffs. Why should she benefit from that when she destroyed the marriage before those contracts were ever signed?

"But the trouble was, those contracts were already signed. Get the wrong judge and ..."

He shook his head. "I'd have been exactly where she tried to put me: financially strapped in order to settle with her. I'd either have had to take on even more debt to buy out her share of the company, or I'd have to give her a huge share of the profits over time, crippling the cash reserves that allowed me to be agile if I needed to.

"Then it hit me. I didn't need loans. I needed partners who could inject capital." He smiled his first smile of the evening. "I'm good with projections. I ran numbers out for a year and figured out what I needed to make it work. I also figured out what it would take to make my net worth about the same at the end of the year as it was right then, right at the moment when the marriage died. The various answers to those intersected at quarter-share.

"And"—the smile grew larger—"I just happen to have four sisters. Four sisters who had a world of faith in little brother and trusted he could turn some of their savings into a steady stream of money toward college-savings plans for their kids."

He sat back and allowed the smile to become a chuckle. "Four sisters who collectively own seventy-five percent of the company, although I have sole control. True, my windfall of money is a fraction of what it could have been, but I don't have kids yet. I'm comfortable, and I like knowing my nieces and nephews are set."

He looked at Mallory and his grim humor faded, replaced by defiance. "If you factor in the house, we're offering Lori a damn sight more than half of what we were worth when she bailed on me a year ago. The only thing even remotely approaching a shenanigan was I declined a compensation increase for this year on the grounds we needed to conserve cash flow. My sisters will make it up to me in the future and then some."

"Why the year?"

"Because there was a clawback clause in the partnership agreement. Two of my sisters weren't certain they could handle their end and wanted the option to get out. I didn't want some judge forcing us to exercise that. It expired after a year."

Holy fuck! You didn't just screw up, you totally shit the bed, Mallory. Not only is this guy offering Lori everything she deserves and more, and giving up some of his opportunities to help family, he stayed in a marriage to protect his sisters.

"So," he concluded. "You wonder why I'm not an emotional time bomb now? It's because my marriage was over a year ago, this is just paperwork. I simply had to choke on my vomit for a while. It's why I offered her the house, to get her to go."

"How did you pretend?" she asked in wonder.

"She didn't bother to notice. If you're asking about sex, I've avoided it as much as I could, pretending I was tired, inventing trips I had to take, whatever I had to do. When I couldn't, an anniversary or something, I was—" He broke off. His tone was unapologetic when he picked up again. "The answer to that question will probably offend you, but I'm done being polite."

She recoiled slightly inside, but this time she didn't make the mistake of saying something prematurely. "Go ahead."

"Well, pardon my French, but in my mind, I've been fucking a slut on extremely rare occasions for the last year and praying to God she used condoms with her lovers." He looked at her challengingly.

Despite her dislike of that label, could she blame him for feeling that way? Another question occurred to her and she tried to couch the question in a way so as not to upset him. "Jim, you say you're over it, but you were working on a serious drunk back a while ago." She left the implied question sitting there.

He looked reluctant to answer, but she waited him out. "Yeah, I was. But it wasn't Lori that was upsetting me. It was facing the fact that, when I saw them together on his stoop, all abs and pecs and whatever, I couldn't dance around the fact that I was one of those jokes you read about." His face got red with embarrassment. "You know, a guy who wasn't enough for his wife."

Wow! That's a conversational hand grenade I've never had to deal with! She decided to grab the bull by the horns—then winced as she realized that was a bad metaphor. She didn't realize she was echoing another woman's words. "You'd have had some inkling long ago if it was you. Something was broken in her. She wanted the thrill of being bad, or a variety of men, or whatever ... I don't know ... and, sort of by definition, those aren't about you."

It was an intellectual argument that might appeal to the brain but didn't do much for where the heart lived. And it brought to the fore the other reason, the one that was truly at the core of the Jameson that night when she joined him: knocking on Kevin's door had been pulling a trigger. It was one thing to want out, to want to be quit of a wife. It was another to send that bullet flying down-range, knowing it could not possibly miss the target. Knowing that, when it struck, what was on life-support would become dead ... a finality that said, incontrovertibly, "The last eight years are over and buried, a tenth of your life squandered, and you have no idea where you'll go from here."

He debated telling Mallory that, but he'd given her enough of his private life for this evening. He accepted her apology, but there was some lingering withholding. A person against whom he hadn't erected defenses had struck, a person whom the circumstances allowed to hit hard.

He shoved the salad away, swallowed the last of his drink—she realized now that it looked more like iced tea than whiskey—and pushed himself to his feet. "I'm out."

"I'm sorry. Truly."

"I told you before, I accept your apology."

"Lunch on Tuesdays again?"

"We'll see."

"Will you at least take my calls now?"

He nodded. On the way to his new place, he stopped at Burger King and loaded up on grease, salt, and a milkshake. He felt like he needed a nap; Addison had worn him out. She'd been frisky and playful, and now he had several neckties wrinkled beyond salvage, sheets that smelled of baby oil, and a sleep-deprivation headache. He looked at the Walmart as he drove past, realizing he didn't have a second set of sheets. He thought about how tired he was. "Fuck it," he said even though nobody was listening.

"Hey, bucko. Tomorrow's Tuesday. Lunch?"

"It's kind of a busy week, Mallory."

"I have a story I'd like to tell you in return." She heard the somber note in her voice and wondered if he heard it too, wondered what he'd make of it. She waited.

"Okay." A hint of reluctance.

Later that day, as she adjusted the TRX straps next to those Robin was using, she said, "I'm going to tell Jim about Michael."

"Why?"

"I apologized to him Friday night, and I think things got better but maybe not good."

"And you think if you tell him that, he'll think you're slightly less of a psycho?"

"Don't you? And don't say you're staying out of it. I'm looking for advice, not interference."

Robin's voice was extremely warm. "I think it's a good idea." For more than one reason.

"You're not the only one who has been less than transparent about your past," Mallory said. "I told you I married my college boyfriend?" Jim nodded. "That was Bobby. I think I also told you I was in pretty bad shape after he was killed?" Jim nodded again. "What I didn't tell you was that I married again, a man named Michael."

"Okay."

Mallory used her fork to pick over the pieces of her Cobb salad—hold the bacon, please—separating the egg hunks from the tomatoes in a nervous way. "It was a rebound. I see that now. He was extremely good-looking, a bit older, had a lot of money, a whole lot of New York sophistication— I was living in New York at the time," she explained. "He was in finance; his father was a bigshot lawyer; his mother old Manhattan.

"What he saw in me, I'm not entirely sure." She grimaced. "Actually, I probably do, but it's not something I like to think about. What he said was that he liked the looks of the fresh-faced twenty-five-year-old. That he liked the fact that I wasn't one of those hard-edged New York girls. In private, he said he liked the aggressive woman she turned into in bed—" She broke off for another explanation, embarrassment showing. "I was using sex as a painkiller when I met him.

"Except, it wasn't quite just in private since I found out later he had said it to a couple of his friends." She shrugged. "Some guys brag, some women too if I'm honest, and I wrote that off as locker room talk. Now, I see it more as him justifying why he was with me.

"It started slowly. My clothes weren't quite right for some of the parties we went to, maybe his sister could help me. And maybe with my makeup. I was glad for the advice; I hadn't moved in those circles before.

"And then there was the time right before his parents' holiday party when he said, 'It might best if you don't mention what you do'—I was a buyer for Macy's—'because some of these people are so stuck up that they think Bergdorf's is where the hoi polloi shop.' A joking put-down of his family's snobby friends ... at least that's what I told myself.

"The re-making became more frequent and more public ... first in front of family, then friends. Always with a laugh as if of course I would be happy for the improvement. 'Carly, sweetie, why don't you take Mallory dress shopping. You have a real eye for what flatters.' As those kinds of things became more public, the private comments got more pointed. 'Seriously, a bagel? Do you know how many carbs are in that?' said along with a glance at my hips.

"Two years went by that way, with the suggestions becoming more like demands. I was never sophisticated enough in the way I talked to his friends, or thin enough, especially to carry off the clothes that he expected. 'Maybe you should quit that ridiculous job. That will give you more time for the gym.' And yet, always reassuring me that he wanted nothing but the best for me. Always taking the time at night to make me feel desired.

"By the third year, the demands weren't demands any longer. They were complaints. Heaven forbid I should have even a second drink somewhere. 'How dare you embarrass me!' he'd hiss, even though he'd had far more than I had.

"And the bedroom changed. I had long since stopped being an aggressor; now he became one." Mallory's laugh held no humor. "I began to realize it was conjugal rights for him, conjugal duties for me. And yet, I would. I'd lie back or kneel down or whatever on demand, desperate to avoid the look and words that never quite said, but always hinted, that he could do better ... would do better if I didn't shape up."

"Did he hit you?" Jim couldn't stop himself from breaking in.

She shook her head. "No. There were a couple of times when I was afraid he would, but he never did. But one day in the winter, a friend ... a guy ... dropped by the apartment unexpectedly. Just to borrow something, I don't even remember what now. He was there ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I walked him out to the elevator, and as it opened, Michael stepped out. He'd gone to the dry cleaners. He was polite to my friend, but I could see the tightness around his eyes.

"When we got back inside the apartment, he grabbed my arm so hard it hurt. 'Why the hell is my wife slutting around with some other man?' His voice was so vicious that my mind went blank. I couldn't understand what he was saying. He looked down at my chest. When I followed his gaze, I realized the cold tile of the hall floor had made me chilly while I stood out there. It was obvious I wasn't wearing a bra under the sweatshirt.

"I tried to explain to him." Mallory looked up at Jim, her eyes beseeching. "My friend was gay. Like, nine million percent gay. I'd known him forever. My roommate and I had hung out in the dorm room with him countless times. I didn't think about that kind of stuff around him. Another man? Yeah, probably. Him? No. But Michael didn't want to hear. He kept on about me being a slut. And then he said, 'Though why any man would bother, I don't know.'

"I started to protest. I wasn't fat. I was dressing the way he liked. I had learned to make small talk with his friends. If there was something I was doing, he should tell ..."

Mallory dropped her eyes back down to her plate. "And halfway through that, I realized. He'd broken me. I stumbled out of the apartment, ignoring his demands to know where I was going. I went to that friend's and told him what had happened. He and his boyfriend let me have their sofa. I was a couch potato for two weeks. I did nothing but cry. I'd have lost my job except one of them called into work and told them I had pneumonia."

The stiffness in Jim's manner that had been present at the start of her story had faded. "What then?" he asked.

"They talked me into filing for divorce. I did."

"And?"

"And somehow, despite the fact that New York is an equitable distribution state, I ended up with my clothes. I didn't need spousal maintenance because I had a job, a good one, according to his side. I had abandoned the marital home to go live with several men. The word adultery was never even hinted because that would mean we could depose those men, just the plain fact that I left to live with others.

"On the other hand, according to them, Michael's job was almost all bonus-based, very uncertain income and much lower than I knew was true but couldn't prove. Credit cards suddenly seemed to have very high balances, and half of that debt was mine by law. Most of his assets were in a trust I'd never heard of. The condominium was family property, not his, owned by some company they set up for a tax reason. The car, ditto. Even my engagement ring was up for grabs due to some legal bullshit about 'conditional gifting' and 'title after marriage.' Not that I wanted it," she added.

"Was it an old-boy network with the judge? I don't know. Maybe it was the inevitable result of a crack law firm with hundreds of attorneys against the two-years-out-of-law-school one I could afford. The result was that I walked away from almost four years of my life with some clothes, barely any money, and a crippling desire to leave New York, which meant looking for a job."

She finally looked up from her plate. "None of that is to evoke pity from you. It's been years and I've pulled myself together. I'm happy with my job. I'm happy with the way I look. I'm happy wearing casual clothes and not going to fancy parties. But it is some background to explain why my mind leaped to where it did when I heard you and Anthony talking."

She reached across and touched Jim's hand. "But I'm very sorry I did. I'm sorry I let my experiences with an utter asshole make me assume you were one too. You aren't. Twice now I've been unfair to you. I'm going to brand it in my brain to remember that and ask first, talk second, yell later."

Jim relented. "No one should go through that. I'm sorry. And if I had been doing what you suspected, I would have deserved you yelling."

Tuesday lunches resumed. Friday dinners resumed for Jim, with Mallory still joining occasionally. Jim was surprised one Friday when Mallory popped in wearing going-out clothes. "Just one drink. I'm meeting someone." He didn't ask about Josh.

The armistice with Lori collapsed eventually. Anthony told him that she'd accepted that the financial disclosure would hold up. "Probably because her attorney told her flat out. She's still spitting nails about it."

She called Mickey's one Wednesday.

"Don't call here," Jim warned her.

"You've blocked me on your cell."

"Talk to my attorney."

"You'll have to talk to me because we made a motion to Judge Garrison, and he's going to order counseling."

"If you don't sign, we're walking back the offer of the house. We'll fire-sale it and you can have half."

"We have to try to fix this!" she screamed. "Why can't you be reasonable?"

"You don't think it's reasonable to want to ditch a woman who's putting out for Kevin and whoever blowjob-buddy in the car is?"

"I'm not anymore! I'm sorry! I never will again."

"That's what you promised eight years ago. The exact words were 'forsake all others.'"

You can't slam a cell phone, but she tried.

The next day, Jim noticed a Caller ID module on the bar phone. He looked over at Tom, who was watching. Tom shook his head. He tilted his head sideways toward the kitchen. "But don't say anything. She claims she got an obscene call the other day and is nervous."

Tom grinned. "Which would be far more believable if I hadn't once heard her describe in sarcastic as fuck tones exactly how inadequate the dick had to be on some guy who did make a comment like that to her."

"Things seem normal but they're not," Mallory complained to Robin in between HIITs.