The Devil's Bargain Ch. 01

- "Huh?"

- "I think her name was Connie."

- "Oh - Connie. Aww, man, I'd do her. But nah - she's a friend of my cousin, and she wanted to meet some of the head honchos here. Something about her job. I was hoping that she'd be grateful for the invite, y'know, but ..."

- "Thanks, Brandon. You're a prince."

- "Yeah, man. No problem."

I waited another week, but I still wanted to contact her. I called the number on her card. To my surprise - and delight - she remembered me. I summoned all of my courage, and asked if she could meet me for a coffee.

- "When?" she asked.

- "Uh ... Saturday afternoon?"

- "Sorry, Dan. My weekend is a mess. I can't do Saturday or Sunday."

- "Oh. Okay. Well ..."

- "Dan?"

- "Yes?"

- "You could ask me for another time. Like ... tomorrow, after work?"

- "Oh. Yes. Would you ...?"

We met for coffee, which turned into a drink, and became dinner. Connie was single, and a junior headhunter for a recruiting agency. She'd been with Brandon so that she could network, and extend her contacts.

- "I thought you were dating him." I admitted.

- "Eew." she said. "I took a second shower that night, after standing so close to him."

She was intelligent, and vibrant, overflowing with positive energy. I thought that she was beautiful. I couldn't stop staring at her face. She was also quite perceptive.

"Dan - if I had you let you hang up the phone after telling you that I couldn't meet for coffee on the weekend ... you wouldn't have called me back, would you?"

- "Probably not." I admitted.

She was an only child, with domineering parents (not as bad as mine, but bad enough). She was ambitious, possessed of an incredible work ethic, and absolutely tireless.

After our fourth date, we had sex in my furnished room. She was incredible. It wasn't just the best sex of my life: it was an epiphany. Connie was adventurous and uninhibited.

We had sex in her car, fucked in the bathroom of her friend's house during a party, and she went down on me in a motel room while two of her female friends slept in the next bed.

We moved in together a year after our first date. She insisted on 'christening' every room by having sex there - including the closets and our little balcony.

Her parents weren't happy that we were 'living in sin'. I didn't believe in the sacrament of marriage, but I was completely prepared to spend the rest of my life with Connie. We got married in a civil ceremony. I was 27 years old; she was 29.

I would have to say that the first nine years of our marriage were exceptional. We had sex every day for the first six years. The first time we went a day without, we both reacted, and had sex twice a day for the next week. But that kind of pace is unsustainable. Life intervenes. We went without more often, until it became commonplace. After nine years, were having sex only twice a week. Then once a week. Then once every two weeks.

I wasn't happy. I noticed the gradual decline. Connie had ready excuses: pressure at work, fatigue, her parents' demands. Her father's health began to decline; we had to go over to their house more often, to help with opening or closing their pool, pruning their trees, cleaning the gutters ... there was always something.

Most troubling, though, was that Connie never said 'No'. Her parents would call at 8:30 on a Saturday morning, to let us know that we had to come and help them. Given how they'd treated Connie when she was a kid, or a teen, I thought that she should have told them to fuck off.

Her mom was reasonably nice; her father was an ass. He wasn't interested in me at all. He'd been waiting for his daughter to marry a good Hungarian boy. I read Hungarian history, and learned as many words and phrases as I could: it didn't make any difference.

Perhaps our values had always been somewhat different, but it felt to me that things were beginning to change. Connie was more materialistic, and yet also more naturopathic than I'd thought. She liked nice things. We'd agreed that neither of us wanted children, but she didn't want to use 'chemical or invasive' methods of birth control. I offered to get a vasectomy, but she insisted that we use condoms.

I was offered a promotion at work, which would have entailed moving few hours away. It would have been a new challenge for me, and quite a bit more money, but Connie couldn't imagine being so far from her parents. I understood, so I turned it down.

A year later, it was offered again. I understood that, too; if I turned it down a second time, they wouldn't ask again. I would be 'stuck' in my present position. Connie and I talked it over again, and we came to the same conclusion. I don't think her parents realized what we'd done for their sakes, but it still felt like the right thing to do.

Connie wanted us to get a dog. She'd had one as a girl, and really missed it. My family had never had a pet. I didn't know the first thing about having a dog. I was against the idea.

Connie wouldn't take no for answer. She just kept campaigning. Her parents would be happy to look after it if we wanted to go away. It would make her feel safer in the house. She assured me that raising a dog was easy, after the first few months of training. She was an irresistible force, and I wasn't an immovable object.

I did my research online. We wanted a dog that wasn't too active, didn't shed all over, and wasn't exceptionally intelligent. I'm not saying that I wanted a dumb dog, but I didn't want a pet that needed to be entertained. Connie wanted a purebred, so we went to see a breeder. She wasn't impressed.

She found another breeder, for a type of dog that did not meet my criteria. I should have said no. The moment she saw one of the little newborn pups, it was over. For me to say no would have made me the big meanie for the rest of our lives. That was how we got Freya (named after the Norse goddess).

We took her to obedience school, which is really for the owner to learn how to train their dog. She made an instant difference in our lives - and it wasn't all positive.

Connie was offered a promotion at her job. More money, new challenges, and it wouldn't require us to relocate. There were some issues I didn't care for, but I wanted to be supportive. She assured me that she could make it work.

Things changed dramatically - for me. Connie had to leave for work early, so Freya's morning walks became my responsibility. Border collies need more exercise than a walk around the block on a leash. I found a municipal park that was frequently deserted, and began teaching Freya the art of catching soft frisbees.

Of course, Connie's new job was more demanding, and she was rarely able to get home before 6:30 or 7:00. Even when she could get away earlier, there was always some minor emergency at her parents' house that had to be solved immediately. That left me in charge of Freya's feeding and afternoon exercise. I was running out of ideas to keep the dog interested, so Connie booked us into a program of agility training. Basically, I took Freya to obstacle course school.

I hadn't been expecting any of this stuff. Imagine living with a ridiculously bright workaholic (who sheds) - and you're the one in charge of providing employment for them. That's in addition to checking ears and cleaning teeth, brushing her coat once or twice a week (daily during shedding season), trimming nails ...

There was a moment for me, when Freya had run herself to the point of exhaustion. She drank a little more water when we got home, and then passed out on the carpet. I was just looking at her, and realized that I was responsible for this adorable little creature. It was a striking feeling. If you're a dog owner, I'm sure that you're familiar with all of this.

But I didn't want a dog - and certainly not a border collie. Connie had lied when she'd said that it got easier after six months. Our relationship was not doing well. Her priorities had shifted, it seemed to me: her job, her parents, the dog, getting enough exercise herself, shopping for home improvements, yoga classes ...

I think you can see that I had slipped out of the top five. Having sex twice a month was not enough for me - especially when it wasn't really love-making. Instead, it seemed that she just wanted me to hurry up and finish. She didn't actually say 'Did you cum yet?', but it was close. I didn't make matters any better. I resented her job (and all of her other favourite things), and I suppose I was more than a little passive-aggressive.

I tried to bring up the subject.

- "I'm not happy, and I don't think that you are either. You're always tired, and you conk out on the couch before nine o'clock." She'd always been such a high-energy person. "But I also feel as though I'm one of the least important things in your life."

Connie surprised me.

- "It's not always about you, Dan. And it's not always about sex, you know."

That was not what I had expected to hear. But she wasn't finished.

"My job is very demanding, and it's stressful. And my dad's health isn't good. My parents have been having a rough time lately. And if you must know, the last couple of times we had sex, it ... it hurt, okay."

- "Why didn't you say something? Connie, that could be serious. Have you talked to the doctor?"

- "She'll just refer me to a gynecologist. And I'm not having someone poking around inside of me. Figures - that's the only thing you're worried about."

I don't know how she could even think that, much less say it.

Needless to say, our sex life didn't improve after that. In fact, it disappeared altogether. Then her father died suddenly, after a massive stroke.

Less than a year later, Connie herself had a frightening incident; she had a watery, bloody discharge from her vagina. That frightened her; we ended up spending the night at the hospital.

The diagnosis was something that neither of us expected: cervical cancer.

HPV (Human Papillomavirus) is a virus than can be passed from one person to another during sex. It's very common; most people get it at some point in their lives. They don't even know they have it, because there are usually no symptoms. For most women, it actually goes away on its own.

Unfortunately, in a small percentage of people, the virus can survive for years. Once contracted, it may take 20 years or longer to turn into cancer. The vaccine is the best protection against it; simple screening could have detected it early. Connie's naturopathy and aversion to doctors had come back to bite her. How or when she had caught it was an interesting question, though.

- "I never cheated on you, Dan. Never."

I held her hand. "When would you have had time?" I said.

Connie knew about my limited (and somewhat pathetic) sexual experience before I met her. She'd been more active, but thankfully spared me the details. Now she had to admit that she'd had unprotected sex a few times back in 'the old days'.

The doctors let us know what to expect; none of it sounded very pleasant. There were a number of treatment options, including chemotherapy, radiation, surgery, and immunotherapy. After a month to think it over, Connie chose none of the above.

- "It's my body, Dan." she said. "I'll see a dietician, but I don't want anything unnatural in me. If it doesn't work, I prefer to die with dignity. No hospitals for me."

No, I wasn't happy with her decision. But what if the roles had been reversed? I thought about that quite a bit. I was pretty sure that she didn't love me the way she had when we were first married. My feelings for her had changed, too. She just didn't seem like the same person. But I stayed with her out a sense of loyalty. We'd spoken vows (even if they weren't exactly the traditional ones). I slept in the guest room.

I looked after her, the dog, and her mother. My time was pretty much spoken for; I could have used a twenty-six hour day.

We lost touch with most of our friends. We couldn't go out, and certainly couldn't host a gathering of any kind. I think that people felt uncomfortable around Connie, too. She was dying, and they all knew it.

The neighbours across the street, George and Anna, became our best friends. Mine, anyway. When I had to take Connie to the hospital, they offered to look after Freya. Their teenage daughter, Lisa, got to be very good at keeping our dog active.

When a surprise snowstorm dumped a foot of snow on us, I had to go to Mom's first, on my way home from work. She knew that I would shovel it for her, but in the past she'd been too impatient to wait for me. She'd slipped on the ice and broken her wrist.

It was a good thing that I went straight there. Mom was trying to deal with the snow on her walkway. I shovelled the driveway, and promised that I would be back in the morning to deal with what the city snow plow dumped on her.

By the time I got back to our house, I found George and his daughter shovelling our driveway. They had finished theirs, and decided to be neighbourly (they knew where I was). I was deeply touched. I thanked them, but they insisted on staying to help until we were finished. The plow came by while we were at it, so once we'd done cleaning my drive, I went to help them with theirs.

Connie got worse, but refused to go to the hospital overnight.

- "I want to die at home." she said. "In my own bed."

She got her wish.

Her last words to me were "Look after Mom."

***

In 2021, an estimated 1,450 women were diagnosed with cervical cancer. 380 died of it (the numbers for the U.S. were roughly 14,000 and 4,000).

I didn't tell you all of this so that you'd feel sorry for me. Lots of people get dealt shittier hands in life; it's not a contest. I'm just hoping that you'll be able to understand where my head was, the night I met Tansa and Angel.

In the months after Connie's death, I went to work, and looked after the dog and Connie's Mom. She was an avid gardener, so I spent many hours at nurseries, buying her supplies or new flowers and shrubs. I cut her grass, and shovelled her snow. She called me when a raccoon got into her garbage. I took her to her doctor's appointments (she was losing her hearing), and drove her to the cemetery on her husband's birthday, and then on Connie's. She was 77 years old, and set in her ways.

My neighbours were terrific. George and Anna had a sixth sense for those moments when I was overwhelmed, and stepped in to offer help. Often, that involved Lisa coming over to look after Freya (I'd given them a spare key years ago).

My doctor told me that I needed more exercise. Apparently, throwing a frisbee for the dog didn't count. I got a membership at the fitness center.

A year after Connie's death, my daily schedule looked like this:

MONDAY - walk/exercise dog (7:30), leave for work 8:30. Get home 4:30 or 5:00, walk/exercise dog. Feed dog. Fitness club (2 hours). Late dinner. Late walk for dog.

TUESDAY - Same, without fitness club. Run errands. Two or three times a month, go to Mom's, because 'I made you some food. Come over and pick it up'. She was lonely, too, I guess.

WEDNESDAY - Same as Monday, including fitness club.

THURSDAY - No Fitness club. Dinner at Mom's, 2-3 times a month. Bring Freya along. Collect Mom's favourite magazines and her order from the deli and the bakery on the way.

FRIDAY - Same as Monday, including the Fitness club.

SATURDAY - Walk the dog (on rare occasions, Freya let me sleep past 7:00). Yard work, gardening. Freya's obstacle course class, then Mom's yard work and gardening. Grocery shopping on the way home.

SUNDAY - Walk the dog (maybe sleep in). Laundry, house cleaning, vacuuming, bathrooms. Occasional special projects.

In addition, I somehow found time to skim and clean the pool (another thing I hadn't wanted), and clean Mom's pool. She was one stubborn old lady: my suggestions that she might enjoy a smaller place, like a condo apartment fell on deaf ears (literally as well as figuratively).

Yes, as a widower, and after a proper period of mourning, I was now eligible to date. But when?

I knew about dating sites. But what did I have to offer? How could I have fit a relationship into my life? (not to mention that I didn't want a relationship). Sex with no-strings attached sounded good. A fuck buddy? At this point, I would've been happy to be one of Jill's oral fixations.

My dating skills were negligible, and fifteen years out of date. My sexual skills (if I'd ever had any) had to have atrophied - and they were six years old, on top of everything else. I had no confidence in my ability to find (and keep) a sexual partner, yet I was too proud (and scared) to resort to prostitutes.

I was a late bloomer, and my sex life had ended six years ago. I'd been sexually active for 13 of my 42 years. That was a depressing thought; it made me feel like my parents had won.

Do you see now why I brought Angel home?

And after that incredible experience, can you understand why I was getting ready to go back to the Queen's Arms, and work out a deal with Tansa?

What was the worst thing that could happen?

*****