The Game

"So I asked her, 'is there anything you might have done that could have upset Andy somehow?' And she gasped, and said, 'uh, no, I'm not aware of anything.'

"And then I said, 'well, did you insist that he tell you what the problem was?' And she hemmed and hawed and said she didn't want to press you too hard, that she was sure you'd tell her when you were ready.

"It was so obvious what she was afraid of! There she was, trying to pump ME for information, while keeping her own disgusting behavior a secret."

I shared Emily's pleasure in the call and asked her to keep me updated. And I let her know that I was about ready to make my move--Monday would be the day.

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That weekend I continued my mysterious, distant behavior. My own anger at Susan had certainly not diminished, and I was determined to make sure that my final two days in her life were as miserable for her as possible.

I spoke to her very little, and returned each of her warm or cordial advances with brusque coldness. When she asked if we could take a walk on Saturday--"it's such a lovely afternoon, honey!"--I stared at her, then said I didn't feel like it.

When she proposed a variety of things we might do together on Saturday night, like go out to dinner, or see a movie, or get together with friends, I told her I wanted to stay home and watch TV.

Then, when she snuggled up next to me on the couch, I waited until about ten minutes into the show we were watching and then abruptly got up. "I just remembered I've got a couple of reports I really need to finish," I said, and disappeared into my study.

I went to bed late, after Susan had fallen asleep; and on Sunday morning I awoke to find her cuddling up to me, gently kissing my neck while her soft hand tried to rouse my cock.

When I opened my eyes she smiled at me and said, "goodie! You're awake, and baby wants to play!" She rolled up on top of me and tried to kiss me, but I held her off with both arms on her shoulders.

"Susan, stop it!" I said. "I don't force you into sex when you don't want to, and I'd appreciate getting the same consideration from you!" I slid out from under her and got out of bed, reaching for my bathrobe.

She looked distraught. "But honey, we haven't made love in ... I don't know, two weeks! Is it ... have I done something to ... are ... are you angry with me?"

That was by far the closest she'd come to asking me a straight question about my behavior--a sign of how desperate she was getting.

"I don't know, Susan--you tell me. Is there anything you might have done that would make me angry at you?" I said it calmly, but coldly.

Silence. She looked down. Then she said, "no, baby, nothing that I can think of," and looked up at me beseechingly, afraid to say any more.

"I guess we're done, then," I said, and headed for the kitchen to make the coffee.

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Susan must have been frightened by our conversation, because she avoided me for most of the rest of the day. I heard her several times on the phone, though; I imagine she was talking to a friend (or to a lover, for all I knew), trying to get some help in figuring out how to handle me.

While she was out at the grocery store, I made a quick call to Greg to ask him whether he'd been talking to Susan.

He told me that she'd spoken to him at work two days earlier, asking him whether he'd seen me lately. "She said you seemed distracted and distant, but she acted like she had no idea why. So I just told her I hadn't spoken to you--that seemed like the simplest.

"And then she said she was looking forward to resuming the Game with me, but it would probably be best to wait a little while, until she learned what was bothering you. I pretended to be disappointed, but of course I said okay."

"Thanks, Greg. It's all gonna hit the fan soon. Please, whatever you do, don't let her know anything about our conversations, okay?"

Greg promised again that he wouldn't tell her anything, and we got off the phone.

On Monday morning after breakfast, Susan came into the bedroom to finish dressing for work and was surprised to find me wearing sweats and sneakers.

"Aren't you going to the office today, Andy?"

"No, I've got a few things to take care of around here, so I took the day off."

She looked at me for a moment. Then, almost timidly, she said, "well, since you're not in a hurry, do you think we could, uh, make love?" She smiled warmly and added, "I wouldn't mind being a little late for work!"

Gazing at her, I purposely made myself think of her screwing Arnold Morrison or some other, faceless man--humping her hips up at him, her legs and arms around him, begging her to fuck her harder. My loving wife--the woman I'd given my life to.

That was all it took. I said, "no, I don't think so," and left the bedroom without looking at her. I went down into the basement to find my suitcases, and didn't come up again until I'd heard her car backing out of the driveway.

By 11 am I'd packed everything I planned to take with me into three suitcases, plus a couple of boxes of books and CDs. I called a cab, which waited at the post office while I mailed the boxes to my apartment in Chicago, then dropped me at the airport. And by 7:30 pm I was finishing my unpacking in my new place, after which I went around the corner for a pizza and a beer.

Somberly, I toasted myself: here's to the first day of the rest of my life. My new life--my life without Susan.

Oh, I almost forgot. Just before I left the house I wrote a short note to Susan, which I left on the kitchen table with my wedding ring and cell phone on top.

The note said, "I found out about your Game. So here's my Game: it's called 'goodbye to a cheating whore'."

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My first week in my new job was absorbing and exhausting--which was great, because I missed Susan like crazy. Not that I wanted to be with her; that was over. Whenever I thought of her I was filled with fury. I actually marveled at the grotesque perfection of the way she had betrayed me.

But being angry and hating her guts doesn't mean I didn't miss her. I had loved her for so many years, loved everything about her. Those feelings don't just disappear. Instead they mingle with the new ones: the love and the hatred go swirling around together, as though they're in a washing machine.

All in all, I was very glad that Global Resources was keeping me so busy. By the time Friday came I was grateful just to go home, watch part of a ball game on TV, and collapse into bed.

But the weekend was hard. I was new in Chicago, didn't know a soul beyond my new co-workers, and had to face head-on that I was suddenly a single man again (well, not legally, but in every other way). I knew I'd need to begin the process of meeting people, making friends, trying to find a new woman in my life--and the prospect was overwhelmingly depressing.

The best part of those two days was a conversation I had on Sunday with Brian and Emily. They were both supportive and eager to hear how I was doing. I gave them my new address and phone number, once again swearing them to secrecy, and Emily was just bursting to tell me all about seeing Susan.

"She called us Monday night around dinner time--she was nearly hysterical. She was crying so hard I could hardly understand her, but finally I made out that she was saying, 'he's gone! Andy's gone!' She was totally unable to calm down, so I told her I'd drive over there.

"When I got there she was a wreck. Hair all messed up, her make-up smeared with tears, barely coherent. I got her a drink and then I sat there and played the sympathetic friend to the hilt. God, it was fun!

"I let her tell me all about it, how she'd come home from work and found you gone, with your wedding ring there on the table. So I asked her why on earth you might have done that, and had you left a note or anything?

"And then," Emily said with glee, "she looked at me, and cried even harder; and finally she said, 'oh Emily, I ... I cheated on him!' "

"I pretended to be utterly shocked--I guess I said something like, 'no, Susan--you didn't!' And I acted really angry, got up and walked around the kitchen, and I kept stopping and staring at her. She just looked guilty and frightened.

"Finally I said, 'I'm sorry, Susan, but I just can't stay here right now. I love you and Andy both, and I can't believe you did something like that to him. He was the best, most loving...'

"And then I just said, 'I'll talk to you in a few days, when I've calmed down,' and I left. Left her right there in the kitchen, tears streaming down her face!" Even over the phone it was easy to hear the satisfaction in Emily's voice.

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I knew Susan would be frantic to find me--and frankly, I hoped that not being able to would drive her nuts. The fact that I missed her so much just made me angrier. How dare she, the woman I'd given so much of myself to, act so incredibly selfishly, and make me so fucking miserable?

Over the next two weeks I stayed in touch with Brian and Emily--they were like my lifeline, letting me talk about things in Chicago, the new job, and sometimes how lonely and empty I felt. And they listened patiently and kept telling me to hang in there. They were great.

Susan called them every day to ask if they knew anything about where I'd gone. According to them, she sounded desperate. I also gave a quick call to Lionel, who told me that Susan had come to see him the day after I left. She just about collapsed when she heard I'd quit my job and left no forwarding address.

After my third week in Chicago I flew back to Cincinnati at Brian and Emily's invitation, and spent the weekend with them. It was a great chance to relax and get away from some of the pain I was carrying around inside.

Over dinner on Saturday, Emily told me all about her latest visit from Susan.

"She came to see me on Thursday--still trying to find you, still totally desperate. She's talking about hiring a PI or somebody to find you. She has the idea that somehow if she can only talk to you, she can make you understand, and you'll forgive her."

I raised my eyebrows. "Not fucking likely, I'd say!

"But I am interested to hear her version--did she tell you about it?"

Emily's eyes gleamed. "I said, listen Susan, you've been moaning and groaning about losing Andy for three weeks now. We've been friends for years; when the hell are you going to tell me what you actually did? How bad was it?"

"And she told you? Well, Emily, I'm all ears--spill!"

I learned a hell of a lot about my wife that evening, and none of it anything I would have wanted to know. Emily began with the story of Susan's first adultery--with some charming British guy she'd met at a book party. He chatted her up throughout the event, and then asked her out afterwards for a drink.

Emily said, "so she told him that she was a married woman, and couldn't just leave with him. But she didn't blow him off; instead she asked what hotel he was staying in, and then she told him she'd meet him in the bar there in an hour.

"And then they met for a drink, and went up to his room and went to bed together."

I sat there, staring out the window. This wasn't news, after all--I knew she'd been fucking around on me for years, and there had to have been a first time--but it hurt like a bitch.

"Did she say why?"

"I asked her that, believe me! And she looked embarrassed, and said, 'I was bored. I know that's no excuse, Emily, but it's true. Andy and I had a great life, and a nice sex life, but it was always the same. Nothing ever special or different--so predictable, you know? And here was this sexy guy with this great accent, and I thought, wow, this'll shake things up!'

"She said the sex was a lot of fun--nothing cosmic, just exciting because it was somebody different after all those years. And that the following week she made sure to have lots of sex with you, and it was better than usual.

"So then, she said, she told herself that it was a win-win situation. She could fuck around every once in a while--discreetly, carefully--and it would rev up her sex life with you at home, and everyone would be better for it. Can you believe that shit?"

Over the next hour or so Emily told me the rest of it. Susan gradually fell into the habit of finding a guy to screw every couple of months. At first they were one-time hook-ups; but then the fifth or sixth guy had been terrific in bed, so she wanted to see him again.

Their affair lasted for three months, until he got engaged to a woman he'd been seeing. According to Emily, Susan figured out that the extra-marital sex actually got hotter after the first time, as she and her new lover learned how to please each other. So her new plan became short-term affairs--six, ten, maybe twenty times with a guy, until the excitement started to wear off.

"What about the Game?", I asked.

"She said that came up when a guy she was sleeping with starting getting possessive. It occurred to her that one of her lovers might get too attached to her, and threaten to tell you about it. So she figured that if they thought she was sleeping around with your knowledge and permission, they'd know she was never going to leave you, and that she wasn't vulnerable to blackmail.

"She was pretty damn proud of herself for that little idea, I have to say--she even giggled a little when she told me!"

Brian got me another beer, and I sipped at it while I thought dark thoughts. Nothing Emily was telling me was much different from what I'd imagined--and yet hearing it was indescribably painful. Feeling like such a moron--feeling like I'd so badly misjudged the person I loved and trusted most in the world. How could I have been such an idiot?

"She was bored." I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, don't all married couples get a little bored, a little stale? But what's the right way to handle it? Come to me and say, "honey, let's find some fun ways to spice things up." A vacation, some toys, some role-playing... But not fucking other guys!

I didn't remember ever being bored with her, but certainly there were times when sex was routine. Still nice, but routine. And God knows I would have been more than happy to try some new things--not that I was ever given that option.

No, Susan decided to liven up her own sex life, not mine.

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When I was getting ready to fly back to Chicago on Sunday, Brian asked me what I was going to do about Susan.

"Are you going to just let her twist in the wind, and wonder what's happened to you? Or are you planning some way to finish it, once and for all?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure yet, to tell the truth. Maybe one and then the other. Maybe I'll just let it drag on until she does find me, and then arrange a nice little surprise." I told him what I'd been thinking about and he grinned at me.

"Sounds just about perfect, Andy. I only wish I could be there to see it."

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To my surprise it was several more weeks before Susan figured out where I was. Brian told me over the phone that she had gone ahead and hired someone to look for me, so I guess that's how she did it. I didn't much care.

But I came home from work on Thursday to find a long, rambling message from Susan. "Thank God I've found you, baby...I'm so sorry, so very sorry...I love you more than anything...please give me a chance to explain...I miss you so much...I'll do anything to make it up to you...you know you're the only man I love...." And another five minutes, all pretty much like that.

There wasn't a single word that wasn't utterly predictable, nor a single word that made me any less angry. I don't know what she expected--you don't cheat on your husband over and over for years and then get to say, "oops, my bad," and have him forgive you and take you back. Sorry, Susan, just not happening!

So it seemed like time to set up my endgame. I knew she'd keep calling--just ignoring her was not going to work in the long run.

The next day I took my Assistant, Eileen, out for a long lunch. She'd become a good friend, and already knew most of the unhappy story of how I'd suddenly come to work for Global Resources. She was a nice middle-aged lady, married with three kids, and really sharp--in fact the best assistant I'd ever had.

I told her what I was planning for Susan and she threw back her head and laughed.

"I love it, Andy! I can't think of anything more fitting." She laughed again--she seemed delighted with my idea.

"Yeah, well, I'm going to need some help finding someone. I don't really--"

"Let me take a crack at that, will you?" she interrupted me. "I have a couple of ideas. Before you do anything else, give me a few days."

I raised my eyebrows quizzically. "Really?" She nodded, smiling, and I said, "well, okay. But it's hardly the kind of thing a guy ordinarily asks his Administrative Assistant to do for him!" We both laughed.

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Susan kept calling. At least every other day for the next two weeks. Her messages were shorter, but they didn't say anything new--and they certainly didn't make me any more interested in "talking it out" with her, let alone forgiving her or letting back into my life.

On a Monday as I was packing up and getting ready to leave work, Eileen popped her head in. "It's all set--I've got somebody perfect for you. Just let me know the day and time, and I'll give her your address."

I looked skeptical. "Am I going to be happy about this person? For that matter, Eileen, who the hell is it, and how did you talk her into it? This isn't exactly the--"

"Shh," she said with a smile. "She'll be perfect, and she really wants to do it. I filled her in on your situation and she could hardly wait, she's champing at the bit."

"And you're not going to tell me who it is?"

"Nope," she said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "But trust me, boss--you won't be disappointed."

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I left a message the next day on Susan's answering machine.

"It's me. If you really want to explain, you can have one chance. This Saturday, 1 pm at my apartment in Chicago. Don't be early, don't be late. I'll give you one hour. Here's the address... Leave me a return message to confirm that you're coming."

That night I didn't answer my phone when it rang--instead I listened to Susan leave me an excited message.

"Oh my God, thank you baby--Thank You! I love you so much! Of course I'll be there Saturday! Thank you for this chance! I know I can make you understand--I'm so sorry for the way I've hurt you, and I want to spend the next 60 years making it up to you!" Etc. etc.

The next day, Wednesday, I spoke to Eileen. "I've set it up for 1 pm on Saturday--can you have your mystery woman be at my place no later than 12?"

"Sure thing," she said. "But you have to promise to call and tell me the whole story when it's over! That will be my reward."

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Emily told me by phone how excited Susan was. "I swear, Andy, she has no clue! She really thinks she's going to get you back--like all she has to do is tell you how sorry she is.

"I honestly don't know how I could have been so fooled by her--we've been friends for what, almost 15 years? And we've talked about everything: our husbands, our work, our families...

"And now to find out how selfish and cruel she can be--even if she doesn't see it that way, of course--it just leaves me wondering how blind I've been."

I laughed, a little bitterly. "Listen, Emily, how do you think I feel? I've been married to her all that time! I guess the real lesson is that people like you and Brian and I --decent, trusting people, people who care about others--usually make the mistake of assuming that the rest of the world is like us.