The Goddess

Then again, all the years she'd been married to him he'd been a good guy, a thoughtful husband, a considerate lover, a cheerful companion, a wonderful father, always fun, always there. She never doubted how much he loved her. Good old reliable, thoughtful, trustworthy Garrett, and she fucked him over. Why had she married him? Why had she always been so ashamed of him? She knew. He just wasn't... wasn't what he was supposed to be. He just didn't look right. Patrick Swayze, "Dirty Dancing", "Road House'; there was a man.

She looked across the family room. Her mind was in turmoil, thoughts running wild. He'd been home more than a week. There he sat. He was reading an old F. Scott Fitzgerald. When he glanced up at her it was always with that same woebegone look. He was going to get well. He was going to leave her. He would take the children. She'd be all alone. What was she ever going to do? Why won't he look at her? Why won't he say anything? Please say something. She couldn't bear it any longer.

"Garrett," she murmured. "Garrett," a little louder. Then loudly, "Garrett."

He looked up at her, "Yeah?"

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Like what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me what happened? Why I did it."

He put his book down, "OK, what happened and why'd you do it?"

Caught up in her own confused thoughts she felt like she was drowning, "Is that all you're going to ask?"

Letting the book slip to the floor he reset the lazy boy, stepped from it and pointed, "Kitchen."

'At last', she thought. She nearly leapt from her chair and dashed to the kitchen. Slowly, Garrett followed behind.

In the kitchen he got to the coffee pot, turned to the sink and filled it with water. Carefully and deliberately he took down the coffee canister and paper filters. He scooped out four spoons of coffee, set the machine, reached for the cabinet, and retrieved two coffee mugs. He set the mugs on the table with two spoons and the sugar bowl. He went to the refrigerator and secured the half & half. He stared blindly out the window; thinking, deciding, and waiting for the coffee to drip through to the pot. Frieda sat nervously and waited.

At last the coffee was ready. He poured himself and Frieda a cup. He sat down across from the table from her and almost solemnly asked, "How many?"

"How many what," was Frieda's timorous response.

"Men," he answered.

"Altogether," she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

She took a sip of coffee. She gulped, "Since Jessie three."

"Do I know them?"

"Garrett please."

"Do I know them?"

"You know who they are, but you don't really know them."

"All right, who are they?"

"Oh Garrett, please. Does it matter?"

"Yes it does. Who were they?"

She took another sip of coffee. She noticed Garrett hadn't touched his, "Well there's the doctor. You know about him."

"You mean Dr. Menisci."

"Uh huh, yes, and then there was a college professor and a... a lawyer."

"You said I knew who they were."

"Garrett I'm so sorry. It'll never happen again. I've been all mixed up. I never enjoyed any...of the...you know."

"You said I knew them. Well I know who the doctor is. What about the other two?"

She bit her lip, squeezed the table, apprehensively raised one hand and sort of shook it, "Garrett the children, school. They'll be home soon."

"The other two."

She sipped some more coffee, "I'm going to be sick..."

"Who are they," he asked?

"The lawyer's name was Pasquali. No DePasquali, Rudy DePasquali. The college teacher was Allan Fishbourne. He teaches computer classes at the community college," she was really sick, nauseous, "Garrett I'm going to be sick."

He shrugged, "OK, go lie down or something. We'll talk some more after the kids go to bed."

She started to do something she hadn't done in front of Garrett in a long time. She started to cry. She got up, ran from the kitchen, and ran upstairs.

As Garrett watched her run away he reflected on what she'd said, but more significantly what she hadn't said. He knew both of the men; in one way or another they were both involved in Frieda's charities. He'd been introduced to each of them at one or another of those 'events' Frieda was always supporting or sponsoring. Both introductions had been cursory and at the instigation of the men, not Frieda. It was a commonplace that he'd be uncomfortable at Frieda's charities. Often he found some excuse to not attend, excuses Frieda never questioned or challenged. He remembered feeling particularly uncomfortable at the activities where he met those men. Now he knew why. The question now was, what was he going to do about it? He needed more information, but first he had to get well... and find some new way to support his family, if he even still had one to support. Then he paused. Fuck No! He needed to know and he needed to know right then and there. He groped his way to his feet and shuffled his way to the bottom of the stairs.

"Frieda," he yelled! No answer.

He yelled again, "Frieda!"

Still no response.

He put his foot on the bottom step, "Frieda if you don't get your god damned skinny ass down here in two minutes I'm coming up! I might not make it, but if I do I'll give your ass a thrashing you won't soon forget!"

In the shadows he saw Frieda at the top of the stairs. Feebly she murmured, "Garrett I don't feel well."

He didn't care. He was through, no more bullshit, "Get your god damned ass down here right now!" He yelled so loud he nearly lost his balance.

Frieda stepped down about half way and sat down, "Garrett."

Feeling fully functional for the first time in a while he pointed to where he was standing and hollered, "Right here! Right now!"

Frieda unsteadily took one step at a time till she was before him, "Yes," was her timorous remark.

He clutched the bottom of the bannister for all he was worth, "Put your coat on and get out to your car."

"Which one," she asked?

"The Lexus."

~~~V~~~

A few minutes later, together, her driving with him riding shot gun they were tooling down the road. Frieda asked, "We are we going?"

"The Hampton out on #81." Silently they drove to the Hampton Inn.

Once there, registered, and in a room Garrett started to undress. He looked at his wife, "What are you waiting for?"

"What?"

"Get undressed."

She was frantic with fear and worry, "Shouldn't we call home. The kids?" He was standing beside the bed completely undressed, and she had to smile in spite of herself and their predicament.

He pulled down the spread and the sheet and climbed in, "They'll be fine. Now get undressed and get in bed."

She obeyed. She got in and lay on her side as far from her husband as she could get. In the past this would've been when Garrett would try to woo her. He'd done it many times before, but this time it wasn't sex or affection he was after, he wanted information, "OK, now tell me about the doctor."

"Dr. Menisci?"

"There's another one?"

"No. What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Start at the beginning."

And so Frieda began, "I met the Doctor at a charity event. I can't remember which one, childhood diseases I think, maybe asthma. He was handsome and charming. You'd met him once and he liked you. I think you liked him too. I knew he was married, but I decided I would have him..."

"Have him," Garrett asked, "What do you mean?"

She continued, "It wasn't sex. I don't think it was. I wanted to be with him, use him, control him. I'd done it before. He was easy. It was this past January. I talked him into a meeting. We even planned it for a Thursday afternoon, a time he normally played golf, but it was winter so I guess the golf didn't matter as much. From there one thing led to another and a week later we were in bed, right here at the Hampton."

Fidgeting and unhappy Garrett would have preferred to have stopped there, but he needed to go on, he said, "Yeah, then what? And what were you expecting?"

She saw the look in her husband's eyes, that calf-eyed look of helplessness. She hesitated but went on, "We met, had sex, and went home. What did I want? What did I expect? I don't know. I just felt the need. I don't know why. I just did. We did it and agreed to meet again in a couple weeks."

"And you did. When," Garrett asked?

"It was in February, the same week as Katy's birthday. I remember that because I stopped off at Nordstrom's and bought her a pretty dress. Anyway, it was after our second meeting I knew had to stop."

Emotions dead and out of it by then Garrett asked, "Why?"

"He said he thought he was falling in love with me. He said he wanted to see me more frequently, and he wanted to do more. I knew then I didn't want him. I didn't even like him, but we agreed to meet again. He called a few days later and we agreed to meet in March. That was when..."

"When I caught you."

"Yes."

"Were you going to see him again?"

Frieda squirmed as far away from her husband as she could get, "No. I mean yes. I said he could call me again, but I knew the next time would be the last time. He just wasn't what I wanted."

Garrett saw Frieda's attempt to move further away, but it didn't matter. He sighed and asked, "What was it you wanted?"

Frieda rolled over on her back and looked at the ceiling, "I don't know. I only knew he didn't have it."

Garrett faced the truth, "I don't have what it is you're looking for either do I?"

Frieda glanced over but avoided eye contact, "You're my husband."

"What's that supposed to mean Frieda?"

She rolled over and looked at him, "Did you know all three of them used Viagra?"

Impatient and more than slightly pissed Garrett asked, "What does it mean to you when you say I'm your husband?"

She rolled back, "I thought the Viagra was funny. You never used Viagra."

He leaned up on one elbow, "Why would I we almost never did anything."

She asked, "Can we go home now?"

Knowing he wasn't going to get an answer to his question he changed the topic, "Tell me about the college professor."

"Oh him," she started. "He was older and not even a professor, just a teacher. I met him at a charity. He was there explaining about some new software. He interested me. I thought he was handsome. He wasn't married so I asked him out. We had a late lunch and then we went to his apartment. That was two years ago in January after the holidays. I only saw him three times. He was soft, flabby," she sneaked a peak at Garrett, "The doctor was too."

Garrett found himself drifting off. His head ached terribly, and he felt the intense head pain he knew was associated with his concussion. He needed to take something, a handful of Advil, maybe a Meclizine. "Go on," he said.

Frieda smiled. In a way it was like some story she might have read, like it wasn't about her at all, "He'd been so pleasant. At first he was like some 'Prince Charming', but he wasn't, he was just another man."

Garrett said, "So you cut him off. Had you thought about me at all?"

Surprised she looked over, "Yes, of course. You're my husband. You love me. Certainly I thought about you. I thought how much better you were, how big you were... down there, you know. I thought about you a lot."

"Tell me Frieda. Do you love me?" She looked at him again. Garrett saw that "lost look" he'd seen so many times before. He recalled his thoughts about Minerva. He recalled her backyard archery practice. She really was cold, cold and dead.

Frieda replied, "What is love? It's like a bird. You hold it in your hands and it's yours, but if you let it go... it flies away."

Garrett wasn't sure if he even cared what she said next, but there was still that one last man, "Tell me about the lawyer."

"Him," she said, "He was two years ago. Let's there was this year, last, and the year before. Yes two years ago. He was at a charity function. Like the doctor he was married. The lawyer was my first. I thought he was 'the one'. You know the one who'd be 'the one'. He wasn't. We got together three times, right here at the Hampton, could've been this room. He was an egotistical asshole. After the first time I knew I didn't like him, but we still met two more times. I don't remember why. All I can say is he wasn't like you. None of them were like you."

"What makes me different Frieda? Is it because you love me?"

Frieda finally sat up. She fluffed her pillows, "You remember Aunt Ginger?"

"Of course I remember Aunt Ginger. I loved Aunt Ginger."

Frieda thought she could find a way out, "I loved her too. I told her what I did. I told her how I used you to get at Bradley. How I tried to make Bradley come back by having everyone we'd known see me with you. Then when he didn't come back I let you get me pregnant. I wanted to have a baby. Funny isn't it. I was in love with Bradley but I wanted to have your baby. You made me happy. You paid attention to me. You didn't care that I didn't love you. You loved me anyway. You still do too. Tell me Garrett. Tell me you love me."

Garrett folded momentarily, "Yes, I suppose I still do, but," then, in spite of the pain he felt he regrouped, he got his self-possession back, "I love you, but you don't love me."

Frieda lay back down and turned to her husband. She put her cool hand on his cheek. She felt his forehead, he was hot to the touch, "You're still very sick. Let's get you home. I'll make you some chicken noodle soup, put you to bed."

He sat up, "Frieda damn it. Say it! It's been fifteen fucking years! Do you or don't you love me?"

She sat up too. She reached her fingers out and touched his cheeks. Tearfully she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

It was an extreme act of will, but he jumped out of bed, then falling into a lamp at the bedside table, "God damn it Frieda! Yes or No! Do you love me?"

She was on the floor beside him, "All the things I did. Those men. Blaming you for Jessie. I love Jessie. Getting you to love me, to marry me, to get me pregnant. I'm sorry. My mother for the things she's said, I'm sorry. My dad, those things he said about your family. What my mom said about Bradley, that I should leave you. Aunt Ginger told me I should be happy. She told me I loved you, and I do. I do you know, but now you're going to leave me aren't you? I've ruined everything. I've finally ruined everything. Oh I wish I was dead."

How much was true, how much was self-pity, how much was Frieda melodrama, how much there was that was something else that neither of them understood he didn't know. At last he said, "Come on honey, help me home."

She surprised him, "You said honey, that's sweet..." She got herself and her husband back on their feet, "Let's get you dressed, then I'll get you home."

VI:

And the Dénouement, or the cuckold wimp goes home...

All the way home Frieda yammered on and on, "Honey, Garrett you just don't know how hard it's been. Mom's been arguing with me and telling me what to do all my life. Mom's a little off you know; tried to kill herself twice, and dad's got his congregation. He's had it tougher than any of us can think. Imagine being the minister of the same church for as long as he's been, and his first church is only a few miles from our home. He's watched all his old friends get old and die. He goes to the same hospitals, into the same rooms year after year, it's like a killer monotony. I've heard him pray."

Garrett interrupted, "Have you ever heard him pray for you, or for us, or for our family?"

"Sure, I think so. Anyway it wouldn't matter. He's got a lot of responsibilities."

"Frieda why did you sleep with other men?"

Her foot hit the gas and the car leapt a little, "I already told you."

"No you didn't. If you did I didn't get it. Do you remember Diane Keaton?"

Frieda hesitated, "Yes of course, she played Helen in that movie with Brad Pitt. You know 'Troy'."

Garrett had to laugh, even he wasn't that stupid, "No stupid you're thinking of Diane Kruger. Diane Keaton played in an old movie titled "Looking for Mr. Good-Bar". My dad mentioned it once when he met you. He said you were someone 'looking for Mr. Good-Bar'."

She bristled, "I'm not stupid. I just didn't have a dad who watched old movies. What's that got to do with anything anyway?"

Nervous about what he was thinking he shot back, "My dad told me about it when he was alive. A lot of it was about a real girl who lived in a real religious household. Then when she got out of college she went kind of wild searching for the best sex, the best kind of man, and the most exciting kind of life. In other words she turned into a real whore. In the end she got murdered."

"You think I'm a whore?"

Garrett glared at her, "Are you?"

Frieda pounced, "No of course not. Whores have no values. They have sex for money. They don't care who they hurt as long as they get paid."

Frieda seemed to clutch her chest. Garrett didn't know if it was real or feigned. Then she said, "You're going to leave me aren't you."

He replied, "What would you do if you were me?"

She lied, she knew what she would really do, "I'd have to forgive you. We'd work real hard and patch things up. We'd do it because of the children and the wonderful family we've worked so hard to create. I know I could do it, and I know you could too."

Garrett just looked at her. He tried to hide his incredulity, but he guessed he'd just about run out of gas, "Frieda we just left a Hampton Inn. I said to go there for reason. Do you know what that reason was?"

"So we could talk things out. Of course I understood that. You needed to hear things, and you needed to vent, get some things off your chest."

"No Frieda. I thought maybe we could reconnect. Maybe we'd fall into each other's arms and make love. I thought...,"

And then Garrett realized the fantasy was over. Long hidden and denied feelings at last finally erupted to the surface, "Frieda I can't remember not loving you. I love you now, and I certainly love the children we've made together, but I don't think it's going to be enough."

Frieda sped up, "Don't talk right now. We're almost home, and you're much too tired."

"No Frieda, this is it. Pull the car over."

"I can't," she said, "the traffic."

"There isn't any traffic. Pull over." He pointed to a 'Gas and Go' down the road, "Pull over there."

Stupidly, still not fully understanding, she pulled in and parked.

Garrett turned toward his wife of fifteen years, "Wait here. I'll only be a minute," he got out of the car and went inside the convenience store. He needed to do it, it was now or never, but his head! He went to the medicine counter and grabbed two bottles of Advil. Then he went to the coffee aisle and made himself an extra-large, dark blend, black coffee. He paid, but before going back outside he gobbled down five of the pills. Sure that was too many, and for sure they wouldn't kick in for a while, but who gave a shit anyway? He went back outside and got back in her car. He was ready...

As soon as he got in she pointed to his coffee, "You didn't get me one?"

He took a long sip of the steaming hot elixir, "No. Now listen and shut up," and he began...

"Like I've said, and I've said it over and over and over. I've said it till I was blue in the face. I love you. But you know what?" He looked at her, and realized she still didn't get, but she soon would...

"You don't love me and you never did. You married me for the reasons you gave, to punish other people. We had Lauren only because you knew there could be no turning back after she was born. You haven't been looking for 'Mr. Good Bar' because you never looked further than tomorrow for anything. You talk about loyalty like it's a card game. No we didn't get married in a church, but that was because your fucking father wouldn't demean himself to marry you to me."

She tried to interrupt, but he stopped her and went on, "For you it hasn't been Bradley, or some doctor, or some half assed lawyer or teacher; for you it's been about listening to Laila. Doing what mommy wanted. Obeying mommy. Mommy always knew best. I've heard you and her for fifteen years. I've heard you and her in the kitchen this past couple weeks. I might be love sick, but I'm not stupid, not anymore."