The Signing Bonus

So, the scum bag was here for two hours, I realized. "Fuck" I yelled out loud and just made it to the bathroom before I vomited the Marsala and coffee into the bowl. I splashed water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Not a pretty sight. I hadn't shaved yesterday, my hair was matted, my eyes were blood-shot and my mouth tasted like a sewer. My shaving gear and toothbrush were upstairs in the master bath but I couldn't bring myself to go up there. For the first time, I wondered if she had taken him to our bedroom or the guest room. I was pretty sure the bastard would have insisted on further humiliating me by fucking my wife in my bed. My question was answered about an hour later when I heard Gwen coming downstairs and saw, out of the corner of my eye, her, quickly, shoving the bed linens into the laundry shoot.

When Gwen entered the kitchen, she started to approach me for a morning kiss but thought better of it and went to pour herself a cup of coffee. When she sat I pushed the envelope towards her, got up, and said: "I'm going up to shower and shave." She just looked away and just nodded.

I peeked in the guest room but it looked undisturbed. Our bed was made and other than the fragrance of soap and shampoo emanating from the bathroom, there was no evidence of what, had surely, taken place a mere six hours ago. Despite my valiant attempts to push the images from my mind, the picture of my wife lying naked in the bed with him on top thrusting into her, kept working their way into my consciousness. Gwen is usually easy to arouse and is multi-orgasmic, so there was little doubt that, willingly or not, she had enjoyed the sexual pleasure that someone else's mouth and cock had provided.

I tried to console myself by thinking, "If I were tied to a bed, naked, and an attractive woman..., hell just about any woman, was ministering to my penis it would become erect and I would eventually cum. Yeah, Gwen wasn't tied to the bed, at least not literally but figuratively, she was.

When I emerged from the shower I was surprised to see my wife sitting on the edge of the bed wearing a pair of jeans, a casual blouse and her blonde hair done in a ponytail. She looked so beautiful but her expression was down-cast and there was a look in her eyes that I can only describe as, penitent. I went to her and gently pulled her head to my damp chest, as she began to sob, softly. I kissed the top of her head as my own tears, quietly, leaked from my eyes.

Nothing was said about last night and after a light breakfast we picked up our daughter and her friend, Melissa, and drove them back to our house. They frolicked in the pool for most of the afternoon and just before dinner Gwen drove Melissa home, even though she only lived around the corner. Except for Denise's chatter, the atmosphere at the table had been sedate. Gwen and I slept entwined but neither of us made any attempt at further intimacy.

We skipped Sunday church services and took our daughter out to Denny's for breakfast. We hadn't been able to afford to eat out in several months. We spent most of the rest of the day entertaining our ten-year-old. By dinner time, some of the tension and awkwardness, had abated.

Monday morning, I was up early working on my computer in search of employment while Gwen was busy getting Denise ready for school. At around nine thirty my wife came into the den and said she had to take the car for a couple of hours to go downtown. I had not seen the money since the previous morning when I had found it on the kitchen table, so I knew she would be going to the bank and the utility company to bring our accounts current. She hadn't specifically said that because she was trying not to refer to her, Saturday night, earnings and I chose not to address it either.

My wife had always handled the family's finances and I was glad that I didn't have to further humiliate myself by handling the 'dirty' money. When she came home around noon she was struggling with several grocery bags and asked if I could bring in the rest of the packages from the trunk.

As I came back inside Gwen was already unpacking the groceries and I noticed a bottle of my favorite scotch, along with several bottles of wine, sitting on the counter. Neither of us are big drinkers but we hadn't had a liquor in the house for several months. Also, we had been eating a lot of pasta and chopped meat concoctions for quite a while so it didn't escape my notice when some steaks, chops and a roast were quickly slipped into the freezer. Despite how she had earned the money to resupply our refrigerator, Gwen seemed more upbeat than when she had left this morning.

"By the way, she remarked casually, our cell phones have been re-activated. Our cell phones had been shut off a two weeks ago for non-payment and that made my job searching next to impossible since I could not provide a phone number on my resumes. I should have been pleased but having to live off of my wife's "sex money", just further degraded my self-respect.

That night, as Gwen was putting our daughter to bed I was sitting the den watching images appear and disappear on the TV and listening to sounds that weren't registering, lost in my own dark thoughts. I was so pre-occupied that I hadn't even noticed that my wife had entered the room until she handed me a scotch on the rocks, and after taking a sip of her wine, said softly:

"Richie, we have to talk."

Without any enthusiasm, I replied, "about what?"

"You know about what, she said with an exasperated sigh. About us. About Friday night. About what you're feeling. We can't just pretend that our lives haven't been altered or that you don't have questions that need answering and as difficult as it may be for the both of us, they have to be addressed. Before you say anything, Honey, I need you to know that I love you, always have and always will".

On the one hand I knew I didn't want to hear the answers but on the other I knew if we didn't address this, the thoughts and images in my head would just fester and poison our love.

"I don't know where to start," I whimpered. God, I hated the sound of my own voice. I felt emasculated and powerless but Gwen took my hand and squeezing it, began:

"OK, then I will start and I hope you love and respect me enough not to ask me details."

I nodded, dreading what was about to come.

"First of all, he didn't rape me, hurt me in any way or even try to humiliate me, even though that is how I felt - humiliated. As you know, he brought wine and I was so nervous and scared that I drank most of what was missing from the bottle. When I sat on the sofa he got up from the chair and sat next to me, not touching, but close. We talked. Well, he talked mostly and I responded to occasional questions. He talked about our time together like it was months ago instead of twenty years. He talked about things we did, long forgotten, mutual friends and how, after I "dumped him', he changed careers, through himself into his work and amassed a fortune.

She seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, but, eventually, continued:

"He told me that although he had quite a number of girlfriends over the years, none of them could compare to me and that's why he never married. We had been talking for over a half hour and the wine had relaxed me a little. I started to harbor the hope that his trip down, Memory Lane, might be all that he needed and that he would give me the money for old times' sake. You know me, ever the optimist. That hope ended very shortly when he put his arm around me and kissed me. I was rigid at first but after a while he...he began...touching me, I started to get aroused and kissed him back. After a little while he took my hand and lead me to the stairs. He left just after mid-night and, as he was leaving, said that he would leave an envelope for me on the kitchen table. I guess he was too embarrassed to just hand me cash."

"When I heard the front door close I went down stairs to lock up. I looked in the den and you were asleep on the recliner. I was tempted to wake you so that you could lay with me and comfort me but I felt too dirty and ashamed, so I just went back up and took a shower. I never even went to the kitchen to look for an envelope."

"I hope you won't ask me for a blow by blow description."

I saw her wince slightly at her own words.

"I won't, I replied. I know how quickly you can get aroused and I certainly don't want to hear the details. I do have a couple of other questions, however."

Gwen seemed to steel herself but nodded her agreement.

"Why our bedroom and not the guest room," I asked.

"I tried to lead him there but when he asked if that was my room, I admitted that it was the guest room. He smirked and said, "I'm not really a guest, I'll be gone in a couple of hours."

Then he put his arm around me and led me to our room."

"Did he tell you that he still loves you," I asked with obvious trepidation in my voice.

"Well not in those words but his meaning was clear. I told him that the reason I broke up with him was because I fell in love with you and that was never going to change."

"What did he say to that?

"All he said was, "we'll see."

She breathed a long sigh and continued:

"He hates you Richie. He blames you for me not marrying him, even though I told him that we had never been near that stage. He didn't come right out and say that he hates you but I could tell by his comments and the undertone in his voice. I'm sure that's why he wants you here when we..., while he's here. That's why he insisted going to our bed. It's his way of saying, 'look I won, I got the girl in the end."

"But he hasn't, he only got what he paid for, she added harshly.

That night in bed Gwen tried to initiate sex but my battered ego was getting in the way. When I didn't respond to her touch she moved down and took me in her mouth. When I got hard she moved back up and after some tongue kissing, whispered, "please Richie, I need you. Twenty minutes later when I released inside of her I felt like a miner, staking his claim ... "this is my claim and only I get to extract the gold." However, I quickly remembered that Friday was only four days away.

I had finally lined up two job interviews, one for Wednesday and another the following day. Both jobs were completely out of my field and paid much less than my last job, considering my bonuses, but either one would pay the bills and give me the chance to rip that little bastard a new ass hole. Of course, I didn't want to go to jail so I was speaking figuratively but I vowed to figure out a way to get my pound of flesh.

The first interview, which I should have seen coming because of the vagueness of the add, was a telemarketing position, whose clients included: a landscaper, a roofing company and a vacation time share business. Of course, I was offered the position since it was a strictly commission salary and, of course, I turned it down.

Thursday's interview proved to be a little more promising. It was for a "management trainee" with a regional bank and since I had market experience and a Master's degree in finance, I thought I had a good shot.

The HR woman who interviewed me told me that she was impressed with my credentials but I was over qualified. They were looking for a recent college graduate who was looking to claw his way up the corporate ladder. She was kind and sympathetic but she verbalized what we both knew:

"Mister Kenton, you know better than most that the stock market is cyclical and eventually it will rebound and you will get back into the field and we would have expended a lot of time and effort to train you, only to be left having to, once again, fill the position."

When I got home I tried not to look like a human Bassett Hound but Gwen saw right through my cheerful facade. She hugged me and leading me to the living room, said:

"Why don't you sit down and I'll get you a drink." It's going to happen, Honey, the market has been inching up every day for almost two weeks."

When she turned to leave, I said wearily, "Just coffee please, it's too early for a drink."

In my depressed mood I knew one drink would be too many - and two not enough.

Friday, I was on the computer again sending what seemed like my hundredth resume. I had spoken to Gwen and she had no objection to moving if I found suitable employment in another region of the country, so I started to expand my search. Actually, I had received some response to a couple of my resumes but still no request for an interview.

I had just hit the 'send" button to my last application when I heard the door-bell chime and heard my wife yell, "I'll get it." When she came in the den she had a huge smile on her face and laid a box of flowers on the chair. She came behind me, putting her arms around my neck, kissed my cheek, and said:

"Thank you, Honey, you shouldn't have but I really appreciate it."

When she saw the anger on my face as I stared at the open box of roses, she knew.

"I'm sorry, Rich, she stammered, there was no card, so I just assumed..., Oh, that asshole."

She picked up the flowers and stomped out of the den heading towards the kitchen. I figured that she was disposing them but when I followed her to the kitchen a few moments later she was trimming the stems and placing them into a vase. Before I could vent my anger, she said, stoically:

"I'll keep these out of sight and as soon as he leaves, I'll trash them. He sees this as some sort of power play to win my affection but I only see it as his wasting more money. As an afterthought, she mumbled, I would have rather have had the cash."

Realizing her faux pas, she looked away immediately and said, "I'm sorry Honey, that's not what I meant..., I'm just so angry.

Gwen had arranged for Denise to sleep over again at the Jensen's and they were more than happy to oblige, especially knowing our financial dilemma. She told them that our jobs were at the country club, rather than a fictitious restaurant. None of our circle of friends were members and, would likely, never be. There is a long waiting list for membership, plus the twenty-five thousand initiation fee and ten thousand annual dues, would insure our cover. However, the asshole, Rollie, made sure to mention to Gwen that he was, not only a member, but sat on the board.

At about 9:30 Friday night, Gwen had joined me in the den holding a half empty glass of wine as I was finishing off my second scotch. She had showered and dressed and applied some light makeup. Unlike last week's attire of jeans, long sleeve blouse and a pony tail, she was wearing a knee length skirt, a short sleeve blouse and her hair was down and curled.

She sat across from me and holding up her glass, said, sheepishly, "liquid courage", before thanking a large swallow.

My anger was to a point where I wanted to smash things and hurt someone. I was furious at myself for not being able to extricate ourselves from this obscene situation; furious at Gwen for not wearing overalls, a straw hat and hiking boots. My liquor liberated tongue lashed out at my wife and I yelled:

"Jesus Christ, Gwen, why don't you just wear a fucking negligee to the door. That way the motherfucker won't have to go to the trouble of taking your clothes off..., or do you do that for him?", I added sarcastically.

Her expression went from shocked, to hurt, to angry as she stormed out of the den with tears in her eyes. As she stomped towards the living room, I had a moment of regret for my outburst but thought, "fuck it," and poured myself another scotch and slammed the den doors shut. I turned up the TV volume to block out any conversation and over the course of the evening drank several more scotches.

At 6:45 I awoke in my recliner with a sore back, a throbbing head and a morning woodie.

At some point I was having a dream of my wife on her hands and knees with Roland Dursten pile driving her from behind and Gwen slamming back into him, moaning for more. I went to the bathroom and after taking a copious piss, I downed a half a dozen aspirins and plodded into the kitchen to quench my ferocious thirst.

Once again, there on the table, was a unsealed, manila envelope and once again, I couldn't help but to look inside. After counting thirty $100-dollar bills, I was seething. "So, he stayed three hours, this time," I thought. I'm usually good for twenty minutes or so and on a rare occasion can get back up for another round and only with Gwen's help. I sat down, seething and thinking, "maybe it would be worth going to jail for the satisfaction of taking my Louisville Slugger to the scum-bags head."

I was still having delusions of murder and mayhem an hour later when Gwen walked into the kitchen. Her hair was still damp from her shower and she was wearing a long white cotton robe. Even without a drop of makeup she looked beautiful. Then I saw it. There was a little hickey at the base of her neck. I had never considered hurting a woman, much less, the woman I loved but at that moment, I had an overwhelming urge to slap her face. She realized what I was staring at and clutched the top of her robe to conceal the love bite. She seemed about to say something but I just lashed out:

"You must have been pretty good last night, he left you a thousand-dollar tip."

I saw the anger flash in her eyes, as she spat:

"Fuck you. Fuck you, Richie, he paid for his time. Pulling the robe open to expose the mark, she shouted even louder, He didn't do this FOR ME...he did it TO YOU. I see that you counted the money. What, you wanted to make sure you didn't get cheated."

"No Gwen, I spat, I already got cheated. I got cheated out of my life and my wife. I think since you got all dolled up for him last night that you might be thinking of moving up in the world. I mean, what's a lousy two grand a week when you could be doing the same thing for ten times that much."

The fight had left her and she sat on the slumped on the chair crying. I instantly regretted what I had said but sometimes it's impossible to retract words laced with such vitriol. However, I was determined to try. I eased up behind her and put my arm around her shoulder, and whispered:

"I'm sorry, Honey, I really am. It's just that I...

She shrugged my arm off her shoulder and hissed:

"Just leave me alone, just leave me the fuck alone."

Several more attempts to apologize that day, were ignored.

Once again, we didn't make it to church on Sunday and around noon, while I was making myself scarce, finishing up a project in the basement, I heard the garage door open and a car drive out. I assumed Gwen had gone out with Denise.

We had not spoken a word before she had left, despite another feeble attempt on my part to apologize. If it wasn't for my daughter I might have packed my things and left, fortunately, I didn't have the car.

When, by 4:30 I hadn't heard from my wife and my two calls to her cell went directly to voice mail, I figured I'd earn some points by cooking dinner. At 5:30 I was putting the finishing touches on a veal parmigiana when Denise and her mother came in. My daughter gave me a big hug and told me what a great time she and Melissa had at the new Disney movie and that 'Mommy' had taken them to dinner at Denny's and for an ice cream sundae, afterwards.

Gwen had disappeared into the bathroom and when she came out I was putting the dinner into a plastic container. I had no intentions of eating alone and I had lost my appetite, anyhow. I didn't realize she was standing behind me until I heard her ask:

"It smells great, aren't you going to eat?"

I didn't want her to see the tears in my eyes so I kept my back to her and managed to say, without croaking:

"Nah, I'm really not that hungry."

I didn't hear her approach as she snaked her arms around me, and pressing her face into my back, said: