Things don't Always Work Out

If you dislike characters that aren't purely good or evil, and if reading about cheating ruins your day, well – this isn't for you.

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I, Gabriella Warden, grew up in a borderline dysfunctional family. My father Vince was big and tough, a starting middle linebacker three years at a Division I school who might have made it in the pros but for a knee injury in his team's Orange Bowl game his senior year. Although he had the demeanor of a linebacker he is also smart and became a trial attorney, specializing in employment law – on the side of employees.

My mother Gina is a petite beautiful woman with little self-confidence. How she and my dad ever got together, no one has any idea. She seems paralyzed when she has to make a decision of any significance whereas my father has no problem making decisions although since he often shoots from the hip his "batting average" isn't that great.

I never noticed any "real love" exchanged between my parents. I know that they liked having kids –to bask in their children's accomplishments – but we were never bathed in love either.

While Gina is afraid of her shadow, Vince isn't afraid of anything. Also, he instilled a "kick-ass" attitude in me and my two brothers. He was especially concerned about me since I was only of average size and considered "really cute" in view of what he knew about sexual harassment from his profession. He had me taking Brazilian ju-jitsu classes from five years old to sixteen, and taught me his own version of dirty self-defense.

While I had lots of issues with my dad growing up, there were times that I loved having him in my corner. One instance occurred when I was in fourth grade, average size for my age. On a Wednesday the middle school bully, a big fat sixth grade boy named Wendell (of all things – maybe he became a bully because of his name) pushed me down on the playground, soiling and ripping my dress. As he and two of his friends laughed at me and threatened me with more harm I jumped to my feet without using my hands (something I practiced in ju-jitsu classes all of the time) and had kicked him in the balls before the smile left his face. As he bent over I grabbed the back of his head, and pushed his face down into contact with my upwardly moving knee, spurting blood all over the place, including on his two buddies – who made themselves scare.

As Wendell lay crying and bleeding on the tarmac, the playground monitor came over and scolded me. I told her that I was just defending myself. She called the school nurse to tend to Wendell while she took me to the principal's office. My scared mother picked me up from school when I was suspended. While she simply wrung her hands when my dad got home from work and I quickly told him the story knowing that his reaction would be much different than that of my mother. He congratulated me (as did my brothers) and gave me a rare big hug. Then he called the principal at home that night. I have no idea how he got the principal's home phone number. When the principal would not immediately rescind the suspension my father was in court the next day. Thursday, and got an emergency hearing scheduled for the day after, Friday.

My father subpoenaed the principal, superintendent of the school district, Wendell, Wendell's father, the playground monitor, and the school nurse. None of them were pleased to have to come to court the Friday before a three day weekend, and they were even less pleased when the judge was sympathetic to my dad's arguments. The attorney that the school system sent to the hearing was a newbie and my dad ate him alive. When the judge saw the difference in size between Wendell and me (he had me by almost a foot in height and 100 pounds in body weight), when I testified and showed my soiled and torn dress, and when Wendell came off as a total jerk and the bully that he was when he testified, the judge immediately reinstated me in school and fined the school district $500.

After the hearing the superintendent apologized to me, and my dad told him to use the $500 to hire another playground monitor for the next month. Wendell's dad – who was a big fat slob, just like Wendell was – came up to my dad in a hostile manner after the hearing saying something about how Vince had humiliated his kid. My dad grabbed his hand and pretended that he was shaking it, and with a smile on his face. In fact my dad crushed Wendell's dad's hand so hard that tears formed in his eyes. Only I was close enough to hear what Vince said to the fat ass: "If you don't shut your fucking mouth, and if your little brat ever touches my girl again, I'm going to put you in intensive care and then sue you for everything you've got. Understand asshole – nod your head if you do."

He nodded his head, and slinked off with his son, who still had cotton stuffed in his nose, holding his crushed hand with the other one.

Needless to say, no one ever fucked with me at school ever again; at least not until High School – but that's another story and you get the picture just from the middle school situation I described.

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I don't know whether it was because of, or in spite of, my kick-ass attitude, or if it had to do with the fact that I was always training diligently for one sport or another, but I was a virgin when I married Jason Grimes shortly after we graduated from college. As do many women who are virgins when they marry, I thought that sex during marriage would immediately be everything that it was made out to be in the Western media, which seems to be pre-occupied with orgasms. I didn't realize that it took interest, a high level of compatibility, experience, and even work, to become fully sexually satisfied. Therefore I was grossly disappointed during the first several months of my marriage to Jason that I wasn't experiencing the sexual nirvana that I had been promised by the female members of my acquaintance and the film and print industries in the United States. The few orgasms that I had were mild – no better than with a dildo.

It took getting drunk for the first time in my life, and confiding in Delilah, my most outrageous female friend, to be set straight. She gave me a lecture on compatibility, work, and experience. Delilah also demanded that I make Jason give me oral sex, and ordered me to "learn to suck cock." I didn't take her up on her offer to have her boyfriend eat and shag me a couple of times to know what I was missing, but I decided that I needed to at least be more pro-active.

Unfortunately, Jason was not really on board with my pro-active stance, and while he did eat me a couple of times it was clear that he didn't enjoy it, and he also wasn't really that interested in me sucking his cock.

While our sex life was, at least to me, blah, our professional lives weren't. Jason and I both got pretty good jobs right out of college. My first one lasted only a year, however, when John Tipton, a vice-president of the company, sexually harassed me on a business trip. Like the bully Wendell he got kicked in the balls, but I spared him getting his face smashed with my knee; however he walked gingerly the rest of the trip, and took a different plane home than I did. When I got back to work I was called into the CEO's office and told that I was fired. He didn't expect my response.

"Listen dip shit, you can't fire me because I quit this fucking pig sty. Your VP John Tipton sexually harassed me, so he should be the one fired but I don't expect that from you oinkers. What is going to happen, however, is that you're going to give me two month's severance and a glowing job recommendation – which I have earned with my work. If you don't agree to that by tomorrow, my father will have you in court by the end of the week. Here's his card – look him up in Martindale and Hubbell, and on Goggle." With that I tossed a business card of Vince Warden, attorney at law, onto the CEO's desk, cleaned out my desk, went and told the director of HR the situation, and cleared out.

The next afternoon I called the CEO's office. His secretary put me right through. "There's no reason to have bad feelings, Gabriella," he opened up the conversation in a perfectly pleasant voice. "I was too precipitous in firing you. After talking to your supervisor and HR I know that you're a valuable member of our team, and I want you to come back to work, and I assure you that no one will ever harass you again."

"Sorry, dude, I'm done with your organization. All you need to tell me is if I'm getting two month's severance and a glowing recommendation. I've already talked to Vince, and he's foaming at the mouth," I harshly responded.

After another couple of minutes of ass-kissing by the CEO, he assured me that he'd have my check hand-delivered tomorrow, along with a recommendation letter authored by my supervisor and signed by him as CEO. I thanked him and hung up. He was too scared not to be true to his word. The next job that I got – within six weeks – was much better than my first one.

My second job, with a large multi-national company, had significant chances for advancement, and I was offered a substantial promotion after being there only sixteen months.

I talked over my possible promotion, and what it meant, extensively with Jason. I was happy in my present job, and while I would likely be happier – and certainly would find it more rewarding, both for my ego and pocketbook – with the promotion I didn't want to destroy my marriage in the process. I didn't want the bordering on dysfunctional family life I had come from as my own, especially if we had kids once I turned thirty (which was my present plan).

The main problem with the promotion was that it was tied to work on an important project, which was likely to last for a year, and one that required a lot of travel; with rare exception I would be away two-three nights a week. Also, there would be at least two weekends during the next year that I would be gone.

I believe that Jason and I had an entirely frank discussion about things. Jason wasn't good about making meals for himself so I promised to prepare and freeze or refrigerate a dinner for him every night that I'd be gone on business. Jason was very good, on the other hand, at filling his time with sports and hobbies. Neither of us liked to sleep alone, but we were devoted to making sure that we thoroughly enjoyed each other (at least in the vanilla way that had been our practice) when I was home.

We both decided that the enhanced prestige and paycheck for my new position was worth the travel, and so I accepted the promotion and the very next week travelled to a city about 500 miles away to start work on the year-long project.

**************

The project I had to travel for involved people from three different offices of my company, and two different offices of the company that we were developing a strategic alliance with (which might someday result in a merger). Most of the people working on the project were intelligent and easy to get along with. One guy from the other company, Bill Nelson, was extremely talented and nice, but was a little disconcerting. Bill was assigned to the same team of seven people as I was as the team leader.

The thing about Bill that was disconcerting was that he was the best looking guy that I had ever seen live in my life. He was big, muscular, and blond, with an almost cherubic smiling face, and super-smart; and he always treated everyone with respect. The other women on my team told me that they suffered from wet panty syndrome when around him.

Bill wore a platinum wedding ring, and carried a photo of his wife Kathy in his wallet, on prominent display whenever he opened it. While the ring and photo deterred some women, it didn't stop some other women on our team, and on other teams working on the project, from hitting on him. He never bit – at least not that I knew – however.

After we had been working on the project three days a week for five weeks we had one of the two weekend sessions that we were told were necessary when we hired on. I asked Jason to come and stay in my hotel room that weekend, but he had plans to play golf and go to football and soccer games, so he declined. We reached a milestone on the project that weekend and had a party in a small hotel ballroom that Saturday night, complete with DJ, to celebrate.

As alcohol flowed at the party – I didn't imbibe because I never want to lose control and Bill wasn't much of a drinker either – much was consumed by others. I swear that at least half of the women working on the project – married and single – hit on Bill like they were sex-starved groupies and he was a Rock Star. Marie, in particular, I thought would be impossible for Bill to resist. She looked like Kate Upton – only with a rounder butt and, if possible, bigger tits. As I chatted with some of my non-threatening male friends, and sixty three year-old overweight Alice, one of the few other women there apparently not trying to fuck Bill – I watched Bill's discomfort grow as the evening progressed.

At one point when I was leaving the Ladies room, Bill was just exiting the Men's room. He looked hassled. He smiled widely when he saw me. "Gabriella, will you please save me from the vamps at the party – otherwise I'll have to go to my room early, and I don't want to seem not to be a team player."

"What's the matter, Bill – having trouble fighting off the sharks?" I laughed.

"I'm glad that you think it's funny," he fake growled.

I laughed, and he growled, some more at his plight as we walked back to the ballroom, and when music started to play he begged me to dance with him "So that I can avoid the school of sharks," he moaned.

"OK," I laughed.

The first few dances were fast, but when the first slow one started Marie, and several other women, some feeling no pain as the result of alcohol consumption, tried to cut in. "Show them our wedding rings," Bill mumbled to me as Marie tapped me on the shoulder.

"We're both monogamous," Bill smiled as he displayed his platinum marriage band – and I followed suit – as he declined Marie's, and the others', attempts to intervene. The women shot daggers at me.

"Bill, every woman here will hate me," I grumbled.

"Alice won't," was his flippant reply referencing my sixty three year old chunky friend.

"Great," I grumbled.

There was another problem. It really felt great when Bill took me into his arms, but I mentally detached myself as best I could.

After a second slow dance, where we were again interrupted by several now even drunker "ladies," we each got a club soda and went to a table in a corner of the room and sat down.

"Does this always happen to you?" I chuckled.

"Not funny," Bill growled.

"You could even resist Marie – I'm impressed," I chuckled again.

"Don't be," Bill growled again.

I don't know why, but I asked a question I knew that I would later regret asking. "Did you ever consider having an affair with one of the many women who hit on you?"

"My standards are too high," he replied, taking a sip from his club soda.

"What are your standards?" I continued.

"Well – she'd have to be at least 90% as beautiful, sexy, smart, pleasant yet kick-ass, and fun as you are; and no such woman has ever hit on me," he deadpanned.

I thought that he was kidding – but the look of consternation on his face told me that he wasn't, and I know that I blushed. Without making eye contact, he saved us from that really awkward moment by saying "Larry and Jack say that there's a pool room next to the video game room on the first floor. Let's challenge them to a game of pool, and blow this pop stand."

I jumped at that invitation, calmed myself down, and hoped that the flush in my face had also dissipated. We located Jack and Larry and shot 8-ball in teams, Bill and me against Larry and Jack. Jack had obviously had a misspent youth because, even though Larry was as bad as I was, they cleaned our clocks. I was so happy to be rescued from my way too honest and awkward conversation with Bill that I didn't mind paying out the $1 per game bet that we had with Jack and Larry.

The next morning, and for the next three weeks at work, Bill was just as friendly and kind as ever, and neither of us ever brought up the awkward party conversation. Also, while our entire team ate dinner together every night we were away from home, Bill and I never did things alone. If we ever did anything outside of work it was with at least two other people; the only exception was that we often exercised together in the hotel health club first thing in the morning. He sometimes spotted me on lifts, but mostly we just chatted as we did our own thing on the various weight machines, treadmill, and elliptical.

Then came another defining event.

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As I mentioned earlier, MOST of the people working on the project were intelligent and easy to get along with. There was one notable exception; Charles Davenport, a V. P. with Bill's company. He was a male chauvinist pig of the first order, and an asshole besides. Everyone simply tolerated him and we all tried our best to avoid implementing any lame suggestion he made.

One night, at the start of the fourth week after the ballroom party, Charles insisted that I go to dinner with him at the hotel restaurant to talk about one of his hare-brained ideas. It turned out that he just wanted in my pants, not my feedback. He made it clear that as far as he was concerned my continued participation in the project depended upon whether or not I put out. When I told him in no uncertain terms to go fuck himself and got up from the table to leave he grabbed my arm. I instinctively punched him in the nose, resulting in a scene almost as bloody as with Wendell in the playground when I was in fourth grade.

As I stormed away I ran into Bill; he stopped my charge. "Did I just witness what I think that I did?" he chuckled.

"Not funny, Bill," I sniped.

"Charles was sexually harassing you, wasn't he?" Bill rhetorically asked. "I was trying to listen – tell me if what I heard is right."

Since Bill was coming from another direction I knew damn well that he hadn't heard anything, but I played along. "He told me in no uncertain terms that unless I played hide the salami with him he'd find a way to get me fired. When I told him to eat shit he grabbed my arm, so I broke his ugly schnozzle."

"That's exactly what I heard and saw from the next booth over," Bill smiled. "We need to make a call right now."

Bill virtually carried me to the lobby, where he made a call to the head of HR of his company. He related what he "heard and saw," and that I punched Charles in self-defense. While Bill was on the phone and Charles was exiting the restaurant with a cloth napkin pressed to his nose Bill barked at him "I'm talking to Carol in HR right now about your sexual harassment of Gabriella, asshole."

Wow – Bill really was in my corner and not afraid of a VP of his company. I found out later that Bill was also a VP, although he never even hinted that when we were working on the project.

Charles was given the chance to get counselling and then get transferred, or to resign. He chose the former, but we never had to deal with him again. Even though Bill and I never told anyone about the situation, word somehow got around and almost every woman on the project – including, to my surprise, Marie – congratulated me. The other women seemed to even forgive me for monopolizing Bill's time at the party.

I did my best to put my magnetism towards, and appreciation of, Bill aside, and we continued to be friendly co-workers, with no outward hint to others working on the project of our apparent attraction to each other.

***************

On a Tuesday a month after the Davenport situation it had been an especially taxing day for me. Not only was I, as our project team's liaison, running around from one meeting to the other all day, but I had underestimated the adverse effect wearing the new four inch high heels that I was in would have on my feet since most of the floors I traversed that day were of marble, slate, or other hard material. Bill and I were in the last two meetings together, and he noticed my pain. After everyone besides Bill and I had left the second meeting in a small windowless conference room with a table, six chairs, and a couch, as we were collecting and organizing our papers Bill saw me wincing as I took a few steps.