Twenty Minutes Ch. 01

Aside from some routine phone calls, the only other conversations I heard were Angie's many long talks with Connie—some over the phone, others in the house. In all of them Connie's message was the same: Don't tell Alex about your own affair! Maintain the upper hand, keep him feeling guilty.

Angie was miserable. She was jealous, furious, and guilty. She was feeling all the pain I hoped she would feel: tormented by thoughts of me with Christina, insecure about how much I cared for her, devastated at the destruction of her trust in me. She was incredibly angry at me, so much that she sometimes said she didn't care if she never saw me again.

But at the same time she was forced to look at her own behavior. She tried to get Connie to see how what each of them had done was selfish and destructive (though Connie resisted acknowledging this). I had trusted Angie just as she had trusted me, and she had betrayed my trust.

The fact that I didn't know about her affair (so she thought) didn't make it less wrong. She admitted out loud that cheating on me made her think less of me, even though I wasn't to blame.

After 5-6 days, Angie was no closer to a decision about what to do. Connie basically advised her not to confess, but to attack me—but Angie wasn't convinced.

I was mildly surprised that Angie hadn't even tried to call me. I wouldn't have answered my cell phone if she had, but I would have known about the call. I assumed she felt that as the guilty party, I was the one who needed to approach her again.

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

Exactly a week after my "confession", I came home at 4:00 and made a nice dinner for me and Angie, while waiting for her return from work. I'd picked a day when I knew that Connie wouldn't be around, because she was going out with her husband. I didn't want any interference in what promised to be a painful confrontation.

Angie walked in about 5:45, cautiously. She'd seen the strange car out front, and had no idea who might be in the house.

She gasped in shock when she saw me, and the dining room. The table was set with a tablecloth, candles, and two place settings of our good china. I was wearing an apron, standing at the stove stirring things. She could smell the sauce I had made for the veal, and the roasted potatoes in the oven.

"Hi, Angie," I said, trying to look eager but frightened. "I hoped ... I hoped that if I made us some dinner, maybe we could ... talk tonight?"

"Alex, you scared me to death! Where is your car?"

"Oh, it's in the shop for a few days, and I have a rental. Sorry about that."

"And why on earth haven't you called me sooner? I've been ... I don't know. Angry, confused, worried."

"Well, Angie, I was scared too. I wanted to give you a little time. I was so afraid that you'd just scream at me, throw me out of your life forever. I'm still afraid you're going to do that," I said, looking at her.

"I might," she said. "I don't have any idea what to do, Alex. I've been hurting so badly this week. I've been crying, and thinking, and worrying. How could you betray our marriage like that? How could you destroy my trust in you?"

This wasn't going so well, I thought. Perhaps following Connie's advice, Angie was being aggressive and attacking, not honest.

"Angie," I said. "I was wrong. Cheating on you was wrong. It is the worst thing I have ever done, and I will regret it for the rest of my life. I'm here tonight hoping that we can talk some of it through, and see whether there's any chance for our marriage.

"You may not think that I know what you have been going through this past week—but believe me, I do."

She started to reply angrily. "Damn it Alex, how could you possibly know what I've been going through?" Then she suddenly changed her tone.

"I'm sorry," she said more quietly, almost wearily. "It looks like a lovely dinner. Why don't we eat, and then try to talk about things?"

We both relaxed a bit over dinner, managing to talk about neutral topics. Her work, our families, how her brother's new company was going. I told her that I'd taken vacation days to try to sort things out. She asked where I'd been staying, and I told her about the Holiday Inn.

"It's been pretty lonely there," I said with a sad smile.

"Yes, well it's been pretty bad here too," she replied, with an almost wistful expression on her face.

I waited. I wanted either of two things: for Angie to confess her affair to me, or for her to go on suffering, believing I had also cheated.

When she remained silent, I prompted her. "Well, what shall we do? Do you want to ask me things? Do you want to tell me things?"

I'll never know what she might have replied, because the kitchen door suddenly opened and we heard Connie's voice saying, "Angie, are you here?"

She came into the dining room, saw us, and immediately jumped on me. "Alex, what are you doing here? You have some goddam nerve coming back here—do you know what poor Angie has been suffering?"

I tried to control my annoyance. Damn it, she was supposed to be out with Brad tonight!

Angie had the same thought. "Connie, I thought you and Brad were going to dinner."

"Oh, he's working late and we had to postpone it. Angie—you're not letting Alex sweet-talk himself back into the house, are you?"

I began to see an opportunity to use Connie's surprise visit to my advantage. I could argue things out with her, letting her say all the things a self-righteous, innocent wife might say, and I hoped that then Angie wouldn't say them.

"Connie," I said quietly. "I know you are Angie's friend, but I'm not sure this is your business."

"Oh, no?" she blustered. "Who do you think has been holding your wife's hand, bringing her coffee, listening to her as she cried? Do you have any idea what this last week has been like for her?"

"Yes, Connie, I do," I replied, as Angie said, "now Connie, please calm down."

"No, I won't calm down," Connie persisted. "Alex, cheating on Angie and then throwing it in her face is the worst thing you could have done to her! How could you be so callous?"

I stayed calm. "Are you saying it would have been better if I had had an affair and NOT told Angie? Would that have made it all right?"

This struck home—she looked less sure of herself, a bit embarrassed. I also saw Angie flush, and look away from us for a moment.

Pulling herself together, Connie cried, "No, Alex, that's not what I'm saying."

"OK, Connie, please help me understand. Is it wrong for a married person to have an affair behind their partner's back? Or is it OK, as long as the partner never finds out? Or are you saying that revealing the truth about an affair makes things worse? Please clear this up for me!"

I watched Angie as Connie and I argued. She seemed intent, as well as happy to let Connie do the talking for her. That also suited me fine for the moment.

Despite her predicament, Connie stayed aggressive.

"It's not complicated, Alex. You cheated on Angie. That was wrong—it was despicable. Even if you hadn't told her it would have been a horrible breach of her trust.

"But I have to wonder whether your 'confession' wasn't just to get over your own guilt. It obviously didn't make Angie happy to hear it!"

"Connie," I said, "it sounds to me like you are saying that cheating is not that bad as along as it's a secret, but that confessing it makes it worse. Do you agree with that, Angie?"

My wife looked troubled. "I ... don't know what I think, exactly. I just know that since you told me about you and Christina, I've ... just been beside myself. It's horrible, what you have put me through!"

"All right, let me ask you as directly as I can. Should I have kept my affair with Christina a secret from you—just ended it, and left you forever in the dark?"

Before she could answer Connie jumped in. "The answer is No, Alex. You would forever have had a secret over Angie, a nasty, dirty secret. You would always have felt a little bit of scorn for her, knowing that you'd had this hot thing going on behind her back, and her too blind to notice. Don't you see how that belittles her?"

I didn't reply, though I was delighted by her answer, and there was silence for a long minute. Then I said, "OK, Connie, I guess I see what you're saying. But I think that it's time now for you to leave Angie and me to our discussion. We have a lot of difficult things to work through—just the two of us."

Connie looked over at Angie, who nodded to her. "Yes, Connie. Thank you for being such a good friend, but Alex and I need to talk alone."

Reluctantly, Connie said her goodbyes and left.

When I turned back to Angie, she looked more uncomfortable than ever. I offered to clear the dishes, and she came in and made coffee as I straightened up.

I poured two cups for us and carried them back to the table.

"Angie, what should we do? What do you want me to do? Is there any chance for us?"

"Honestly, Alex, I have no idea. This is ... it's even more complicated than you realize. I never thought that anything you ever told me could have made me so unhappy, so confused.

"Was I wrong to tell you about my affair, Angie? Should I have hid it from you?"

"No!" she cried, suddenly bursting into tears. "No, doing it behind my back would have been even worse! Oh my God, I think I'm losing my mind!"

I leaned over and took her hand, holding it gently as she sobbed for a few minutes.

Finally she calmed down enough to say, "Alex, I think maybe you should go. I know we haven't talked this through yet, but I don't seem ... I just don't seem ready to do that yet.

"Can we get together in a couple of days?"

I knew that she was wrestling with the dilemma of whether to confess the truth to me—and it was pretty crucial to me that she do so.

"Of course, Angie. How about if I cook dinner here again on Friday?"

"No, Alex, I want to cook this time. It will make me feel ... I don't know, a little more in charge of things."

We said our goodbyes quickly. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, hesitantly, as if wondering whether I dared, and then I left.

Throughout the evening Angie's behavior had been completely unlike that of an innocent, cheated-upon spouse. There was little yelling, no angry denunciations.

Of course, I knew why she didn't act that way—she wasn't innocent! But I wondered whether she considered how odd I might find it that she wasn't expressing any rage about what I'd done.

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

Over the next couple of days Angie and Connie continued their conversations. Connie kept urging Angie not to confess to her own affair, and Angie kept feeling undecided and lost.

It was clear that the points I made in my argument with Connie were weighing on Angie, but neither she nor I knew what she would do in the end.

By Friday I decided I had had enough. One way or another, this evening the truth would come out. I hoped for honesty from Angie, but if I didn't get it then by God she would get it from me!

I realized that I'd almost been feeling sorry for her. I knew exactly what her pain was like—all too well, in fact. But my pain was the result of her real affair—hers was just a bit of temporary suffering that, in my mind, was the least she deserved.

When I came into the house that evening our roles almost seemed to be reversed. I was tired of acting the submissive, guilty husband, so I came in feeling relaxed. Angie was supposed to be the angry victim, but she looked tense and uneasy.

I said, "Hi Angie," and kissed her on the cheek again. "You look beautiful, and dinner smells great. Can I do anything to help?"

"No thanks, Alex. Maybe pour the wine, it's in the refrigerator. I'll serve the plates now."

As we had on Wednesday, we tacitly agreed not to tackle the central question during dinner. Instead we ate, talked about light subjects, and enjoyed Angie's cooking

When we were sitting with coffee I decided to plunge in. My marriage might be over at the end of this conversation, but I was no longer willing to wait.

"We shouldn't dance around this any longer, Angie. You need to tell me honestly how you're feeling, and what lies ahead for us—at least from your point of view."

No guilty husband, trying to win his wife's favor back, would ever have spoken so forcefully, but Angie didn't seem to notice. Instead she just looked at me, shaken, with tears at the corners of her eyes.

"Alex, I ... I still don't know what to say to you. Every time I think of you with Christina, I start to cry. I feel an emptiness inside me, a hole in my heart like I've never felt before. I don't see how it could ever go away, how I could ever trust you again."

I said nothing, hoping for a "but".

"But ... but I haven't been honest with you either. I cheated on you too—I had an affair!" Her last words came out haltingly, as she burst into tears.

In a minute she looked up at me, still crying, presumably expecting a shocked or angry outburst from me. Instead I sat quietly, looking at her.

"Can you tell me about it, Angie?"

Avoiding my eyes, she said, "it was ... just a guy I met at that tennis class I took. A bunch of us used have a couple of drinks after the class, and he would always flirt with me. Then one night we were the only two left in the bar, and ... and ..."

She stopped talking, and cried quietly, her face in her hands. Then she looked up.

"Wait a minute, goddamit, Alex! Here I am confessing to you, and you've never told me anything about you and that ... whore Christina! Don't I deserve the truth too?"

"Well for one thing, Angie, did you notice that you haven't ever asked me about it? But yes, you deserve the complete truth from me too. And I have two things to tell you.

"First, I already knew about your affair. I came home a little early last week and heard the two of you fucking in our bed—in OUR bed, Angie!

"And second, I never had an affair with Christina Blodgett. She and her husband moved to Vancouver last January. I made it up, Angie—I've never cheated on you, ever."

Angie looked at me, not only stunned but uncomprehending. "Wait a minute—you LIED to me Alex?" Then, as my first statement hit her, the color drained from her face. She stared at me, her confusion turning to shame.

"You heard us?" she whispered.

"Yes," I said coldly, feeling my pent-up anger surging through me. "Yes, Angie. I heard you fucking another man in our bed!

"So I left. And I came back here an hour later and told you a crazy story about me and Christina Blodgett. I wanted you to feel just a bit of the pain—of the anguish that I was feeling."

I could tell that she was struggling to put all of this together. She looked completely bewildered, which was not hard to understand. I waited a couple of minutes, and then went on.

"Angie. We have a lot of talking to do. Please call me when you're ready, and I'll come back to the house. But it had better be soon, and you had better be ready to be completely honest with me. Otherwise this marriage is over."

I got up and, without looking back, went out the door to my car and drove away.

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

I hadn't forgotten the divorce papers in my pocket—I'd decided not to pull them out. As angry as I was, I wasn't yet ready to take that step.

Angie's confession hadn't made everything better, because nothing could do that. But she had been honest about something very difficult—maybe loving me meant more to her than just being able to lord it over me as the (supposedly) innocent victim.

I went off and had two beers in the Holiday Inn bar, went upstairs and fell asleep with a ballgame on the TV. I was tired, depressed, angry, and hopeful—an interesting combination.

My cell phone woke me at 8:15. That early on a Saturday it had to be Angie, and it was.

"Hello?" I said blearily.

"Oh Alex, I'm sorry if I woke you." Her voice sounded tremulous and frightened.

"It's all right, Angie." I stopped, and didn't say anything else.

"Alex—I know I need to ... oh my God, how are you ever going to forgive me?" She broke off and started to sob. Finally she calmed down a little and said, "can we talk today? I'm just going out of my mind. I'm so scared I'm going to lose you, and I can't even think!"

"What are you doing today, Angie? Maybe we can meet later. Do you want to go out for lunch?"

She seemed to calm down a little. "Lunch is great, but please, not out in public."

"OK," I said. "I can pick up some sandwiches and bring them over. What's your schedule this morning?"

Angie said, "I've got to run some errands and go to the supermarket, but I can be back by 12:30. Is that OK?"

"Yes, that's fine. Alex?"

"Yes, Angie?"

"Ilove you," she whispered. Then before I could reply, she hung up.

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

I had a quick shower, grabbed breakfast, then went to a delicatessen and picked up things for lunch. I got to the house by 11, giving me lots of time to hear the tapes of what went on the previous night after I left.

First there was just the sound of Angie crying. After a while she calmed down, and cleaned up the dinner dishes. Then she called directory assistance, asked for the Blodgetts, and was told that number was no longer in service.

A couple of minutes later she called a woman named Rosemarie Burke, who had been friendly with the Blodgetts. Angie casually asked if she'd seen them lately, and Rosemarie said, "oh no, Arthur got a job in British Columbia around the first of the year and they moved up there."

After chatting a few moments longer, Angie hung up and immediately called Connie and asked her to come over.

Connie was hardly in the door before Angie was crying again.

"Connie—I'm afraid I've lost him! I think Alex is going to divorce me!"

"Angie, what are you talking about? He's the guilty one, not you—at least that's what he thinks!"

"No, listen!" Angie explained to Connie what I'd told her at dinner. There was a long silence.

Finally Connie said, "holy shit!" in a low, almost admiring tone. "That's unbelievable, Angie! What a bizarre thing for him to do! But how do you know it's true? Maybe he lied tonight, just to put you in the wrong!"

"No, Connie, I called Rosemarie Burke. She said the Blodgetts moved away in January. No, I've thought and thought about this. Alex had to be telling the truth tonight—there was no affair.

"But what really matters is that he heard me and Tommy! In our bed!"

She stopped talking and began to sob. I could hear Connie get up, presumably to give Angie a hug as she cried.

Their conversation went on for over an hour. All of Connie's bravado had disappeared—she saw as clearly as Angie did how I must be feeling. They even went over my argument with Connie from two nights earlier, realizing with dismay how bad all of Connie's high-and-mighty pronouncements about adulterers looked now.

In the end, the best Connie could offer my wife was a little bit of consolation. "He still must want to be with you, Angie. Otherwise he never would have done this. He would have come home and thrown you out of the house."

"I know," Angie said, sniffling. "I keep telling myself that. But after all those things you and I both said about cheating, how awful it is—he just sat there and let us hang ourselves."

"Angie, none of what we said that night matters. All that matters is whether Alex still wants to be married to you. Whether he loves you enough to give you another chance. That may be partly up to you, but mainly it's up to him. You'll have to talk to him and see."

Bravo Connie! The first sound advice she'd given Angie since this whole thing started.

I was finished with the tapes before Angie returned, and I just sat thinking in the living room. When I heard her car, I went and opened the door for her.

Angie came in with a couple of bags of groceries, looking as meek and frightened as I had ever seen her. Without a word I went out to the car and brought the rest of the things in, and we worked together putting everything away.