Two of a Kind

"Why do you have this dollhouse...I mean architectural 3-d model?" she asked smiling. "Are you a nerd too?"

"No, I'm and architect," I said. "I designed the house. That's why he invited me to the party."

"So you're not..." she began.

"Nope," I said. "I'm not some famous guy."

"Then you're not trying to act like you're too cool for the room?" she said in shock.

"Nope, I'm just a regular guy. I'm not really comfortable in big parties, so I tend to move away from the crowds."

She slapped her hand over her face. "So when you said that I was beautiful, you really meant it? It wasn't just some boollshit line?"

"Nope," I said. "It was just my opinion." She was becoming more and more animated and my ability to accept what I considered irrational behavior, even from a woman as beautiful as she was, had worn out, so I went back inside the house.

Once there I looked around the room and wondered what I was doing there. I waved at my sister who was carrying a tray of drinks and quickly slipped outside and left the party.

A few days later, back at home, I answered my phone absent mindedly while staring as usual at the designs I was doing for a building.

"Yeah?" I said as I spoke into the phone.

"That is not polite way to answer phone," she said. I was shocked. I knew instantly who it was, but couldn't figure out how she'd gotten my number or why she'd call me. I figured very quickly that she must've gotten my number from the guy who held the party and she probably wanted me to do something with her house.

"How can I help you?" I asked.

"Now you sound like you are working in a store?" she laughed. "You left the party before we were finished talking. I had to track you down."

"Why?" I asked. "You're some kind of model or entertainment person. You live in California and I live in Illinois, just outside of Chicago. I design buildings and homes. It's not glamorous and you probably make a lot more money than I do. I'm a normal boring guy. I do normal boring things. You can probably walk down your street and talk to twenty or thirty millionaires or famous people the same way I walk down my street and talk to my mailman or a bag lady."

"So what are you trying to say?" she asked in a huff.

"I'm trying to say that we're not the same kind of people. We don't travel in the same circles. We don't do the same things. We don't like the same things and you'd be wasting your time," I said.

"So now you've changed your mind and you don't like me?" she asked. "I'm not beautiful anymore?"

"I didn't say that," I said.

"But what you're saying is that when we looked at each other, there was no spark and I was imagining the whole thing?" she asked.

"Well, no, I'm not saying that either," I stuttered.

"Have you thought about me at all since then?" she asked.

"Well..." I said tentatively.

"Well what?" she asked.

"Okay, I thought about you some," I said. "But what does..."

"You only thought about me some?" she asked. "I've been obsessed with you. It's lucky for you that my friend Ava had your number. She told me I should call you."

It was really strange but we started dating on the weekends. Either I would fly to California or she would fly to Chicago. It got to the point that the five days between the weekends were torture for both of us. And thank God for unlimited phone packages because there were some nights when I'd call her when I first got home and we'd stay on the phone for three or four hours or until one of us fell asleep.

It was actually the telephone that made me realize that we had a problem. Apparently one night Becca called me and my phone was busy. She then called Ava and her phone was busy too. She called us both back an hour later and both lines were still busy. Becca doesn't do jealousy well. She left her apartment and drove to Ava's dorm. She stormed in and started calling Ava all kinds of names and tried to fight her.

Two of the guys who lived in the dorm room next to Ava had to come in and restrain Becca until she calmed down. When she did calm down she wouldn't listen to anything Ava had to say. She just stormed out and drove right to the airport with no luggage and got on the first available plane. Luckily Ava had the foresight to call me.

When Becca showed up cursing and screaming at me, I was ready for her.

"You bastard," she yelled. "I loved you."

"I still love you Becca," I said calmly.

"No you don't," she hissed. "Or you wouldn't be spending all of your time talking to chunky girls."

I looked at her and shook my head.

"If you love me, you have to promise me that you won't ever talk to her again," she screamed.

"I can't do that Becca," I said.

"I knew it," she screamed. "You love her don't you?"

"Yep," I said. "And I have for a very long time."

"How long?" she asked she was calming down.

"About twenty two years," I said.

"But she's only twenty three," said Becca.

"Well, I was kind of jealous of her when she was first born," I said. "Here, let me show you something." She was still angry but I got her to come over to my couch. I showed her the photo album I'd gotten ready for her.

As she looked through and saw pictures of me growing up she also saw a lot of photos of Ava.

"She's your..." she began. She had the biggest smile on her face. Then she turned red.

"Yep, Ava is my baby sister," I said.

"Neither of you ever said anything about that," she hissed. Even as she whined she snuggled herself in and wrapped her long arms around me. "I feel so stupid," she gushed.

"No you don't," I said. "You feel warm and soft and..."

"Stop that," she smiled. She pulled my hands out from under her sweater. "You have to call Ava, first."

"Why so I have to call my...chunky sister?" I asked.

"Oh please don't tell her I said that," she whined. I dialed the phone and handed it to her. After a few minutes of them chattering away she handed the phone to me.

"Hey sis," I said.

"Will, that woman is crazy about you," she said.

"I feel the same way about her," I said.

"So maybe you should do something about it," she said.

"I'm trying to, but she won't let me take her clothes off," I laughed.

"No stupid, I meant something permanent, like getting married and having kids," she said.

"Ava, that's ridiculous. Becca is going to be one of the top models on the planet. She has a very bright future ahead of her. In a few years she won't even remember me. You know it, I know it and she knows it. You act like I'm supposed to change both of our lives by just saying, Hey, Becca, ya wanna get married? Don't be..."

"Yes!" yelled Becca from across the room.

She snatched the phone and started kissing me. I was totally shocked. I had no idea what was going on. I didn't even realize that she'd been listening to me. I hadn't listened while she was talking to Ava so I guess I thought she hadn't either.

As I pulled into my long driveway, I realized that the car had gotten us home on its own. I don't remember leaving the freeway at my exit. I don't remember whether or not I stopped at stop signs or even if I ran through any red lights. I'd been so lost in my memories of meeting Becca and the early days of our relationship.

It's funny. I never spend much time thinking about how we got together. But now that it's probably going to end it's all I can think about.

I got out of my car after grabbing the laptop. I closed the car door and noticed that she'd already noticed me. The transformation is amazing. One second she's lying there on a lounge chair in front of our pool. She's the very epitome of beauty with a light sheen of suntan oil on her body. The tabloids would probably pay money for this shot of one of the world's most beautiful women relaxing during her time off. In the next second, she's looked across the yard and seen me and she jumps up and trips, barely avoiding an awkward fall in a clumsy tangle of thin arms and super-long legs. The super model's poise and grace are lost in the frenzy of a woman who has clearly missed her mate.

"Hmmm," she says hugging me. "Home early. I think someone missed me." She presses her body against me in a full on hug. She doesn't give my clothes or her tanning oil any thought. "

"Let's go upstairs," she growls.

"Becca, I might need to work for a little while," I whine.

"At the office, you work," she said. "At home, I'm your job. So yeah, let's get upstairs and do some work."

"Well what about dinner?" I asked.

"There's a phone in the kitchen," she smiles. "I'll use it to make pizza."

Ten minutes later we were in our room thrashing away at each other. Becca has very unusual tastes when it comes to sex. I think that most people have the wrong idea about her. Most people think that because they've seen her on the covers of so many magazines or so many entertainment shows, that they know her.

They don't. It's strange to hear men talk about her as they look at a magazine cover. They believe that because she's photographed a certain way, that they can tell what she's like.

Becca and her mom came over here from Russia after her father was killed in an industrial accident. He worked in a stamping plant over there and a press malfunctioned. The piston, under incredible pressure, ruptured the side of the cylinder it worked in and a huge shard of metal hit him in the head. From what she tells me it happened so quickly that he died instantly.

She and her mother came to the US, after that. Her mother had trouble finding work at first. She ended up working for an Aunt of hers who'd been in the country for a long time and owned a cleaning service. Her aunt no longer had to do any cleaning. She just scheduled the women who did.

Becca thought that would be the best job in the world. She wanted to be like her aunt and just sit in an office and tell others what they had to do.

When she turned 18, Becca got a job with her aunt too. After starting out, and getting fired, for being the world's worst waitress. She'd turned to her aunt, who gave her a chance. She was cleaning a hotel room and the guest who had the room noticed her. The woman was a modeling agent, the rest was history.

But where the world saw a glamorous sexy model, I saw my simple little Russian girl wife. Becca loves to kiss. And she likes to fuck but that's all. She thinks oral, whether getting or giving is kind of dirty, so we don't do it very often. We've never done anal. I'd tried it a few times before we got together, but it's not really something that I miss.

I guess despite the fact that frat boys the world over are staring at posters of my wife and imagining that her sex life is probably off the chain, she's still the girl her parents brought her up to be. I think that most of those frat boys would be disappointed too. Our sex life is probably way too "vanilla" for them, but it's perfect for us.

For us sex isn't about trying fifty different positions or wearing costumes and spitting on each other. We aren't into swinging or role playing or costumes. Sex for us is about connecting. It's about putting my dick in her pussy and us rubbing against each other until the line between what's her and what's me, blurs.

So as she sheds her clothing and drags me into the bed, we already know what we're going to say to each other and how we're going to say it. She lies down on the bed waiting as I strip and kiss her on her upper thigh.

Where most women would be aglow at the thought of getting their pussy eaten, she just stares at me.

"Honey, you've been at work all day," she whines. "We don't have time for that foolishness, get up here."

Apparently I'm not moving quickly enough for her. She grabs my hand and drags me onto the bed where she quickly straddles me, mounts me and starts the process by reaching behind her-self and grabbing my dick. She lines it up with her already wet slit and pressed herself forward. Both of us let out sighs as my rampant erection slides home.

"It's been too long," she gushes.

"It's been six hours," I laugh.

"See what I mean," she quips. After that we're too busy kissing and rubbing for any of our words to make sense. When both of us are spent and Becca is doing some very un-sexy snoring, I crawl from the bed and go into my home office.

I pride myself on being a good judge of people and I can't for the life of me, see any sign that she's cheating on me. When she looks into my eyes and tells me she loves me, I believe her. When she awakens and walks naked through the house until she finds me and drapes herself across me, I can't imagine her even speaking to another man let alone kissing one.

The thought of her fucking some greasy little guy and making a fool of me, upsets me.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I told her reaching for her and running my fingers along one of her mile long legs.

"Is there something that you want to tell me about or talk to me about?" I asked her. "She looks away for a second as if she doesn't want me to see her face."

"No," she said at first. "Well, there is something, but I need time to figure out how to bring it up."

"Just say it," I told her.

"No I can't," she said. "This is going to be hard because it's just not something we've talked about and I just don't want to risk messing us up. A lot of my friends..."

And that's when I went on alert. I knew what a lot of her friends did. A lot of her friends were so God damned full of them-selves that they figured their shit didn't stink. A lot of her friends weren't married. A lot of her friends who were married still figured that they could fuck around on their husbands because they were so God damned beautiful that their husbands would be stupid to let them go.

I guess a lot of people might agree with them. I can hear their rationalizations in my head. "Okay, so she screwed another guy. She still comes home to you. And it's not like it happened often. It's just something happens every once in a while. And you can do it too."

No thanks, I think. We got married to each other. We didn't say vows that allowed us to bring other people into the marriage and then stay together. I suspected from the beginning that our marriage wouldn't last, but I loved her so God damned much and I wanted to believe her so badly that I went for it anyway. And now all of my chickens were coming home to roost.

The next morning I felt worse. There was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Becca's evasiveness had only fed it. Before now, there had never been anything that she needed to figure out or think about before she talked to me about it.

I already knew what was going on. The bloom was off of the rose. The honeymoon that we'd been on for the past five years was over. My darling Becca was bored with our life or maybe she just needed to spice it up. She was trying to decide whether to tell me or not. Maybe what she'd done had been a brief affair and she just wanted to come clean. Maybe it was something she wanted to pursue and she either wanted me to step aside or to allow her to do it.

Those four words she'd uttered yesterday had told me the whole fucking story without her having to actually say anything. "Most of my friends..." she'd said.

I should have finished the sentence for her. "Most of your friends are whores." Sure the world sees them as actresses or models or whatever, but they were all women who screwed around with every guy who struck their fancy. The ones who were married either participated in the game or looked the other way hoping that it wouldn't last for long and that she'd come back. Maybe the bitch would buy me a sports car or some trinket as a reward for my forgiveness.

To me those guys were wimps. I was thinking about that Dokken song, "Breaking the Chains," as I drove in to work that next morning.

Danny waved at me as I walked in. I called him over and he followed me into my office.

"Danny, remember when your sister got divorced?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Her husband was cheating on her. It was a real shit-storm. She's still not right in the head. She doesn't even date. It's really fucked up. She's still Hetero but she hates men. Every guy we set her up with comes back vowing to never date another divorced woman and..."

"Do you remember the lawyer she used?" I asked interrupting him.

"Fuck yeah," he smiled. "That bitch was a shark. She cut Ed up and had him begging to only give Elaine half of everything and he still..."

"Can you get me an appointment with her or have her call me," I said.

"What for?" he asked. "Do you know someone who's considering a divorce?"

"Yeah," I said. "Me." His eyes bugged out.

"But why," he whined. "Rebecca loves you. Maybe it's a mistake. It's probably just a rumor or some type of Hollywood gossip. Whoever told you something was probably lying because they're jealous of what you two have and..."

"Danny the person who alerted me that something was going on was you," I said.

"Me," he said. "You can't fucking trust me. I'm full of shit. I've never liked me and I know me pretty well."

"Just get me the phone number," I said. Danny walked out of my office looking at me over his shoulder and shaking his head. A short time later he came back in and brought me a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

I dialed the number and after speaking to a receptionist and then an assistant I was connected to Sally Hawks.

"Hawks," she said answering the phone.

"Ms. Hawks, I think I need a divorce," I said tentatively.

"What do you mean think?" she spat. "You either want a divorce or you don't."

"Well I don't want one," I said. "But..." I hesitated.

"What makes you THINK that you NEED a divorce?" she asked in a softer tone.

"Yesterday a friend of mine showed me an online video of my wife dodging reporters and getting into a car with another man. Once they got in the car, she kissed him. Who knows what else they've been doing, but the kiss was enough for me."

"So do you have any proof that anything is going on other than the online video?" she asked. "And wait a minute, why would there be video of your wife online and why would she be dodging reporters?"

"My wife is Rebecca Miranova," I said.

"Your wife is a fucking super model?" she said sucking in a breath.

"Yes," I said.

"So, now I understand why you called me," she hissed. "She's probably screwing every Hollywood hunk she can find. And you're tired of it. You've decided to take the bitch for every God damned nickel she has and..."

"No," I said softly. "I do okay financially. I don't want or need anything. I just want to get out of the marriage."

"Are you out of your God damned mind?" she asked. "You're willing to walk away from money? What planet are you from?"

"Look, I still love Becca," I said. "I'm grateful for the time we had together. But I won't be a fool for her or anyone else. If she wants to do whatever it is she's doing, I just want out."

"Well first you need to get some kind of proof," she said. "We need to hire a PI. Are you going to shake some cash loose from the money tree or should I get you someone cheap?"

"I've already told you, that I do okay financially," I said. "Maybe I should hire my own PI and get back to you once I have the evidence."

"Okay, do that," she said. "I got the idea that she was thinking about how famous my wife was and how much it might do for her career."

As soon as I hung up the phone my phone rang again. On the other end of the line was my current client, Alex Blake. After chatting for a few moments about some things he wanted me to add to the design, he asked me if I was okay.

I don't know why but I told him without telling him the details what was going on. "Whoa been there, done that," he said. "It's one of the roughest things you can go through."

"But your wife is so beautiful," I said. "And she's..."