Choices (9 page)

“No, it feels good to talk about it. You girls are great. I haven’t had a set of friends like you three since…well…ever, really.”

Things were starting to get a little tense so I decided to fill up the martini glasses
…again!

“You see,
I was studying to be a chef, taking cooking classes. Things were going well with the class. I was getting annoyed with George’s hours, though. Really I just had to get used to his long hours and absences. I had to make a conscious effort to make our relationship work.” She took a sip from her drink.

“It must be really hard being doctor’s wife, with those crazy hours.” Joni nibbled on some veggie dip and passed around the munchies.

“It was, in the beginning, I was really upset and distracted one day in cooking class. My instructor was a dick, gosh, I can’t believe I said that but anyway, he was yelling all the time. Normally, he didn’t bother me but the night before George and I had a huge argument. We were thinking about ending our engagement.” Another sip for fortification and she continued. “So I was a million miles away and I didn’t pay close enough attention to the case of truffles that were just delivered. They, of course were spoiled. I prepared my chicken dish for my class, fed it to my instructor and about thirty minutes later he was so sick we had to call 911. He was suffering from food poisoning. We re-checked all of our ingredients from the dishes we prepared and someone noticed how bad the truffles were.” Another sip from all of us this time.

“No way!” said Joni.

“What did you do?” Kristy and I asked simultaneously.

“I threw out my chicken dish and justified my mistake by saying it couldn’t have happened to a better man! Honestly, what could I do? If I came forward he would have pulled me from the class, I know it. One of my classmates spoke up and said he actually wished he had thought of it, himself.” Bonnie continued, “well, we giggled of course and I did feel bad but I went home, and decided I wanted to try cooking schools in Philadelphia instead so we came up North.”

“Well, I’ll remember not to piss you off! That’s for sure!” Joni sniffed the chocolate cake Bonnie made, pretended to pass out and we all fell on the floor laughing.

Man, what a way to end GNI. Remember, wha
t happens in GNI, stays in GNI.

Laurel’s Journal

OH.MY.GOD. I’ve just cheated on my husband! Well, if you call kissing a boy of twenty two with the intent of pure bliss well, then I think that constitutes cheating. Paul has been the only one who has kissed me like that in the last twenty years. Well, actually, it’s been a long time since Paul has kissed me like that. Do I even want Paul to kiss me like that anymore? Who knew someone else might find me attractive! A forty year old with three kids no less. Well, if that isn’t a shot of adrenaline to a girl’s buried self esteem, then I don’t know what is! It’s unfathomable! I could possibly have a choice as to who I’d want to be with. Wait a minute! Slow down your roll, Laurel. You are getting way over your head, as usual. What the hell happened this afternoon? What am I doing? This is dangerous territory. THIS? What exactly is THIS anyway? Are we going to be lovers? Is he just feeling sorry for me? Should I nip it in the bud and just pretend that it didn’t happen and call off the appointment for tomorrow? Yes, that’s exactly what I should do, but it’s not what I want to do. That kiss…that kiss was…consuming. I felt that he could suck the life right out of me, if I let him continue. I would have let him too, if I didn’t need to pick up the little people. The drive over to Kristy’s left me numb and dimwitted. I was so torn between feeling guilty and exhilarated simultaneously. I have knots in my stomach and I don’t know if they are from remorse or excitement. Oh, I really think I’m in trouble now!

Out of guilt and to placate my conscience, I called Paul on his latest business trip before I went to sleep. He usually calls when the kids go to bed but, tonight I called him first. I think what I really wanted to find out was if he could tell by the sound of my voice that I was headed into dangerous and desirable territory.  I also wanted to remind myself that I am a married woman despite what happened earlier this afternoon. I needed a little grounding and since I couldn’t quite tell my best friend yet, I figured I would call Paul to snap me back into reality. Paul was away in Ohio this week.

“Hi Paul, how are you?”

“Oh, hey, how ya doin’? Are the kids okay?”

“Yes, the kids are finishing up dinner
, they miss you.” I breathed a slight sigh of relief realizing he wasn’t drunk and alone, I hoped.

“
What’s up then?” He asked not recognizing my sigh or rather ignoring it.

“How
is your employee training this week? Any complications?”

“Oh, you know the usual nonsense,
team building activities, how to deal with the public, creative problem solving, yada, yada, yada.”

There was a click on his cell phone reminding me that other people demanded his time and attention.

“Hey Laurel, I gotta run, sorry sweetie, something’s up with the latest set of meetings I have scheduled. Paul works for a large fan manufacturer here on the east coast. He’s in charge of employee development. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He quickly hung up the phone before I even had a chance to say goodbye. I really think that Paul is quite content with how things are between us. He is a full time team leader and really good at his job, a really good part time dad and basically a non-existent husband, not to mention full time alcoholic.  He is doing his job of being the financial provider, so in his mind he is perfect.

I remember a Christmas party we attended a few years back with a colleague of his and his wife.
I was so excited. I got a manicure and pedicure to match the exquisite emerald green sparkler I splurged on for the occasion and the silver spikes I could just about walk on. The green emphasized my chocolate browns and the copper in my hair. I went to see my best girl, Sophia, who’s been doing my crazy mane since before I was married. I had wanted to twist it up and she said, “Oh, no mamacita! I saw that dress, you wearin’, cut up to here…” She motioned to top of her thigh with one hand, “And cut down to there.” She motioned with her other hand to the middle of her chest. “No, mia, you need sexy mamacita hair for that dress. All over the place so when your man sees it all he can think of is having it fall all over his cock.” I can still hear her clucking her tongue in my ear.

This
party was in the early years of our marriage so his alcoholism wasn’t as raging as it is now, but present nonetheless. Paul’s colleague, who to this day I still don’t even know his name, made me take a hard look at Paul’s drinking and to stop kidding myself.

We drove over to the beautiful mansions on Pole Cat Road. One of his colleagues lived there who was hosting the party. We drove up the winding driveway and I was a little, okay more than a little, nervo
us. This was my first time meeting Paul’s colleagues and some of the bigwigs. Paul was a little nervous too, but not nearly as much as me or so I thought. Paul could sense my tension and gave my hand a squeeze as we entered through the front doors.

“You look utterly spectacular and I can’t wait to see that beautiful dress on the floor of our kitchen.” He whispered as he helped me out of my coat. I looked at him startled, “The kitchen floor?”

“Oh, yeah, baby, the kitchen floor because in that dress I’m not going to be able to make it to the bedroom.”  The butler took our coats and we made our way into the heart of the mansion where the festivities ensued.

“Wow, can you see
all these old, decrepit hungry wolves looking at you? It’s as if they’re imagining that sexy, crazy hair of yours falling all over their cocks.” I had to suppress a giggle. “What’s so funny?” He whispered in my ear, snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me even closer to him, so close I almost couldn’t walk on my own. I beamed with pride and love and actually couldn’t wait to get home myself and make that baby we always talked about.

“Nothing.”
I smiled secretly and told myself I was definitely calling Sophia tomorrow.

“Why don’t you go and get us a few drinks.” I tossed my hair and ran a finger between my cleavage.

“Oh…you’re flirting! Hot damn! Cosmo?” He kissed my hand and I nodded. “Should I just ask for a gallon of Cosmos and then I’ll take you home, lock you up and never let you take that dress off or leave the house until I’ve succeeded in performing my husbandly duty and watered your delicate flower with my manly raindrops.” His smile lit his entire face, not just his mouth but his eyes which shone brightly with nothing but love for me.

“Hmm…don’t you think that would get so bo
ring?” I sighed dramatically. His smile faded and his eyes shone even brighter.

“No, Laurel, making love to you will never get boring.” He turned quickly then and made his way up to the bar, leaving me standing there with my own smile that lit up the room, watching him ask the bartender for our drinks, watching the beginning of the end of my trust and love for him.

The night proceeded to go by at a fairly quick pace, small talk, compliments and Paul’s suggestions of sexual positions to maximize baby production had me distracted to the point I didn’t realize how drunk he was getting until a discussion ensued between different couples centering on a topic of ‘your biggest argument with your spouse.’  Another colleague was shocked that a topic of such nature would even arise, especially since it seemed to be pitted against the wives of the group. His response was so refreshing and heart stopping I nearly spit out my Cosmopolitan onto the white Persian rug. That would have been an embarrassing nightmare if my husband hadn’t embarrassed me first. Paul’s colleague’s expression of genuine incredulousness was plastered across his face. His response was immediate, “What do you mean biggest argument with your spouse? I don’t understand. Why would I have a reason to be mad at Michelle? She takes care of my children and my home, so I can do what I need to do. She loves my children, feeds them, cooks, cleans, potty trains, organizes play dates, makes sure homework is done, schedules doctor’s appointments, makes sure they are happy and healthy. Her days are fuller and more chaotic than mine. She is responsible for making sure we don’t release psychotic killers into the world. And in the entire process she loves me. I only run a company.” You could have heard a pin drop. Where the hell was this guy six years ago? Hot Damn!! Some men do actually GET IT! His response made the men blanche and the women glare at their own spouses. Suddenly the men shifted their feet, the cowards, asked if anyone needed a drink, cleared their throats, and tried to change the topic to sports, until my drunken husband spoke up.

“Swhat you mean, ‘her days are sfuller than syours.” He managed to slur out. Holy Christ, I thought, he has to speak up now. NOW! Jesus! And he’s swaying to boot along with the slurring! I had to act fast or he was going to be fired
on the spot and me too probably even though I didn’t work for Paul’s company.

“Paul, honey, my glass is
empty; could you please fill me up?” I asked sweetly, tossed my mass of curls, looked seductively at him to get him to refocus his brain before he said something really stupid. I wish I had known then what I knew now about his behavior when he’s drunk and in public with me.

“Sssee, now…”
He swayed toward me and sloshed some of his drink on the Persian rug and tried to touch the tip of my nose delicately; didn’t happen quite that way. He smashed his hand against my nose, sloshed his drink on the white Persian rug and then began pawing me, grabbing my breasts and my ass.

“Paul!” I hissed in his ear.

“Whatssasmatter baby? Don’t be embarrassed! You’re hot and I like it when you’re hot. This is what women are for man!” He turned toward his colleague and grabbed a handful of my ass and rubbed.

“Paul! Stop it!”
I hissed again louder this time. People were so embarrassed for me they turned away from us, ignored the bleeding gunshot wound that was filling Paul’s hands and oozing all over the white Persian rug. Paul’s colleague was the only brave one there. He flashed his wife a knowingly raised eyebrow, sent his wife off to refresh their drinks and grabbed Paul by the arm, “Listen, man, I think you’ve had enough for tonight. You are embarrassing the hell out of your wife and yourself. Why don’t you give your wife your keys, let her drive you home and call this Christmas party finished for this year.” He managed to manhandle Paul into the massive and thankfully empty foyer, sit him down on the empty seat by the front door and said to me, “Mrs. Brittingham why don’t you get your belongings and I’ll wait with your husband and tell the valet to bring up your car.” He smiled at me and laid a hand on my shoulder to give me a little shove in the right direction. Paul was getting belligerent and fighting back by struggling to get out of his colleague’s hold.

“That’s enough of that Mr. Brittingham.” He shoved
him down into the seat again and got right up into his grille.

“I think you’ve embarrassed your wife enough for one night, Mr. Brittingham, don’t you agree?” He planted his feet firmly in front of Paul and blocked his view of me and the rest of the party.

“Sembarrasssed! What the fuck are you talking about? That’s my wife! You can’t embarrass your wife. Laurel, honey? LAUREL? Where are you? Why are you leaving?” I could hear him slurring his words telling his colleague to take his hands off him and his voice was growing louder and I moved quicker.
Dear God, please don’t let him hit this kind elderly gentlemen! PLEASE! Jesus, for the love of all that’s holy! What the hell is he doing? I’m never going to another party with him, EVER!