A Loose Grip

Winter Holiday Contest 2024 Entry

"Are you still seeing Clint?"

"Shh! Not so loud." My wife's voice dropped to just above a whisper. "Of course! I could never give up a dick that magical."

I looked out the open bedroom window. An overactive stomach had driven me to the bathroom, and to keep a safe olfactory distance, I'd used our

en suite

, rather than the guest toilet downstairs. The smell is what drove me to the open window for some relief.

It was late, after ten, and all the Christmas party guests had left, except our next door neighbor, Annette, the other half of the conversation on the patio below.

"Brenda, how can you do this to Robbie? You know he's the husband everyone on the block wants."

My wife giggled. "Yeah, but they haven't seen, or felt, Clint's thick whopper splitting them open. And I'm gonna make sure none of them even know of his existence."

"Wow. So, where do you meet him?"

"Here, but nobody sees him. He lies on the back seat until I close the garage door. Then we use the guest room. Robbie never goes there. Oh, Annette, you have no idea what it's like to be filled like that. He reaches places I didn't know I had."

"But aren't you afraid Robbie will find out, and invoke your prenup?"

"How will he? He leaves for work at oh-dark-thirty and doesn't come back until dinner time. His mind is totally consumed with work, work, work. He doesn't even know I exist, unless I forget to make dinner. He has more of a relationship with Siri than me."

Ouch. Was that true? Was my neglect driving her into another man's arms? And his 'whopper?' Shit. It's true--I was putting in unbelievable hours. Owning your own business isn't nearly the paradise people make it out to be. You've not felt stress until you faced the specter of not making payroll every two weeks. Ownership has its benefits, to be sure. Brenda didn't have to work, and had the luxury of hanging out at the country club with other rich wives, getting massages and tennis coaching, golf lessons, and... Hey, wasn't the name of her tennis coach Clint? Shit! She'd found herself a stud and I was paying for it! Fuck!

Quietly, I opened the screen to the patio and approached the two.

"... the hottest three months--"

Annette's eyes grew large when she saw me approach behind Brenda's back.

"What?" My wife turned around. Even in the dark I could see her face blanch.

"What months were those?" I asked.

"Oh, uhh, I was just telling Annette about when we met."

Nobody thinks quicker than a cheater. Little slut! I pretended like I didn't hear anything of her earlier bragging. "Oh. Yeah, sweetheart, you're the hottest thing on the block." I patted her shoulder as I passed and took a seat alongside the round table.

"Well, it's late," Annette stuttered. "I need to get going. The kids are coming for lunch tomorrow, so I'll need to get up early. Thanks for dinner, guys. Robbie, that chicken you grilled was out of this world."

After she left, we cleaned up in silence. Annette's face showed concern. How much did I hear?

Let her stew.

--

Sunday morning, I called my golf buddies and canceled. It was time to rebuild my marriage, or at least find out if it was worth the effort. Over breakfast, I looked at Brenda. "What do you say we go to the beach today?"

Her eyebrows rose. "You're not going to play golf?"

"No. I'd rather hang out with the love of my life. Remember how we used to go walking on all the beaches down to San Diego? I miss that."

Instead of joy, her face displayed nervousness. "Uh, yeah. That sounds great."

"Then we can drive up the coast and have dinner at Dukes, what do you say?" Our first date was dinner at the famous beachside restaurant.

"That sounds great, honey." Hesitant relief seemed to win out over concern, but the wariness never left her face.

It had been several months since we'd been out in the '66 Mustang convertible I'd inherited from my dad, who'd bought it new, and which I had restored a few years earlier. Red with white top and upholstery. The Southern California fall sun shone from a clear blue sky as we crawled through the traffic. I tried to engage my quiet wife on the way, but to no avail. Was I too late? Had she already disconnected and moved on emotionally?

Santa Monica beach was crowded, not unusual for a sunny Sunday. I took Brenda's hand as we weaved through the crowds to the water's edge, but her grip was loose. In our first days, when love was young and passions high, she always held on tight whenever we walked anywhere. A sudden wave raced up the beach, so we jumped and sprinted up the beach to keep our clothes dry, laughing like two kids. Our hands disconnected, and I noticed when we resumed walking that she didn't close the two-inch gap to retake my hand. Hmm, if Clint was walking with her, would she have closed the gap? Was this gap a symbol of our marriage? Or was I just overthinking the small stuff?

"Do you remember the first time we walked here?" (It was the morning after our first night together.)

Brenda turned toward me, and with a wistful voice replied, "That was one of the most special days of my life." The backs of our hands lightly scraped, yet she didn't reach out.

And in that subtle movement, or rather non-movement, I realized her heart had moved on. Here, a few decades later, a reenactment of our special moment had left us disconnected. What special moments had she built with her new beau? Was he even the first 'other one' she'd dallied with? I decided to change tack to probe a little more.

"Do you miss working?"

That brought her up short. "What? Where did that come from?"

It took me a couple of steps to realize she'd stopped. I turned around with a puzzled frown. "What? I was just thinking of our happy times. It's been a while, so I thought... what? Why that look?"

She approached me again. "What kind of question was that?"

Shaking my head, I replied, "What? I don't get it? I was just asking if you miss working. Aren't you bored just hanging out at the club? You used to enjoy your job, calling on doctors and hospitals. Every night you bubbled about who you met and what was new." She used to be a medical rep, and successful, until her company got bought out by a Big Pharma company, who laid her off along with all the salespeople of the acquired company. Because of the money my network software business was making, I told her she didn't have to work. After vainly looking for another job, she exercised that option, her outgoing personality re-channeled to the country club and the other stay-at-club wives.

And apparently tennis instructors.

I would have missed the fleeting look of guilt if she hadn't been standing right in front of me.

We continued walking, still not holding hands. Sadness floated to the top of my mind. Was this marriage retrievable? Despite what might have recently passed, I loved her and hoped against hope it hadn't.

The early dinner at Duke's was silent. Was she wishing it was her boyfriend opposite her? Where did they go to eat? Did they even? Or did she just go pick him up in her Bentley SUV, and drag him home to fuck her? With his thick whopper?

--

Monday morning I hired a PI we did business with to investigate the young tennis pro.

It didn't take long. In less than two weeks I had enough evidence I needed to invoke the prenup. When I started my business, I had two friends who put up the capital, and they insisted on the prenup when I married Brenda. No matter what, she couldn't get any share of the business. The prenup also had an infidelity clause that limited what the cheating partner got of our other assets.

But... was that what I wanted? Out of habit, more than anything else, I had allowed my job to take time and attention away from our marriage, so I was not without fault for creating a situation where Brenda would be susceptible to the attention of an outsider. It took overhearing her conversation with Annette to wake me up. Question was: could she be woken up, or was she too far gone in her withdrawal? Maybe the only way to find out was to put her before a "wake-up moment."

Fortune smiled upon me. The PI report showed ole Clint was boffing not only my wife, but the club president's. Talk about thinking with the little head. Never mess with your boss's wife. Within a day or two, Geoff Montgomery, the aforementioned club president, fired Clint, using photos that mysteriously arrived on his desk. Not only that, but he made sure the organization for tennis pros, and the organization for country clubs all heard about Clint's audacity. And before he became smart enough to leave the state, a mysterious 'mugger' served a few aces on his family jewels.

Of course, Geoff had no idea where the photos originated from, so I was completely out of the loop. I only found out about those events when I happened to bump into him in the clubhouse after a round of golf. At which time I also learned that he'd had his wife served (not on the tennis court, if you get my drift).

After the walk on the beach with Brenda, I made a point of getting back to the routine of our "good old days," and then some. I woke her with breakfast in bed every now and then. Sometimes oatmeal, sometimes croissants and coffee, pancakes and bacon, or eggs and sausages.

By the third or fourth morning, she turned to me, and asked, "Robbie, what's this all about? Not that I'm ungrateful, please understand, but why, after all these years, the sudden change?"

"Call it an epiphany, but it was you."

"Me?"

"Yes, remember that Saturday night when you and Annette sat talking on the patio? When I came out, you'd just said something about the three hottest months?"

She blushed hard, but said nothing.

I continued, "Immediately I thought about the first three months we had up in Santa Monica. And I realized how I missed that. We became busy, me with the company, and you with the kids and, after the kids, the club. I suddenly realized we had drifted apart. That's why I canceled my golf game the following day and took us back up to the beach. Remember?"

"Yes. I thought it was strange. Nice, but strange."

I laughed. "Bet you wondered if I'd had an affair and woke up from it. Did you?"

Another blush covered her face and neck. She sighed. "You see right through me, don't you?"

"More than you know, dear, more than you know." I cocked one eyebrow. I loved this little cat and mouse game.

Consternation covered her face and showed in her voice. "Was it you?"

I backed up and played confusion over my face for an Oscar. "Was what me? What are you talking about? No, I assure you, I was most definitely NOT having an affair. Maybe with my job, but that was all. So... what?"

"Clint Bonner. Were you the guy who--"

"Clint who? Stop talking in riddles. Who's he?"

"He was the tennis pro at the country club. They fired him. Suddenly, out of the blue."

With a frown, I played the ignoramus. Oscar nominations were not due for another month, so I still had time. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"He was my tennis coach. When I showed up for my lesson last Monday, they told me he was fired. Then, a week later, someone had him beat up."

"How do you know all this? I'm--"

"He's my coach. Or was. So when he didn't show up, I wanted to know why not."

"How did you know he got beat up?"

"He told me when I called him."

"Wait? You called him a week after he was fired. Why?"

She looked dumbstruck, as if she'd given away too much.

I pressed the point. "Why were you talking to a tennis coach after he was fired? Was he more than just your tennis coach?"

She wilted under my stare. "We became friends. You can't interact with someone for months and just remain robots."

"Friends? How close?" She'd given me the opening and I was not going to let go until she either lied or confessed. Our future hung in the balance. Perhaps she did not realize it, but this was a crossroads for her future.

Her face betrayed her.

I held up my hand. "Hmm, that friendly? Wow."

She dropped her gaze. Silence often speaks louder than words.

After a sigh, I continued. "Let me say something. Forget the prenup. If you want out of the marriage, I will not hold you hostage. The only way any marriage can work is if both parties really want in, no matter what the cost. Your eyes tell me you may have checked out already, so if you want to leave, I will make sure you're taken care of. Just don't lie to me."

"When did you know?"

"The Sunday on the beach. Not the who, though, just your away-ness. Remember that wave? It made you pull your hand from mine, and even when our hands brushed, you never took it again."

"Wow. I didn't even notice."

"Exactly!" I paused, then repeated, "Exactly. You didn't notice. that's what gave you away."

"But how--"

"Brenda, you're a people person. You're all about connecting. If it isn't customers or neighbors, it's someone at the club. You stopped wanting sex about three or four months ago. Two and two..."

"Oh shit." She started crying. "I'm so sorry Robbie. You're right. Oh god, I'm so sorry." Her hand grabbed hold of my arm and squeezed tightly. "What a stupid, ungrateful bitch I am." Her sobs rendered any response unnecessary.

After several minutes, she looked up, her eyes filled with tears. "Do you want a divorce?"

"Does it look like I want one?"

Her waterworks ceased as her head rose back up all the way. "Why wouldn't you? God knows if I found out you were carrying on with a bimbo I'd cut your balls off with a blunt rusty knife."

Trying to lighten the proceedings, I said, "Yeah, but you have no balls to cut off."

A smile permeated the fog of her snot and years. "Does that mean you're willing to give me a second chance?"

I shook my heard. "The real question is, do you want one? If you're tired of me, why not just walk away? Like I said, I won't hold you to the prenup."

"What about you, Robbie? Do you still want a slut like me? I don't deserve your love."

"Deserve has nothing to do with it. I've loved you since the beginning, and I've never lost that. I may have overdone my time in the business, and maybe taken you for granted, but I NEVER stopped loving you. After all these years, you're the only one that lights up my eyes when I see you.

"The question is, let me say it again, do you love me, and do you want to spend the rest of your life with me? Even if at times the business may consume more time than you like? I am who I am, imperfect in many ways. But I hope the time since our walk on the beach has shown you I value you, appreciate you, and above all, love you. Our life together has been more than great. I hope the last few weeks have shown you I'm committed to reprioritize you and us. But only if you really are in."

She stood, wiped her face, and stepped close. Raising her face, she brushed my lips with hers. "You have always been my number one man. You still are. I promise to always love you and be faithful to you until death us do part. If you want me. But... do you?"

"I do." Our lips met. Her hand took mine and held it.

With a tight grip.