It took some work, but I managed to get a temporary visa for Devi to enter the United States. Naturally, I was her sponsor. My plan was already being mentally conceived. I was going to ask my unhappy wife for a divorce and marry my new lover ASAP. The dissolution of my old marriage would be a pretty clear signal to INS that I was serious about wedding this Indian girl, not setting out to defraud Uncle Sam.
Inevitably, my colleagues had some reservations. Quite a few thought that she was just a fling or a mail-order bride. The truth was that I loved her and I knew it. She loved me back, which was evident in her attitude toward me. There was no coldness like I experienced with Rebecca.
Devi's parents were another difficulty. They really didn't comprehend the reasons for a prosperous American from New York City to take their daughter, a WAITRESS, for a mate. They barely condoned her liaisons with her cousins, because they assumed that one of them would marry her someday. They were from the same background and family, after all.
Despite all of this, I got her to leave India and found her an apartment near my neighborhood in the Big Apple. I figured that I might need it anyway, after I told Becky that I was about to end our marriage. She might well try to take me to the cleaners. I would fight that, but not to keep the house. She was the one who had wanted the damned money pit in the first place.
Meanwhile, I rented a suite for Devi and myself. I took her to work, pulled some favors to get her a job with the same airline, and spent what free time that I could find making incredible love to my new girlfriend. She had become particularly fond of fucking in the Jacuzzi, which was something that she had never known before in her impoverished life.
I dreaded having to make the final step. As it was, Becky must have suspected my infidelity this time, since I hadn't come home after my return flight. Strangely, though, I got no messages or calls on my cell or work phones. That was odd indeed, even for a cold fish like my wife. It was enough to make a guy paranoid.
Just when I was about to let Becky know what was happening, she finally contacted me.
"Gus, what the hell are you doing there? Are you fucking some slut? I've doubted your fidelity in the past, but I really think that you're cheating now! Can you give me ANY good reason to think otherwise? What are you up to, Gustavo?" she interrogated me.
"To be honest, Becky, I'm leaving you. I want a divorce. There it is. That's why I haven't been back to the house or spoken to you. I've tried to give myself the chutzpah to let you know that it's over. Apparently, I have succeeded. I want to end the legal pretense, which is all we have left of our marriage. You know that it hasn't worked out for us. Stop kidding yourself. We're not a couple. We're just roommates who share a bank account. Well, THIS roommate is calling it quits and cutting his losses," I announced.
"I see. That explains your weird behavior since coming back to the States. I guess it's not really a shock. You've stopped suggesting therapy, asking for sex, and doing anything romantic for me recently. Part of me suspected that you'd given up. I won't lie and say that I'm not angry or hurt. I am BOTH. It's like you were easing out of the marriage once you decided that there was no hope for us. Is that right?" she reacted to my declaration.
:"Pretty much," I agreed.
"I suppose that we should have our lawyers draw this one up as soon as possible. I want to tear off this bandage swiftly, rather than take my time and make it hurt more. Of course, I want the house. Do you object?" she probed me.
