Chapter One; Beth Makes a Discovery
Now and then I awake in the night, scarcely able to believe my good fortune. I'm going to share with you how I, Elizabeth, Beth, for short, blundered into an alternate universe, and discovered the ongoing amazement my life has become.
I've always considered myself an average middle-class housewife and mother. I met my husband of eleven-plus years, Rick, when we were in college. We dated and eventually did the "beast with two-backs" a few times before Rick proposed. He definitely rang my chimes and I didn't hesitate to accept. So two weeks after Rick graduated with a shiny new degree in Computer Science, we were married.
Since that magic moment, we've spent years doing our married thing, plodding on, watching our friends and neighbor's marriages go up in smoke, congratulating one another on the quality of our relationship.
We were living the middle-class, good-life--two kids, a boy and a girl, and a nice house in the suburbs. My husband had his work and was successfully climbing the corporate ladder, the kids were both doing well in school, and me--I was dying inside.
Every one of my days was a carbon copy of the one before--running errands, marketing, fixing meals. I was busy, but bored and unhappy. Rick and I never argued, we didn't fight, we carefully avoided talking about us. What we did talk about were well-worn subjects--the bills, the kids, and, in general, anything but our relationship. Something was very wrong and whatever that something was, it was killing our marriage. I couldn't put my finger on the trouble, but it was splitting us apart, isolating us one from the other.
I recalled the excitement we had shared in the early years; Rick getting a good job, our first house, my pregnancies, and wondered where it had gone. What currently passed for excitement in my life was chauffering the kids to soccer, skating, school, and whatever. All boring, and what was worse, my imaginary crystal ball couldn't show me anything fresh and new in my future.
Even our sex life, once a source of delight, had become routine--same day, same position--just another chore. I suspected that the same malaise was affecting Rick. He was starting to miss our regular get-togethers, always with a good excuse, but I had my suspicions. Was he getting a little on the side?
Now that the kids were older, I toyed with the idea of going back to school or finding a job, but Rick was not in favor of me working. Not having a degree, any job I could get would barely cover childcare and I was easily two years away from finishing my degree in Psychology. We had plenty of money, he told me, and said that spending my time nurturing the kids was more important than extra cash.
So, my life just limped along until the fateful morning when I made the discovery, the smoking gun, the reason why my husband had lost interest in sex.
Rick returned home from a business trip late on a Thursday night. I hate doing laundry, but I've compromised with myself and make Friday my once-a-week laundry morning.
After he went to work, I decided that as long as I was doing the wash, I'd do it all and unpacked his suitcase. What fell out of his dirty clothes bag nearly gave me a heart attack. I sat down on the bed, took a deep breath and struggled to regain my composure.
Shock quickly gave way to feelings of rage and betrayal. Most of all, a burning desire to get even exploded within me like a hand grenade.
That dirty son-of-a-bitch, I said to myself, holding up the incriminating, black, thong panty. About a size three, I guessed; I wear a five. My cheating shithead of a husband had bagged some skinny-hipped, young stuff. I considered sniffing to see if the damned thing reeked of semen, but resisted the urge. It had been worn though and, more importantly-- what the hell was it doing in my husband's laundry?
I cried while I did the wash. After drying and folding everything, I arranged the guilty panty prominently on top of the pile of Rick's clothes and placed it on his side of the bed. I wondered how my shit-heel husband would try to lie his way out of his pantygate.
More than eleven years of my life I had devoted to being a helluva faithful wife and dedicated soccer mom. Now, that fucking panty had fallen out of my husband's overnight bag and made all those years a big lie. Was betrayal to be my reward for being virtuous? No way!
I sat down, drank a cup of coffee and considered my options. I could confront Rick when he came home from work or I could be somewhere else and maybe cool off a bit before I faced him.
I tend to choose avoidance rather than confrontation having learned early on that Rick is a way better talker than I am and is very good at using his brand of logic to disarm and confuse me. I needed time to think, so I packed my overnight bag.
In retrospect, if I had decided on a face-to-face with, him this would be a far different story--essentially the same old tale I had lived for eleven years and not worth telling, but it didn't happen that way.
The moment I found myself picking out sexy undies and packing my favorite dress, a little, black, cocktail item, I knew what I was going to do. This time would be different--no BS, no talk--I was going to get even.
Pulling on fresh slacks and a blouse, I carried my bag and dress out to the car, then I called my sister, Mary Ann, who lives on the other side of town. All I told her was that I was having a little personal crisis and needed to be alone for a bit. She agreed to keep the kids. I couldn't sit still, so I cleaned house until they got home from school, then I helped them pack their things for an overnight and we headed for Mary Ann's. The kids were curious, but not overly pushy as their aunt loves to spoil them rotten and they adore her.
I dropped them off and told my sister I'd be in touch. She just smiled and nodded. What a great girl.
I headed across town and got myself a very nice room with a king-sized bed at the Hilton. I called down and they were able to take me at the salon. I spent the next couple of hours getting a major overhaul.
After that I returned to my room and just luxuriated in being alone. I felt unexpectedly powerful. I had taken charge of my life and, for the moment at least, I wasn't a wife, I wasn't a mother. I was Elizabeth. I contemplated the possibilities offered by my new-found freedom and when I imagined a revenge scenario, rather than feeling guilty, I discovered little tendrils of desire growing within me.
