Bartelby Redux

Forward

Long ago and far away, I read Bartelby the Scrivener by Herman Melville. My English teacher very cleverly offered no help in interpreting the story or its curious central figure, Bartelby, who calmly declines to do even the most minute task with the declaration I use in this story. Instead, he let a room full of 16 year olds debate the story and its meaning. It's a good read but not at all erotic, which I'm afraid my story shares in common. I've never been able to push Bartelby and his curious civil disobedience out of my mind for long, so it was bound to creep into a story one day. That day has come. My story does not share characters or plot with the original, I merely borrowed Melville's central quote and apply it to a Loving Wives situation. Apologies to Herman Melville!

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It was a Friday morning when my wife calmly informed me she would be going on a date that evening after work, and probably wouldn't return until the next day. She had her speech well prepared, and the speed and aplomb at which she delivered it instantly convinced me that there was nothing I could do about it.

According to her she still loved me, but had developed a wandering eye. This was my first brush with marital infidelity, but that theme seemed to be rather common in movies, books, plays and even gossip that I had overheard from both victims and villains in their real life cheating scenarios.

So I listened to her carefully practiced oratory about us being stronger for this, about it not being fair that she didn't sow her wild oats before marrying, about the human animal not being meant for monogamy, about society being too uptight about sex, about it being just sex not love, and about the many ways she would be so much more attentive to my needs going forward if I permitted this. However, with the slightest of breaths separating this drivel about my permitting her, she forged onward with a new vigor into the also well-charted waters of cliche including my not having a choice, it being her body to do with as she pleased, her deserving all the pleasure she could get as life was short, and even her need to sample many different colors, shapes, flavors and sizes of manhood. She stressed sizes. She also stressed the parts where different sizes would matter.

Ah yes, her sampling menu not include the size of the brain, nor the greatness of the net worth. She was simply making physical taste tests her goal. Please note that I'm not saying I was poorly endowed. I also wouldn't say I was physically meek, or mild of disposition. Is there a way can modestly say I am at least of average intelligence and have a healthy wallet? No? Ok then I am a rocket scientist, and my work has made me filthy rich. She had no complaints.

When the former love of my life finished her dissertation, I could have reacted with the brute force of the great whale. I felt the rage inside me. I could have assumed the role of Ahab, the revenge seeking captain with the superiority complex, obsessed with the conquest of the great beast. But we know that story ended in destruction. No, Melville had a better model for me to follow. Though the story's message was so obscure, it had been a point to ponder for my entire life, a meaning within it's odd central character suddenly became clear to me. When she asked me to kiss her goodbye, I mentally thanked Herman Melville for the lesson of Bartleby.

"I prefer not to."

We've all seen jaws drop. You can't go through life without moments when things are so bizarre that you can't help it. You're dumbfounded, so much so, that you want to say something. You need to say something. You are so driven to say something, but your brain is having so much difficulty processing what you've witnessed, it has no words to relay to your mouth. Her jaw dropped. Her mouth gaped open grotesquely.

My desire to follow up with a tirade about morality, and vows and expressions of love betrayed or threats of violent retaliations were all bubbling inside, but somehow the simple expression of "I'd prefer not to" was enough. Humans have a power which is underrated, and seldom even considered. It is the gift of self control.

There is strength in control. "I'd prefer not to" was my exercise of control in the situation. Of course after I exercised that control, I was treated to a new tirade about my not honoring her needs, my immature pouting, this that and the other thing, finishing with "you're going to have to get with the program or do without."

"I'd prefer not to."

I spied a crack in her armor. There was just this little faltering on her best effort to look determined. I made no threats. Didn't beg. Didn't cry. Didn't blow my top. She then began negotiating. She promised she wouldn't stay out all night on her first date. Instead she'd come home and assure me of her deep love for me by letting me reclaim her body.

"I'd prefer not to."

That jaw dropping thing played an encore. She shifted gears from the soft spoken giving lover to the lawyer that she might never be. She was having as much trouble passing the bar exam as she was currently having with me, her husband. I'm sure she didn't remember one of her first exercises in law school the year before we married. The entire class had drawn up pre-nups for their own personal use. She had taken the exercise very seriously, and the contract was duly signed, notarized and in full force.

When she went into her next tirade about me seeking a divorce, how she'll take my house, my bank account and even my trust fund, and wind up fucking whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, in my bed, in my house while I paid for it. I had an easy answer.

"I prefer not to."

She didn't return later that night for me to reclaim her body. She didn't come home on Saturday, or Saturday night. The sun was just setting on Sunday night when she dragged into the house looking like a whale had just driven her onto the rocks. She dropped her bag on the patio beside the grill where I had a nice rib-eye sizzling. I didn't bother to look her way.

"I supposed you'd prefer to not kiss me now, right?"

I went about my task, brushing marinade on my sizzling meat, and giving the corn a quarter turn.

"Would you mind putting one of those on for me?"

"I'd prefer not to."

"Right. I should have known. Are you ever going to say anything other that 'I'd prefer not to?' That's gonna get old real fast."

I turned to her, and was about to speak, when she said "No! Don't even say it. I get it. You'd prefer not to. Fine. Gonna be a long night, be cause we have to talk about this, and you're going to have to say something."

Nothing.

"Well, I guess that's it then! Let's just go,to the divorce! Two years of dating in college, three while I was in law school, and two years after that. Five years married and seven together and you're throwing it away over a weekend of me exploring something else. I needed this! It's been eating away at me for years! I meant everything is said when I married you. I do love you, and will forever! But I couldn't be near another guy without wondering what he'd be like in bed. With wondering how a really big cock would feel, and what it would be like to be manhandled rather than cherished. I needed to understand the differences, to be the girl on the cover of the romance novel with the cowboy ravaging her, or the Lord of the Manor exercising his rights on me, a lowly milkmaid. I'm sorry, but I cant help it. You're a wonderful husband, and a wonderful lover, but I had to see..., I had to try others. Oh baby, I'm sorry. Please don't just stand there, say something."

I plated my steak and the ear of corn with toasted bun and a grilled peach, and turned to look at her for the first time since her return.

"I prefer not to."

"No baby, don't do this. Don't put me on ice. Yell at me! Threaten me! Push me around! Don't lock me out! I know I was wrong, and I'm sorry! I'll make it all up to you, just let me back in!"

"I prefer not to."

Things were strained after that. No, I didn't grill her a steak, though I briefly considered completely charring something for her. In the ensuing days she did try to talk, but every request was met with a calmly polite "I'd prefer not to." She took to asking me what I would prefer to do, to which I would just shrug. I never left the room when she tried to talk. I never asked her why. I could tell she desperately wanted to talk her way into my good graces.

The following Friday, she came home a little late, talking a mile a minute about visiting happy hour with her colleagues where all she did was to have some drinks and share some laughs. She noticed there was nothing on the table, and I was dressed to got out.

"What are you doing? Are we going out someplace? Oh wait, you aren't taking me are you? Is this my punishment then? Are you going to get me back."

I shook my head and gave her the standard response, "I'd prefer not to." And left. I went out to dinner with my parents, who were in town for the weekend. I put them up at the Hilton by the river, because I didn't want to involve them in the drama at home. They knew all about it of course, and were happy to spend a lovely evening with a dinner cruise on the river. I was home by 10:30, still looking like a million bucks, to a crying wife. I went to bed.

I don't know what was going on in her mind, but the next morning I woke to the smell of a big breakfast. This time, she didn't ask before talking.

"Last night was awful. You went out without me, and I was alone at home. I couldn't shake the image of you out on the town with a different woman. I felt so awful, knowing how you must have felt with me being gone an entire weekend. If I ask a question, will you answer me honestly? We're you with another woman?"

Since I was out with both my parents, and my mother is most definitely a woman, I honestly answered "Yes."

I could read the mixed emotions on her face. She now knew I was out with another woman last night, and that had her mind filled with angst. On the bright side I had said something else, something new. I finished my breakfast, and grabbed my golf clubs. Good talk!

We played eighteen my dad and I. He was in his late 40's, but hit like he was in his prime. We talked about everything but my marriage. I got home in time to grab a shower and get dressed for a black tie dinner. My dad was getting an community service award for his years of excellence in first coaching Special Olympics locally, and then serving as the state director. My wife came to see me as I walked downstairs and towards the garage. She saw the tux, again I got the special treat of seeing her tonsils as her jaw dropped open.

"She must be really special to get a night worthy of a tuxedo."

I nodded.

"Honey, I've gotta tell you, no one compares to you when you dress up. Our anniversary dinners have all been memorable. She's a lucky girl, whoever she is. I don't suppose you'd want to share?"

"I'd prefer..."

"...not to! Yeah I get it. I get that I fucked up. I get that I set you aside, and then spent a weekend humiliating you. I should have never taken that step. I'll regret it always. Friday's date got me a burger at Wendy's on the way to the concert. He told me we had great seats, so I dressed up...well, you saw me! I was cute. So we sit in lawn chairs so far from the stage I couldn't see the singers with binoculars, and he made me buy the beer. 'Well, I drove all this way! It was my car, it was my gas, and then I bought dinner.' So my first date on my big adventure was with the cheapest ass mongrel in the state. But he was all hands on the way home. So when we got close I jumped out at a red light and walked to McGuires Lounge, where hey had the blues band playing. He tried to follow me but you know Eric, the bouncer there when they have live bands, I told him the guy was a creep, and was stalking me. Can you imagine, following me? Like he was getting any!

"So then, I saw this guy from work, and he was with some friends at the club. We kind of hung out and I would up going home with him. But he was trashed, so I have to drive his car home, and he's got the worst case of whiskey dick ever, and it's tiny! So he passes out on me, and I sleep on his couch. In the morning he's crawling all over me, telling me he'll make it up to me. I tell him my husband has 8 thick inches, and ask him how he can ever make it up to me with his little dongle.

"This is where I really got stupid. Instead of seeing things clearly and finally appreciating what I had at home and coming back to you, I decided I had to reaffirm my femininity, and my sexiness. So I went to a bar. I was about to hook up with this guy, and his wife came storming in, and she's red-faced pissed. I slapped his face, and yelled "you're married?" just to get his wife off my trail. Ironically I was wearing my rings.

"I went to the Clam Shack at the beach for dinner, and this guy comes up to me flirting like crazy. He's cute. He can hold a conversation. He can look me in the eye, and not just ogle my body. So I'm about to take the bait when two little kids come running up shouting

'Grandpa! Grandpa!' I can't tell you how fast he made tracks.

"So I got a room at that old motel behind the Clam Shack, bought a bottle of wine, and slipped out onto my balcony for a drink and some quiet thinking. Turns out that on the terrace just below me was a table full of single and divorced women, and their conversation turned to men. They start talking about their dating fails, naming names, citing specifics. It turns out that my experiences were pretty common. Misogynists, Dick heads, Older lechers, and Cheap asses... well I really can't blame them much. I mean a girl can't expect a man to treat women as equals, and then also expect him to pay for everything. The women went through a laundry list of experiences with married men, and men who were supposedly dedicated family men, but were stepping out for whatever reason.

''Then they turned to the physical variety in men they dated. They talked about dating guys from other cultures, races, religions and even political orientation. They talked about size not mattering nearly as much as how caring their lover was. Then they agreed if you could find both in the same man, you should put a hook in him, reel him in, and hold onto him forever. I almost left then, to come home to you. But I had to keep listening, and I'm glad I di

"I didn't hear any more. I spent the rest of the night lost in thought about you. I woke up there on the terrace with the sun in my face, already starting to burn my skin. I felt lousy on so many levels. The guilt I had put you through devoured me. My body was stiff from sleeping curled up on a beach lounge chair. My stomach was upset from the lousy food and two bottles of wine which I had consumed the night before, and my head ached from all of the above. I arranged for a late check out and went back to sleep. When I woke up, I showered, dressed, and came home."

"Baby, I went out last night, fully intending to cheat on you. But I didn't. The universe was on your side Babe. I can read the writing on the wall. I'm meant to be with you, only you. Please forgive me. Please let me stay your wife. Please let us forget this blip and go back to our happy life. Please."

Her eyes filled with tears. I felt pity. I felt sad for her. What I didn't feel was love. I looked into those eyes, the eyes of the woman I had loved for so long, and gave her my answer.

"I'd prefer not to."

Epilogue

I never told her the other woman was my mother. I never told her if I believed her sad tale of her dream deflating that weekend. I never told her I loved her anymore, because I wasn't sure that I did. I also never said any more. She didn't give up quickly. She tried to get back in my heart while I managed to avoid her by travelling for work or staying in the city after a long day. I answered questions only by nodding nodding "yes" or shaking my head "no," but nothing else. I slept in a different room. I ate at different times. She eventually got tired of trying. We never divorced, but eventually she moved away. I suppose I'll tie up that loose end too someday, but for now, "I'd prefer not to."