Cheap Seats

"He ate your fucking pussy?! And you didn't think that was worth mentioning to me? I'm only your husband!!"

"Jake, I know it was stupid, I should have..."

I ran right over her. "Damn fucking right it was stupid! Damn fucking right you should have told me. What am I, some casual acquaintance you happen to be sharing an apartment with? For Christ's sakes we're MARRIED, Beth! I'm supposed to be the person you trust more than anyone in the world! What the hell is wrong with you?"

I couldn't stand it. I thought my head was going to explode. "I'm going out--I've gotta get the hell out of here."

"Jake, please, don't go!"

"I'll be back--I guess. But if I don't get out of here now I'm gonna break every piece of furniture in the apartment.

"JESUS, Beth--how could you? How could you possibly not tell me?"

And with that I was out the door, stopping only to grab my wallet and cell phone. I heard her tearful voice behind me, begging me to stay, but I ignored her.

********

Just like the Friday night the week before, I was too steamed to do anything but walk. Fast. Angrily. God help the old lady who gets in my way, I thought to myself.

This time I headed straight west on 77th to Fifth Avenue and into Central Park, ignoring the happy faces of families and young couples out enjoying the beautiful evening. When I came out on Central Park West I stopped and called C.D.

"Hey, it's me. You busy now?...Okay, can I come downtown and take you out for a beer or three? I think I'm gonna need at least that many... Yeah, Beth again, and it's unbelievable--she must be fuckin' nuts!... Yeah, I'm a couple of blocks from the subway on the West Side; I'll be down there in about half an hour."

We sat in a booth at Clancy's, around the corner from C.D.'s apartment in the Village, and worked on a pitcher of Sam Adams. I gave him the whole story--the night of the Chili Peppers concert, Beth's account of what had happened, our making up, then the surreal conversation where she told me it had happened before.

C.D. just sat there, looking at me, shaking his head. "Jesus, man. You always loved how independent Beth is. I guess she went a bit too far with it this time."

I glared at him. "Ya THINK? For Christ's sake, Waldo, she had oral sex with that motherfucker!" I realized I was nearly shouting, and heads were turning in our direction. I lowered my voice.

"I mean, I don't know exactly what went on--I was too furious to stay and hear the whole story. But no matter how it happened, she never told me ONE FUCKIN' WORD about it. She even kept on working for the guy! How can I ever trust her again after this?

"She says she loves me, and I actually believe her, ya know, the stupid bitch? But some other guy gets his tongue up her pussy, God knows how, and that's not worth mentioning to me. After all, I'm only her husband!"

I stopped at the look on C.D.'s face and I had to laugh. The thought of anyone licking a woman's pussy was quite unappealing to him, and his expression showed it.

"Sorry, man," I said. "Forgot that I might be offending your delicate sensibilities."

He grinned at me. "Not your fault, Jake. But I do wish you had a nice story about anal sex to tell me instead, or maybe a blow-job. I do LOVE hearing a good blow-job story..." He licked his lips in mock-ecstasy and I laughed again. How this guy could make feel better when I was this pissed-off was a mystery, but I was grateful to my friend.

"Well, I'm going to have to get some revenge on that shithead Huntington," I said. "How about if I tie him up and you can fuck him up the ass?"

He laughed. "Oh no, he's far too old for me. And too waspy-looking. You know me, I like 'em young and athletic, all those muscles..." C.D. again licked his lips, looking knowingly at me, and I laughed. He was my crazy gay friend, doing his best to make me feel better. And I appreciated it.

********************

When I got back to the apartment it was nearly 1 am and the lights were out. I was a little drunk, and I figured there was absolutely nothing to be gained by having it out with Beth at that hour, especially since she seemed to be asleep.

I lay back on the couch, my mind going around and around, unable to make any progress. Beth works for a sexual predator, he got into her pants once before, and she doesn't think it's worth mentioning to me? She's going to handle it herself--and she's still WORKING for him?

Is my smart, talented, beautiful wife actually the dumbest woman who ever walked the earth?

More or less on that thought I fell asleep. When I woke up on Sunday morning the first sensations that reached me were the smell of coffee, the pounding in my head, and Beth's sweet voice saying softly, "baby--are you awake?"

She was in her terrycloth bathrobe, fresh from a shower, her hair wet and shiny, her face scrubbed clean. She had dark circles under her eyes--I guess she'd had a rough night too!--but she still looked fabulous. I was tempted to reach for her and pull her down for a hug, until I recalled how angry I was with her.

So I scowled instead, and just said, "can I have a cup of coffee?" She brought it to me silently, and sat on the far end of the couch, gazing at me seriously. Waiting without eagerness for what was to come.

I sipped my coffee in silence, enduring the pain in my head and feeling my anger rising. When I was done I looked at Beth and said, "breakfast first, then we talk. Then we can see if there's anything left that's worth salvaging here."

She looked at me in horror, but made no reply. I guess Beth knew me well enough to recognize when I purposely overstated my anger--or at least she hoped I was overstating it!

Then she said, "go take a shower, baby, and I'll make us some eggs and bacon."

Without a word I headed off the bathroom. Forty minutes later I was clean, full of breakfast, and feeling a great deal more human, though I didn't bother to let Beth see it. We faced each other over the kitchen table, coffee cups in our hands.

"Okay, my darling wife," I began, in a sardonic tone. "When we left off you had Barton Huntington's tongue in your cunt, do I remember correctly?"

She looked stung, but said only, "yes, Jake. Not because I wanted it there, believe me! But yes.

"And if you'll let me tell you the whole story, I will. I know I've been the world's biggest fool, but I hope you'll at least try to see it from my side before you--"

She hesitated for a moment, and then went on, "before you decide you don't want me in your life anymore."

"Okay, I'll listen."

"It was a Friday night back in March, a party just for Ferris & Roberts staff, no spouses, so you went with C.D. to a Knicks game.

"The whole time I'd been working there, Barton had never done the slightest thing that was inappropriate. I knew he thought I was attractive--that's not a hard thing to observe from a man--but he didn't flirt, or touch me the wrong way, or do anything that made me wary of him. And he's engaged to Elena Riasonovskaya, for God's sake, why would be he interested in me?

"But that night he hung around me a lot, joining a couple of groups I was in conversation with, and at least twice when I needed a refill he offered to get it. And there was dancing, and I danced with him a couple of times, but also with other people--you remember Ralph, from our subdivision, and Alex? Several guys.

"Towards the end of the evening I began to feel odd--not just tipsy, I know how that feels, but sort of sleepy and unsteady. Barton noticed something, and he quietly asked if I was all right, did I need to lie down for a minute? It seemed like a good idea, so he led me to the elevator and up to his office, and he helped me lie down on the couch.

"I felt mellow and sleepy--not drunk exactly, but certainly out of it. Barton must have locked the door, and then he sat down on the couch next to me and talked to me quietly, God knows about what.

"My eyes wouldn't stay open, and he told me to just close them, just relax. And then he took my shoes off and started stroking my feet and my calves, gently, still talking quietly. And I just lay there! I was too out-of-it to realize that this was wrong, and it felt good.

"After a while he stopped talking, and his stroking went higher on my legs, and...well, you can guess. He got my pantyhose off and my panties down. With my eyes closed I didn't even know it was him, I think I thought it was you. And after a while he was touching my pussy, gently, pulling my legs apart...

"And it felt good, Jake." She looked at me defiantly, and a bit fearfully. "I didn't know what he put in my drink, but I was drugged and high and it felt good--but I swear to God I never knew it wasn't you.

"And then he started licking me, and I don't remember but I think I maybe had an orgasm. I think I did, because I remember lying back, utterly relaxed, half-asleep.

"Then suddenly there was a knock on the door, and I heard Diane's voice, asking if anyone was inside. And I opened my eyes and there was Barton, standing over me with a hard-on sticking out of his pants! I guess he figured he had me where he wanted, and he could go ahead and fuck me.

"I was too stunned and out-of-it even to scream, I just lay there. He called out, "just a minute", and calmly put his dick away and then somehow got my panties and my pantyhose back on me, with me just lying there being confused.

"Then he went and opened the door, cool as a cucumber, and told Diane I'd been feeling a little unwell and he'd let me lie down in his office. She came in and the two of them helped me up, and he asked if she could take me home. I don't know if she even suspected anything, except that his door was closed. Anyway, she never asked me about it, and I never told her."

I stared at her, trying to take this all in. "Okay," I said. "Assuming I believe everything you've told me--Barton sucked you off, but you were too wasted to stop him..."

"It's true!" she cried. "I swear to you on my life, every word of it is true!"

"All right. Can you PLEASE explain to me why I never heard a word about this--and why you kept right on working for that asshole, instead of quitting and reporting him? Jesus, Beth, what could you possibly have been thinking?"

She looked at me, almost desperately. "You remember the next day, Saturday? When I got up really late, and took a long shower, and then came in my robe and cuddled up in your lap and asked me if you loved me?

I nodded, and she went on. "I was feeling horrible. Just horrible--utterly betrayed, for one thing, and furious, and guilty as hell, even though I didn't think it was my fault.

"And I wanted to KILL Barton!" Her eyes blazed. "I wanted to shoot him right in the head, that bastard!

"But I felt I needed to do it myself, Jake. I couldn't let you or anybody else take care of me this time. I was a grown woman, a businesswoman in a high-stress man's world, and I needed to prove I could handle it on my own.

"So I thought about it all weekend. Monday morning after you left for work, I stayed here and wrote him a resignation letter, and said I was going to report him to Human Resources for attempted rape. C'mere, I'll show you the letter."

She jumped over to the computer, searched through the files, and brought it up on screen. A letter to Barton Huntington dated March 27.

"Dear Barton:

In light of your shameful behavior last Friday at the party, I cannot work for you any longer. I hereby resign, effective immediately.

You may be sure that I am reporting the incident to the Human Resources Department of Ferris & Roberts and demanding a full investigation. I have no doubt that your conduct will lead to your firing, at the very least.

Sincerely, Elizabeth Davenport"

I read the letter, then looked up at her. "So what happened? Why the hell didn't you give him the letter?"

"I did, Jake. I marched straight into his office around 10:30, put the letter in front of him, said, 'I quit', and went back to clean out my desk. Ten minutes later Suzanne called down to my office, saying Barton needed to see me urgently. I told her No, but five minutes after that he was back himself, standing there in front of me.

" 'Please, Beth--I'm sorry', he said. 'Give me a chance to explain.'

"Well, in the end I agreed to a five-minute conversation in his office, just him and me, but with the door wide open and Suzanne right outside in the next room. I didn't trust him a bit.

"He apologized over and over, said he'd never done anything like that before, he was so overwhelmed by how beautiful I looked at the party. He realized it was terribly wrong, he'd abused my trust in him, etc. etc. Just all the bullshit you'd expect. And he asked me what it would take for me to stay at Ferris.

"So I told him I'd think about it, and I left for the day. I walked around New York, I went shopping for a while, and I thought hard."

"And all this time it didn't occur to you to talk to me?!" I interrupted.

"Yes, Jake, of course it did. To talk to you, or to Diane, or--somebody. But I wanted to handle it on my own. Maybe I was the world's biggest idiot, but I was sure I could manage it.

"The next day I went back in with another letter--my list of conditions. I put it down on his desk, and within two minutes he'd agreed to every one of them."

She stepped back over to the computer and pulled up her second letter.

"March 28

Dear Barton:

I will return to my position in your subdivision at Ferris & Roberts; and agree to make no complaint to the Human Resources Department about your assault on me last Friday; under the following conditions:

1) you provide me with a detailed written apology, explaining exactly what took place last Friday evening at the party and in your office;

2) you pledge never again to treat me or any employee at Ferris in an inappropriate fashion: not to make a pass, not to use alcohol or drugs in an attempt to have a sexual encounter, not to offer advancement in exchange for sex or threaten punishment for failure to agree to sex;

3) you agree to treat me at all times with the respect due any employee of Ferris & Roberts;

4) you agree that you and I will never again be alone together at any time.

Sincerely, Elizabeth Davenport"

We moved back to the table and she continued. "By the next day I had a detailed three-page letter from him, which I kept locked in my desk. Turns out he used rohypnol on me--half a dose, he said, so I wouldn't be completely unconscious, just relaxed and vulnerable."

I sat back in my chair. "Beth, this is all a bit too fucking much for me to believe. The guy drugs you, eats your pussy, is stopped from raping you by SHEER LUCK, and you go on working there?"

She blushed, but looked me straight in the eye. "I know it sounds like the stupidest thing in the world--but at the time it felt like a huge victory for me. I made him back down, I got his written confession, he behaved properly at every moment, and I was able to keep working at a job I love. I felt so proud that I had handled it effectively."

I laughed harshly. "Yeah, well, for about four months.... Not exactly a permanent solution, I'd say."

"I know," she said, hanging her head. "And I'm so sorry.

"I was just wrong, Jake! Wrong not to tell you. But I know you, you would have wanted to march in there and kick him in the balls. You never would have let me handle it myself!"

She was right about that, and I knew it. "Maybe so, Beth. But this is one hell of a secret to keep from me. If some secretary at Chaney Magnuson had gotten me drunk and given me a blow-job, how would you feel about that? And if I kept it secret from you?"

"Yes...yes, I know, baby. I would have hated it. I would have wanted to kill you--AND her. I would have gone absolutely nuts."

We sat in silence for several minutes. I was still angry--very angry--but I was just able to see it from her side, at least a little. What she did was fucking stupid, but I understood why she did it. Beth's sense of independence was a big part of who she was. I had to respect that, even if it had led her to make a huge mistake.

I finally broke the silence. "Well, if you have his confession letter from the first time, he should be totally fucked now--he won't have a leg to stand on. Can I see it?"

Now she looked really awful, almost ill. In a tiny voice she said, "I don't have it, Jake. It was locked in my desk, but when I cleared my things out on Monday it was gone. He must have gone looking for it and stolen it over the weekend."

"Jesus CHRIST, Beth, this gets better and better! Have you got a copy, at least?"

She shook her head sadly. More silence, while I did everything in my power to keep from screaming at her some more.

********************

Well, that ended the conversation. She just sat at the table crying and I went out again, for a long walk. When I came back we kind of ignored one another, by mutual consent, and over dinner the only talking was "pass the salt," or "the chicken is good"--"thanks, would you like some more?"

After dinner I sat and watched the Yankees lose to Toronto on the tube, though I can't tell you a thing about the game. Beth hid out in the bedroom, and by the time I came to bed at 11:30 she was either asleep or pretending to be.

I left early for work the next morning, without breakfast or a shower, because I still wasn't ready to talk to Beth. But I called Madeline and she agreed to meet me for a long lunch. She already knew half the story, and I trusted her judgment. Certainly more than I trusted my own at that moment--I was too pissed-off!

Madeline being Madeline, we had our conversation at Le Petit Trianon, the most expensive French restaurant in midtown--God only knows how she'd gotten us a table on such short notice. She listened to me tell her the whole tale, or rather the parts she didn't already know. I watched her face over her martini glass, but she didn't let on a thing about what she was thinking until I finished.

Then she smiled--a unique Madeline smile, combining sympathy, sarcasm, and a predatory sharklike expression that I hoped was meant for Barton Huntington!

"Okay, Jake. So where are you now? The woman you love turns out to be just as dumb as the rest of us, or at least she was this time. No, that's not fair--a great deal dumber than most of us have ever been. So what are you going to do about it?"

She asked this challengingly, but not unkindly. That was Mad's style. Blunt. I knew she cared about both Beth and me, but she didn't waste time doing anything but getting right to the point.

"There are two questions, Mad--the obvious ones. First, can Beth and I get past what she's done? It's not just her stupidity, it's that I feel so betrayed. I would trust her with my life, but she nearly gets raped by her boss and says nothing to me about it."

"Well Duh, Jake! Don't you think she felt unbelievably ashamed and embarrassed about that? It's the kind of thing that happens to Penn freshman girls at frat parties--it's not supposed to happen to a grown woman on her way to the top of the international business world.

"Smell the coffee--she felt like a fool! A business mistake, losing a client or something, she would have told you about in a heartbeat, and looked for your sympathy and support. But this--she was probably both ashamed and scared of what your reaction would be. Including, as she said, scared that you'd storm into Huntington's office and take a poke at him, the asshole."

"Yeah," I said with a smile, "I probably would have."

"Well, as satisfying as that might have been for you, it would have been humiliating for her. You can see that, surely."

I nodded my head reluctantly. "Yes--but that doesn't make it right that she kept the whole thing from me."

"I agree. Beth was wrong. As she's said to you, several times. So what are you going to do about it?"