Death

I sipped my whiskey and thought about how cliché the night had been. We (Claire and I) had been out with friends (read that as, her friends) when, despite my objections, or maybe just to spite them, she went dancing off with another guy. Some rando, although I wouldn't be surprised at this point if she had known him.

When I commented that was my cue to leave, her friends objected. "It's just a dance, Ralph. It doesn't mean anything." "He's just a guy that wants to dance. Jesus, don't make a federal case out of it." And her bestie's snide little, "What's a'matter, Ralphie. Can't stand a little competition." While I was tempted to reply, that next to me, it probably would seem little, but I didn't want to excite her. Besides, Claire would probably correct any misconception.

"No, she can dance with whomever she wants. She's right. I don't own her." I threw some bills on the table. I calculated that I was probably shorting them about $30, but fuck 'em. "But she forgets that she doesn't own me either. I'm not compelled to sit here with a bunch of boring fucks and watch some assbite rub himself all over my ex-wife."

I walked away to a chorus of "Ex? Ex!" I surprised myself by actually laughing as I drove away.

[*]

I'd left just shy of 10 o'clock. It was now pushing 3 AM. The bottle was almost empty. I had only stayed up because I didn't want to be awakened solely for an argument, and because I wanted to finish off the good Scotch in the probability that I wasn't going to be here tomorrow night. I poured out the last of the whiskey when I heard a car pull up our driveway.

I waited a few minutes, and when the door didn't open, I went and peeked out the window. The "rando" had driven her home, and they were having a discussion, parked in our driveway.

I had been sitting in the dark, so I was fairly sure that I couldn't be seen staring out the crack in the curtains. I watched as they continued talking for several minutes, then my wife reached over and caressed his cheek with her hand. They leaned together and lightly kissed. Then Claire exited the car, and I returned to my easy chair.

She came in the door touching up her lipstick. Believing the dark house meant I was in bed, asleep, she calmly continued to fix herself up, preparing to wake me for what I was sure would be an outpouring of indignation at my abandonment of her. She wasn't aware of my presence until I spoke.

"Get lost on the way home?"

She looked up, startled. I was tempted to laugh again as the lipstick tracked off her lips a little, giving her tentative smile a lopsided look. "No. I waited for you to return, but you never came."

"I'm surprised you guys stayed so late. Both Anne and Bessie said they had to get home by 10 to get the kids from the babysitter." They hadn't said that tonight, but that was their usual excuse.

"Oh, no, they did leave. They had to get home," she said casually, as she hung up her jacket in the closet.

"So, your bestie Easy drove you home." I was betting she would avoid the question.

"I've told you before not to call her that. Her name's Lousia, and we call her 'Leasy'. Your habit of calling her Easy is just insulting." So, there was not going to be an answer to my question.

"Well, if the shoe fits, that slut should have six-inch rounded heels." I chuckled at my own wit as I took a sip. "So, you stayed at the club the whole time?"

"Yeah." Claire plopped down in the other chair, throwing her legs over one of its arms and resting against the other.

I let the silence hang for a beat, then said, "I called, Claire. I called the club at one." I hadn't, but I was sure she wouldn't know that.

Smoothly, she lied, "Oh, we went to a coffee place for a cup. I wanted to give you time to get over your bruised ego."

"Well, then, back to my original question. Sleezy drove you home?" I thought I'd give her another reason to avoid my question.

"Stop calling her names. She's my best friend, and a good person." My wife huffed like the big bad wolf, but unfortunately there was no straw house to knock down.

"This 'good person' drove you home?" I thought eventually, she'd give me an answer. However, you'd think that after 10 years of marriage, I'd know the woman.

"Ralph, I'm not going to sit here and be interrogated. I'm going to bed." She stomped out of the room, then stuck her head back in the door. "And don't think you're coming to our bed tonight."

As she turned again to leave, I replied, "Fine with me. I don't do sloppy seconds."

That stopped her. "What are you accusing me of? I've never cheated on you." She had come back to stand over me, hands on hips and indignation all over her face.

"I saw your dance partner and who drove my loving wife home." I calmly sipped the nectar of the Highlands. "Let me see. You left the club before one and had coffee with him for over two hours?"

"He was worried about me after you left, so he came with us to the coffee shop." She makes it all so believable, with that beautiful voice and lovely lips.

"You, your bestie, and... Matt?" I asked.

"Yes, of course! There's nothing going on, Ralph. You and your fragile little ego have to get over this. It was one fucking dance, not an affair." She blustered.

I pulled out my phone. "I'll call Matt. I think I shorted them on the drinks, and we should probably pay for, what, two hours of coffee, if they were just there to support you. I'll just find out what we owe."

I saw a little panic set in, then. "Ralph," she almost yelled my name. "It's 3 o'clock in the morning. You can't call them now."

"Why not? If they were at the coffee shop with you, they're probably not asleep yet." I suggested as I dialed. "Or is Matt going to tell me that they left with the others, as usual? That he needed to be in bed by midnight, same as always?"

Claire, defeated, sat back down. "Okay, just Ben and I went for coffee. I was upset and didn't want to rush home to an argument."

"And you thought staying out until three and then making out in the driveway would avoid an argument?" I finished the Scotch, and wondered if I should leave the single malt taste in my mouth or move onto the blended bottle.

"We didn't make out in the driveway. Damn it, Ralph, I didn't cheat on you." Claire played for sympathy now, turning on her tears.

"Claire, I was watching." I pointed to the crack in the curtains.

"It was just a kiss! He was so sweet and worried about me, I just..." she trailed off as she saw the expression on my face, "...wanted to thank him."

"Should I be happy that he'd just a good listener? I mean, anything more serious, like sympathetic understanding, might have required a blowjob or a fuck as thanks." I snarled. Then I got angry with myself for letting my feelings show. Obviously, drinking whiskey wasn't conducive to a calm discussion. "That was unkind of me. I'm sorry. I'm sure your 'thank you's' are always properly appropriate."

I sighed. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I don't own you or your body. You can fuck whomever you want. I've put up with your disrespect for years. I've given up things I loved, for you. I stayed and put up with it all for the kid's sake, and for Ben's sake alone, I let it go because I just didn't care anymore, and it was just easier to go on."

Claire looked startled, and then angry. "What are you saying? You've put up? With what? I've never cheated on you!" She jumped out of the chair, unable to sit still. "You've given up, what? You've never given up shit. If anyone's sacrificed, it's been me.

"I was pregnant, for God's sakes, and nursed Ben. I love him, but my body's never been the same. I gave up my career to raise your kid, keep your house, entertain your friends. What did you ever do? What did you ever give up?"

I thought again of the big, bad wolf, as now Claire was actually huffing and puffing in indignation.

"Sit the fuck down and I'll tell you." I got up and got the Johnny Walker out. Claire had put a bad taste in my mouth, so why not. I didn't offer my wife a glass.

"Claire, do you remember when we dated? And when we were newlyweds?" The black label scotch was not bad, but I had gulped that first sip. I should have savored it a little.

"Of course I remember," my loving bride snapped at me.

I half closed my eyes, remembering a better time. "We didn't' have much money, with me still in college and you working clerical, but we had to be together as much as possible. It was painful to be apart." I stopped for a moment, choked up remembering my beautiful, loving bride. I covered the pause by taking another sip of scotch.

"Do you remember how we filled the time, most nights?" I looked over at my angry wife. "We played games, just to spend time together, when there was no money. Cribbage, backgammon, cards, checkers, chess, anything, just to be together.

"I usually won, but when you did, you'd crow and celebrate like you won the Olympics. I loved that, your smiling face, so happy. Of course, I hated to lose and would instantly demand a rematch. I admitted then and now, that's a flaw in my personality, but I do hate to lose. I don't think I was an abusive loser. I didn't belittle you or try to demean your win; I never said that I should have won, or you wouldn't have won if, or anything else which would have diminished your enjoyment. I always congratulated you. I just wanted another chance to win. I was enjoying myself, and thought you were as well.

"You'd tease me about what a bad loser I was, and I think I took it in good grace. I thought it was part of our friendly competition. But then we couldn't play any games with anyone without you going on about what a poor loser I was and how my fragile little ego couldn't take losing." I looked at her and shook my head. "I know you'll dismiss it as teasing, but do you know what it feels like to be run down by your wife in front of her friends and family?

"Do you remember the last time we've played a game? I mean, you and I, not at some get-together with your friends where we're expected to join in, but just you and I, to spend some time together?"

She looked puzzled for a moment, then shook her head. "It's been years. But what does that have to do with anything? We had Ben, we got busy, that's all."

"No, it's been since before Ben." I said, "We put away the games long before Ben was born. I stopped wanting to play. Maybe I should have talked to you about it, but I thought if my being a 'poor loser' was such a big deal, then I should just stop playing." I was surprised my glass was already empty and refilled it. "I did think it funny that in my whole life only my loving wife accused me of being a sore loser, but finally decided that since I won most of the time, it was really my winning that bothered you, not my attitude about losing.

"Somehow, I guess, I made you feel like less. It's not something I can help. I'm good at games and I'm lucky. I tried losing for a while, but it just made you crow even louder and abuse me even more. Even your friends started joining in.

"So, rather than trouble you with either my winning or losing, even though I've always enjoyed games, I just stopped playing anything with you, unless we were in a group and not playing would seem churlish. You never even seemed to notice. Whenever I tried to gracefully bow out of playing, you'd tell everyone it was because of what a poor loser I am."

She mumbled again about how we'd just gotten busy.

"Do you remember when we used to go walking in the woods, along the beach, or up in the hills? We were still doing that when Ben was a little kid. He and I have continued, without you, but do you remember the last time you and I went for a walk like that? We used to spend a lot of time outside, again, because we had no money, and it was always so beautiful.

"And it was an excuse to spend time with you. I loved you so much and I loved having you all to myself in the quiet of the woods... Plus, I tried teaching you and Ben the things my dad taught me about nature. But that seemed to irritate you. I remember you started commenting to my son that his father was a know-it-all.

"But then, I walked into a spider web, and panicked a little, thinking the spider might be crawling on me. I don't mind spiders, but still, I don't want one crawling down my collar, so I begged you to brush it off and make sure it wasn't on me. Well, you turned that into a full-blown case of arachnophobia. Spiders couldn't be mentioned without you going on and on about how fearful I was of spiders.

"It's funny. Spiders have always fascinated me, and I've shown you them in their webs and explained the different kinds of spiders and how helpful they are at keeping down the insect population. They're wonderful creatures, but I don't want them crawling on me and I don't want to have them bite me. I think that's pretty normal. And I've seen you panic at seeing a spider on the wall or ceiling and have had you beg me to kill them and get rid of them.

"So, when was the last time we went walking in the woods?" I held up my hand. "Don't bother. I don't remember either. It's been at least five years and you're still trotting out the spider story.

"Again, you'll say it's just teasing, but you seem to feel the need to run me down in front of others. You're a loving wife most of the time, but if you think I have a weakness or a flaw, you just have to keep poking at it, until everyone's uncomfortable."

"I do not do that! God, you can't take any teasing, can you? And no one is ever 'uncomfortable', except for you." She huffed again. "I sorry if I hurt your widdle feelings." As she summarily dismissed my comments, I remembered another thing I had given up, trying to talk to her about things like this.

"Yes, Claire, people were uncomfortable. Maybe not your friends who seem to relish seeing me put down but remember when I had friends of my own. We used to go out and do things with my friends, until you effectively cut them out of our lives. They used to listen to you run me down and they'd ask me if I was really sure that you loved me. I remember Alice telling me that you sure couldn't tell it from the way you talked about me." Alice had been my best friend's wife, now widow.

"Alice, that bitch! She never liked me. And that whole group was so fucking boring, I never had anything to talk about with them. They didn't know anything." She inspected her nails. "And I didn't cut them out. We just developed new friends."

"No, you did cut them out. Though, I admit they didn't fight to include us in their group any longer. You made them uncomfortable when you ran down me. And they were boring, at least to you. They couldn't talk about anything but history, art, science, nature, computers, politics... Nothing you would find interesting. Unlike your current crop of friends."

"Our friends, honey. They our friends, not my friends." She corrected me.

"No, they're definitely your friends. When we get together, the guys can only talk sports or cars, and the women, well, as far as I can tell you girls don't really talk, as in conversations. Outside of TV shows and celebrity news, you just snipe at each other and criticize and complain about other people. A bunch of judgmental bitches, in my opinion.

"Of course, I've overheard you in witty conversation with them, as you run down my sexual performance. What was it?" I sipped the Scotch as I tried to recall it verbatim. "'He couldn't find my clitoris if I tattooed myself with a road map to it!'

"That got a lot of laughs, didn't it? But when I overheard it and stepped in with my comment, you didn't like the laughter that followed that, did you?"

"Well damn you, you implied that I was a whore." She glared at the memory.

"All I said was I usually couldn't find it because some other guy had his hand over it." I smiled at the memory. "I thought it was funny at the time.

"But, yeah, they're your friends, but I gave up doing things with mine because every weekend, every free night, is taken up with your group. I only get to see my friends when you're away on your girls' trips to the spa. But both you and they seem to prefer it that way.

"Those are just some of the things I've given up. And sure, I could have objected, but to what point? More arguments? I've never gotten you to stop your 'teasing', although I used to ask you to. I stopped when the only effect my requests had was for you to start looking surprised when you talked about my being a poor loser terrified of spiders, and saying, 'Oh, I'm not supposed to say that, am I? It hurts lil' Ralphie's widdle feelings.'

"I put up with it longer than I should have. I shouldn't have put up with it at all. I thought I was a big enough man to stand a little teasing, especially since, for the longest time now, it'd only be in front of assholes whose opinions I really don't care about.

"But each of your comments, each time your friends joined in on me, each time was a little cut into my love for you."

I slugged the remainder of the Scotch down and got up. As I placed the Johnny Walker back into the cabinet, I continued. "Well, that was probably a mistake to put up with it. I don't think it helped Ben, and now's the time to fix it. Ben's not getting the loving home he deserves, and unless I want to 'tease' you back, there's no reason for any of this. I no longer care.

"Dance with whomever you want. Kiss 'em, blow 'em, fuck 'em. Do whatever you want. It'll have nothing to do with me after tomorrow. I'll take my 'fragile widdle ego' to the lawyer's and get the paperwork started to allow you the freedom to do whoever or whatever you want."

"Go ahead! I'll take you for every penny you have, and then some, Ralphie!" She knew I hated that nickname.

I got up and started to put the bottle back in the cabinet, but decided instead that it should accompany me to the guest room.

I stopped at the doorway. "I just remembered on other thing I gave up, some years ago. Something, that if your 1000 little cuts hadn't killed my love for you, would have hacked it to bits.

"Remember John Wilson? Or Pete Reardon. Or maybe that band, the, uh, what was their name?" I looked at Cheryl.

She was staring at me with the look of a deer in the headlights. "Whaaat?" she stuttered.

"Oh, yes, the Wife-Savers," I recalled.

"The Life-Savers," she automatically corrected me. "They were all paramedics."

"Oh, yeah. Well, they sure gave you and Sleazy the staffs of life during those gangbangs, didn't they?" I turned to go to bed. "I gave up giving a damn, back then. But then I found out you were leaving Ben alone downstairs while 'engaging' your love de jour upstairs. You'll be served this week. For adultery. It mightn't make a difference, but it is my chance to tease you back, slut. And my lawyer says it's fairly good grounds for primary custody.

"It's a surprising long list of affairs, too, isn't it. My lawyer's listing them all, at least all the ones we have proof of. Thank you, by the way, for insisting I install that security system.

"Let's see, John, Pete, the Wife-Fuckers, and then there's Will Trellis, Jim Johnson, the boys at Firehouse 78, oh, and Sleazy will love this, Matt. Or does Easy already know you're fucking her husband, along with the guys you're fucking together with her?"

Claire paled. "You can't! You can't list all those men. You'll ruin their marriages, destroy their families..."

"No, sweetheart. I'm not. You already did. I'm sending all the applicable wives and girlfriends my proof, all on an easy-to-use DVD, just so they won't be blindsided. I've included my lawyer's card.

"If I were you, I wouldn't go to work tomorrow. How many husbands of your co-workers have had their hands over your clitoris when I was looking for it?"

I looked at my wife, now openly sobbing, defeated, "You don't need to tattoo that road map, sweetie," I teased, "All your lovers will have to do is stop any random guy and ask directions. I'm sure they'll know the way."