Gold For Plastic Ch 01

Sitting on my porch on a warm spring day, smelling the lilacs and lavender while savoring the taste of cold lemonade in my mouth, it was hard to get my head around the idea that anyone would want to live life differently than this. But, of course, people do, they do it all the time. And at least a few of them knowingly trade the promise of this away for something different, for something poorer, something golden for something plastic.

There wasn't anything particularly unusual about my courtship with Megan. We met right after college, dated for a couple of years, fell in love and got married. There was no real drama involved and almost everyone who knew us mentioned that they were confident we'd get married from the time we first got together. Now, we may not have been a modern Romeo and Juliet, but most people thought we made a great couple and time spent with each other was easy and fun and we never really tired of each other. At least I felt that way.

I guess our life as a married couple wasn't particularly noteworthy either, but I was happy. She worked at a publisher and I got a pretty good job as a programmer for a software company. We were renting a half of a duplex, saving for a house. We had two cars, a big TV and a pet fish. We liked the usual stuff, going to movies, out to dinner, dancing and we got more than our fair share of sex. We planned for the great American Dream and, as soon as we had enough money set aside, we were going to start a family. We talked about our future like we could order it from a catalogue. We wanted 2 kids at least, a boy and a girl, and a house with a porch and a fireplace and a big back yard with lots of shade trees. Life was good, and looked like it would only get better.

Our trajectory toward the picket fenced American dream was right on target until the day Megan met Theresa Thomas. Theresa worked in the copyright office at Megan's company. She was single and carefree and, as Megan saw it, led an incredibly interesting life. After they first met, I remember Meg coming home night after night to tell me all about Theresa and what she said or what she wore or who she argued with or what she'd done at some party. It wasn't long before Theresa became the required topic of conversation at dinner, after the movies, in the hot tub, whenever. Honestly, it didn't bother me at first, but after a while I noticed that Megan didn't just admire Theresa's life, she actually envied it. She talked jealously of the trips she took with her boyfriend and the carefree existence she had, attending parties and concerts and going to high end restaurants. The unstated message was that she wanted more of what Theresa had, and gradually, that message started to rankle.

A couple of months after they met, Megan started bringing Theresa around to grab a bite and hang out, and so I got an early firsthand dose of my wife's apparent role model. Now, I'll be the first to admit that she was nice looking. She had smooth, olive skin, jet black hair worn long, a curvy, well-proportioned body and dark, penetrating eyes. But, as attractive as she was physically, her personality was really annoying to me. She carried herself in a superior manner, and seemed to have an expectation that the people around her were there to serve her. It wasn't uncommon for her to make jabbing remarks about the great unwashed that didn't run in the circles she did and, generally speaking, her inferiors essentially consisted of the vast majority of the people she met, and I'm pretty sure that included me.

Initially it wasn't clear where the arrogance came from. She'd gone to the community college and certainly didn't seem like some sort of an intellectual giant, her job was no great shakes and she definitely didn't have a lot of her own money. Sure, she was good looking, but she wasn't exactly super model stuff and there are lots of equally pretty girls without that kind of attitude. Honestly, all I could conclude was that her sense of superiority was directly related to her perception that she associated with a better class of people. She had a habit of going on and on about the opinions and habits and possessions of a group of people she socialized with, all of whom were directly or indirectly connected with some sort of local tycoon named Gabriel Putnam. Theresa became acquainted with Gabriel, through a friend of his named Stuart, who she'd met and started dating a year or so previously. Now they both spent a lot of their free time at Gabriel's house, which turned out to be some gargantuan mansion on the outside of town. As far as I could gather, Gabriel didn't have any real accomplishments of his own, evidently getting all his money by being born into a family that controlled an obscenely profitable chemical company. And so, with no real responsibility, he'd managed to perfect the art of living a life of leisure and evidently went out of his way to share his life style with anyone he deemed worthy of becoming his friend. Not surprisingly, his mansion was the focal point for all the 'beautiful people' in town and they'd gather there to party five or six nights a week. It wasn't long before I realized that, if you didn't habituate Gabriel's house, then you weren't really worth the time of day, at least in Theresa's little world.

Well, based on Megan's growing adoration of everything Theresa, it was pretty clear to me that she was craving a night at Gabriel's in the worst way. So, it came as no surprise when she came home one Thursday in an incredibly manic mood after Theresa had invited her to go to Gabriel's later that night to introduce her around. I guess I assumed I was going too, but when I asked what I should wear and what time we'd be leaving, Theresa made it clear that it was a girl's night and that I was going to be out of the loop. At that point, alarm bells started going off in my head, but they were just faint enough that I didn't panic completely.

The alarm got considerably louder when I saw Megan come out of our bedroom wearing a fairly provocative black dress that showed off her legs and cleavage and that she'd gone all out on her makeup and her hair. When she dolled up like that she could be breathtaking and that night, wearing a dress that showed off all of her beautiful curves, she looked every bit the part of a sandy haired, brown eyed, pale skinned dream; a cross between the peachy country girl and some bikini model dressed to the nines. Really, she was just so gorgeous that it was making me queasy thinking how other men would be scheming to try and get lucky once they got an eyeful of her, and I developed an overwhelming impulse to ask her to cancel or insist that I go too. But before I figured out a diplomatic way to broach the subject and voice my concern, she was out the door with Theresa and on her way.

After she left, it didn't take long before I realized that waiting around the house while she partied was going to drive me crazy, so I decided I'd better occupy myself somehow and I figured I could catch a football game with my buddies. My best friends were Greg Martin and Bill White, a couple of guys in the neighborhood that I could always count on for company. I'd known Greg since college and Tom since we'd moved into their neighborhood and along with their wives, Sally and Julie, we spent a lot of time socializing together. The men would often golf, or watch football together and it wasn't uncommon for the girls to go shopping or even to the spa together. As couples we'd go to the movies or bowling or miniature golfing and even took a couple of vacations as a group.

A night watching football with them wasn't at all unusual, but going over to their house without Megan was definitely out of the ordinary and both Sally and Julie wondered what was up. I guess I was pretty vague about the answer, so like dogs hovering around a cornered squirrel, they kept pressing until they got the whole story out. Nobody said much, but I did notice some raised eyebrows and the men nervously ribbed me about my wife looking to upgrade. I laughed at the jokes, but I really didn't think it was all that funny and I'm pretty sure everyone started to feel my discomfort.

Megan got home around 11:30 that night and couldn't stop talking about the people she met and the good time she had. She seemed a little buzzed, which didn't surprise me because she was never averse to drinking a fair amount in social situations. It didn't take long before her enthusiasm about her evening out started to annoy me. Sure I understood it was fun and interesting for her, but hearing her gush for a couple of hours about the people she met at a party I wasn't welcome at had me grinding my teeth and looking to change the subject.

Listening to her review of the evening, a few names kept coming up over and over. The super rich Gabriel was evidently 'charming' and 'witty' and a gracious and generous host who was quick to lavish food, booze and compliments on his guests. As a popular, attractive, ultra-rich single guy, Gabriel played the part of the ultimate in bachelor eligibility, with women of every age hanging on and around him all night long. Not far behind him, though, was a guy named Palmer, a local lawyer, who seemed to be a very close friend of Gabriel's. Megan described Palmer as having a commanding personality, conveying with some evident admiration how he dominated conversations and tended to be the focus of attention even if Gabriel was in the room. Apparently, everyone seemed to know him or of him and he was a fairly popular guy and, based on Megan's smile and excitement as she recanted the evening, she was very flattered that he spent a lot of time talking to her. Then there was Theresa's boyfriend Stuart, who, according to Megan, seemed a little younger and a little more 'playful'. I guess Theresa was all over him all night, but that didn't surprise Meg because, apparently, over-the-top public displays of affection were commonplace at Gabriel's.

I listened to her drone on about what a great time she had over the next few days and a couple of times I got close to saying how lame I thought it was to fawn over a bunch of socialites and their wanna-be hanger-ons, but I figured I'd just sound bitter or jealous or both. Eventually, my non-responses must have sent a message because she finally dialed back the conversation about the mansion and its ever-so-interesting occupants and visitors.

About a week later, she got invited again. This time I insisted on going along and was more than a little relieved when she didn't object. The mansion was just on the outside of town and was a huge pseudo-classical monstrosity complete with porticos and decorated columns , statues, fountains and a whole lot of square footage. It had a long driveway and there must have been 25 cars parked along it and on the adjacent lawn. Once inside, Megan showed me around a little. The mansion was absolutely massive and the party was spread all through it with people eating in the dining room, talking in a gigantic living room, playing pool in a game room, sitting in the hot tub, swimming in a hug pool or watching a movie in a media room. Really, people were everywhere, talking, laughing, gesticulating, drinking and touching.

Eventually, we found Gabriel and Palmer with half a dozen other people in a 'den' off of the main hall. She introduced me and they seemed nice enough. Both Gabriel and Palmer looked to be in their early 40's, both were well tanned, wore expensive clothes, cologne, that sort of thing. They both had the easy, confident manner of men who felt in complete control of their environment and they moved from conversation to conversation with incredible ease and confidence. Anyway, they both greeted me fairly warmly, made a little small-talk, asking about my job, my educational background and then politely moved on to talk with more interesting people, mainly some pretty girls, including Theresa and my wife. Maybe I looked a little lost, so someone got me a drink and motioned to a nearby couch where I sat down with Megan and a group of 4 or 5 socialites for what turned out to be, for me anyway, a stunningly boring conversation about the merits of vacationing in Venice versus Florence followed by comments on the appropriateness of the behavior of a number of fashion models. I tried to stay engaged, but after half an hour, I lost the battle to boredom. Remembering a room with a TV playing a baseball game, I whispered to Megan that I was going to look around some more and she nodded ok. I spent the rest of the evening watching a high definition whitewash of a game with another guy who was trying to pickle himself in scotch. By the time the game ended, he was snoring and I was more than ready to find Megan and go home.

But, finding Megan didn't turn out to be quite so easy. She wasn't in the den or the dining room or the living room or any of the big rooms off the main hall. For one, heart pounding moment, I figured the only rooms left were the upstairs bedrooms, but on my way to the stairway I spotted her on one of the smaller patios outside of the kitchen and dining room. For a moment, and only a moment, I was relieved to find her, but my relief washed out of me like a flushed toilet when I was able to completely take in the scene. Megan was standing by a fountain, closely facing Palmer. He had a drink in one hand and had the other arm wrapped low around her waist with his hand on her butt. He laughed at something she said, paused to take a drink and then lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. She laughed at what he was doing and in a half-hearted effort, gently pushed him away with her free hand. I felt like my heart was exploding and I bolted through the patio door and was at the fountain within seconds.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, what the hell is going on?" I half-shouted as I pulled his hand off Megan and roughly pulled her away.

Megan looked mortified and Palmer reacted with a surprised glance that melted into something that seemed vaguely amused.

"I'm just enjoying talking with your wife, nothing to get worked up about."

"Uh, that's enough enjoyment asshole; she's married you know and we don't go for that sort of thing." I think he was trying to look conciliatory, but all I could see was a smirk.

Megan began turning beet red as I frog walked her away and I thought it was over her own embarrassment at being caught in a compromising situation. I learned just how wrong I was when she hissed into my ear:

"Matt, don't be an ass. Palmer is a friend and one of our hosts. You are totally overreacting. Seriously, you're embarrassing me and need to apologize right now."

I was stunned. I had nothing to say to this, so I mumbled something about him more likely getting a broken jaw than an apology, and kept walking her off the patio, through the house and out to the car. Both of us were really fuming and we said nothing for most of the ride home. Finally she turned to me and said; "What the hell possessed you to humiliate me like that in front of my friends?"

I spit back, "What the hell possessed you to start making out with a guy in public?"

"We weren't making out. We were just flirting a little and I see nothing wrong with it. You're fucking overreaction is the real issue."

The argument went on like that for the rest of the car ride, the walk up the driveway to the house, the entire time we got ready for bed and right up to the point we both pretended to fall asleep. I was taken aback by her behavior, but completely flabbergasted at her defense of it. I had to ask myself a million times if I was overreacting, if this kind of thing was really normal for a married couple, if somehow I should see it her way. But I couldn't and remained astonished that she thought a behavior that was clearly out of bounds to me, was ok to her. How could we see the situation so completely different?

By the next morning, things were still a little chilly, but had improved to the point we could talk to each other. I considered having a big sit-down discussion about the night before, but I got lazy and decided to let it slide. Really, I guess I talked myself into believing that she was so embarrassed by her own behavior that she must have decided to downplay its significance, otherwise the defense of her actions made no sense to me.

But, when she got an invitation to Gabriel's again on Saturday I put a quick stop to any idea that she would be going. We had already agreed to a barbecue at Sally and Greg's, which, in my view, was going to be a lot more fun and it would have been really rude to cancel. Also, I was still mortified by her behavior on Thursday and wasn't at all interested in giving Palmer, or any other guy there, another shot at my wife.

Not surprisingly, Megan was none too happy with my decision and she sulked and griped the whole morning. Her mood hadn't improved any when we got to the barbecue and she pretty much refused to socialize at all. She drank more than usual, gave one word answers, didn't laugh or even smile at all, and sat by herself every chance she got. Finally, when she was alone in the house, I went inside to confront her.

"Hey, what the hell Meg, you're really messing up this party. Sally just asked if you were sick or something and I had to just say you're in a bad mood. I know you're pissed at me, but don't take it out on everyone here. You need to come out and at least try and have some fun."

She gave me a sour look and said she wanted to go home. I asked her again to stick around and try and have some fun, and then she really blew up.

"Look Matt, I know you like boring things like barbecues and like to have boring conversations with boring people like Greg and Sally and Bill and Julie and are perfectly happy coming to this boring place to have....."

She stopped in mid-sentence because of a crashing sound in the kitchen immediately behind us. We both turned to see Sally, who was on her knees, desperately fumbling at the shattered pieces of a serving plate. She'd obviously heard everything Megan had said.

"Sally, I'm, uh, sorry...." I choked out while Megan sat there silently,

Sally smiled painfully. "Oh, it's ok, it's a cheap plate..." She said, painfully pretending they were both talking about the plate while she picked up the last few pieces. We watched in silence as she left the room and then sat there for a few moments more, still saying nothing. Finally, Megan turned to me and started. "Look, Matt, I didn't..."

I held my hand up for her to stop. "You win. I'm going to let everyone know we are leaving. I'm pretty sure it's going to be impossibly awkward if we try and stick around."

I walked outside to our friends whose conversation stopped suddenly when they noticed me on the deck. I had no idea what to say so I decided on something that everyone knew wasn't true. "Hey, you guys, Meg isn't feeling so good, so I think we're going to cut it short and just go home. We'll catch you later." They all murmured something about hoping she'd get better and that we'd see each other soon. There didn't seem like there was anything else to do, so I got Meg and left.

I was on a low boil the whole ride home, saying nothing, realizing if I opened my mouth I'd explode. She sat quietly looking out the passenger window, but didn't seem to be particularly remorseful. No tears, no attempts to apologize or justify, nothing to make me think she was sorry.

I was so perplexed by her recent change in attitude that I didn't even know how to start to question her about her behavior , so all I could muster when we got inside was to say "You can really be a little shit sometimes Meg." She looked back at me defiantly and simply replied: "Now you know how it feels to be embarrassed in front of your friends." We spent the rest of the night in silence.

There was a gradual thaw over the next few days and by mid-week, things seemed to be back to normal, or what had become normal. We talked and laughed and watched TV and had sex. But the new normal also included Theresa, so she came over twice later in the week and she and Megan spent those evenings watching TV, listening to music and talking.