House Of Cards Ch 07

The next day was Saturday. For the first time in a while, I woke up without remembering a nightmare. I was feeling a little lazy, having missed my regular morning jogs with Marianne, so I took a three-mile run, did some sit-ups and push-ups, then showered. I felt pretty good, at least when I didn't think about Marianne and Eddie together.

After running a few errands, I joined Andrea and Steve at their house at 5pm, as agreed. They relaxed in the back yard, enjoying the warm weather and a few cold beers.

Andrea was eager to tell me her story. "Just as you guessed, Tom, Marianne called us last night! She couldn't talk about anything but your 'affair'. She didn't wait even a moment, just blurted out, 'I think Tom is having an affair with someone—do you know anything about it?' "

I laughed. "What did you tell her?"

"Pretty much what you suggested. I acted embarrassed at first, and I said that you could hardly blame him. Then I confessed that you had mentioned something about a woman, but had hardly told us anything. She seemed really upset about it. I asked her how the rest of the evening had gone, and she hardly said anything. She told me you made her a fabulous dinner, but didn't say much about your conversation."

"I have you to thank for this, Andrea," I said. "Yesterday you helped me see that Marianne hadn't really been working very hard to understand how much I've been suffering, and why. So I did two things. First, she and I are each going to imagine being in the other one's shoes, and write down what we think the other one is feeling. And second, I've begun this nonsense about my seeing someone else. I have the feeling that that will really help her understand what I've been going through!"

We all laughed, but then Steve looked a little more serious. "How is this going to play out, Tom? Do you intend to tell her the truth, or are you going to keep up this story about your affair? And are you thinking about actually seeing someone else?"

"Steve, I'm just taking it one step at a time. I'm still not interested in sex at the moment—not with Marianne, not with anyone else. I was in a bar the other night, and I realized on the way home that I hadn't even looked around to see if there were any women in the place. I think ... the pain I'm feeling about Marianne's cheating has gotten in the way of my libido, at least for right now."

"As for keeping the story going—I'm going to stay with it, at least for a few days. If I get a chance, I may even tell Marianne some of the details about my sex life with this imaginary lady. She's hardly in a position to tell me I have no right to be screwing somebody. I can even tell her that she's better off than I was about Eddie, because she knows what's going on!"

I concluded, "in the long run I don't know whether I'll tell her the truth. I just know that I'm still hurting so much. The idea of making love to her again still fills me with rage. And I've realized that letting myself be the passive victim is the worst thing I can do. Making up a fake affair to torment my wife with seems like a weird strategy—but at the moment it's making me feel a bit better. At least I'm taking some action."

Andrea and Steve both nodded. "That makes a lot of sense to me, Tom," Steve said. "Andrea and I will keep the story going. Any time Marianne asks, we'll continue to be vague, but give her the impression that you have mentioned your new woman once or twice."

With that settled, we turned to other topics, and enjoyed a long and relaxed evening together. It was wonderful to have a few hours without feeling so much pain, without my mind filling with images of Marianne and Eddie together.

** ** ** **

When I got to the house on Sunday Marianne was waiting anxiously for me. She'd made some iced tea and sandwiches, and set it all up on our deck in the back yard. She was wearing a pair of green shorts she knew I liked, and a salmon tank top that showed off her figure beautifully. She'd done her hair and her make-up carefully—the effect was wonderful, and it was clear that she had put in a lot of effort. She looked absolutely beautiful.

I was in no hurry to get to our lists. I wanted to see how she was feeling, and was going to let her begin the conversation. I just said, "Hi Marianne, how are you? You look lovely today! Thanks for this nice spread."

"Thank you, Tom." She was obviously agitated. We had some iced tea, and she fidgeted nervously with her glass, played with her wedding ring, and just couldn't really sit still. I waited calmly, and when she couldn't stand the silence any more she burst out.

"Tom, are you really ... seeing someone? Are you having an affair, or did you just say that to upset me?"

"Do you think I shouldn't be seeing anyone, Marianne? Don't you think it's the least I've got coming, after you and Eddie all these months?"

She squirmed, and looked miserable. "Well, yes, Tom. I can't very well complain about anything you do at this point! I know what I did was awful .... It's just ... well, thinking about you and another woman is really upsetting me, and I want to know if it's true."

"It's true, Marianne," I lied calmly. "We've been together about six or seven times over the last couple of weeks. I'm not going to do this behind your back—you did that to me, and I know how much it hurt me when I found out. So I'm being open with you about it."

"But WHY?" she cried out, bursting into tears. I just looked at her in surprise.

"Okay," she said after a moment, still crying. "I know that was a stupid question. It's pretty obvious why, isn't it? I hurt you, and you wanted to hurt me back. But what's going to happen now? What's going to happen to us?"

The part of me that wanted Marianne to suffer a little was really enjoying this. "Actually, Marianne, I didn't do it to hurt you, and I'm not doing it now to hurt you. I've known Carrie through our work for several years, and we've always been friendly. The night we went out for a drink, after finishing up a project, we talked for a long time, and she made it clear she was interested in me. She's single, and under the circumstances there didn't seem to be any reason for me not to go to bed with her. We had a terrific time, and I've kept seeing her. Why shouldn't I?"

I had carefully chosen the name "Carrie" because there was no one I knew with that name. If Marianne tried tracking down my imaginary paramour, she wouldn't have much luck.

"But Tom ... what about our marriage?"

"I have two answers to that, Marianne. The first one is, you didn't worry about that a whole hell of a lot while you were climbing in and out of bed with Eddie, did you?" She just shook her head, looking miserable.

"And second, I haven't any idea. I couldn't possibly have sex with YOU at the moment. I can't even think of kissing you without seeing you and Eddie together, and when I imagine making love to you, it just gets worse. Given that I'm not having any sex with you, why not have sex with Carrie? I don't know where it will lead."

"Do you think you're falling in love with her, Tom?" Marianne spoke the question almost in a whisper.

"No, I don't think so. If I were cruel, Marianne, I could say that I was 'fond' of her, like you with Eddie, but I won't go that far. I like her. She's very attractive, and sex with her is terrific—she's wonderfully eager and enthusiastic. For now that's all it is. She knows about my situation, and I've made her absolutely no promises."

She only nodded, without looking up.

I looked at her. "We can keep talking about me and Carrie if you like, Marianne, but I get the feeling it will only upset you more. Do you think it would make more sense if we went on to our lists, the ones I suggested we make the other day?"

"I don't know what to do, Tom." Marianne looked thoroughly miserable. "I don't even want to think about you with someone else, but at the same time I'm just torn up inside! I keep seeing images of you ... with her, you know ... in bed. And it makes me crazy!"

"Believe me, Marianne, I know exactly what you're talking about. And there's one more thing. When you were screwing Eddie, you were getting out of his bed, coming home and climbing in bed with me. You must have had sex with me the same day you had sex with him, probably lots of times, and of course I never knew a thing. At least I'm not doing that to you. I'm not putting you in the position you put me in."

She nodded. "I know that, Tom. And I know ... I know that I'm the cause of all of this. I will try not to complain."

After a minute she rose and went into the house, returning with a sheet of paper. "Here's my list," she said. "I spent most of yesterday thinking about it, and read it over again this morning. I have to tell you, Tom—thinking about you and ... Carrie ... together made it a lot easier to imagine how you must be feeling about me and Eddie."

I smiled to myself, but said nothing. That had been the point, after all!

"Okay, Marianne. How about if I start by reading you my list, the one I wrote pretending to be you? I want you to tell me at the end how I did, and what I left out."

She agreed, and I read the list, in which the "I" was Marianne. There were five items on it.

--I am so angry at myself for being stupid and selfish. I thought I could do what I did without hurting you or jeopardizing our marriage. I was an idiot! Now I have caused you great pain, and I recognize that it is totally my fault.

--I am afraid for our marriage. I want you back, I want you to forgive me and come home to me—but I don't know what to do to make that happen. What if you decide to divorce me?

--I don't know how to make you love me again.

--I'm worried that you'll make some conditions for our marriage continuing that I won't be able to fulfill. (Like letting you have all the affairs you want.)

--I'm terrified about your affair with that woman. Will you fall in love with her? Does she please you, sexually or in other ways, more than I do? Between her attractiveness and your anger at me, will you leave me for her?

Marianne listened carefully as I read. When I was finished, she said, "that's an awfully good list, Tom. I am certainly feeling all those things—especially the first two, and the last one! I am angry at myself, and I am terrified. But there's one more I would put on there." She thought for a moment, and then said:

--I'm so furious that I can't tell you to stop seeing Carrie! Obviously I have no right to say that, given what I've done. But I want to stamp my foot and say, You can't see her any more!

I smiled at her, trying to look sympathetic rather than triumphant. "Believe me, I understand that feeling, Marianne. But you're right—right now you can't just tell me to stop. I have to figure out, in my own time, what's right for me."

"Tom," she cried, genuinely frightened, "please don't give up on me! I mean, on us—don't give up on our marriage!"

I went over to her chair and took her hand, holding it gently. "I'm not doing that, sweetheart," I said. "All these painful conversations, all these lists—all this is about trying to work it out. If I had wanted just to walk away, I would have done that three weeks ago."

She pulled my hand to her face and stroked it along her cheek. "Thank you for saying that, Tom! I so much needed to hear it. And I see your point—we have to keep having these awful conversations, don't we?"

I nodded, and after a minute said, "do you want to read me your list, Marianne?"

Her list was actually disappointing. It had only a few items, and I didn't think that she really had managed to feel all that I was going through. Like me, she wrote the list in my voice, so that this time the "I" was me.

--I am very angry that you broke our marital vows and had sex with Eddie.

--I don't know how I am ever going to be able to trust you now.

--I am worried that maybe he was a better lover than I am.

--I am angry that you were unavailable to me on our anniversary, because Eddie had given you the "honeymoons".

--I am upset that you lied to me, that you kept me in the dark about your affair for so many months.

--I don't know how to get over being angry with you.

When she was finished, she looked over at me. When I didn't speak, she asked, "How did I do, Tom?"

I sighed. "Well, it's a start. That certainly was the short version, not the elaborate one."

She looked a little annoyed. "What do you mean?"

"Well," I replied, "you've mentioned a few of the main points, but I don't think you have really walked in my moccasins yet, Marianne. Just for the heck of it, I made my own list of how I'm feeling. How about if I share it with you? The things you've mentioned are all there, so there's some duplication—but so are some other ones that are really important to me."

She nodded, and I went on to read her the list I had made.

--I am angry that you put yourself first. You chose to do something for your own pleasure and satisfaction, even though you knew it put our happy marriage, and my happiness, greatly at risk. If we still had toddlers, you would never have left one of our children alone in the bathtub just so you could finish watching your favorite TV show—you would have put their safety ahead of your pleasure. Yet with this affair you did just the opposite.

--I feel furious that my trust in your faithfulness has been completely betrayed. Part of what made our love-making so precious is that we shared it only with one another, and you broke that agreement behind my back.

--I am humiliated that you played me for a fool. You kept an incredibly important secret from me for months. When I questioned you about it, you lied to my face. You didn't confess the truth, or stop your affair, until I had absolute proof.

--I am angry that you have destroyed our sex life, along with the rest of our marital happiness. Right now the thought of sex with you makes me physically ill, because it is unavoidably linked to my thoughts of you and Eddie together. You have deprived me of the joy of our sex life together, without ever consulting me.

--My ego has been badly hurt. Eddie is younger than I am, and obviously full of energy and enthusiasm for sex. Is he a better lover than I am? Is his cock bigger, is his tongue more talented, does he have more stamina? In short, does he satisfy you in ways that I don't? When we were faithful to one another, I never had these worries—now I have them all the time.

--I am jealous of Eddie. Jealous of all the sexual pleasure you gave him, that was supposed to be reserved only for me. But even more jealous of the intimate time you spent together, the relaxed nights in his apartment, the fondness and closeness that obviously developed over the months you were together. I'm incredibly jealous and angry that you shared your most intimate, completely open side with him.

--I hate it that you took pleasure at my expense. In bed with Eddie, part of your excitement was knowing you were cheating on me. In bed with me, part of your excitement was the secret that you were also screwing Eddie. That undoubtedly made sex hotter for you, but only at the price of my pain.

--I am angry with you for breaking something I don't know how to fix: our marriage. I want it back the way it was, and I know it can never be that way again. Even if we stay together, how can I ever have the wonderful complete trust in you that I used to have? That trust is destroyed, and I don't know how to get it back.

--I'm afraid of my own anger and sense of grievance, afraid that it will destroy our relationship. I don't know how, even if we get back together, we can get to a point where I won't be constantly angry at you, and throwing your affair in your face all the time. What will happen when you finally say, "that's enough, stop hassling me about me and Eddie, it's time to get over it and forget it", and I still can't forget it? For a while you're going to be loving and apologetic—but what happens when you want to get back to normal, and I still can't do it? What will happen when you want to make love with me, and I still can't bear to touch you?

When I finished reading my list to Marianne, there was silence. I was glad I had written it out, and taken the time to formulate my thoughts carefully. I'm sure there were other things I could have mentioned, but the list communicated a lot of what I was feeling.

"Jesus, Tom," Marianne finally said, with a tremor in her voice. "I thought I was a sensitive person, and I thought I'd been thinking hard about this—but there are things there that never entered my mind."

She looked at me. "This has been just awful for you, hasn't it?"

I simply replied, "Yes it has."

And after a minute I continued, "and you are a sensitive person, Marianne. Sensitive, caring, and usually very observant. But somehow, with this affair, it seems you put all that stuff on hold."

She nodded her agreement. "Yes, I did—because I knew subconsciously that if I paid attention to your feelings, it would get in the way of my own selfish plans. So I guess I just turned off my sensitivity." She grimaced in disgust. "Jesus, what an idiot!"

After another minute or two of silence, I rose and wordlessly took her hand. I helped her to her feet, and we strolled hand-in-hand off the deck and around our green back yard, enjoying the shade of the walnut trees towards the back of the property. We didn't speak for a little while, just enjoyed the breeze and the noise of the birds.

I liked holding Marianne's hand. It reassured me that at least I could have this degree of physical closeness to her without my rage and hurt boiling up inside me. Obviously, this was a long way from making love! But it seemed like a good first step.

After awhile we returned to the deck, had some more iced tea, and spent a few minutes talking about other things. I had missed a couple of our weekly Monday night phone calls to the kids, so Marianne filled me in on how they were doing. She had told them I'd been away on business trips, so they had no reason to know I had moved out. I appreciated her having handled it that way.

Of course, the problem would come at the end of August when they returned home. If I were still living in an apartment, Marianne and I would have to talk seriously about how to explain the situation to them. But we still had a few weeks before having to face that.

Then I said, "Marianne, it's been a nice afternoon, but I should go." I considered adding that I had a date planned with Carrie, but it seemed cruel so I restrained myself.

But it didn't matter—she immediately asked, "are you seeing ... Carrie tonight?" I nodded, and saw tears come back into her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Marianne," was all I said. I wasn't going to promise I would stop seeing my imaginary lover.

"Tom, can we ... talk again soon?" "Of course," I answered. "How about Tuesday, the day after tomorrow? Why don't you come back to the apartment for dinner?"

"Okay," she sniffled. "I think I need to talk to you about Carrie. I've been trying not to think about it, but my imagination is making my life miserable. Maybe if you actually tell me ... about her, and about your ... time together, I'll be a little less unhappy and frightened."

"That's fine with me, Marianne." We agreed that this time we'd share making the dinner: Marianne would bring a salad and dessert, and I'd do the rest.

"Tom, would you leave me your list? I think I should probably read it over, and think about it some more." I was pleased by her request, and naturally agreed.

I kissed her on the cheek as I was leaving, and she gave me a sad, brave smile. I didn't know quite how to feel about it, but it was clear that at that moment Marianne was more miserable than I was. I couldn't help thinking that this was progress.

**********

By Tuesday I had started to be more hopeful about my marriage. For a variety of reasons, I felt less devastated than before. I had taken action, that was one good thing. Second, Marianne had had to confront much more directly all the pain she had caused me, and she seemed to be facing up to it. And finally, the imaginary Carrie was making Marianne miserable!