It's Only Fair

My first submission to this site. I've been reading here for years and have a number of authors current and former that I enjoy following.

This will be a number of chapters and like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know. No sex in this one, but there will be in later chapters.

There will be no green berets or severed limbs or cuckoldry or creampies. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story.

Enjoy! -V

"We are on the final approach to New York, JFK International Airport. Thank you again for flying American."

I gripped the seat rest firmly as the mighty engines of the 747 rumbled and the plane buffeted as the wing flaps were engaged with a faint mechanical whine. My eyes closed and my jaw clenched as I waited, waited...waited.

Touchdown.

The plane slowed and momentum lifted me briefly away from the seatback. I allowed myself to cautiously relax and loosen my white knuckled grip; a faint prickling of flowing blood rushed through my fingertips. No matter how many times I have to fly, by choice or business, it doesn't get any easier. A glance at the scratched face of my Bulova showed 11:37 PM, eliciting a grunt from my tired lips. "Nineteen hours," I mumbled aloud.

My neighbor in the next seat, a doughy-faced middle-aged woman in a pair of worn jeans and a shapeless sweatshirt glanced briefly at me, almost bothered that after a 5 hour flight from LA I had the gall to actually say anything.

"Screw you, lady," I thought to myself as I reached under the seat in front of me and pulled out my pleather battered briefcase. Around me, others were getting to their feet and reaching into the overhead bins, even though the plane was still in motion and the flight attendants were making no effort to stop the rising chaos of worn out travelers. I waited until the plane came to a full stop and the metallic jacking sound of the docking walkway could be heard reaching out to the plane's exit. With an audible groan I stood up, getting another frowning glance from my apparent fan club in the next seat, and pulled my grey duffle out of the overhead compartment and waited with quiet patience until it was my turn to finally disembark.

I gave the ever smiling flight attendant a quiet thanks as she wished me a safe trip and made me way to the concourse and then eventually the parking lot where I saw the dull black finish of my wife's Chevy Cavalier. Raising a tired arm and waving, she saw me and drove around the half dozen cabs parked here and pulled up as close as she could.

"Hey, El," I said as she opened the door and came around the front of the car. I was pleasantly surprised to think I was going to get a hug hello, but she instead gave me a brief peck on the cheek and ran her hand across my shoulders as she scooted behind me, opened the passenger door and fell into the seat.

"Hey, Rick," she replied with empty sounding cheer, "You gotta drive home, sweets. I'm too shot. Besides, you've been relaxing on the plane, so it's only fair."

It's only fair. How many times have I been hearing that? It seems to be her constant litany the last year or two whenever she wanted something to go her way. It's only fair. It's only fair. It's only fair. Heaven forbid if I ever utter those words, then I'm just a selfish prick.

Gritting my teeth again I walked around to the driver's side and opened the door, tilting the seat forward to place my briefcase and dufflebag on the floor behind my chair. I glanced at the child's seat in the back seat of the car, grey and yellow and a bit dirty, making sure it was latched down properly before giving a look at the figure belted within.

"Hey, Sunshine," I whispered to the sleeping baby. 11 months old, my daughter Amber was still the most beautiful thing I had ever beheld. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and regular, she was just so perfect as far as I was concerned that I was blown away every time I saw here. "I missed you so much," I added with another whisper, leaning forward to give a soft kiss on her cheek. Pulling back, I stepped out of the car for a second to move the seat back to its original position and got in.

My wife, Elle, was strapping herself in, giving me a weak smile as she settled down. "I hate the airport," she said.

I nodded as I buckled myself in, adjusting the mirrors quickly so I can see behind me. "I know, El. Thanks again for this."

She grunted. "Twice in one day. 4:30 flight this morning and then picking you up here after 11:30. It's not fair."

I merged into what little traffic there was and began driving out of JFK, working my way to the Belt parkway. "I know," I repeated, trying to get her off whatever had her frustration up. "You're the best for taking me in this morning and picking me up now. Really, thanks again, El."

She shrugged her shoulders, "Next time, just pay for parking. This wasn't worth it."

I looked over at her and tried to imagine what had happened to the girl I had fallen in love with. She was still special to my eyes, 5' 2", 130 lbs which was 20 or so more pounds than when we first met 14 years ago, her hair midnight black and skin pale, unable to hold a tan no matter how many times she tried to get any color. Her legs were short, her hips wider than she likes, but she had good muscle tone; a leftover benefit from her teen years and early 20's as a gym rat. She was a bit self-conscious of her breasts, convinced they were small but I told her she looked great and with the right bra, had a bit of high cleavage that stood out in a low cut shirt.

My name was Rick Masters, and at this point was pushing 34, a year younger than my significant other. I was 6', 210 lbs and was getting a bit of a spread from the last 4 years at a desk job. Still had all my hair and was proud that I didn't drink, smoke, or do drugs. I used to joke often that I was the original boy scout.

"I think they liked me," I opened with, hoping to get something positive out of her.

"They should," she replied. "You're willing to do the job for so little."

"$75,000 is not little," I answered. "And Barry knows that with me, they don't need an analyst as well."

She snorted. "So they are getting two positions filled with you, but only paying for one. Hence, you are getting so little."

I wasn't going to get dragged into a fight with her. Elle had a hard time at jobs, always had. She assumed that the bosses of whatever company she worked for were idiots and if they would only listen to her, everything would work out better. This resulted in her having spotty employment at best and no work friends she could relate to.

I tried again to get a conversation flowing, "So, how was Amber tonight?"

She sighed, a weary sigh that made my skin crawl for a moment. "Fine, she was fine."

"Anything special happen?"

I guess it was because I was trying to navigate the turn where the Belt Parkway ended and the Southern State Parkway began, that I happened to look firmly into the passenger mirror to check for any approaching cars that I saw her face. Briefly her expression took on a radiant glow, her eyes seemed glassy, her lips twisted into a sudden smirk before it all faded away and she blandly answered, "Nothing new. Same old." She reached out and pated my thigh. "No more chit chat, Rick. It's late and I'm really tired."

I nodded in reply, saying nothing as I kept my eyes glued to the highway and thought about the strange look I had seen. What the hell was that?

We had been married for 7 years now; I met her when I was 19. She was my then girlfriend's best friend and was engaged to be married to a muffler mechanic named Ronald. I never clicked with him, mainly because the first time we met, he was high as a kite and laughing like a moron. Elle was good natured though and my girlfriend, Joy, really got along with her so in the interest of keeping the peace, I put up with Ronald.

However as the wedding between Elle and Ronald got closer, Ronald lost his job at the muffler shop and seemed uninterested in getting another one. He was smoking more often and I could tell the stress of the relationship was getting to Elle and therefor to Joy and I as well. I know the two of us tried to be supportive to Elle and Ronald but truthfully, I thought Elle was wasting her time with him. I made the mistake of mentioning it to Joy once. She swiftly defended Ronald and downplayed his rampant smoking, saying that the wedding and losing his job was making him unsure of himself.

So I was good boyfriend and kept my mouth shut and said nothing.

For about 2 months.

At 6 weeks before Elle and Ronald's wedding, Elle called it off. She called me up sobbing and asked me to come to her house and give her a hand moving some of Ronald's things out. I was uncomfortable to help out, I mean, she was my girlfriend's best friend and I did not want to be involved without Joy. It was then that Elle informed me that she had caught Ronald and Joy together at Joy's parents' house, naked and screwing each other in the pool.

I helped her that afternoon move all of Ronald's things back to his parents, and she helped me that evening move Joy's few belongings out of my apartment and back to her parents. Throughout the fallout of both relationships, we kept each other company and over the next few months found out that besides both of our respective others being cheating bastards, we had a number of things in common. From movies to books to food to morals, there were more than enough places to build a relationship on and just a few areas that we differed to make it both real and worthwhile.

The only difficulty at that time in dealing with Elle was that every few months she would become depressed, uninterested in anything, and hyper-critical of everyone around her. It wouldn't last more than a month or so and then she'd become full of life, energetic and interested in whatever was going on. It was a few years later that we learned she was faintly bi-polar, not enough to require medication, but something to keep in the back of our minds.

My wool gathering was helping me pass the time as the exits wound their way behind. A glance at the dashboard clock showed 12:13 AM. I wiggled my shoulder blades back under the headrest, trying to relieve the tension that was building there. Getting nowhere I stretched first one arm up and then the other, feeling the sheer weight of my mounting exhaustion and worry settle on me like a yoke. I glanced at my sleeping wife. Was this another one of her bi-polar shifts? How long ago was the last one? I was worried because I really couldn't tell if she had a "happy" period recently and was concerned that her down moods were lasting longer and getting deeper.

I thought about bringing up therapy again but frowned, my brows furrowing as I remembered the furious outburst that suggestion resulted in last time. She tore into me for almost 20 minutes, barely letting me get a word in edgewise, her Italian temper feeding upon itself as she went on and on as to what an insensitive ass I was and that she didn't need any fucking medication or a fucking doctor. It took a week of eating crow and cold shoulders before she calmed down enough to forgive me and our home life to return to normal.

Her disinterested and critical attitude was only part of what I was thinking about as I took the exit to route 231 North, Deer Park and started heading for home. What was bothering me was that strange smirk I saw and the manic glow in her eyes. It did not match her current behavior at all. As I pulled into the driveway next to my dirty-blue Equinox and killed the engine, I sat there in silence wondering what was going on in my life and what was bothering my wife.

"I'll figure it out in the morning," I said to myself, unbuckling my seat belt and reaching over to give Elle a shake. "Honey," I crooned softly, "wake up, we're home."

Blearily she opened her eyes, glancing about our front yard before giving me a toothless smile and patting my arm. "Thanks, honey. Can you bring Amber in, I'm going to bed." She then rolled out of the car without waiting for my response and made her way to the front door, unlocking it and letting herself in.

"What the...?" I wondered, not wanting to argue now, just wanting to get inside and get to bed. 21 hours awake and two cross country flights were having their toll on me; my mind was foggy and my limbs just tired. I unhooked the car seat from its cradle and pulled the carrier from the back of the car. With my other hand I snagged my briefcase and duffle, bumped the door closed with my hip, and made my way to the front door. Thinking, I paused and fumbled my keys off my waist and turned back around, clicking the alarm fob engaging it. The horn beeped twice in response and as I turned back to the house, I noticed the window shade of my neighbor across the street move slightly. The light coming through the blinds was dim but enough to show some sort of shadow move away from the window. "Must be Stan's dog," I muttered, knowing that he was usually asleep by 10 since he did construction and needed to get up early.

I entered the house, glancing to the left to note with dismay the dishes in the sink. "We have a fucking dishwasher, Elle," I grumbled silently, reminding no one that the dishes did not have to be in the sink. Locking the door, I put my briefcase and bag down by the counter and walked down the hall to Amber's room. Painted in pink and lilac, the furniture was off white and prints of Winnie the Pooh and Ariel were on the wall.

I flipped on her nightlight, the softly glowing elephants and giraffes illuminating the far corner of her room. With gentle care I unbuckled my sleeping daughter from her car seat and picked her up, placing her against my chest. I cradled her for a few moments, the faint scent of baby powder and Desitin in the air. With parental practice, I wiggled one finger into the leg of her pajama's and under her diaper, noting it was damp.

"Changing time, sweetheart," I sang as I placed her still sleeping on the changing table. With deft well practiced moves I had her wet diaper off and a fresh one on without waking her up, her pajama's once again pulled back into place and my daughter put into her crib with a last kiss and faint, "Good night."

I went to the bathroom, turning on the light to look at my face. "Tired," I said to my reflection. "You look god damned tired, Rick." I scowled, smiled, thrust out my jaw – watching my image do the same. Then I brushed my teeth and stripped off my sports coat and tie, tossing them to the chair in the hall on the way to our bedroom.

I quickly got undressed and made my way into bed, my hand snaking across the covers to cup Elle's shoulder and pull her against me. "G'night," she muttered, rolling over to rest her leg and arm on my body, her breathing deep and even as she returned to her sleep.

As for me, I stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell was going on with my life and what I was going to do to fix it. This was not the way I wanted to live and I could not for the life of me figure out how it had gotten this far. Every day, just a little bit more coldness and distance than the day before. Until now, a year and a half later, I have this as a family life.

I shook my head, rocking it against the pillowcase, jaw set; my resolve a direct opposite of the pillow's softness. "Tomorrow," I said to the darkness. "Tomorrow."

The darkness did not answer me back. And sleep did not come to me for some time.