Just a Dinner

There's a reason surprise date announcements make up so many LW stories--they're just so deliciously outrageous. As a newbie writer I feel obligated to pay my dues at the altar of this trope. And look: more than 750 words this time! Amazing what can happen with no Red Bull. If a surprise date announcement story is not your cup of tea (or Red Bull) enjoy the myriad of other stories on this lovely site. The ending, like all my stories, is brief, leaving something for the reader's imagination (or FTDS to your liking). Or what the hell, read it and complain anyway. Free fun is so rare nowadays. :)

"No." My voice remained deadpan. My wife Brenda had just informed me that she planned to go out the following night, Friday, with another man.

"What do you mean no?" My 33-year old wife, all 5-5, dirty blond, slim 135 pounds of her, on track to become a partner in her law firm soon, was not used to being countermanded by anyone, least of all me, her 34-year old husband Robbie. I stood a hair over 6 feet, short brown hair with an athletic build. Not only was I increasingly beneath the standing of her peers, but I was the soft-spoken, easy-going male appendage to Team Brenda who always let her have her way. I did that because I loved her and I liked seeing her happy.

Our conversation this Thursday night had started after dinner, Chinese takeout I picked up on the way home. Dinner together has always been a big deal in our house. Lately not so much, though. And now not Friday night either.

She'd opened a fresh bottle of white zinfandel and, by the time dinner was done, it was almost half. A man of simple tastes, I simply had a domestic beer, which I'd not yet finished when she pushed back her empty plate and informed me in a casual tone that I'd be on my own for dinner the following night. Upon further inquiry, it transpired that she had other plans, not involving me. Nor did it involve any of her girlfriends. Rather, her dinner would be with a male coworker.

Which elicited the aforementioned one-word response, "No."

Several minutes elapsed, punctured only by her taking a few more sips. I refilled her glass. Keeping her happy was a habit hard to break.

"Robbie, you haven't answered me. What do you mean, no?"

"Okay, you're right, I guess. Let me clarify, were you asking me if you could go out with your unnamed coworker, or telling me?"

"Robbie, I have to do what I consider best for my career. You just tinker with computers because they never talk back to you. I have to make my way in the real world, competing with others who connive and claw their way to snag the few partnership slots which open up from time to time. I don't expect you to understand how important it is to have the right relationships with the right people in order to get ahead. You've always trusted my judgment and I've done better than anyone who joined the firm when I did. In fact, better than many who joined before me.

"I love you and appreciate your trust in my judgment. I've never let you down and I'm not going to start now. So, in answer to your question, no, I didn't ask you, because I didn't expect you to understand the dynamics of the situation and, frankly, I feared this situation might threaten your fragile male ego."

I sat back and let my heart's empty, numb void show on my face. The hurt and anger were still saddling up, and hadn't arrived quite yet. "So, to paraphrase your long answer, you're telling me, not asking me, not giving me any say in this decision, did I get that right?"

"See, I can tell, you're looking at a simple dinner as a threat to your male ego, instead of something necessary to advance my career."

"Male ego, huh? Who are you having this dinner with?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Why not, is it a state secret? Or a violation of your firm's conduct code?"

"No, doofus, if I tell you, you'll feel obligated to do something stupid to satisfy your ego, which will hinder my plan. Worse, it will embarrass you and may even set my career back."

"What time is your dinner?"

"We're meeting at seven."

"Where?"

"I'd rather not say."

I huffed. "Of course, you're afraid I'll go all caveman on your wimpy partner. So, if you're meeting at seven, I'd be expecting you back by what, 8:30 or so? I mean, how long does it take to order and chew food?"

"It's not that simple. The purpose of the meeting is not just to eat. It's to discuss things."

"Okay, I know you think I'm too simple-minded to understand the nuances, but... what things?"

Brenda sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Try me, humor me," I persisted.

"The main thing obviously is Sam Bolton's upcoming retirement. I've been working under Sam for a while, so I've gotten to know his clients and their cases, which puts me in an advantageous position to seamlessly assume his responsibilities."

"So your dinner is with Sam?"

With the voice of a first grade teacher, she replied, "No, obviously not. He's leaving, so he has no vote in who replaces him as partner."

"Have you had a dinner like this with Sam?"

Again, the roll-eye. "Obviously not. This is the first time I've had dinner with anyone at the firm. Else you would have had your sulky pout then."

"Hmm... I know I only work with computers and networks, but my simple brain tells me Sam's partners are going to ask his opinion on who would be best qualified to take his place."

"Maybe so, but he already knows how well I'm qualified to take over, so I don't need to schmooze him."

"So who are you schmoozing tomorrow night?"

"Bra... oh no. You think I didn't notice how you tried to sly his name out of me? I'm not going to tell you. I need you to trust me."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Her voice rose. "We already established I'm not asking permission. I'm just doing the right thing and letting you know what's going to happen."

"Brenda, isn't it what women's rights people like to say these days? No means no. No wife of mine is going on an unaccompanied date with any male, coworker or not."

If I thought a feather-ruffler like that would go unchallenged, I had another think coming. Red in the face, she let the spit fly free. "I have come this far by my wits and hard work. You don't own me, and I'll be damned if I let your insecurities and stupid little ego stand in the way of my career."

"Fine."

I've always envied women's cold-blooded murder of that good word. They usually say "fine" when they mean the exact opposite, and I've always been on the lookout for an opportunity to join them... so I wasn't going to pass on the golden opportunity she'd just handed me. In her huff, she missed the significance of my achievement, but no matter. I had the warm glow of satisfaction, which was all that mattered. Well, for a second or two at least.

I wasn't happy, but the date seemingly was set and there was nothing I could do about it. I rose, took my car keys and left before she could say another word.

--

On my way to the local bar and grill I called Mark Lawler, my divorce lawyer. "We're all set. Have her served at work at three."

"Why three?"

"I'm expecting her to leave early to titivate herself for old Brandon Malone tomorrow night, and I want to leave her as little time as possible to think of a response. So, when her good buddy is trying to rev her up for their first night in the sack, her mind will be, shall we say, elsewhere. At the same time, I want to give her the chance to change her mind. Not that I think she will, but you never know."

"Man, I'm so sorry about this. How did you know about tomorrow's dinner?"

"Brandon's wife, Alyssa. Apparently, she'd suspected for a few months he's on the prowl for fresh meat. She suspected he was already doing another gal in the firm, so she hired a private investigator to find out how bad it is. The PI informed her about Brandon's date with Brenda, so Monday a week ago, she let me know."

"Did that surprise you?"

"Shit, you have no idea! I really loved Brenda, even though she's let her status at the firm go to her head. I don't know if it's coincidence or not, but over the past weekend, we had a nasty blow-up about a new car. Her SUV is not even two years old, but she wants something that better fits a partner at a law firm. I didn't even know Lamborghini made an SUV, but that's what he insisted she 'needed.' I said let's wait until she actually made partner, but she turned it into 'I have no faith in her and she gets no support in her own home,' you know the kind of argument someone creates when they're just in a mood for a fight. I put it down to PMS, but after Alyssa gave me the heads-up, the pieces fell into place. Blew me away.

"Brandon's wife is going to have him served on Saturday at a family gathering they set up a while ago, for maximum embarrassment. Ordinarily, she and I would have timed it together, but because I believe this is Brenda's first time, I want to see if I can get to her before the date, so she can call it off and try to save our marriage."

"Do you think it will?"

A deep sigh escaped from inside me. "Damn, Mark, I sure hope so. I really hope so, my friend."

After driving around aimlessly for a while, I circled back home. As I pulled into my garage, my phone dinged with a text message from Alyssa.

Just learned B plans an overnighter. Said he's meeting with Japanese buyers, heavy drinkers. So he'll probably get a room. I checked his credit card account online and I see the Marriott downtown put a hold on it. So expect wifey to stay overnight for their first night together.

Shit. So much for 'just dinner.' Slut bitch, liar, conniving cunt! My rage exploded. I texted back:

Thanks for the heads-up.

Back home, I had second thoughts. Did I really want to head her off? If she changed her mind and stayed with me, did I even want her any more? Would she have a change of heart and really stay, or just wait for the next opportunity?

In the kitchen, I popped the top off another Coors and went to sit in the dark living room on my favorite recliner.

A few minutes later, Brenda entered and turned on the light. In a soft voice, she said, "Please don't be mad at me, honey. It's just a dinner." She knelt on the floor before the recliner, set her hands on my legs and looked into my eyes.

Setting the beer bottle on a coaster to avoid another fight, I laid my hands on hers. "No, pumpkin, it isn't. It's your disrespect. In the last year, inch by inch, you've pulled away. In the beginning you accepted my easygoing personality. Your firm, though, is filled with ambitious, hard-charging alpha-male go-getter types, and in their eyes I'm nothing more than a loser. At first you defended me, but I can see in your eyes they've won you over. You started to agree with them. I can understand their view, but that's them. They're not married to me.

"I may be wrong, but you've begun to see my love for you, and my desire to make you happy any way I can, as weakness. None of them, or their spouses, act like that. You're a special person, and your happiness makes me happy, which is why I usually cave when we have a disagreement. I don't care for this big house or this neighborhood, but it made you happy. I don't care whether you wear your hair long or short, you look beautiful to me either way. I'm content with my truck, even though it's ten years old, but I'm okay for you to have a nice car because it makes you happy.

"However, you going to dinner alone with another man crosses the line. That you don't see that disappoints me greatly. It shows me you don't think I have feelings or, if I do, they don't matter to you."

"But, honey, I'm only doing it to check one more box toward a partnership."

Moving one hand from hers to her cheek, I shook my head. "No, Brenda, that's not true. You know what you're doing is wrong, but you decided to cross the line anyway."

"No, hon--"

I held up my hand to stop her. "Before you lie any further, let's review some facts. There is no way you only learned about tomorrow's dinner today. Partners have busy schedules and I simply do not believe he woke up this morning and decided to invite you to dinner tomorrow. Please, I may not be your idea of sophisticated anymore, but I have a level of common sense that may surprise you. And that common sense tells me he asked you earlier this week, maybe even last week. If you saw nothing wrong with it, you would have immediately told me, and done it casually, without the 'honey, we need to talk' drama.

"So, your own behavior betrays you, and says you know very well tomorrow's date is wrong.

"When you got the invitation, you had a choice: disrespect me and go on the date, or tell the partner you're bringing me along. Or, of course, pass. How long have you worked at the firm? Has any married partner ever dated any married woman alone before? Let me guess, no. For good reason--it's not something decent married people do."

I took my hands back and folded them. "So, honey, no, it's not just a dinner. Of that I'm sure. What I'm not sure about, and I hope to God I'm wrong, is that your date tomorrow night is a step toward an affair."

Red reappeared to her neck and face like at dinner. "I can't believe you don't trust me. In all these years, have I ever given you reason to doubt me, my fidelity?"

"Not at all. But don't you see? That's

exactly

why this alarms me--it's something you've never done before. You've never sprung something on me which might be questionable, at such short notice, and been so adamant about it. Remember Stella's bachelorette party? You asked me, we talked about it, you heard my concerns and you decided not to go. Weren't you glad afterward, when it came out that all the women were photographed sucking the strippers' dicks? Because the hostess slipped ecstasy into all the drinks? It's not that I was right, it's that

we talked about it,

you respected my opinion, you didn't present me with a

fait accompli

like tonight, and throw the pathetic male ego thing at me.

"Tonight was new, different--the first time you totally disrespected me. What I think, who I am, simply don't count for anything anymore. You know what you're planning tomorrow is wrong, and the hell with my opinion or feelings.

"I deferred to you in all our choices, and this is how you reward me? You take me for a wimp because I love you so much?"

Shaking my head I continued. "How do you think I feel about having my incredible wife sitting in a fancy restaurant with another man? While I sit at home twiddling my thumbs? Let me answer that for you: you never even gave a thought about how I might feel, except that it might offend my 'fragile little male ego.' Am I right?"

Her lowered eyes gave me my answer. Finishing my beer, I lifted her hands from my legs and stood. "Tonight, you're stopped right at the line. You still have time to call off the meeting tomorrow. I still love you. By this time tomorrow, your actions will tell me if you love me or not. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight."

"Honey, no!" Brenda's flushed in anguish. "Your place is with me tonight."

"But where will it be tomorrow night?"

--

The following morning I was on my way to the office before Brenda woke up. By lunchtime I asked my boss for the afternoon off and went home. On the way I stopped at Brenda's work and sought out her SUV in the parking lot. With my spare key I opened the back and saw an overnight bag buried under a raincoat. I opened it and wept on my way home.

As expected, my phone lit up a few minutes after three. At the top of her voice she yelled, "Robbie, what the hell?"

Playing dumb, I replied in a calm voice, "What do you mean?"

Because of her shrill voice I had to hold the phone a few inches from my ear. "What do you mean, what do I mean? Serving me with divorce papers at work! I have never been so humiliated in all my life!"

Doing my best to contain a chuckle, I calm-voiced her again. "Did I offend your fragile female ego, dear? You sound surprised. I don't understand why. Maybe you should come home so we can talk it over."

"I'm already in the car. But I'm coming home to get ready for tonight, not to rehash last night."

"Drive safe."

Leaving her SUV in the driveway, she stormed in the front door, ignored me and tramped up the stairs to our bedroom, while I followed with a grim smile.

In the bedroom, she took off her blouse.

"Do you remember what I said last night?" I began.

Her voice was ice. "You talked a lot of shit, to which specific turd do you refer?"

Tap, tap, tap, another nail into the coffin of our marriage. I spoke clearly and with a firm voice--no more mister nice guy. "The part that said no wife of mine will have a dinner with another male unaccompanied. Having served you, I no longer consider you a wife of mine, so as far as I'm concerned, you're now free to go spend the night with Brandon Malone at the Marriott."

Her undressing came to an immediate stop with a gasp. Her eyes betrayed her consternation--how did I know and where did I get my information? Trying to maintain her indignation, she turned to face me. "What are you talking about?"

I pointed at the iris of my eye. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: this may be green, but it ain't cabbage. I know about your lunches with ole Brandon, as well as the loving glances and lately the kisses. I also happen to know he's booked a junior suite at the Marriott tonight."

A shocked look descended over Brenda's face. "No! You're bluffing."

"Am I? Want to come out to the car with me to view your overnight bag in the back? The one with the new teddy you bought to sleep in, or should I say, to stay awake in? You and your fellow lawyers may think you're smarter than a simple computer geek, but you're still a conniving cheat and a liar. A lousy one, I might add.

"I told you last night I love you and I want to spend tonight and the rest of my life with only you. Your actions tell me you don't love me enough to stay with me, so what choice do I have? Sucking it up is not on my list of options, so the only option open to me was to file. And that, my dear wife, is the complete answer to the question you yelled at me this afternoon.

"By the time you get back tomorrow, my stuff will be gone. I told the landlord to take my name off the lease, you will pay until it runs out. I split our money before you were served today."

While she absorbed the unexpected development, I softened my voice. "Brenda, we've spent ten wonderful years together--you were my soulmate. You have no idea how it crushed me to learn that instead of appreciating me making sacrifices for you, it made you regard me as a wuss to be trampled underfoot. What a narcissistic and cruel bitch you've become. I hope ole Bran-dick is worth destroying two families for--"

"Two families? What are you talking about? Are you going to tell his wife?"

"Ha! I didn't tell her.

She's

the one who told

me.

Oh, and by the way, she told me your good buddy is also fucking Karen Spears."

"What? No!"

"Oh yes, as in the Karen Spears who is also gunning for that new partnership. Seems like he's just having a grand old time trying to figure out who's going to give him the best benefits in the future. He's already reserved the same room at the Marriott for her Saturday night.

"So not only was I nice and kind to you, I respected your worth and intelligence. Rather than appreciate it, you're being played by the guy you think you're playing.

"You're not just a bitch, you're a dumb bitch. Good luck with the rest of your life."

Epilogue

There's a reason clichés become clichés: they happen a lot. The week after Alyssa tossed ol' Brandon out on his ear she called me to help load his tools into boxes and get them into a storage unit. One thing led to another (yes, another cliché) and I ended up staying the night. Packing tools is hard work, you see. So, rather than send me home too tired to drive, she invited me to stay overnight. In the guest room, of course.