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LOVING WIVES

Meanwhile 2

Meanwhile 2

by rodwhitebeard
19 min read
3.39 (30800 views)
adultfiction

Meanwhile...

This story was inspired by ConPulsion's story, the bungalow. I have kept to the same character names and built on the situation at the end of that story. I have informed ConPulsion about the story and sent him a copy. He told me that he has no objection.

The original story was told first person, but in any story narrated in that voice there is always another story, happening meanwhile, 'off stage'.

In the original story, Stanley was a successful professor, the lead actor in his own story. Meanwhile...his wife has her own very different story.

Chapter 1 -- Stanley's story

Those who know me are aware that I have a wild and sometimes deviant imagination. That's a good thing for my job as a professor. Along with that I have ridiculous luck that seems to bring me extremes of good or bad fortune.

Yesterday I appointed a new lecturer -- nothing odd about that, but he asked if he could start immediately. I told him that the formalities might take a few days, so we settled on the first of next month. I convinced him that a slight delay was no bad thing because he and his wife would need a little time to find a place to live.

His urgency was interesting -- why such a hurry? In academic circles it is no unusual for people to give three months notice. I was curious.

Academia is a small world. I talked to my contacts in his former university. People were cagey, discrete, cautious, almost defensive. That kind of attitude suggested a scandal, but was it sex or money? A few embarrassed looks made me mentally bet on sex, but was Timothy to blame or was it his wife?

The best information I could get was that some loss of face was involved.

"I guess they figured a move to a new place and a new start was the way out," my friend said. "You know how it is."

I did know how it was, only I didn't change job or move house. A month ago I gave my wife our holiday bungalow, along with divorce papers -- a preemptive strike in order to avoid the same situation as our new lecturer.

The only snag was that I was now regretting being so hasty. I missed Joyce. Should I classify that as bad judgement or bad luck?

I wanted to clarify the facts about Timothy and his wife, preferably before he started working for me. Not easy, because if my various sources were to be believed, there were enough so called facts to fill a gossip column for a month. Being a hard headed cynic I was sure that no one apart from Timothy and Ellen, knew the whole story. There's nothing like the old boy network for causing confusion. One thing was clear, the rumour mill had made his life impossible.

One version of events was that his wife had an affair, possibly more than one. The other was that she had threatened to throw him out unless they moved.

I did the obvious thing, I invited them to dinner. I enjoy cooking and I'm the head of department -- for a newcomer that invitation was impossible to resist. They were happy to come that week. Timothy, the new lecturer was slim, sandy haired and moved with an easy grace. Ellen, his wife was everything you could want in a date -- a flashing smile, a perfect figure and a quick mind. My first impression was that she could hold her own with any of my academic colleagues.

I started the evening being sociable and making small talk. I established that they didn't have kids to rush home to -- my research had told me that, but asking them made it sound like I cared.

I saw Ellen looking around the dining room. I'd made sure there were several flattering pictures of my wife, it was only a matter of time before she asked about her.

"We're divorcing."

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't know. You still have her pictures up, is it something you talk about."

I glanced at Timothy, there was a tiny hint of tension. Did she make a habit of embarrassing him, or was there more to it?

"That's not exactly a soup question," I said.

Timothy's face lit up. I grinned back at him. Ellen looked bemused.

"Finding Forrester," Timothy said. "Great movie. A soup question is one where the object of the question is to obtain information that matters only to the person asking."

"Well done," I said.

Ellen still looked puzzled.

"Sorry," I said. "It's an in joke. It's a Sean Connery movie. I'll lend you the DVD."

"It could be a soup question," she said.

Tim tensed.

"I can't imagine that someone as smart as you Prof, doesn't know something about what happened to us last year."

"Go on."

"I like your dining table," she said. "It's too big for Tim to kick me under it. What do you know about us?"

"I've heard several versions, they can't all be true. I'd rather have yours -- if that's alright with both of you."

"Tell us your story and we'll tell ours. Is that fair?"

Did I want to tell them about Joyce? Better they found out from me, especially as I was about to hear their story.

"I served papers on my wife, to prevent -- in the broadest sense -- what happened to you, happening to us."

Timothy cut in. "You just said you didn't know what happened to us."

"I said in the broadest sense. What happened to you was that for reasons that I don't yet know, the rumour mill smeared you and made your position feel intolerable. Joyce and I were at risk of the same thing happening, though Joyce couldn't see it."

"Why was that?"

"It's a long story. To summarise, when I became a professor, I made more money, but work took up more of my time. Joyce was at a loose end."

"Did she have an affair?"

"Not exactly, plenty of guys offered, but she turned them down. She always told me about them. I asked her if we were safe. She insisted that we were -- and besides, she said, why should I give it away, I mean who do these guys think they are?"

I stopped, and my eyes met Ellen's across the table.

"I can see where this might go," she said.

"Ellen, don't."

"It's okay Timothy," I said.

"So she went into business?"

I nodded. "That's a polite way to put it. To be fair to Joyce, there was some academic justification for what she did. She has a PhD in Social Anthropology, along with an adventurous spirit. I imagine one day she might write a paper along the lines of 'Prostitution investigate by participant observation'.

It was kind of exciting, to begin with. She worked from our bungalow. It used to be my mother's. It's in a quiet area on the edge of town. Initially it was something she did to make her afternoons more interesting. After a while she got fed up with men that were only free in the daytime and wanted to work some evenings as well. I saw less and less of her."

Ellen chuckled. Timothy squirmed.

"So what happened?"

"We argued. She said things like; if I was into acting or singing, I'd be out at night, I might have to tour. What's the difference?"

"You mean whores are acting?" I said to her

"Well aren't they?" she said. "I mean I don't want to disparage actors, but surely hookers put on an act? They don't fall in love with client after client, do they?"

"She's smart," I said. "Did I mention that? She has too active a mind to be doing nothing. At first the game was entertaining and stimulating. Like a new research project. Sociology, behavioural psychology, all that stuff. We were in it together. She demanded a critical input from me, but I think that sucked me in and gave her the impression that I didn't mind."

"Did you mind?" Ellen had an admirable way of asking very sharp questions.

"No and yes. I guess I thought it was an interesting diversion. I didn't see myself being worked off my feet forever. When you start a new job there's always a steep learning curve... and there was. I thought my work would flatten out and we'd be back to our old life.

I never imagined what she was doing as a career for Joyce, not something that would eat up her time the way the university ate up mine. I got that wrong. You can imagine how it went. For a while she never slept the night with anyone, but there were times she was too tired in the evenings to want to drive over here just to sleep. I wasn't prepared for it becoming something that took over her life and left a great hole in mine. I ended feeling that I never saw her."

"Didn't she see that?"

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"To some extent, yes, but her solution was escorting. Safer, better paid and more interesting. In theory, more predictable, or so she thought."

"But?"

"It didn't take long before someone wanted her for a whole week."

"A whole week?"

"And for a lot of money."

"And money talks."

"The social duties of university wives are not huge, but you don't have to skip many big occasions for someone to notice."

"What did she miss?"

"My inaugural lecture."

I saw a question in Ellen's face.

"When a new professor is appointed they are expected to give an inaugural lecture. It's a tradition going back hundreds of years -- supposedly it is to provide evidence of their worth as a professor. These days it is more of a ceremonial event. Tea with the dean beforehand and a few senior dignitaries attending, plus the vice-chancellor's wife. A big deal. People asked me where she was. San-Francisco, I said, as though that was an obvious reason to be away."

"Was that recent? You've been a professor for a while."

"Six weeks ago. The wheels grind slowly and there's a queue for the ceremonial lecture slots. As long as you give the thing within a year or two of being appointed it ticks the box."

"Surely," Ellen said, "she could have canceled?"

"It was a lot of money, a trip to the USA. The agency she worked for insisted -- you can imagine."

"You divorced over that?"

"Not just that. I could see where it was going. That was a big enough deal for me to be able to say that our lives were going in different directions. The paperwork calls it an amicable separation. It made sense to people at the university."

For a minute Tim and Ellen were silent. I could see them exchanging glances, unsure what to say next.

"But you still love her, right?"

I nodded, and waited. I didn't plan to say anything else.

Ellen's gaze met Timothy's.

"Me or you?" she said. There was a long pause.

"Our story's not the same, but in a way it is. I have difficulty satisfying Ellen," Timothy said.

"Only in one way," Ellen said. "But Tim feels bad about it. He persuaded me to try other men to fill the gap. Not on a regular basis, not a steady boyfriend, but now and then as a sort of treat."

"And was it a treat?"

Another long pause. "Yes and no," she said. "I worried that I might hurt Tim, and I couldn't get that thought out of my head."

"At first," Tim said. "We tried a different person each time, but some were not as good as we hoped and finding new ones all the time was stressful."

"Some were downright hopeless," Ellen said.

"I suggested that we should stick to one or two who were good."

"But?"

"One of them wanted more," Ellen said. "I was slow picking up on it and I didn't realise -- I just never imagined the way his demands would go."

"More often and exclusive." Timothy said.

"And I wasn't having that," Elles said.

"So he started spreading rumours?" I said.

They both nodded.

"Tim wanted to stick it out," Ellen said, "but I couldn't bear it. Tim was trying to give me a treat and ended up risking public humiliation."

"And they were making out that Ellen was a slut."

"I told Tim we had to move. If I went with Tim there couldn't be any doubt that I chose him and wanted to stay with him."

"What will you do now." I asked.

Timothy glance at Ellen.

"We haven't decided... I know this sounds insane," Timothy said, "but I'd like to know more about what your wife did."

"Tim."

"Hang on," I said. "Do you two trust me."

"How do you mean."

"Are you happy with the idea that anything we say stays in this room, between us and no one else."

"You want to explore some mad ideas, is that it?" Ellen said, sharp as ever again.

"I miss Joyce," I said. "Divorce was a crazy idea, but at the time I didn't know what else to do. Telling her that I was feeling that I was being slowly pushed out of her life didn't seem to be working.

Things would improve for a week or two, and then she'd get a tempting offer, and it would be back to how it was, only that made it seem worse. Made it seem like there was no future for us. It felt that we were out of control of our own lives -- the university pulling me one way and the escort agency pulling Joyce the other.

Missing my inaugural lecture sent a big message about our relationship, so from my end, everyone who mattered understood, and didn't feel like asking any more awkward questions."

"And from Joyce's point of view?"

"I don't know. She's probably very hurt, but if I talk to her I'll most likely cave in."

"Is it final?"

"Not yet. Divorce is a process, but I don't know if I've burned my bridges. I may have upset her beyond belief."

"Ask her."

"Simple to say," I said,

"Mmmm," said Ellen, "but it's a weak position. If you make an approach it will seem like a peace offering and she might think you'd agree to anything she wants. You could end up worse off than now."

"Exactly. It is a kind of intellectual nightmare, trying to calibrate the exact amount of hurt to throw at the other person to balance your own pain and anxiety. There are no winners." I paused for a few seconds to see if they wanted to cut in. I had obviously excited their curiosity. I had to go on.

"A crazy idea crossed my mind as you were talking. Would Timothy be prepared to hire Joyce as an escort for a week. That ought to be long enough to find out if she is enjoying life. In a week it is inevitable that you would get close to her. You could find out if she is dead set on this career."

Timothy burst out laughing.

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"Don't laugh love," Ellen said. "You don't have to satisfy her. If you are paying, she has to satisfy you."

"I'd pay," I said.

"Better still," Ellen said.

"I don't get it," Timothy said. "Ellen's the one who needs something extra."

I glanced at Ellen.

"I think Stanley has something else in mind."

"Go on," I said.

"Joyce is an expert," She said. "Joyce might be able to build up Tim's confidence. Did I get that right?"

I nodded. This girl was quick.

"I'd need a reason," Timothy said. "I need a plausible excuse for why I want an expensive escort for a week."

Ellen laughed.

"What."

"Some guys just want a no strings fuck."

"For a week?"

"I love your innocence, darling. I should have made you listen to some of the idiots I tried. If you want an excuse, then take her on a holiday. Be honest. Tell her that you can't satisfy your wife and you need help. Lessons -- you know -- access to expertise. You should have no problem making it sound like a research project." She broke into a fit of giggles. "Seriously, take some dirty pictures of me, so she knows what you have to satisfy. Take her to Venice, or somewhere exotic. Let all the angst out, all the worries you ever had when I went with anyone else."

"I never worried about you coming back."

"No? You mean you never told me? So all that reassuring from me was wasted? I didn't need to phone you? Pull the other one darling. You controlled it, you got on top of it, but it was there. Dig deep, use it, but be constructive. Don't be miserable with it. Show her enough of your soul, the inner you, so that she'll feel confident about opening up her's to you. Unless she's a very cold hearted bitch, she must have some feelings, some guilt, some anxieties about her marriage breaking down. Being an escort might be a huge buzz, but it's not how anyone expects to grow old. If she wants to marry again, it's a lot of baggage to bring into a new relationship. She must be having some thoughts and pillow talk is where some of it might slip."

Timothy sat stunned for a few seconds and my admiration for the pair of them went up. For him to pull a dish like Ellen, with that amount of savvy brain and wit as part of the package -- well that was something to pull off. This boy must have some depths I hadn't seen yet.

"Yes... okay," he said, "I get all that, but not Venice. I'll tell her that we have Venice booked and I'm scared to take you there because I'll be a disappointment."

"I think that would work," I said. "Joyce would be a sucker for something like that."

"What will you do while I'm away," Tim said.

Ellen looked at me, a question in her eyes, and I have to say I was tempted. I shook my head.

"I'll stay at home and look forward to you coming home," she said. "You can phone me. You can tell her that I gave you this trip because I feel guilty about all the men I've been with."

"But there haven't been that many."

"In a lot of marriages, one would be more than enough."

"This will cost a fortune."

"Let me worry about that," I said

"But Prof."

"Timothy, I want to know how Joyce is thinking. If it costs me a few thousand to find out, it doesn't matter."

"Being cynical," Ellen said. "Half of the cost will come out of Joyce's share of your estate if you divorce. She could be paying herself, if she knew."

I glanced at Tim and caught an eye-roll.

"Did I mention that Ellen has a law degree?" he said.

"I think I might have guessed."

"If you are worried about Venice, love, then why not take her to Paris. It's nearer, easier to book at short notice, and no woman is going to refuse Paris."

Chapter 2 -- Meanwhile

When Joyce was served the divorce papers her first response was to phone Stan, but she got no reply. She left messages, but that got no response. She delivered a letter by hand, and it came back return to sender. At the end of the week she called Cheryl, the only other person she'd shared her secret with, and they met for coffee.

"I don't understand why he is so upset. I told him I'd give it up, but America was already booked."

"So why not take the money, send someone else, and pay them?"

"Two reasons. The agency takes forty percent of the fee, so I would have to pay more than I get paid. There are photographs and videos on the website. The punter picked me, he didn't want a substitute. I didn't have a choice."

"Why not get Stan to pay, he's rich enough. If he wants you, he could pay."

"Jen, are you actually suggesting that I should get my husband to hire me as an escort?"

"No. Well," she gigged. "Yes -- I guess, when you put it like that."

"I don't understand why he's so upset."

"Really?"

"No. I don't get it. He goes away to conferences. It was only a week."

"You missed his inaugural lecture. Actually it was very good. I enjoyed it."

"I'd heard it all before. I commented when he was writing it. We'd been over it a dozen time. I could have given the bloody lecture myself."

"And you still don't get it?"

Joyce shook her head.

"How many inaugural lectures does a professor give?"

Cheryl waited for a reply.

"One." Cheryl said. "It is a once in a lifetime event, and you went to San-Francisco with a punter. Now do you get it?"

"Oh Fuck."

"You didn't know?"

"He never put it like that... because he must have thought I knew. Oh fuck."

"Was the trip good? Was it worth it?"

"It was good, nerve wracking too. I was being paid lots of money, so I had to perform. I liked that. I pushed myself and there's a lot of satisfaction in that. Was it worth my marriage? No, no way... You know what's worse? I never tried that hard for Stan. I'm losing him and I feel like I've sold him short all these years."

She sat quietly for a few seconds. Cherylsaid nothing.

"Shit, I can see how he could be pissed off. I forgot what university politics are like -- someone once said something about a sharp knife inserted and twisted very slowly."

"So was he right?"

"Right to divorce me, kick me to the kerb, whatever that means? No, or yes, maybe. It depends how you look at it. He said he would, he said he'd had enough of playing second fiddle to a bunch of fuckers he'd never met, who had more money than sense and didn't care a damn about me... I just didn't believe him. I didn't think he'd do it."

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