A thank you again to blackrandl1958 for her editing, help and thoughts.
I sure hoped I was getting a bonus for tonight, but somehow I really doubted it.
I was wearing my dark blue tuxedo for the first time in three years. I looked damn good, if I say so myself, but I really hated to get dressed up to this level. It was Friday night, after all, and I should have been in my favorite La-Z-Boy, sipping a quality single malt. Instead, I was sitting at a table of co-workers and their spouses for a fund-raising dinner/dance for Blessings in a Backpack.
It's one of the biggest social outings of the year in our small Midwest city, and virtually everybody who was anybody in this area was in attendance. My boss bought a table for the event, and both my wife and I were expected to be there.
In fact, I specifically told my wife to buy a new, sexy dress for the evening... and she didn't disappoint. If anything, she might have gone a little overboard on the sexy part.
"Oh, shit, babe. I said sexy, not one step short of escort," I remarked when she came downstairs after dressing for the night.
At 35, my wife was in the prime of her beauty, I thought. Her thick red hair was done up high on her head, and she had dangling gold earrings on to highlight her long neck. The low, scoop-neck design of the silky, maroon dress showed an acre of her voluptuous chest, and the hemline that ended mid-thigh showed off to great advantage all the time she spent at the gym on leg days.
I had expected her to get a gown, but this dress was certainly a statement piece: that statement was "hey, look at me!" I was certainly looking, and I knew every other man would also enjoy the view.
I never minded other men looking at my wife, as long as she remembered that I didn't share my toys. I told her that often enough, too. I wasn't going to leave anything to chance.
While I would have preferred to have been home in my recliner, Hester was right where she wanted to be, hobnobbing with the cream of our city's society. As a middle school teacher, she didn't get much chance to step out very often, but she was one of those natural social butterfly people. She was well-read and witty, and drew people to her like ants to a picnic.
We had done some mingling and had hit the dance floor a couple of times before I went to the bar and Hester went back to the table. As I got within a few feet of our seats, I saw that Hess was talking animatedly to a man sitting in my seat. It was United States Sen. Tomas Norberto, who looked like a Hispanic Tom Selleck back in the day when Selleck was doing Magnum P.I. He was incredibly handsome, single and went about 6-4, 220. More because of his looks than his brains, he was being considered by some for the next presidential race.
I stood a few feet away for a couple of seconds waiting for my wife at least to acknowledge my presence, but that didn't happen. In fact, I had never seen my wife look like an infatuated teenager before, practically making "moon eyes" at the senator as they talked.
Since neither one of them was going to acknowledge me, I did it myself.
"Excuse me, Senator, but that's my seat," I said as I got to my spot with two drinks in my hands.
He completely ignored me some more and continued his conversation with my wife, whose face was glowing. I waited in silence for about five more seconds before I stopped being Mr. Polite. I ran my hand with a wine glass between their two faces, breaking their spell, and put her glass on the table in front of her. I stayed right there almost in between them holding my drink before the esteemed senator got the hint.
"I-I need to go now. I should find my spot at the head table... but I'll be back later to continue this conversation," he said to my wife, effectively ignoring me the whole time.
"Stupid fucker," I grumbled to Hess as I sat back down after he left.
"I find him... fascinating," she responded. "You, on the other hand, were just downright rude... to a US senator, for God sakes."
"You seem to have forgotten that you're my wife, not his, and he was sitting in my spot, and he wasn't moving. That's incredibly rude and presumptuous, even if he thinks he's going to be the next president."
She did that superior eye roll thing that certain women do quite well. I hated it, and told my wife that repeatedly throughout our nine years of marriage. I glared back at her, not wanting to get into it in front of this crowd. She harrumphed, but held her tongue as well.
Dinner took about 90 minutes, then the band started back up and people returned to the dance floor. I knew Hess loved to dance, so I stood up and offered her my hand. She looked at my hand, looked me in the eyes and shook her head vehemently. I stomped back to the bar and got another drink, standing there and making small talk with others hanging around.
I lost track of Hess when she got up to mingle, I assumed, but it was easy to keep track of Sen. Schmuck. With his security guys always in proximity, the senator mingled and glad-handed for the next half-hour before walking out to an outdoor veranda.
I wasn't born yesterday, so when Hess didn't show back up at the table after about another 10 minutes, I decided to check out the veranda. The two of them appeared to be in deep discussion with an older couple, with the senator's arm comfortably around my wife's waist. I walked up to the pair and started to remove the senator's arm before somebody grabbed me and twisted my arm up between my shoulder blades, causing me to yelp in pain and causing heads to turn in our general direction.
"Nobody fucks with a United States senator, buddy," growled a voice behind me as he started to push me toward the exit.
"That's my wife he's got his hands on," I rasped while I was being given the bum's rush.
He shoved me back inside the main ballroom before he let me go. I told him to get my wife and bring her to me unless he wanted me to start getting loud.
"Goddamnit!" he muttered under his breath as he headed toward the senator.
Two minutes later, a red-faced Hess came back through the door. She gave me a palms-up shrug, as if she didn't have a clue as to what was happening. I grabbed a hand and practically dragged her out of the ballroom.
The ride home started out dead silent, but I knew that wouldn't last long. For some reason, Hess was thinking that the best defense was a good offense.
"You bastard! You embarrassed me terribly tonight in front of a United States senator!" she screamed at me.
Until that moment, I thought Hester and I had a pretty good marriage. Yeah, we had our moments like any other couple, but I would have bet my two kids' lives on the fact that we were going to go the distance. Now, not so much.
"You do realize that you are my wife!" I shot back at her. "Nobody, and I don't care if he's the Goddamn president of the fucking United States, puts his arm around you like he owns you. You know that's over the line, yet you didn't do a thing to get out of that embrace. You were like a love-struck teenager with your high school crush."
She blushed and stammered, but ultimately put her head down and didn't respond. I knew I had hit the nail directly on the head. She was definitely infatuated with the man.
If I thought Hess was going to apologize at some point, she let me know I had another think coming. Not only didn't she apologize, but she barely spoke to me for the next several days. Even the kids, despite their being only 7 and 5, could feel something was wrong, and tried to stay out of the room if we were both around. Dinner time was the only time there was any real conversation in the house as we both seemed to be trying to keep communication going through the children.
On Wednesday night, however, after the kids went to bed, Hess said we needed to talk: not can we talk, not we should talk, just we need to talk. Nothing good ever comes from those four words.
Not to be disappointed, nothing good did come from those four words. My loving wife informed me that she and the esteemed senator were going on a date on Friday night.
"It's not a date, really, I'm going to accompany him to another of these fund-raising dinners," Hess said when I questioned her about the impropriety of a married woman going on a date with a man not her husband.
"The sure sounds like a date to me," I explained. "If you are accompanying him, to me that means you are his date... and since you are a married woman..."
"You're a small man with a sick mind!" she wailed back at me. "I would never cheat on you!"
"What do you call a married woman going on a date with a man not her husband? Even if you don't have sex, going on a date with another man is cheating," I claimed. "Would you let me accompany your hot friend Angie out to dinner and dancing?"