I've put some thought into the most famous 'loving wives' in this category. What they have in common and what they don't.
That led me to the word 'narcissism.' For all the great stories I've read here over the past twenty or so years, I've also seen enough comments that misrepresent that word. I doubt if that can be held as some personal fault. Much of our language has taken a long, hard, downward slide over the past thirty years. Today's definition of 'narcissist' blended with Webster's 1950 definition provides clues about how society has fiddled with the word itself, perhaps for effect or gain. I'll let you look it up.
I grew up surrounded by Midwest Sicilian Mafia, and noteworthy, household-name, Michigan politicians, as somewhat chronicled in my LIT story - "The Busboy."
In many ways, we are quick to judge these literary wives or to name their afflictions. Those mafia guys could end a life on a Saturday, and then sit in church with their wives and kids on Sunday morning with zero remorse. Were they also narcissists? On some level, yes, of course. They certainly were thinking inwardly. But they also had their way of influencing things. They shaped the political landscape, policies, bills, and laws. They were revered. I often wondered, back then, why were the political leaders out on the golf course with these guys, or having a formal dinner with them in the members' fine dining room? I was only a teenage busboy, and pretty slow on the draw. Narcissistic would not have been a word used to describe them.
So, I wondered, what if I wrote these famous story wives as true narcissists, most often in their own words? How would they behave? What lessons, if any, would they come to learn? What revelations will be uncovered about them, never told by the loving and broken husband?
I have five or six of the most well-known in play but decided to get February's Linda out of the way first. The reason? She holds the top spot in popularity. So many follow-ups have been written to the story, including my own version, that almost every base has been covered. Even my editor pointed that out. It might be the least popular in the series, due to that. Hopefully, I can throw in a few surprises and keep you entertained.
Relax; it's just a story, people.
"Jim, I'm home. It's just same old me," Those were my opening words to my husband Jim, upon returning home from my night out of time. Had I had more time to prepare, or consider my words more carefully, I would have done it differently.
Unfortunately, I'd been on cloud nine until I got into Marc's Ferrari and finally started thinking about Jim and my marriage. That was a grand total of twenty minutes, from his door to mine. I'd completely forgotten about our hotel room from the night before - that's how gaga I was. I remember thinking that I hoped Jim had packed my things and brought them home. Especially the expensive bra and panty set I'd purchased. Then I wondered how Marc would have responded, had I been able to wear them for him. God, I couldn't shake that man - I was under his spell.
Marc kissed me, full tongue, before getting out and coming around to open my door. He was such a gentleman! I suspected he made a big deal out of it to pay my husband respect and appreciation for borrowing his wife. He gave me a friendly hug and said goodbye.
Jim was as angry as I'd ever seen him, angrier even. He called me unkind names and told me to go take a shower. That was hurtful. Of course, I'd spent the night with a celebrity that every woman wanted, but I wouldn't... couldn't possibly rub that in my husband's face. He was the man I loved, after all.
But the name-calling and the borderline rage had brought me out of my stupor. My fantasy was over, and now it was time to salve some hurt feelings. Jim was my husband, the man I wanted to grow old with. I knew what made him tick. As I scrubbed myself a lot harder than I had at Marc's earlier, I was already formulating a plan to love the anger right out of my man. I would try extra hard to prove my devotion until this passed, and we were back to normal.
But when I went back downstairs, trying to make him understand, he kept hurling insults at me and then at Marc. I tried my best to reassure him that I loved him, that my one night was over now, and that I'd do anything and everything to make it up to him. After I'd said that, I instantly regretted it. He could come up with a lot of things I wasn't willing to do.
Nothing I said made any difference. He had a counterpoint to everything I told him. He told me, not asking me to explain how it all started. My immediate idea was to quell any concerns he had about his masculinity. I told him how I'd only expected a dance or two, and some bragging rights over Dee, but how Marc's strong presence had overwhelmed me, leading up to him simply suggesting I make an excuse at the table and leave with him. It wasn't difficult to see by my husband's troubled face, that I'd made a huge mistake.
Jim informed me he was gathering the children and would return to spend time with them. He would then leave since he "couldn't stand to look at me," and he expected me to write down the entire evening from the time I got up to dance until Marc brought me home. I vehemently argued that would only hurt him, making things worse. He implied things couldn't get much worse, and that he wanted a written report, not my blubbering and stammering. He didn't say it exactly like that, but it's what he meant.
I implored him to stay at our home and panicked then. I used sex as a bargaining chip to keep him home, and he told me I'd need to get checked for STDs. That really pissed me off. Marc was a perfect specimen and he'd never be able to have that effect on women, while possibly giving them a little something to take home afterward. The idea was absurd and made our incredible night seem dirty, tawdry, and cheap.
Jim made sure to get my commitment to write down my fairy-tale evening in vivid detail.
By the time Jim left to pick up our children, I was the one with the hurt feelings. His final dig came when I told him I loved him, saying he had no idea what I meant by that. That was a cheap shot, turning the knife that had already been thrust into my heart. Still, in his eyes, I'd wronged him, so I needed to pick myself up by my bootstraps and be the remorseful wife. I hoped these feelings he was having wouldn't linger for long. My love for him wouldn't be able to take many more of these direct assaults and combined with how he felt about me at that moment, we'd surely be racing each other to divorce court.
When he came home, everything seemed okay, but after the kids went to bed, we were back at it. Jim reiterated he was leaving for the night. I didn't think arguing anymore that day would help, so I promised again to write what he'd asked me to and said goodbye.
After feeding the kids and fielding their questions about where their father went, I put them down with a story. I loved my kids, despite Jim's accusations. I'd do whatever was necessary to keep them happy. I certainly would never let Jim take them from me. I might even grovel and bow to him to prevent that.
Minutes after the kids were asleep, I was on the phone with Dee.
She was rapid-firing questions about my big night, but I needed her advice. "It was everything any woman could dream, Dee. He was the artist, and I was his muse. I was the instrument, and he was the master musician. But it's over now, and I needed your help. Jim went off the deep end. He's left but told me he'd be back. Tomorrow, he said, but maybe longer. I'm hoping for two days because he's angrier than I've ever seen him. I'm going to need that time to think and prepare."
"He's an idiot!" Dee jumped right on the 'loser Jim' bandwagon, as she always did. She'd never liked him - said he was a stuffed shirt. After her rant, she began asking me what he did and what he said. I gave her as much information as I could remember.
