I'm Martin, by the way. Martin Reynolds. At the time this happened, I was twenty-seven, been married three years to Jennifer, and I was working as a stage manager for a theater in New Orleans. I was a permanent employee of the theater, so I saw lots of shows come and go.
The affair was with one of the bit players for a version of Spamalot, who played at our theater for five months. Kim Magellen, tall, blond, leggy, perfect tits and ass; dancer and professional flirt.
It was intense, physical, and very wrong, and we both knew it. It came and went, and she left with the production when their run was done, moving on to Dallas. And it was just as well. Towards the end, we both felt terrible about it -- we didn't dislike or get tired of each other. Quite the opposite in fact, which is why we both realized it had to end. I wasn't about to leave my Jennifer, and she had a husband at home too -- Brian. What's worse is that I met the guy later on, since he's in the industry and he came through with a production too. He was a decent guy, for sure. He didn't deserve what we'd done any more than Jennifer did.
So, we ended it. She kissed me goodbye at the airport and we both went back to our lives, popping the bubble we'd been living it, and rightly so. I went back to Jennifer and really looked at who she was, who I was, what my expectations were, and did my best to start being able to look her in the eyes and not feel like an absolute turd.
And it worked. Jennifer and I have been married for almost twenty years now. We have two kids, and now we live in Brooklyn, where she is an accountant for a big company and I run a theater just off Broadway. We are both happy, and she's the light of my life. I know I made the right choice and I fervently wish I'd never done what I did back then, however exciting it was.
But... I can't completely forget Kim. I see her pop up on shows as a bit player from time to time, and I can't help smiling and remembering. We keep in touch, via Facebook and text messages, occasionally. Nothing serious, and certainly neither of us is looking to rekindle anything. But I can't help remembering how I felt about her in that crazy time, and I'm pretty sure she remembers too. We send each other birthday and Christmas cards, but that's the extent of it.
Kim loved her husband as much as I did Jennifer, and I know he used to buy Kim her favorite flowers -- black roses. Hard to find and expensive, but Kim adored them. She'd get bunches from him while she was on the road.
He died about four years ago and she was devastated, obviously.
And because I feel guilty about what I did, because I care about her, and because her husband was a decent guy and I feel even worse about what I was doing to him, I do this one thing. On their wedding anniversary I send her a bunch of black roses, in his name.
It's not much and she'll never know they are from me. Let her have one gesture from the man she loved. It's the least I can do in his name, and it helps me sleep a little at night.
