Three-Day Weeend: I Hire a P.i.

I surprised myself by waking up at 6 AM on the first day of a three-day weekend. I am definitely not a get-up-early-and-get-cracking type of person. The possibilities for the weekend seemed endless: sex, a leisurely reading of the morning paper, sex, going out to coffee or lunch, sex, puttering around in my shop, sex, and so on.

Well, perhaps not so much sex, as I am not as young as I used to be, but then nobody is, and never will be, short of the invention of a time machine. Now, back when I was seventeen, and had more energy and stamina, I could . . . oh, never mind, that age, and that energy and stamina, all are long gone, and probably exaggerated in my memory.

My wife and I were now both busy people, and times for relaxing, lovemaking, even just sitting and talking were hard to come by. In my mind this made these things very important, and much to be sought after. In her mind, I think, not so much.

In sum, our marriage had been in a semi-coma for some time, emotionally, sexually, even in terms of quiet companionship and conversation. It seemed we never had time for each other.

My wife was stirring this early morning, and was wrapped in the bedclothes in a way that displayed the curves of life very nicely. I reached over for a feel.

She said, "Not now, I have to get going."

"Whoa", I said, "This is a three-day weekend! We have time for some of the good things in life."

She said, "Oh, I have so much to do this weekend, I have to get up and get started on it."

I said something to the effect that, hey, there was always time for messing around, and in the morning at the start of a three-day weekend is one of those times.

She said something to the effect that, maybe later, this is a busy time and I have to take advantage of this weekend.

I said something to the effect that her priorities were badly fucked up if she was so up tight that she couldn't live like a normal human being, let alone be a real wife to me.

She said, "Ok, if you just can't wait, let's get it over with."

That did not sound to me like the recipe for a good time, so I told her, "Never mind, if that is how you feel, I am going out. "

I was dressed and on the way out in a very short time, and more than a little bit angry. She asked me when I would be home, and I told her that I felt like going out to photograph some buildings that interested me, and might decide to go as far as Palm Springs to photograph some of the architecture of the 1950s if the mood took me. That would be a trip of about 270 miles each way, so would not be a one day round trip. She asked if I would be home that night or not, and I told her I did not know, I had not decided how far to go, and would decide that once the day got under way.

She was now angry, too, and asked how she could plan her day if she did not know when I would be home.

I replied that it did not appear to me that it made much difference to her whether I was home or not, she would probably be too busy to notice. I added that I would be home either this evening, or tomorrow evening, or the next evening as in fact the freedom to be flexible is one of the delights of a three-day weekend, and I intended to enjoy mine and she could do whatever she wished with hers. I thought, but did not say, "and if you don't like it, you can stuff it."

She was now even more angry, and insisted that I call later to at least let her know if I would be home this evening. I rankled under that demand, and said, "Well, I may or may not, and if you need to know that because you intend to do the horizontal mambo with some other guy, go to a motel, I am not going to report in to you and restrict my freedom to come and go so that you can screw around inside my own house."

She said, "I have never done anything like that! How dare you accuse me."

I left. I also began to be suspicious; so much so that I did something I had never done before, and called a private investigator that I had met a couple of times. I asked him to check her out over the weekend, and agreed to his fee and expenses. He was not delighted, this sort of assignment was something he hated, but it put bread on his table.

Afterwards, I sat in my car and engaged in a little self-hypnosis to put all that crap out of my mind and plan a weekend of looking at and photographing nice things.

Despite the three-day weekend, traffic was not too bad. I began working my way southeast, stopping for interesting sights and lunch and coffee and gasoline and so on.

I thought about a little "play for pay" action in the LA area, but dismissed the idea as probably not being much fun, and any way, it was not something I did, being pretty much of a one-woman man. For better or worse. Right now it seemed like "for worse".

I pulled over and stopped, and did a booster session of self-hypnosis to get back into a positive mood for the freedom of the weekend.

The afternoon wasn't bad at all. I followed my nose (and a guidebook) to see some interesting architecture, and really enjoyed going where I pleased when I pleased.

I had gone far enough so that it was time to decide whether to continue on to Palm Springs or to turn around and go back. I called "my" P.I. and asked what was up. He said that she had left the house and gone to what I recognized as her office, then later out to lunch by herself, then back to her office, and was still there. "Hmph. Dullsville!" I thought to myself. I decided to turn back and get to bed in my own bed at a reasonable hour. Doing this would save me the expense of a hotel in an expensive town, not to mention gasoline and food costs, and I could always make a trip to Palm Springs later.

When I arrived home about 11 PM, she was not at home. I decided not to care. I had a glass of wine, watched TV for a few minutes and went to bed alone. I must confess that, angry or not, a bed with somebody in it alongside you is better than an empty bed.

I heard her come in but decided not to let on that I had been awakened, even if only slightly. I quickly went back to sleep.

She awakened me in the morning with a cup of coffee while I was still in bed, and said, "We need to talk."

I replied, "Well, it's curious that you think so, when you seem to have so little time for me or for our marriage otherwise. Don't you have too much to do to waste time on such trivia as talking with your husband?"

She said, "Well, it's not going to do much good to try to talk if you are angry and hostile."

I said, "Well, I am sure as hell angry and hostile, so make of that what you will."

She huffed out of the room.

I got dressed and took my coffee cup into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table having breakfast. I fixed my own, and set down at the table across from her.

She asked me, "Where did you go all day?"

I replied, "None of your damned business, where did you go all day and so late into the night?"

She responded in kind: "None of your damned business."

I resolved to get out of the house as quickly as possible and find something to occupy me for the day.

Once I was out of the house, I called my P.I. again and asked what he had seen.

He said, "Not much. She stayed at her office until evening, then ate supper in a café and went to a movie. She went straight home after the movie."

I thanked him and told him that that was enough, and to send me his bill at my office, and not to my home. He volunteered that he did not think I had any reason for concern, not based on what he had seen, and I thanked him.

I decided to go home and try to fix a roof leak. I already had he necessary materials on hand, so I was soon on the roof attacking the task. I regretted not changing clothes, as roofing cement inevitably gets on everything one is wearing, but I had not wanted to go into the house and have to deal with her.

Several hours and a lot of cursing later I thought that I might have fixed the leak and decided to wrap it up and wait until the next rain to see if I had succeeded.

When I went into the house in my underwear, having shed the newly cemented outer clothing into the garbage, and cleaned my hands, she was on the telephone. I headed for the shower.

When I came out she said that she going to see a friend and would not be home until tomorrow night. I grunted. I'll be damned if I was going to give her the satisfaction of asking her where or why. She went to the bedroom to change. I immediately called the P.I. back and asked if he was available to continue on short notice, like now. He said he was. I stopped her when she came out of the bedroom and said that we needed to look at the bills so I could get them out of the way. She said ok and sat down. I figured that this delay might give the P.I. time to get here.

After some bill shuffling and checking, we finished and she got up to leave. She looked back at me, as if to ask, well, don't you want to know where I am going? However she did not say anything. Neither did I. She left.

I called the P.I. and he said he was on the spot and saw her leaving, and would follow her. I decided that after the 'roofing awfuls' I deserved a Jacuzzi session and retired to that pleasant pastime with a good book and my cell phone, trying to keep my mind off how crappy I felt about our relationship and about life in general.

Several hours later the P.I. called and said that she had driven to a house in town and parked there several hours ago, and gave me the address. I thanked him and set out trying to figure out whose house it was. It turned out to be the house of one of her women co-workers, and that a little after her arrival another woman had arrived. He described her, and it sounded like another of her co-workers that I knew slightly, but thought I recognized from the description.

The P.I. called again a couple of hours later and said that one woman had left but that before she left a man had arrived. I did not recognize the man from the P.I.'s description, but assumed that it was another of her co-workers, as the woman who lived there had seemed to know him when she greeted him at the front door.

Oh, oh. Results. I knew that I could go there within a very few minutes, but decided not to do so. I couldn't imagine any good outcome of doing so. I puttered away the rest of that day and the next day as well, and thought about what I might have done when I was younger and more volatile, and knew that that would not have been good.

She came home the evening of the third day of the weekend. I did not notice anything different or suspicious about her, but then asked myself, how would I? I did not say anything to her when she arrived, and she went upstairs to our bedroom without comment.

She came down a little later and sat down across from me.

She said, "I suppose you are wondering where I spent the night."

I said, "No, I was not wondering that. I don't give a damn where you spent the night."

She said, "Well, I spent it at Anita's, and she asked two other of our friends to come over. They have both recently gone through divorces, and I wanted to ask them how it is done and what their experiences had been. I am moving out. One of the friends who came over was Edward, and he offered to let me stay in his spare bedroom while I think over what to do. It does not involve sex, he is just providing me with a place to stay."

I said, "Well, I don't care if you fuck the ears off Edward, and the mailman, and the milkman, and the iceman, just get out of here as soon as possible, and do not for any reason ever come back. Whenever you decide you want the rest of your stuff, hire a commercial mover and I will cooperate with the mover to get all trace of you out of here."

She packed and left with two suitcases. The bed now really seemed empty. Quite a three-day weekend. Afterwards we both went back to being too busy, separately, but then that is what we had been doing for some time, we now just did it in different beds and houses. The marriage was moribund long before this weekend.

And so it goes. Whether or not she fucked Edward is irrelevant.